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

The year was 50 AD. Antioch—situated in the northeastern corner of the Mediterranean, roughly 500 kilometers directly north of Jerusalem.

In this world, the disciples of Jesus Christ were known as Christians. The original Christian doctrine began right here.

A gentle breeze drifted over the streets, the barren earth, and across the sea. The people living here enjoyed a peaceful life.

"This is where you grew up, Teacher Novia?"

Domitius took a bite of the food she had made herself, gazing at Novia in front of her.

"Yes."

Beneath the vast, clear sky, the two of them walked side by side.

A few days ago, when Novia decided to return here, he went to Emperor Claudius to explain the reason. Unsurprisingly, permission was granted.

Yet, the next day, as he boarded the ship, he discovered that Domitius had snuck onboard as well. Though Novia could've tossed her into the sea and made her swim back to shore, he figured there was no need for that. Letting her see something beyond Rome wasn't a bad idea—after all, this blonde girl would one day, as Emperor Nero, not only rule Rome but host and personally compete in the Olympic Games. Some things, it seemed, were just innate.

It had been three years since he'd left Antioch. Though this city was only Novia's home in this era, a wave of emotion still washed over him upon returning. The lives of the people were interwoven with the landscape, and the wind here was the same as ever—carrying a faint chill, yet calm and steady.

Thanks to a little magic, no one around paid any attention to the two conspicuously dressed individuals in the crowd.

"Teacher, you really walked from here to Rome in just a year? No carriage, no ship? You were only fourteen then, right?"

The blonde girl tilted her head slightly.

"With Lucius around, it wasn't so bad. He taught me spear techniques for quite a while, after all."

"I see… then how about we walk back this time too? I can teach you… um… singing or something. Hmph, I'm a genius, you know."

"Don't get any ideas. You're riding an hour in the carriage every day on the way back."

"Teacher, I was wrong! I'll never suggest such a thing again, please, anything but that…"

"We'll see how you behave."

The reason Novia said this was simple—after spending time with Domitius, he discovered that "Nero" inexplicably suffered from an ailment where sitting in a carriage made her backside hurt. Hard to imagine, but true.

As they chatted idly, they weaved through the bustling crowds until a small, white chapel with its doors open came into view.

For Domitius, who had grown up in Rome, the place was positively dilapidated. Though the layers of climbing ivy and lush weeds had their charm, the cracked white walls left her wondering if a gust of wind would send the whole chapel crumbling down.

But then she remembered this was where her teacher had grown up. Nervous that her teacher's teacher might not approve of her, she cautiously followed Novia up the steps.

"Cut the crap!"

A sudden, thunderous shout echoed from within the little chapel, rattling the air.

Domitius instinctively glanced at Novia. That voice, rough with age, could only belong to Paul—the same Paul her teacher often mentioned. But… such vulgar language from the revered grandmaster? Wouldn't her teacher be upset?

Yet, to her surprise, Novia's expression didn't change at all. He simply quickened his pace, likely curious about what was happening.

"You Jews! Don't come at me with your Old Testament this, Old Testament that! Look around you—what century do you think this is? Sixteen years and I still remember everything! You really think I won't find someone to write a New one? You lot around the Mediterranean, who can out-argue us?!"

As they drew closer, the conversation inside grew clearer. The old man's dissatisfaction was blunt and sharp-edged.

"Lord Paul, everything I've said is the collective decision of the leaders in Jerusalem. Joining us is the greatest honor for your sect, which originates from Judaism."

The magician across from Paul responded coldly, his tone dripping with condescension.

Judaism. Domitius had heard Novia talk about it. In short: sure, there were good things in Judaism, but not many. As for the ones in Jerusalem? All rotten to the core.

"Get lost!"

"Lord Paul, do you intend to become a sinner in the eyes of the Lord? Keep obstructing us, and both you and Novia will soon be nailed to Jerusalem's disgrace. Look how far he's come—you know better than anyone. Only by joining us can you cleanse your sins and receive God's grace."

Even through the door, Domitius could practically see the smug expression on the speaker's face. Insulting her respected elders like that made the blonde girl grit her teeth in anger.

"The child I raised is no 'disgrace to God.' He's the kind of person even his teacher would be proud of. And you? You don't even have faith. To be blunt, you lack even the capacity for disbelief." The old man's stubborn voice carried an unwavering resolve. "So what if we've come this far? Better than you lot wasting your lives in drunken pleasure. No one is spotless—we all breathe in dust—but that doesn't mean he can't strive to be better. No one survives constant scrutiny."

"I know how your kind thinks. But the worst of it is your slander. Just like sixteen years ago… the way you treated my teacher, Jesus Christ."

Domitius glanced sideways at Novia again, but the boy's face was as unreadable as ever.

She blinked, then whispered, lowering her voice slightly, "Teacher, want me to… handle this?"

"No need. I'll deal with it myself—"

But just as Novia reached out to push open the door, it swung open from the inside. A half-naked, unconscious magician was hurled onto the ground, accompanied by a raspy but unmistakably spirited voice—

"Paul, with trash like that, just punch 'em! If I weren't so damn old, I'd have laid him flat myself. What's the point of all that talk…"

A purple-haired old woman, holding a staff taller than herself, stepped out from the doorway. She immediately spotted Novia and Domitius, still veiled in magic.

"Huh? You're… little Novia?"

In that instant, Domitius saw her teacher's expression shift for the first time—a smile far warmer, far more genuine than usual, like a long-lost child reuniting with his nagging old mother.

"It's me, Big Sis Martha…"

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