Her smile brightens. “That’s a perfect reason. And I’d really love to help. Honestly, the best way to understand history is to be in conversation with it, not just read about it.”
“You really want to teach a gladiator who cannot read?”
“I want to teach someone who’s already changing how I understand that entire period.” She gives a small shrug. “Besides, you’ll be teaching me things no textbook ever has. Seems like a fair trade.”
“My faculty mentor, Dr. Blackwell, will be thrilled. She’s been incredibly supportive of this work. She keeps urging me to push deeper into oral history methodology, and combining that with literacy might actually change how we approach primary sources.”
For the first time since I admitted my shame, I find myself smiling. “It’s a good trade. I’ll bring stories, you bring… how you say… letters and sounds?”
“Letters, words, eventually whole books if you want.” Her enthusiasm is infectious. “We could start with simple texts and work our way up to historical sources. Maybe eventually you could read some of the accounts about gladiators and tell me where they got things wrong.”
The thought of calling famous, dead Roman writers liars almost makes me laugh. Shouting at their ghosts sounds better than any applause. “When do we start?”
“How about we spend the last part of each session reading? That way, it’s connected to our discussions.”
I nod, then hesitate. “You will not… tell others? Make big… show of lessons?”
“Of course not, Flavius. We can work on it quietly during our sessions.”
My relief is immediate. She isn’t going to make this public. She’s going to help me without making me feel small.
“Dr. Vitale?”
“Sophia,” she corrects gently. “If we’re going to be working together this closely, you should probably use my name.”
The word sits in my mouth for a moment before I decide to say it out loud.
“Sophia. Thank you. For… understanding. For not making me feel like less.”
“You’re not stupid, Flavius. You’re one of the most perceptive people I’ve ever met.” She reopens her laptop, but this time she turns it so I can’t see the screen. A gentle gesture—protecting my pride without making it obvious. “Now, tell me more about thoserules you mentioned. How did you decide what was right and what wasn’t?”
As we continue talking, I realize something has shifted between us. The interview feeling is gone now, replaced by something more like a real conversation. She’s not just pulling answers from me—she’s learning, and offering her own knowledge in return.
For the first time since awakening in this century, someone sees potential in me beyond the tricks I show tourists. Like maybe there’s more to my story than just sword tricks and knowing how a crowd breathes.
Like maybe, with her help, I could become someone who doesn’t have to hide his limitations behind the Jester’s mask I learned to wear to survive.
My stomach twists, danger and hope tangled together.
But as Sophia takes notes about our conversation—her handwriting neat and confident where mine would be slow, uneven marks—I realize I want to try. Not just for her research, but for myself.
And maybe—dangerous thought—she’s the one who might actually see me.
Not the performer.
Not the fighter.
Me.
Chapter Six
Sophia
The morning light feels too bright, and I take it as a sign that I’m already bracing for today. Starting reading lessons shouldn’t feel more daunting than a conference panel, but it does—and I know exactly why.
I arrive early, as always, giving myself time to account for the room’s acoustics, adjust the chair placement, and lay out the simple order of materials—a primer, a few carefully chosen books, single sentences printed in large, clear font. The quiet ritual steadies me.
I’ve been thinking about Flavius’s admission since our last meeting. About the years it must take for shame to settle that deep. No child should grow up believing they’re unworthy of learning. No adult should have to undo that belief alone.
