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

"Today, we're studying The Twelve Tables."

The morning sunlight filtered through the plain curtains, casting its glow upon his hair. In the blonde girl's still-groggy vision, those strands shimmered faintly.

The way they caught the light reminded her of moonlight… or of the golden glow upon ripening grain fields. And just like moonlight or sunlight on the crops, the brilliance seemed to subtly change with every passing moment.

It was as if this person himself embodied something elusive and mysterious—so began another day for Domitius.

Now that Novia had baptized her, it was both his obligation—and, truthfully, his private ambition—to guide Domitius, the future Nero, toward him. To tip the scales in her heart before Agrippina secured her position as Empress. That way, once Claudius died, he could swiftly eliminate both mother and child without resistance.

Although Agrippina had presented herself with calculated humility in front of him, Novia had never once underestimated her scheming. Once she was close to Claudius, her ascent to Empress was inevitable. Not because Claudius, at sixty, was lustful or enamored with the taboo of uncle-niece marriage, but because reason demanded Agrippina's lineage and status to consolidate his fragile legitimacy.

Claudius had been pushed onto the throne after Caligula's assassination, without any formal adoption or succession process by the previous emperor. Before that, he hadn't even held the office of consul. By blood, Claudius had no direct ties to Augustus—their connection to the Julian line came only through his grandmother, the younger Octavia. In other words, he was nothing but a "collateral" branch of the family.

Agrippina, however, possessed everything Claudius lacked.

At its core, the real issue was that Rome lacked a formal, codified system for imperial succession. Interpretations wavered endlessly. And the First Dynasty itself relied far too heavily on the lingering prestige of Augustus. All these factors combined to leave Claudius in an awkward, precarious position.

In truth, one of the reasons the old emperor had hoped Novia's Christianity would replace polytheism was precisely because of this unstable situation. Unfortunately, he couldn't control his unfaithful wife… and there was no chance of restraining Agrippina, a woman who wielded her advantages with terrifying skill.

"Once today's lessons are finished," Novia added, "we'll resume your studies on Christian doctrine. It's time to move to the next stage. In a few days, I'll send you somewhere nearby on your own—that will be your basic trial, Domitius. I expect great effort."

"I understand, Teacher Novia."

The blonde girl studied diligently, her eyes falling to the book Novia had written. Then she turned her gaze toward the adjacent room. Aside from a bed, a plain wooden table, and four straw-seated chairs, there was no other furniture. On the wall where a mirror would usually hang, there was only a silvered bronze crucifix, mounted on a strip of black cord, framed in a faded, gold-painted wooden frame.

There was nothing lavish here. The austerity of the space gave it a quiet, solemn dignity.

"My lord, may I have a word?"

A voice came from beyond the room. Domitius guessed it was yet another person seeking her teacher's guidance on doctrine.

Novia glanced at the blonde girl. Her eyes were wide, reading aloud from the book with flawless precision. Sensing his gaze, she looked up, curious.

"Keep studying. I'll be back shortly."

With that, Novia left. The moment she was certain the room held no trace of magical energy, Domitius set her book down and hurried to the window on the second floor. Though the small panes prevented her from fully spying outside, the gridded glass allowed her a partial view of the front gate.

Sure enough, it was as she suspected—ordinary citizens, the kind she adored with all her heart.

Perhaps it was because of her childhood experiences, but Domitius always favored the nameless, faceless common folk over the powerful elites. And for that same reason, she deeply respected Novia, only two years her senior, who, despite his youth, bore his responsibilities with unwavering resolve—and was so beloved by the people.

The day she realized Novia's popularity was genuine, her resolve had been set: she would become someone like him. Someone whose mere presence could make the masses smile with sincerity. For that simple, yet distant dream, she would work hard, endlessly.

A few days ago, after drinking the water Novia had given her—whether it was the lingering relief from her persistent headaches, or simply youthful impulsiveness—she had shared that very vow with him.

"So that's what you want."

Novia had narrowed his eyes, smiling faintly, his voice merging seamlessly with the surrounding world. It had left Domitius with the unsettling sense that he had known all along.

She'd intended to say more, but under his quiet scrutiny, her words had faltered. In the end, all she could do was nod, silent and earnest.

"I see."

The girl now sat in the same room, gazing at the sunlight filtering through the window. The vibrant rays filled the space with color, bathing her in their glow.

Then came his parting words, quiet and sincere, reflecting in her emerald eyes as they met his sea-blue gaze.

"My student… If you ever need help… tell me, Domitius."

She had burned that moment into her memory—the calm, gentle figure of her teacher. From this height, the second-floor window should have hidden her well, but somehow… Novia had glanced up. Right at her.

"…"

For a moment, it was as though her breath stopped. She should have been terrified that her spying had been discovered, but more than that… she feared being scolded. She didn't want to disappoint him as a student.

In a flash, the blonde girl dashed back to her desk, quietly returning to her studies. Though learning alone could be tedious, she understood it was a necessary sacrifice for knowledge. That said, even Domitius couldn't resist breaking the monotony for long—after all, she was a prodigy in every field.

With that in mind, she flipped open Novia's book on doctrine, poring over its meanings. To her, these words were far more cryptic than anything in her textbooks—the teachings from her baptism, especially—but despite not fully understanding them… she sensed their importance. She had to grasp them.

And so, Domitius waited, contemplating Novia's teachings as she awaited his return.

"…Hm?"

The door creaked open. Novia had returned. His eyes, sharp yet calm, fell upon the girl—Domitius, who, in time, would be known as Nero.

Just as Seneca's famous words described, she truly was a small, radiant gemstone. Unfortunately… one impossible to control.

"Good morning, Teacher."

"Oh?"

"Teacher Novia… I wanted to ask… this sentence here… what exactly does it mean…?"