Chapter Text
The soft hum of the air conditioning is the only sound accompanying Viktor in the early hours of the morning. Summer, with its oppressive heat and overwhelming silence, is drawing to a close. The changing season not only signals the arrival of cooler weather but also the start of a new academic cycle.
For most students, the campus has been little more than a distant memory during the break, replaced by days at the beach, internships, or visits home. But not for Viktor. For him, the campus is home—or at least the closest thing he has to one.
It’s not like he could expect much else. Not someone like him: a Zaunite, an orphan, disabled… He might even say he’s lucky to be where he is. Well, on second thought, calling it luck would be a disservice, almost an insult. Giving credit to luck would take it away from himself and his efforts. So no, his place here isn’t owed to chance but to himself. Because, although he’s always known his intellect would take him far, he never imagined that “far” would actually mean Piltover.
That doesn’t mean he has no right to complain.
And complain he does. The very thought of students returning today exasperates him. Summer, though solitary, has at least given him something valuable: the peace to work uninterrupted. Viktor has spent the last three months immersed in his Ph.D. research, enduring endless nights that blurred into mornings. The campus may be a gilded cage, but it’s his cage, and that’s enough for him.
Outside, the sun begins to peek over the horizon, painting the edges of the heavy curtains—kept drawn most of the time—with a golden hue. But there’s that little gap the curtains can’t quite cover, letting in a ray of light that falls directly onto his face. Viktor groans, stretching on his narrow, stiff bed as the springs creak beneath him.
He sighs, already feeling the familiar weight settle inside him at the thought of the inevitable invasion of returning students. The dorms, blessedly silent over the summer, will soon be filled with the chaos of university students laughing, shouting, and running through the hallways at all hours, like kids discovering the freedom of living away from their parents for the first time.
Dragging himself upright, he lets his legs dangle off the side of the bed. His cane rests against the nightstand, where a precarious pile of papers threatens to topple. He grabs the cane, feeling the cold metal anchoring him as he forces himself to stand. When the stack of papers collapses from the movement, he doesn’t even glance back.
He shuffles forward with the clumsiness of someone newly awake, yawning as he opens the bathroom door.
The mirror does him no favors. The reflection staring back at him is as disastrous as ever: dark circles under his eyes, sunken cheeks, and those messy strands of hair caught somewhere between deliberate disarray and the aftermath of a night fighting with his pillow. Viktor grumbles, groping for his toothbrush while avoiding another glance at his reflection.
The fluorescent bathroom light flickers faintly, emitting a soft hum that would go unnoticed by most, but not by him. That kind of detail irritates him more than it should. As he brushes his teeth, his mind begins to wander—something that’s been happening more often lately.
The summer was productive, or so he likes to think. He had planned to complete two papers for publication. One is ready, yes, but the other is a mess of disconnected ideas and experiments that led nowhere. He could blame a lack of resources or faulty equipment, but that would be a complete lie considering he’s in Piltover; resources are more than abundant. The truth is that his body has failed him as much as his old and weathered tools. The pain in his leg, a constant companion, has worsened, reappearing reliably whenever he pushes himself too hard.
He spits into the sink, rinsing his mouth with cold water. The relief is fleeting. As if summoned by his irritation, his phone vibrates on the counter. Viktor reaches for it with the same reluctance he approaches most notifications, frowning as he sees the name on the screen: Professor Heimerdinger.
The message is as brief as the professor can get:
“Good morning, boy! Happy start of the week. Please come to my office at 9 a.m. to review important updates about the semester. I’ll be waiting!
And if you can, bring some of those exquisite pastries from the café. I haven’t had any all summer. Thanks!”
He sighs, setting the phone aside. Glancing at the clock, he sees it’s just past seven. Two hours seems like plenty of time, but the thought of venturing onto a campus bustling with students on move-in day… well, it’s far from appealing for someone like him.
Without enthusiasm, he drags himself through the rest of his morning routine, executing each movement with the mechanical efficiency of someone on autopilot. He showers, gets dressed, and ensures his essentials are packed in his briefcase. He feeds Rio, his axolotl, and finally adjusts his cane before pausing momentarily by the window, opening it to let some air into his room.
Viktor closes his eyes briefly, as if gathering strength from nowhere, then finally turns away. Taking a deep breath, he adjusts the strap of briefcase over his shoulder and, with more resignation than enthusiasm, steps out into the day.
The change in atmosphere hits him immediately as he exits the building.
Outside, the campus is already waking up. The sound of suitcases rolling along the sidewalks and the excited voices of students confirms it. The path connecting to the student center is far more crowded than he expected. Entire families haul boxes, small furniture, and bags, while nervous but excited first-years try to find their bearings.
He walks slowly, avoiding the crowded groups with calculated movements, his expression unbothered by the chaos around him, keeping a steady pace toward the café. Unfortunately for him, people stop him along the way, asking for directions—apparently, he has that know-it-all face wherever he goes. Still, he responds kindly to their questions.
When he finally enters the café, the situation doesn’t improve. It’s packed, much more than he expected at this hour. Conversations overlap into a constant hum that fills every corner of the space.
It takes him about ten minutes before his order is taken. He steps aside to wait for his name to be called, but it doesn’t take long for the noise to become overwhelming. Digging into his pocket, he pulls out his earbuds and places them in his ears, the cacophony fading into a distant echo. His shoulders relax as the soft melody of old-school rock begins to flow, and he sighs in relief.
Feeling calmer now, his eyes wander around the café as he waits for his order. Parents help their children balance trays, nervous freshmen fumble awkwardly, and others move with the ease of familiarity that marks them as seasoned students. Viktor observes them all with detached curiosity, not truly engaging with anyone or anything.
Until he sees him.
Near a table in the back of the café, a man stands out among the crowd. He’s tall—so tall that it’s obvious even while he’s seated. His broad shoulders make the T-shirt he’s wearing look a little too tight. His short, dark brown hair is casually styled back. Under the sunlight streaming through the large window beside him, his tan skin glows.
He speaks animatedly, using wide gestures as he talks to an older woman whose features bear a striking resemblance to his. His mother, probably.
Viktor finds himself staring longer than he intends to. There’s something magnetic about the way the man laughs, tilting his head to the side before returning his attention to his companion with a warm gaze. And maybe, just maybe, considering the view… it wouldn’t be so bad if everyone came back to campus, or so Viktor thinks, as a faint smile curves his lips.
Shaking his head to clear those thoughts, he looks down at his phone, scrolling through news and articles on his feed. He’s just beginning to enjoy the respite the music brings when he feels a light impact at his side, rough enough to make him stumble. His phone slips from his hands and hits the floor with a dull thud.
For a moment, Viktor’s heart clenches, worried about potential damage. His leg makes it difficult to bend down quickly, and just as he tries to lean over, a quicker hand beats him to it.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” says a deep, warm, slightly breathless voice.
Viktor blinks, confused, and when he looks up, he sees the very same man he had been watching.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t care at all. But it’s hard to ignore the flush creeping up his face when, not five minutes ago, he was admiring the man’s obvious appeal.
He clears his throat, unaware of the grimace crossing his face. “It’s nothing,” Viktor replies curtly, adjusting the earbud that almost fell out.
The man smiles as he hands the phone back to Viktor, who quickly takes it. He inspects it for any visible damage or new cracks on the already battered screen. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be anything new. Relieved, he sighs, but when he looks up again, he flinches at the realization that the man is still there. Watching him. Smiling.
“Crowded in here, huh?” the man says, lowering his hands but keeping his gaze fixed on Viktor. “Move-in day and all… places like this always make me clumsy. The noise, the people… ugh.”
Viktor blinks, a flash of understanding sparking within him. Though he’d rather avoid small talk, he decides to reply.
“Tell me about it...” Viktor glances at the counter, silently begging for his name to be called.
The man’s smile widens, softening his strong features and, much to Viktor’s dismay, making him even more attractive. Viktor looks back down at his phone, willing the interaction to end, but the stranger doesn’t seem to take the hint.
The silence stretches a moment longer than comfortable, and Viktor feels the man’s eyes still on him. Finally, he risks a sidelong glance, noticing how the man’s expression shifts to one of mild confusion, as if trying to remember something.
“You come here often?” the man asks, slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning slightly toward Viktor, his posture relaxed and curious.
“No, not really. I don’t drink coffee,” Viktor replies, resigning himself to the conversation. “I just came because my advisor loves their pastries.”
The man chuckles softly, as though amused by Viktor’s attitude. “An engineer who doesn’t drink coffee? How do you even manage?”
Viktor looks directly at him for the first time, frowning in confusion. The man seems to realize his mistake and grimaces awkwardly.
“How do you know I’m—?”
Before Viktor can finish, his name cuts through the moment.
“Viktor!”
He blinks, shaken from his trance, and turns toward the call. The cashier gestures impatiently to his order. Viktor nods quickly and, with one last puzzled glance at the taller man, heads to pick it up.
Grabbing the small box, still a bit bewildered, he turns to leave. The man smiles as he passes, as if hoping to continue the conversation, but Viktor avoids making eye contact, clearly still thrown off and even slightly flustered.
As he steps out the door, he can still feel the man’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t dare look back.
A few minutes later, he pauses mid-step, the strange prickling of the encounter still bothering him. He tries to search his memory, but it doesn’t help that he’s terrible at recalling faces and people. Still…
Why does he feel like he’s seen him somewhere before?
The walk from the café to Heimerdinger’s office feels longer than usual—and it probably is, considering Viktor has to balance the small box of pastries in one hand. Or maybe it’s the anticipation of what lies ahead.
He keeps his head down, the steady tap of his cane marking time against the pavement. When he finally reaches the engineering building, the crowds have thinned considerably, replaced by the familiar hum of fluorescent lights, machinery from the various labs, and the faint smell of oil and metal wafting through the air.
Heimerdinger’s office, tucked into a corner of the third floor accessible by elevator, is already ajar when Viktor arrives. He pauses briefly before knocking softly on the doorframe—a habit born more out of respect for the professor than any real need to announce himself by now. “Cecil B. Heimerdinger” is engraved on the metal nameplate affixed to the wood.
“Ah, Viktor, right on time!” Heimerdinger’s voice is as warm and boundlessly energetic as ever. The small yordle is perched on a stool behind his cluttered desk, surrounded by what could only be described as a mountain of papers and prototypes.
Heimerdinger’s office is a chaos of curiosities. The shelves groan under the weight of books, most of which seem older than the professor himself. Gadgets and half-finished prototypes litter every available surface—some in pristine condition, others long forgotten. His tiny figure nearly disappears into the clutter, but his bright, sharp eyes shine through with a clarity that reminds Viktor why he admires—and sometimes resents—the man.
“Professor,” Viktor greets as he steps inside, letting the door close with a soft click behind him. “Apologies for the delay. The café was busier than I expected.”
“Ah, no worries, lad, no worries!” Heimerdinger exclaims, turning to him with a smile as wide as his mustache. “Did you bring the pastries?”
Viktor nods, lifting the small cardboard box he had carefully carried all the way there. No sooner does he place it on the desk than Heimerdinger eagerly opens it, his eyes lighting up with childlike delight as he inspects the contents. Viktor can’t help but let the corners of his lips curve upward slightly.
“Marvelous!” Heimerdinger declares, delicately picking up one of the pastries as though it were a priceless artifact. He takes a generous bite, closing his eyes momentarily, clearly savoring the texture and flavor. “Hmm, perfect as always,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Viktor, before taking another bite. “Take a seat, lad,” he says finally, gesturing vaguely to the only chair in the room not buried under a pile of books.
Viktor sits carefully, resting his cane against the side of the desk.
“C’mon boy, take one. I know you love them as much as I do” Heimerdinger insists, signaling the box.
Viktor sighs, not being able to deny something so obvious considering the way he had been eyeing the pastries on his walk here. And so he takes one, biting onto it and suddenly remembering this is actually his breakfast.
Heimerdinger, still enjoying the pastry, begins sifting through a pile of papers in search of something important.
“Now then, Viktor, you’ve had quite a productive summer, haven’t you? I’ve reviewed the draft of your latest paper—fascinating work, truly. But…” He leans forward slightly. “I’m concerned you’re isolating yourself too much.”
Viktor raises an eyebrow, then smirks softly.
“Isolating? Surely you’re not suggesting this just because I didn’t leave during the summer. Besides, you know I work best alone.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you do,” Heimerdinger replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But academia isn’t just about what you know; it’s about who you know. Teamwork, collaboration, the exchange of ideas—all of that is vital for someone like you, especially at a university as prestigious as Piltover’s.”
Viktor frowns, sensing where this is going.
“I fail to see how this relates to your message.”
The professor’s smile turns sly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“I’ve taken the liberty of enrolling you in one of my advanced classes this semester.”
Viktor blinks.
“You’ve done what?”
“It’s an interdisciplinary workshop designed for second- and third-year students, focused on practical applications and team projects,” Heimerdinger explains, ignoring Viktor’s incredulous tone as he takes another nibble of his pastry. “I considered simply naming you a teaching assistant again. But I think someone like you would gain far more from taking the course.”
Viktor leans back in the chair, crossing his arms.
“Professor, with all due respect, don’t you think it’s a bit late for that? I’m already in my fourth year.”
“Of your engineering degree, lad. Don’t forget, your program was designed for you to continue seamlessly into your master’s and doctorate. You’ve got at least five more years ahead of you.”
“Perhaps, but this class has no relevance to my field,” Viktor counters, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
“Which is precisely why it’s relevant,” Heimerdinger counters, his sharp voice firm but laced with patience. “You’ve reached a point where your expertise surpasses that of many of your peers, yes. But that doesn’t exempt you from the value of collaboration. You’ll gain insights that may prove invaluable to your goals, and I have no doubt you’ll bring a unique perspective to the class.”
Viktor sighs, drumming his fingers on the armrest.
“Unique? Perhaps. But I can’t shake the feeling I’ll be wasting time on introductory material.”
“Don’t underestimate the class, Viktor.” Heimerdinger leans back in his chair, intertwining his fingers in front of him. “Some of the greatest minds began with what seemed like ‘basic’ exercises. And it’s not just the projects—you’ll interact with peers from other disciplines. Mechanical engineers, physicists, even aspiring entrepreneurs. Those connections will serve you well in the long run.”
Viktor rolls his eyes almost imperceptibly and leans forward slightly.
“Are you suggesting that networking is more important than actual research?”
"I'm saying they're not mutually exclusive," Heimerdinger replies with a slight smile, as if he had anticipated Viktor's skepticism. "Consider this an opportunity to grow in ways you might not have foreseen. Besides," he adds, his tone lighter as he takes another cupcake, "I could hardly run the course without my best student."
Viktor exhales a dry laugh, more out of incredulity than humor. "And what if I'm not as good as you think, Professor?"
Heimerdinger tilts his head, regarding him with something bordering on fondness. "Viktor, modesty is an admirable trait, but you're certainly far from possessing it at this point."
Viktor shifts uncomfortably in his chair, glancing at the cluttered desk as though searching for a reasonable excuse. Before he can respond, Heimerdinger meets his gaze with a mix of sternness and affection.
"Besides, it wouldn’t hurt you to make some new friends, boy."
Viktor frowns, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. "So that’s what this is about? You want me to make friends?" He lets out a muted laugh. "The ones I have are more than enough, trust me."
"The Zaun couple?" Heimerdinger asks, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, of course—exceptionally bright lads like yourself. But considering the distance, I doubt you see them often."
"I can manage," Viktor replies dryly, though he averts his gaze, clearly trying to end the topic quickly.
The professor tilts his head as if pondering something else, then adds casually, though with a glint of mischief in his eyes:
"And perhaps a boyfriend?"
Viktor, who had been idly scanning one of the papers on the desk, crushes it in surprise, his head snapping up.
"A what?" he stammers, his voice louder than usual.
"A boyfriend, lad," Heimerdinger repeats as casually as if he were suggesting a new formula for a project. "That’s still on the table, isn’t it?"
Viktor feels the heat rush to his face, almost as if a spotlight were fixed on him. He struggles to process what he's hearing, vividly recalling the awkward moment months ago when he finally admitted that he wasn’t interested in the "girlfriends" the professor had always inquired about. Now, that same hard-won frankness seems to be turning against him.
He groans, covering his face with his hand.
"Did you bring me here just to tell me how lonely I look?" he manages at last, with a dry cough, trying to regain some composure.
Heimerdinger merely smiles, his mustache quivering slightly, clearly amused by his student’s reaction.
"Oh, don’t take it that way, lad. I’m just saying a bit of companionship wouldn’t hurt. It’s healthy."
"I’m perfectly fine as I am, sir. I don’t need more friends, let alone a boyfriend," Viktor retorts, though he can’t quite keep the nervous edge out of his voice as he avoids the professor’s gaze.
The professor observes him for another moment, leaning back with a smile that suggests he won’t press the matter... for now.
"Very well, very well. I won’t say more." He pauses, letting the silence settle before adding in an even lighter tone, "But do consider it. You never know what doors might open when you allow a bit of companionship into your life. There’s more to life than just study, lad."
Viktor sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Can we talk about the course, please?" he mutters, desperate to change the subject.
"Alright, alright," Heimerdinger says, raising his hands in a gesture of peace, though his smile remains mischievous.
The professor takes another bite of his cupcake before rummaging through the clutter on his desk, leaving Viktor in silence, mortified and slightly flushed from the professor’s intervention.
Heimerdinger pulls a small notebook from the mess on his desk, flipping through its pages with practiced precision.
"This semester, the course focuses on interdisciplinary collaboration. The goal is for students to design, prototype, and present a practical solution to a real-world problem. Project topics range from sustainable energy to medical devices, depending on each group's chosen field."
Viktor raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a small, sarcastic smile.
"Sounds like something straight out of an admissions brochure."
Heimerdinger chuckles softly, amused by the remark.
"You might be right, but that doesn’t diminish the course’s purpose."
"A commendable purpose, I suppose," Viktor admits with a shrug, "though I imagine many of the ideas will remain superficial."
"And that’s precisely why I’ve enlisted your expertise," Heimerdinger replies, peering over his glasses with a mix of affection and expectation. "Your role as a teaching assistant will allow you to guide students toward more refined approaches." The professor leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and adds in a tone Viktor finds alarmingly casual: "However, as a participant, I expect you to fully engage with your assigned partner."
Viktor frowns slightly, his expression turning more inquisitive.
"‘Assigned partner’? Can’t I work alone?"
"Absolutely not. The course emphasizes teamwork for a reason, lad," Heimerdinger says, satisfied, as he pulls a sheet of paper from his notebook and slides it toward Viktor.
"These are the final group assignments."
Viktor scans the list, his sharp eyes moving from name to name. He recognizes a few: students he had tutored or encountered in previous classes he had assisted. Heimerdinger reclines in his chair, clasping his small hands as he watches Viktor’s reaction to each name.
Viktor continues reading, nodding here and there, offering brief but incisive observations about several pairs. His comments are sharp, occasionally harsh, but always accurate. The professor strokes his mustache as he studies Viktor’s responses: first indifference, then slight exasperation, and finally a stillness that can only be described as disbelief.
The professor leans slightly over the desk, following Viktor’s gaze, which has frozen on a name near the bottom of the list.
Viktor Jelinek — Jayce Talis.
Viktor's brow furrows slightly, his lips curving into a subtle grimace.
"Jayce Talis," Viktor murmurs, tasting the name as if it were an enigma, the syllables lingering on his tongue like a half-formed puzzle. His gaze sharpens, his voice tinged with mild confusion. "Isn't he the captain of the hockey team?"
Heimerdinger beams, entirely unbothered by the uncertainty in Viktor's tone.
"Exactly! Quite the standout player, I must say. His star performances and leadership earned him the captaincy last year."
Viktor's expression hardens, clutching the paper as though it were to blame for this unpleasant twist of events.
"You’ve paired me with him?" His voice carries a clear note of disbelief, as if bracing for the worst.
Heimerdinger’s smile only broadens.
"A most suitable match, wouldn’t you agree? He’s an impressive young man, both on and off the ice."
Viktor looks up, frowning even more deeply.
"Impressive, perhaps, if one measures standards by physical effort rather than academic rigor," Viktor retorts sharply. "I fail to see why I should burden myself with an athlete pretending to be an engineer."
Heimerdinger lets out a soft chuckle.
"Now, now, Viktor. That’s not fair. Jayce is far from 'pretending'. He’s an exceptionally bright student with a knack for solving problems creatively. His projects often push boundaries in exciting ways."
"Pushing boundaries," Viktor repeats, his voice laced with skepticism. "That usually leads to reckless behavior, professor. And I’m not interested in dealing with the disasters of someone who acts before thinking—and who probably has a brain rattled beyond repair at this point."
"And precisely why I chose him for you," Heimerdinger replies calmly, his smile turning sly. "You have a habit of staying in your comfort zone. This will challenge you in ways you don’t expect. And I believe it will be a rewarding experience for both of you. Your structured approach will temper his impulsiveness, creating a dynamic partnership."
Viktor remains still, glaring once more at the now slightly crumpled paper in his hands. His mouth tightens, signaling his continued displeasure at the news. Heimerdinger notices and sighs.
"Think of it as an exercise in trust," Heimerdinger adds, his tone becoming more conciliatory. "You might be surprised, Viktor. Jayce is more than he appears. His commitment to excellence mirrors your own, even if his methods differ."
Viktor exhales sharply, gripping the paper tighter.
"If he’s as brilliant as you claim, why does his reputation precede him as reckless rather than reliable?"
"Let’s just say Jayce tends to act on instinct, which sometimes leads to... unconventional results." The professor's eyes gleam as he leans forward, resting his small hands on the desk. "But you and I both know that passion is often at the heart of that. Sure, his methods may be unconventional, but that’s precisely why I’ve paired you together."
Viktor raises an eyebrow, his tone growing more cutting.
"To play babysitter?"
Heimerdinger laughs softly.
"To balance each other out. Jayce will benefit from your methodical approach, and you, Viktor, might find value in his ingenuity. Collaboration, my boy, is the cornerstone of progress."
Viktor remains silent, his mind racing. He didn’t trust Heimerdinger's optimism, but the professor’s faith in Jayce seemed unshakeable. Finally, Viktor meets the professor's gaze for a moment before sighing and leaning back in his chair.
"Fine. I’ll work with him. But don’t expect me to lower my standards for the sake of 'collaboration.'"
"Of course not," Heimerdinger nods. "But I encourage you to approach this with an open mind. You may find that Jayce Talis is exactly the kind of partner you need."
Viktor resists the urge to scoff. Instead, he tucks the name away in his memory, his thoughts racing.
"Anything else, professor?" Viktor asks curtly.
Heimerdinger clasps his hands together, his expression serene.
"That will be all for now, my boy. Don’t forget to review the course notes." The yordle finishes his second pastry, chewing for a moment before adding, "And don’t forget to send me the bill."
With a brief nod, Viktor rises, his cane tapping against the floor as he makes his way to the door.
"Oh, and Viktor?"
He turns, curious. The yordle gives him a look, slightly pained yet affectionate.
"Don’t overdo it, boy. You’re limping more than usual."
Viktor grimaces slightly but only nods before leaving.
Outside, the name Jayce Talis lingers in his mind like an unwelcome guest.
How intelligent and resourceful could the hockey captain possibly be? Viktor couldn’t imagine anyone who dedicated so much time to such a brutal sport possessing the tools to impress even Heimerdinger. Part of him wanted to trust the professor's words—logic dictated he should—but the infamy of Jayce's impulsiveness still set off alarm bells.
Well, that and Viktor’s long list of experiences with brainless athletes who only got into Piltover University on sports scholarships and daddy’s money.
Potential or not, Viktor had no interest in courting disaster. He couldn’t afford to.
Still, a small part of him—the part that thrived on challenges—couldn’t help but wander into curiosity.
Perhaps Jinx could offer some perspective. If anyone knew everything about Piltover's hockey team, it would be her sister, Vi.