Type-Moon: Does even a sneak peek make it official?

Since before the Common Era, nestled at the foot of Egypt's Atlas Mountains, there has existed a gathering of alchemists—the Atlas Institute.

"Welcome, Lord Novia, hailing from the Anatolia Province of the Roman Empire."

At the heart of the Institute was a space almost the size of a city. Despite being underground, an artificial sky stretched overhead.

From Novia's observations, this place truly resembled an academy, fully equipped with everything needed for human life.

A few days prior, after hearing the Director's invitation, Novia had decided to accompany Shiali—who was returning to deliver her report—back to the Institute.

To be honest, without a guide, Novia would've been hopelessly lost within this labyrinth. Even descending presented only two branching paths, yet trying to return somehow led to three.

But that was normal. The Atlas Institute wasn't so much afraid of outsiders getting in—but rather terrified of insiders getting out. The prime directive was simple: Nothing created here leaves, unless bound by a formal contract.

Those who entered through the proper channels, into this so-called "Living Hell" that supposedly lacked all communication with the outside world—even light couldn't escape—could almost take pride in the accomplishment.

"Director, greetings. May your health endure."

The silver-haired youth now stood alone before the Director of the Atlas Institute.

In theory, Atlas mages were known for their weak magical circuits. But the Director radiated a presence no less formidable than the Divine Corpse of Osiris that Novia had previously encountered. Understandable. The leader of those who endlessly destroy and rebuild weapons couldn't possibly be ordinary.

"No need for the pleasantries," the Director said, his gaze lingering briefly on Novia before drifting to the book beside him. "I appreciate your assistance with Shiali. Honestly… what's your impression of her?"

"My understanding of her comes in two phases. Phase one: a good person—but not really a person."

Faced with this kind of elder, Novia felt honesty served better than politeness. Besides, he suspected the Director understood this dynamic far better than he did.

"Quite right," the Director agreed.

On that first day, Novia had concluded that Shiali was a thorough rationalist, her worldview dictated entirely by cold, calculated outcomes. Serious, logical, by the book. But in reality, that was simply the product of the Ether Lines—alchemical conduits used to pierce into others' minds and harvest their knowledge. Shiali operated by mimicking the behavior patterns of an "average human," relying on those stolen fragments of understanding to navigate society.

In the broad sense, she would perform good deeds. Likewise, she would never commit evil, at least not overtly. On some level, she was aware of her abnormality—but she had never truly confronted it.

That was precisely why the Director feared for her future. Shiali was too easily swayed toward extremes. Her so-called "common sense" was merely secondhand information extracted through Ether Lines. If that illusion shattered under the wrong circumstances, the consequences could be catastrophic.

"Phase two: she's… a good person who's starting to face reality."

"Also correct." The Director flipped through the book with aged, bony fingers. "It's precisely because you managed to nudge her in that direction… that I'm grateful to you."

Otherwise, do you think you'd have gotten in here at all? The Director added silently. Wrecking the sunken Library of Alexandria, roping Shiali into lying for you…

Outwardly expressionless, the old man clicked his tongue inwardly. With Trismegistus constantly monitoring, deception was near impossible.

Still, while he lamented the destruction of the Divine Corpse of Osiris, the Director harbored a sliver of admiration for Novia. The boy may not have been one of Atlas's own, and yes, he believed in some god—but the Director appreciated his disdain for external power.

Divine Corpses were problematic, certainly. But they were powerful enough to ensure a magus family's survival for a thousand years or more. Even after the Age of Gods ended, they allowed mortals to briefly wield fragments of divine might.

Truthfully, Novia had initially considered using Osiris's Divine Corpse to play god. On paper, being a Christian and wielding the power of an Egyptian deity was… questionable. But with a little theological creativity—perhaps invoking the Plagues of Egypt—he could have passed it off.

Yet, the moment Osiris's Divine Corpse developed independent consciousness, Novia abandoned that thought entirely. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally spark some unforeseen crisis. Had the Corpse not been so desperate to seize control of the Library's systems, even drilling its soul into them, Novia and Shiali never would have neutralized it so easily.

"Oh, right. As a reward for recovering the Institute's lost artifact, I'll allow you to use Trismegistus once."

Rising to his feet, the Director shuffled toward a shadow-drenched room. "Ugh, getting old… now where did I put that bottle…? It's got a drop of healing water in it… strange, I'll go find it. You go use Trismegistus. Once you're done, something will guide you out."

"Wait, this…"

Before Novia could protest, the Director had already vanished, leaving only a small bottle on the desk.

Director… I don't think I'll ever forget your generosity.

Pocketing the bottle without ceremony, Novia walked straight toward Trismegistus—the Atlas Institute's greatest information repository. It collected, sorted, and recorded knowledge from across the Earth. One merely needed to input a question—and an answer would appear.

"Temporarily authorized with Director-level access. Confirmation complete. Please state your inquiry."

"O bird that flies through the Underworld… answer me this—"

Suddenly, Novia realized… he had no idea what to ask.

So he stood there, lost in thought for over ten minutes, hesitating like someone deliberating over lunch.

Finally, the silver-haired youth sighed, chuckled, and asked Trismegistus a question. He even used the Director-level authority to append a personal message to it.

"Well then… until we meet again."

With that, Novia shouted to the empty plaza, then departed the Atlas Institute without hesitation—bound for Rome.

---

"…He really only asked one question? Isn't that a little too… honest? Are all believers like this?"

The old Director checked the records, a mix of amusement and exasperation on his face.

"Let's see… what did the kid even ask…?"

But the moment he read the question, the Director was utterly speechless.

—Who is Novia?

Honestly, the Director had never seen such a blatant waste of an opportunity. Using a chance like this to ask such a trivial, self-reflective question? He couldn't help but sigh repeatedly.

Tap, tap, tap. The sound of soft, rhythmic footsteps approached.

"He's gone?"

A few seconds later, Shiali returned from the report room. She took one look at the inexplicably crestfallen Director, expressionless, and carefully nibbled at the food in her hand once more.

"…Well, guess I'll just return this to him next time. It's not mine, after all."