Drip… drip… drip. Countless droplets flowed down from the isthmus, as the river gradually seeped into the soil.
Nero looked at her hands and the newly completed canal, then let out a soft sigh.
At the exact moment when the Corinth Canal was opened, the entire scene was imbued with solemnity and celebration. Sunlight danced across the shimmering waters, its golden brilliance weaving with the winding curves of the canal. Citizens crowded along both banks, their faces lit with excitement and joy.
This canal—an ambition dating back to the days of Caesar—had finally been completed not long after Nero's ascension. Its opening symbolized Rome's further tightening grip over commerce in the Greek territories.
"Roma!"
"Roma!"
Voices praising the Rose Emperor rang out from every direction, directed toward the radiant, spirited golden-haired girl who seemed to carry an aura of joyful warmth.
Nero raised her hand and returned the gesture with delight. The approval from the citizens gave her a deep sense of comfort—it meant her teacher must surely think the same. Though joy bloomed in her heart, a sliver of emptiness remained...
If only Teacher were here to witness this.
For Nero, imagining such a thing wasn't hard at all.
The voice and the scent, the colors and the movement—his words would come echoing beside her ears. Somewhere distant, in a quiet place—amid forests rich in flowers and foliage, where only the two of them existed—her heart would flutter like a startled fawn, her spirit soaring as if she could do anything…
No, stop—Teacher probably wouldn't approve of that.
There was no doubt—Novia was the person she loved most in this world. But the gap between them was so wide, and that frustrated her deeply. She longed to become the kind of person he would deem worthy—to stay by his side as much as possible. But ever since discovering from her mother that she had been controlled all along, that specific anxiety had finally vanished.
And that brought her immense joy. It meant that she truly mattered to Novia. That his kindness toward her wasn't random, but rooted in something real—that made her feel whole.
When she was little—back when both her parents were still around—Nero often had thoughts like this:
If only I'd never been born…
She had never spoken those words aloud, yet they had long since carved themselves into her being like an inescapable brand.
"Hey! Were you out with some man again?!"
Her father's furious shouting. Her mother replying in an exasperated, dismissive tone.
She remembered it clearly—her father slouched drunkenly across the bed, bottles strewn everywhere. Her mother stood by, face twisted in contempt.
From the moment she became aware of her surroundings, her home had always been steeped in rage and violence.
"And that brat—she's not even mine, is she? Heh."
A scornful glance cut through her like a whip, sizing her up from head to toe. Not a trace of compassion. Only disdain.
The child Nero blinked slowly, trying to breathe as quietly as she could.
Her father, reeking of alcohol, clicked his tongue and muttered:
"You piss me off just by existing."
"Whatever. Get lost. I'm sick of seeing you two. Disgusting. Would've been better if you were never born."
He waved his hands at her like he was shooing a stray dog. The corridor to the far room was lit, but somehow still felt shrouded in darkness—this house always seemed cloaked in dimness.
Even after her father died, her mother was exiled, and Nero—still a child—was taken in by distant relatives, her life remained mired in filth.
Living under someone else's roof, scorned because of her mother's reputation, treated like an object of contempt—it was a daily barrage of abuse. Year after year. The scolding wasn't meant to correct her—it was just people venting their frustration.
She often felt the world didn't deserve to be reborn. That it might've been better if she'd never existed at all.
If only I had never been born...
That thought became a curse—binding her limbs, echoing endlessly in her ears.
Years later, when she was bartered away by her mother to a man she'd only heard of—Novia—she had assumed he would be no different.
He seemed decent enough, but she held no hope. After all, privately, all men were disgusting in the end.
This world was nothing but a sandbox of filth—everywhere you went, just more rot and mire. Burning it all down would've been better.
That's what she believed. She was ready to throw herself into the mire with the rest.
But Novia…
He was nothing like what she expected. Nothing like anyone she had ever known.
His gaze. His voice. Every gesture. They were all incomparably different from the past.
His eyes were always warm, always gentle. No malice. No judgment.
His words were like blessings—spoken as if meant for her alone.
He earnestly thought about her, and made sure to tell her what he felt.
But as the days went by, she found herself afraid. Deep down, she wondered: Why is he doing this? What does he want?
More than anything, she was afraid of getting used to it—of getting used to being by his side.
Because he wouldn't always be there. He wouldn't spend every moment with her. And if she started to believe otherwise—if one day he abandoned her—she knew she'd be left hollow, unable to bear it.
That change... that unfamiliar feeling... it terrified her.
So she decided to test him.
"I want to become someone like Teacher!"
"Is that how you feel?" Novia had squinted, smiling gently. "Though this is just my personal opinion…"
The silver-haired young man began with those words, gazing at her with earnest eyes.
"My student—if you ever need help, just tell me. Domitius."
Hearing his unwavering tone, the girl—who had been ready to argue—suddenly found herself unable to respond.
"Please remember that. No matter what happens."
He smiled then, like a prayer or a quiet plea.
Until that moment, no one had ever treated her like that.
No one had ever spoken to her so directly, so honestly.
She didn't fully understand what he wanted from her—but she knew, with certainty, that Novia had said those things for her.
And so, in that moment—after a life buried in filth—Nero felt her life begin anew.
The feeling bloomed inside her as naturally as breathing.
She liked Novia.
Teacher is everything.
And as for everything else—
She could live without it.
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