Chapter Text
𝘖𝘯𝘦, 𝘵𝘸𝘰, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦, 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳. 𝘛𝘸𝘰, 𝘵𝘸𝘰, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦, 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳.
The only sound audible in the room was the rhythmic tapping of the Virtuoso’s fingers against the wooden desk, himself deep in thought over the events of the past two days. At the behest of the Ionian Cabal, he had arrived in Piltover to orchestrate a performance for several statesmen who they suspected had ties with the Noxian military, responsible for the invasion of his homeland. His mind painted a landscape of lush green plains barely graced by a human foot, of cities populated with asymmetric buildings where art found a refuge, and of lakes with lotuses floating over the rippling surface of the water.
Khada Jhin tried to shrug off the thought of his home and the flowers he held a deep adoration for - the last thing he needed right now was a mental image that could make his concentration falter, especially after the failure of yesterday’s performance. While he was growing up, being Ionian had never been a major part of his identity, yet it was his homeland that gave him the first touch to the fine arts, to the compulsion he could not resist.
Jhin stood up and paced pensively around the study. His strive for perfection didn’t let the image of his performance not turning out the way he wanted it, leave his mind. It was only on rare occasions that the Virtuoso was frustrated, for it would get in the way of his work, but this time he was rather confused by the circumstances that had led his strategy astray. Still, he reminded himself, the plan hadn’t failed completely, the Cabal had simply underestimated the capabilities of a magically reinforced mind as Ionia didn’t put great value on the advancement of using magic; however, the artist was not content with his performance. Determined to achieve his flawless standard on the blank canvas that the four Piltovan enforcers were for him, Jhin’s thoughts trailed off to the convoluted plans he was developing for their final performances.
Regaining his focus, the Virtuoso closed his eyes and once again looked for the gaps in his plan. His was an unwavering, brilliant mind, and it wasn’t often that he would make a mistake or miss a target. He would never step out on stage if the performance wasn’t polished until the last detail, if he hadn’t predicted the outcome of every possible turn of events. Yet, yesterday he had found himself forced to reach for his paintbrush earlier than he thought, and even then, he made sure his art wasn’t left unnoticed. Purposefully missing three shots and patiently waiting for his target to leap at him from the chandelier, he saved the fourth bullet for a worthy opponent, the cunning intelligencer Camille Ferros of Piltover.
Of course, Jhin wasn’t one to end his performance abruptly and without honoring his opponent. As he took an elegant bow, however, a single gunshot rattled the quiet theater and before he knew it, the cyborg lady lay at his feet in an unnatural, twisted position. Jhin’s first reaction was dismay; the way he’d planned to make her beautiful had been derailed, the amateur performance was all but a work of art and his perfectly planned execution was now tainted with rough edges and unfitting colors. It was only after he recovered from his initial frustration that he looked around his surroundings for the perpetrator who dared challenge his work. It was doubtful that anyone could be as invisible as he was; he had even planned his escape through a staircase beneath the stage located under the piano his fingers had just danced over, but even a second look around the empty building didn’t grant him vision of the elusive marksman.