Chapter Text
Jinx looked up at the massive door in front of her. The third time standing before that ugly, intimidating door. It was the kind of thing that seemed to sneer down at her, daring her to back away. But there was no turning back now. Her hand brushed against the cold silver doorknob, fingers twitching in hesitation. With a deep breath that rattled through her chest, she pushed it down. The hinges groaned, and the door swung open, revealing a long, polished hallway lined with hundreds of identical doors. Too shiny, too perfect. It smelled of wax, lavender soap, and maybe… superiority. Piltover superiority. Jinx sniffed, half in anticipation, half in nervousness, and stepped inside.
The first step was always the hardest. Piltover College was nothing like the schools back in Zaun. There, the walls were cracked, the air heavy with oil and smoke, and if something smelled too clean, you immediately suspected poison.
Here, everything gleamed. The floor tiles reflected the white ceiling lamps; the glass windows sparkled like they had just been licked by the sun itself. And the students—oh, the students. Perfectly polished Pilties, with pressed collars, gleaming shoes, and grins too wide to be genuine. Jinx could already hear their laughter echoing down the halls. It wasn’t laughter like hers—chaotic, cackling, alive. No. Their laughter was rehearsed, a perfect little melody of privilege.
She hated them. Absolutely hated them.
And yet, here she was.
She wouldn’t lie—deciding to come here hadn’t been easy. In fact, she had argued with Vi about it for weeks. She had screamed, slammed doors, thrown tools across Vander’s old workshop. She had wanted to stay far away from this world of smug, shiny perfection. But the reasons for coming had stacked up against her until even she couldn’t ignore them. Vi was also here, which meant Jinx wouldn’t be completely alone. Silco had insisted she had “untapped potential,” whispering in that strange, persuasive tone of his. And Vander… well, Vander had always believed in her. His voice was still in her head sometimes, soft but steady: You’re meant for more, Powder. Even if you don’t see it yet.
Powder. She winced at the name, even now. Jinx was who she was. Powder was gone.
Still, somehow, against her better judgment, against everything screaming inside her that this was a mistake, she had ended up here—in Piltover. In their world.
By the time she left the registrar’s office, key clutched tightly in her hand like a lifeline, she could only hope—just hope—that she would have a decent roommate. Not a Piltie, not a nerd, not a drug dealer, and ideally… not a boy. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.
Room 257. Her new home for the next semester.
The corridor stretched endlessly, a blur of identical white doors, brass knobs gleaming like they were trying too hard. Jinx squinted at the small sign outside her door, realizing she was somewhere in the middle of the 200–300 corridor. Only halfway to go. She trudged forward, sneakers squeaking faintly on the over-polished floor.
A small worry crept in—would her roommate judge her? Probably. For everything. Especially her hair. The long, neon-blue strands were impossible to ignore. People stared at her even when she wasn’t trying to draw attention. She tugged at a few strands now, wondering how many whispers would follow her today, how many eyes would roll at her “crazy” style. She told herself she didn’t care. She told herself again. And again. She didn’t care… mostly.
She was so lost in thought that she nearly passed room 259. She stopped abruptly, spinning back to face 257, the brass numbers glinting at her as if mocking her. This was it. This was her life for the next few months. Her very own space—or half of it, anyway.
The key clicked easily, and the door opened onto a standard student dorm. Standard, but Jinx had splurged—okay, begged Silco—to cover the cost of a mini-apartment setup. Private kitchen. Tiny bathroom. Small living area. The walls, though? Too plain. Too white. They were screaming for chaos, for her chaos. Spray paint. Posters. Stickers. Maybe some neon lights. Yes. She could turn this into her own little sanctuary, a world away from the sterile corridors outside.
For now, her roommate hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe they never would. That wouldn’t be the worst thing. A room all to herself? Not bad at all.
She wandered through the space, testing the bed springs with a dramatic flop. The mattress dipped dangerously under her weight, but it held. “Hah. Guess you’re tougher than you look,” she muttered to the bed. Around her, unpacked boxes sat stacked near the kitchen counter, labeled in her messy handwriting: Weapons (half-empty, just tools, really), Clothes (don’t touch), Totally Not Bomb Parts. She grinned to herself.
Vi hadn’t returned yet—still vacationing with her girlfriend. Jinx rolled her eyes at the thought. She remembered when Vi had first joined the college, she’d ended up with Caitlyn as a roommate. Their love story had been like a cliché Wattpad fanfic: endless arguments, sighing at each other, dramatic late-night confessions. Annoying as hell. But now? Now they were disgustingly happy, and Jinx couldn’t deny it. She had known Caitlyn from the start, after all. They’d been friends before Vi had fallen head-over-heels for her.
This was Jinx’s third year here—though technically, she’d skipped two grades in her first year. Vi had joined during Jinx’s second. Yes, Jinx was smart. Really smart. But ask her what she was studying? She wouldn’t have a clear answer. Physics? Math? Something with numbers and formulas. She didn’t care enough to pin it down. It was just… stuff. Stuff she was good at, whether she liked it or not.
Mr. V—or Viktor, as she called him when she wanted to push his buttons—was her professor. Or, technically, just a young teacher. Four years older, approachable, too awkward to be intimidating. More like a friend than a mentor. If it hadn’t been for Vi’s messy love life last year, Jinx probably wouldn’t have spent so much time with him and Jayce. Together, the three of them had somehow ended up scheming to push Vi and Caitlyn closer. Chaos, pure chaos. And Jinx had loved every second of it, even if she’d never admit that out loud. Watching Viktor roll his eyes while Jayce stammered through “advice” had been priceless.
She let her gaze wander over her new room again. Hopefully her roommate wouldn’t mind a little mess. Cleanliness and Jinx had never been compatible. Not in this universe, not in any universe. Already, the bathroom was chaos—makeup scattered across the counter, cotton pads tossed aside, random beauty products littered like confetti. She giggled to herself. Whoever moved in here would either love her… or absolutely hate her.
A faint sound from the corridor made her look up. Footsteps. Voices. Laughter. Someone dragging a suitcase across the polished floor. Jinx’s stomach tightened. Maybe someone else had arrived. She padded to the door, cracked it open just slightly, and peeked through.
Students bustled up and down the hall, unpacking bags, hugging friends, introducing themselves with too-bright smiles. Their voices were high, smooth, polished. Nothing like Zaun’s rough accents, the slang and grit of her people. She felt that pang again—curiosity mixed with anxiety, the kind that gnawed at her ribs. What if her roommate was one of them? A perfect Piltie? Or worse—a super-organized nerd who would line up all her socks and glare every time Jinx left crumbs on the counter?
She shook her head hard, braids whipping against her cheeks. No. She wasn’t going to spiral. This was her space. For now, it was hers. And maybe, just maybe, the semester would surprise her. Maybe it would be fun. Maybe there would be chaos. Definitely chaos.
Jinx closed the door with a snap, threw herself back onto the bed, and kicked off her shoes. The springs groaned in protest, but she didn’t care. She stared at the ceiling, tracing cracks that weren’t there. Her mind spun with possibilities. College. New semester. New people. New challenges. And… a new roommate. Whoever they were, they’d better be ready. Ready to live with her madness. Ready to survive her chaos.
A mischievous grin stretched across her face. Well, at least she’d have stories to tell. And if not? Well… she could always spray paint the walls herself.
Hehe…