Chapter Text
Jayce kneels by his mother’s body, shakes her, calls for her. His screams are dispersed in the howling wind…
And then a voice calls his name.
He jerks awake at his work station, chest still tight with panic, his neck stiff and aching, and a sheet of paper stuck to his cheek where he has drooled on it. He grabs it unceremoniously and throws it to the side.
“You know,” says Reggie, standing by his side, “we did not provide you with a sofa so you would sleep at your desk.”
“Yes, ‘cause I clearly fell asleep in this shitty chair by design, Reggie.” Jayce groans and rubs his face, trying to shake off days of overworking and sleep deprivation.
Reggie appears unfazed. “Anyway,” he says, pointing at a box on the floor, “I brought the materials you ordered.”
Jayce yawns and stretches. “Great, thank you,” he says, massaging his left shoulder and barely sparing a glance at the box. “You can go.”
Reggie doesn’t move and clears his throat. “I take it that there’s still no progress?”
“Excuse me?!” Jayce snaps and turns to look at him. “Who spent the past six months going over arcane theory? Who figured out the crystals would react to runic patterns? Who built a fucking device that would work as an interface? And you tell me to my face this is not progress? This is plenty of progress if you ask me!”
Reggie raises his hands defensively. “You know what I mean, Jayce,” he sighs. His tone is calm and appeasing, almost apologetic. “The kind of progress the Clan demands is something that can be presented to the public. Something to monetise.”
“Well then, maybe Albus Ferros should give it a try himself and see if he can do better. I’m sure I can make new limbs for him too when he’s done,” Jayce replies. “This is not that simple, Reggie!”
“I know it’s not,” Reggie says, sympathetically. “And I know you’ve been working hard.” He gives Jayce a meaningful look that makes him feel exposed. He can imagine what Reggie is seeing: a tired, unshaved face, with dark circles under the eyes, a desk overflowing with papers, empty mugs, and spare parts, in a working space that hasn’t been properly tidied since the Ferros assigned it to him months ago.
“I’ll have something for the Distinguished Innovators Competition, I promise,” he says. He already missed the chance to have something ready for Progress Day, he can’t afford to miss the competition as well. The truth is, he knows his work is starting to stagnate. After a very promising start, he hasn’t had any meaningful breakthrough in weeks. He’s also trying to balance his secret project with his Academy job, and both are suffering.
“Listen,” Reggie says, trying to pick his words carefully, “it would probably do you good to have some help. Have you looked through the resumes we sent you?” He eyes the pile of curricula in a corner of Jayce’s desk, with concern. An assortment of debris has already started to gather around and on the stack of files. A half empty mug is sitting atop of it and a now dried coffee stain has seeped through the first few sheets of paper.
“I don’t want an assistant,” Jayce replies. He stands and stretches his back once again, then he makes his way towards the kitchenette, itching for his fix of caffeine.
“Well, Camille wants you to have one,” Reggie insists, trailing behind Jayce. “Just a fresh pair of eyes”.
Jayce scoffs as he sets up a pot of coffee.
Reggie sighs but doesn’t give up. “It doesn’t have to be one of our suggestions. If you have someone else in mind, I’m sure the Clan can consider them instead”.
“I work better on my own,” says Jayce curtly, hoping Reggie will get the hint and drop the subject.
Reggie does not drop the subject.
“Surely, there must be someone you like to work with,” he says.
Jayce chuckles bitterly. He thinks of his years as a student, of every dreaded group project he had to suffer through, of how, even after graduation, his colleagues avoid him. In truth, Dimitri is the only one still trying to be friendly, but that’s only because Dimitri is too stupid to understand when he’s not wanted.
He grabs the cleanest mug he can find, pours himself a generous dose of freshly-brewed coffee and takes a long swig. Then he turns to the other man and puts a hand on his shoulder, almost condescendingly. “Don’t hold your breath, Reggie.”
Reggie sighs. “Just think about it, ok?”
Jayce makes no promise.
“And maybe take your head off this project for a couple of days,” Reggie adds. “Tomorrow is Progress Day anyway. I assume you’ll have other commitments.”
Jayce groans. “You can say that,” he says. “I should have probably been back at the Academy already.” He’s really not looking forward to helping his colleagues set up their presentation for Progress Day, nor to joining the celebrations.
“I’ll give you a lift then,” says Reggie.
Jayce mutters a quick thank you as he downs the rest of his coffee and mentally prepares for another day of headaches and frustration.
Jayce finds the lab in a state of agitation. Several people are huddled around the prototype they are supposed to present to the public as part of the Progress Day celebrations, a machine that should awe the public with the ingenuity and innovative prowess of Piltover Academy — and that is currently not working.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asks.
“Oh, Giopara,” says Beatrice, a red-haired researcher a couple of years older than Jayce, side-eyeing him. “Very kind of you to finally show up.”
“I apologise,” he snaps back, “I didn’t know you couldn’t find the on-switch without me.” He’s been in the lab for less than one minute and he’s already annoyed.
“This is not helpful,” professor Brennell — a plump, middle-aged man with a receding hairline — chimes in. He’s trying to look composed, but his mouth is twitching nervously; he hasn’t been involved at any stage of the project and now he’s clearly regretting it. A small group of undergraduate students is watching in embarrassed silence.
Dimitri, for his part, is frantically going through the blueprints to check for any discrepancy and he seems on the verge of tears. The machine itself is nothing more than an automaton that would greet the exhibition visitors and offer them flowers — the kind of fun curiosity the Academy is supposed to provide for the enjoyment of the masses — but Dimitri has decided to power it with his new battery, so this is his failure more than anyone else’s. He looks at Jayce, basically pleading for some insight. Jayce almost pities him. Almost.
“Don’t look at me like that,” says Jayce. “I was not the one who put the machine together.”
“Yes,” snaps Beatrice, "because you were not there.”
“Well, you were,” says Jayce, “so maybe you can tell me how you guys managed to mess this up!”
“Enough!” professor Brennell exclaims. “I don’t care whose fault it is, I want you to fix it!”
Jayce sighs and observes the inert automaton. He tries to turn it on, with predictable results. He can hear Beatrice snicker and pushes back the intrusive thought of slapping the grin off her pale face.
“Give me that,” he says, taking the blueprints from Dimitri. The poor man doesn’t resist and starts wiping his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.
Jayce kneels by the mechanical bowels of the automaton and starts looking for any discrepancy in the design.
“I don’t need to tell you,” says professor Brennell, addressing the group, anxiety raising the pitch of his voice, “that this machine must be working by tomorrow.”
“Yes, that would be the idea,” says a calm, male voice from behind the small gathering.
Everyone turns with a startle to face the newcomer. The young man is slim and pale and leans nonchalantly on a cane. Jayce can’t remember his name but recognises him as Heimerdinger’s assistant. The man stares at the group with an expression in between questioning and sarcastic. Jayce knows he should probably be concerned about the Dean’s assistant catching them in the middle of a very embarrassing failure, but seeing the look on Beatrice, Dimitri and Brennell’s faces — that of a bunch of children caught stealing candies — is so satisfying it makes him forget the young man is also looking at him.
“The Dean instructed me to check that everything is properly set up for tomorrow,” says the young man. His tone is quiet and polite, but the implication doesn’t need to be spelled out.
“Viktor,” Brennell greets him with a fake smile. “I can assure you we have everything under control.”
“I see,” says Viktor, taking a few steps closer. “Mind if I take a look?”
He circles the machine, cane clicking alongside him, and ends up beside the spot where Jayce has kneeled.
“Great,” hisses Beatrice under her breath, “not the damn cripple”. Jayce is pretty sure Viktor was able to hear her, but he doesn’t react in any discernible way.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Viktor asks.
“Nothing,” says Beatrice.
“Just a tiny hiccup,” says professor Brennell.
“It won’t turn on,” says Dimitri at the same time, sweat starting to form wet stains on his uniform. Beatrice elbows him in the ribs and Jayce barely contains a chuckle.
Viktor eyes the blueprints in Jayce’s hand, then the machine, then some of the notes on the blackboard. Jayce follows his gaze and then turns back to the machinery, deep in thought. Why is the thing not working? Could it be the—
“It’s the transformer,” Viktor says. “It’s not in the correct position given the scale of the circuit and—”
“No,” Dimitri protests, “it was placed correctly according to our calculations.”
“Really, boy,” says Brennell, “we’ve got this, you can leave.”
The undergrads start whispering. Beatrice simply looks livid.
Jayce observes their faces: they are as close as they can get to being openly hostile.
Jayce has never personally spoken to Viktor, but he has heard some remarks about him being from the undercity and how unthinkable it was for Heimerdinger to choose him as his assistant. They don’t want Viktor here and they want him to know. The only thing holding them back from outright kicking him out is the Dean’s authority.
But he’s right about the machine — Jayce thinks. — He’s right and they don’t want him to be.
Viktor seems to hesitate for a moment.. If Jayce keeps quiet and lets the confrontation play out, he’ll probably leave and Jayce can fix the machine himself. He’d take credit and save the team’s face at the same time. Yes, that’s exactly what he should do...
Viktor takes a step back.
... But it’s not fair.
“Come on, professor,” Jayce says. “Let him test his theory. Surely it can’t hurt.”
Everyone, including Viktor, looks at him like he’s grown two heads.
Professor Brennell tenses before composing himself and sighing. “Very well,” he says, “but make it quick, we have work to do here.”
Viktor nods and his initial surprise is quickly replaced by a purposeful determination. He kneels — not without difficulty — right at Jayce’s side and starts working, swift and methodical. Jayce was not expecting this level of confidence from a man who, to his knowledge, had never worked on this machine before.
Jayce starts following Viktor’s movements with keen interest and Viktor’s train of thoughts becomes progressively clearer. The next time Viktor extends his hand to ask for a tool, Jayce has it ready for him before Viktor can verbalise his question. Viktor’s mouth forms a small ‘o’, before he takes the tool and continues working. After the third time, Viktor begins to simply extend his hand without a word or a look, and Jyce delivers the correct tool over and over. It’s oddly satisfying, to be so attuned to someone’s workflow.
“What the actual…” Dimitri whispers.
After around fifteen minutes of work, the automaton whirs to life with a buzz of energy and a clank of metal. The undergrads’ whispering returns, more intense than ever.
Viktor wipes his hands in his handkerchief with a cocky smile. He grabs his cane to stand up. Jayce offers him a helping hand, but Viktot doesn’t take it.
“Well,” says Viktor, smile still lingering, “it should be working now. I’m sure you can take it from here.”
Brennell, Beatrice and Dimitri are so still they might as well be made of stone. No thanks are extended. Viktor does not seem to expect them, but he still lets the silence linger uncomfortably for a few seconds. “Now, I should get going, there is plenty of work to be done,” he adds. “It was a pleasure.”
His gaze lingers on Jayce before he leaves and it’s only then that Jayce realises he’s been staring at Viktor with a wide smile on his face.
He quickly schools his expression back to neutral, but the smile keeps creeping back, even as professor Brennell spends the next half-hour berating them all for their incompetence.
He finds himself thinking about Viktor throughout the day: how his very presence seemed to make people uncomfortable, how little effort it took him to figure out a project he’d never seen before, the confidence he displayed, how natural it was for Jayce to follow his workflow.
The man had succeeded in something that hardly ever happened: he had caught Jayce’s attention.
He needs to know more about him. He ponders asking Beatrice and Dimitri for information, but Beatrice is even angrier than before and Dimitri still appears to be in shock.
That evening, Jayce goes straight to the Academy archives and looks for Viktor’s thesis.
He expects an ambitious project, a complex feat of technological genius; what he finds is a dissertation on work-related accidents and safety hazards in the undercity. Viktor presents statistics on workplace injuries and casualties and then suggests several modifications on machinery and factory structures that could have prevented them. It’s brilliant in its simplicity.
I firmly believe — he writes — that the primary purpose of progress should be to eliminate senseless pain. Science by its nature strives to make the world a better place, and what change is nobler than tackling existing human suffering that is so frequent and so easy to prevent?
Jayce thinks about his father, the real one, how he wanted to make tools that would serve people well. He probably would have liked Viktor.
Jayce doesn’t love it when his emotions get the better of him, but, in the solitude of the empty archive, he allows himself to feel a wave of affection for the young idealist from the undercity.
He spends most of the night scanning the archives for anything with Viktor’s name on it. The rest is spent tossing and turning in his bed, in a state of restless excitement.
The next day, his mind is still racing, buzzing with a sense of possibility.
The streets are busy and lively for the Progress Day celebrations and, for once, Jayce’s mood matches the atmosphere.
He keeps scanning the crowd for signs of Viktor, hoping to bump into him again. It’s halfway through the morning when he sees him approach, leaning carefully on his cane as he navigates the torrent of people. He walks by the flower-dispensing automaton and gives a soft chuckle. The mechanical arm extends to offer him a yellow daisy, which Viktor doesn’t take.
Jayce steps closer. “Come on,” he says, “I think you earned it.”
Realising he was being observed, Viktor tenses, but he seems to relax a bit, once he realises it’s Jayce. He shrugs and accepts the flower.
“I’m happy to see our friend here is doing well,” says Viktor, as he observes the automaton.
“I think the undergrad students call her Gladys,” Jayce adds.
“What a charming name,” Viktor chuckles. Jayce can’t tell whether he’s genuine or sarcastic.
He waits for Viktor to say something else, and he scrambles for a new topic of conversation — anything to keep talking — when Viktor remains silent instead.
“Are you enjoying Progress Day?” he asks.
“I’m not here for leisure,” Viktor replies. “I have to make sure all activities are proceeding as planned.”
Jayce nods. “Of course, it makes sense,” he agrees. He’s under the impression Viktor is keeping him at arm’s length and he’s unsure why. He could swear they shared a moment yesterday, a connection.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, anyway,” Jayce continues. “Progress Day, I mean.” Viktor raises an eyebrow. Jayce pushes on. “Think about it: when was the last time something truly groundbreaking was presented during Progress Day?”
Viktor frowns, but nods slightly.
“Don’t you ever think we are wasting time with this,” Jayce gestures at Gladys, “while we could be destined for greatness?”
Viktor is about to answer, when Dimitri calls out loud from behind them, where he’s handing pamphlets to the crowd. “Jayce! Jayce, it’s your turn to mind the stand.”
Jayce closes his eyes and sighs, before turning. “I’m having a conversation, Dimitri,” he spits back through gritted teeth. “Give me a minute.”
“Your turn started ten minutes ago,” he replies, “and I need a bathroom break!”
Viktor chuckles. “I’ll leave you to it, Mr Giopara,” he says, and walks away.
Jayce strides back towards the stand with pursed lips and snatches the pamphlets from Dimitri’s hands. “Congratulations, Dimitri,” he snaps. “Thank you for the mental image. Now the entire square knows you have to pee.”
Dimitri does not reply and simply scampers away, and Jayce is left to ponder what Viktor would have said if they hadn’t been interrupted.
Surely Viktor had understood what Jayce meant.
Jayce spends the rest of the day on the lookout for Viktor, but he can’t seem to find him anywhere.
He does meet the Ferros in the evening, though, as people are taking their seats for Heimerdinger’s speech: Albus striding in front as Camille trails behind him, holding onto Reggie’s arm on one side and a crutch on the other.
Jayce waves in their direction and hurries to them.
”Oh, young Giopara,” says Albus, almost bored, “I’ve heard my sister’s little project is still not ready, is it?”
Reggie gives him a look in between apologetic and ‘I told you so’. Camille’s expression is unreadable.
“Soon it will be,” Jayce quickly replies, “I promise.” Then he turns towards Reggie and Camille. “I found him,” he says, excitedly, “I found someone I like to work with.”
“Well, that was fast,” Reggie chuckles.
“And who’s the lucky man?” Camille asks.
“It’s Viktor,” he says. When nobody seems to react he adds, “Heimerdinger’s assistant.”
Albus raises an eyebrow.
“You want us to poach the assistant of the Dean of the Academy for you?” asks Reggie, very slowly.
Jayce nods. “Yes, exactly.”
“Absolutely not,” Albus chirps, “I’ve spent enough of my money on this.”
Camille removes her hand from Reggie’s arms and places it on her brother’s shoulder. “Come on, Al,” she soothes him, “if I remember correctly, the guy is an unsponsored nobody from the undercity: how much would we even need to pay him?”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” he shoots back.
“Yes,” she deadpans.
Before anyone can get another word in, a bell chimes and people are urged to their seats. Jayce moves to leave but Camille grabs him by the wrist. For a moment he can feel the bite of her carefully manicured nails into his skin.
“Don't worry, I’ll get Reggie to draft a contract for the boy,” she whispers, and Jayce grins in response. “But, Jayce,” she adds, “you need to deliver soon. Am I clear?”
Jayce gulps and nods frantically. He can’t even bring himself to be intimidated: all he can hear is he’ll get to work with Viktor. “Yes,” he answers, “of course I will. We will.”
He basically waltzes to his own seat by the Gioparas, and ignoring Ambrose’s mumbled complaints about Jayce being almost late is much easier than usual.
He tries to scan the audience again for Viktor, to no avail. Well, not too bad — he thinks — we’ll have plenty of chances to talk again.
He feels like something in his life is finally slotting into place.