Got to Believe in Magic

Chapter 7: What A Reader Knows

Because it was Saturday, and Nero doesn't have duty, the two decided to take a walk after they bought a coffee on Starbucks. Passing through the wide and fresh city of St. Peter's Square in Vatican, the sky was filled with oceanic blue-colored scenery.

There were a lot of buildings and apartments, many people walk on the said street, when Nero asked Sachii to tell her story.

"So, what time did you plan to tell me Rodin's story?" Nero asked her while she's taking some pictures.

"Beautiful..." Sachii said.

"Hey!" Nero called.

"Ahhh.. Well, when your ears were ready to listen." 

Nero nodded. He is really ready. He knows that Rodin is not an Italian but a French. But he found himself curioused about the story behind the thinker. It was century ago when Rodin finished it, but Nero didn't knew the story behind it.

"Okay.. Now listen very carefully. Judge me after that, I love telling stories." Sachii said. And while sitting on a bench, in front of them are hundreds of pigeons that was fed by Nero.

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He was a common high schooler during his times. He doesn't have any friend, nor colleague, nor enemy. No one cares for him, as if he is not existing. No one get curioused on what he is, who he is, which he belongs or where he is from. He is not that tall, nor that short. His hair is short, his nose is pointed, he wears braces and over-all pants, a polo with a design of polka dots, black shoes that is shimmering becuase of extreme shine. But there's one thing that is so special and different abut him,  his blue-green eyes.

He always look at his eyes with his pocket mirror that he always hold. If it's not pen or pencil, his right hand holds that mirror, one without a holder but a mirror itself. He always carry a lot of things. All of his books, lectures, sketch pads, everything even though he doesn't need it yet.

A very thin person, he is the exact half-size of their professor.

One day, his teacher told them that they need to recite a poem after a month of preparation. Any poem. No matter how long they were, who wrote it, what language it is, the important is they have to relate themselves on the poem that they chose.

"Poem....poem...poem...." He told himself as he is searching for a book of poems inside the library. As fingers gently touch the horizontally arranged books, he accidentally bumped into another student there who is also searching for a book. "Sorry." He apologized. "My fault."

"No, my fault, I wasn't looking on my own way." The girl who he bumped said. It was the very first time that someone noticed him. Before, when he got to bump someone and he apologized, no one really cares in responding to him. 

"Looking for a book is your way.. Mine is the same also." He insisted. "So I think it is proven that there can be two directions in one way." 

"Really?" The girl smiled. "I'm Freya, of Danes." The girl introduced herself and gave her hand for a handshake. "You?"

"Odin, from Palace of Versailles." He replied. And for the first time also, he met someone aside from his family and Professor Gregor Von Hale.

"So, Odin. I am a bit surprised, your name is also from Asgardian Mythology, perhaps to be, my husband." Freya said, then give her best shot smile. For Odin, it is the most beautiful smile he ever saw in his entire life. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, he already saw the most beautiful creature in the world.

For a short period of time, the two became good friends. They spend time inside the library, hanging out with each other, Odin, who is already in love with Freya asked her what is the best poem to recite.