Chapter Text
Viktor stood in the shabby gymnasium of Zaun Central High, fingers tight around the handle of his cane. Above him, cheap fluorescents throbbed with a bright, yellow glow, flickering in and out over his head. Low-quality folding chairs sat scattered across the floor in front of the temporary stage, filled with family members and friends of the soon-to-be graduates. Viktor nearly couldn’t wait to get out of this dump. High school was hell. That was basic knowledge to anyone who had ever attended the godforsaken place, but it was especial for a scrawny, disabled science nerd like Viktor.
His eyes scanned the crowd, though it wasn’t like they had any reason to. His parents remained nowhere to be seen. As expected. He didn't blame them, of course. He didn't want to be here either.
He wore a typical dark-green gown and cap that his thin frame practically drowned in—“one size fits all” nonsense. If it were his choice, he wouldn’t have worn it at all. Underneath, he had on his one nice button-up: dark charcoal, collar slightly faded from aggressive hand-washing that still didn’t seem to get the stains out.
“Ahem,” the senior-class advisor on stage cleared her throat. “Our next speaker is this year’s valedictorian…” She adjusted her reading glasses, squinting at the crumpled index card in her hand. “Viktor.” She stepped aside as Viktor approached, his cane tapping rhythmically across the stage. He took her place behind the podium, pausing to think for a moment before he began.
Valedictorian.
Viktor supposed he should have been proud of himself for earning the title. But he wasn’t—not really. And he hadn’t exactly slaved over his speech; he’d written a quick draft during lunch and decided that was good enough. This was nothing more than high school, after all. Only the simple start. Soon he would be at Piltover Academy with a full-coverage scholarship, earning his degree in physics and electrical engineering—something none of his less-than-fellow students at ZCH could say for themselves.
He adjusted the microphone downward a smidge, cleared his throat lightly, and began.
“Good evening. Principal Myros, faculty, parents, and—others.
You have fulfilled your contractual and biological duties admirably. My thanks to you are both sincere and final.
To the faculty: you provided the scaffolding.
To the parents: you supplied the financial support.
And to my classmates: we shared oxygen for four years.
As for me, the future lies elsewhere. In eight weeks I will be at Piltover Academy.”
Multiple sounds of disgust rose from the primarily Zaunite audience.
“Congratulations on your survival,” Viktor continued, “I wish you all the best.”
The microphone squealed as he stepped back. The applause that followed was awkward and scarce, but Viktor didn’t stop to listen. He left the stage briskly and sat in the senior section of the front row.
An hour later, when the principal finally reached the Vs, Viktor climbed the three steps again. He took the empty diploma cover without pausing and, once he had returned his cap and gown, kept walking straight out the side exit.
It was over. He was done.
About time.
The thin metal door clanged shut behind him, muffling the cheers inside. Viktor didn’t falter in his speed. He followed the cracked, lichen-mottled sidewalk past the chain-link fence and the idling buses until he reached the pedestrian bridge that crossed over to Piltover—The Bridge of Progress—the one place in Zaun where the air tasted almost clean, probably because it technically wasn’t actual Zaun territory.
He stopped short at the railing, cane planted, empty diploma cover tucked beneath his arm. Across the water, Piltover’s towers rose sharp and golden against the evening haze.
Eight weeks.
He stared until the first streetlights flickered on, signaling the time. Then he turned away and limped toward the bus stop without another glance.
“Smile!”
The photographer grinned at Jayce from behind the camera, snapping what was probably the twelfth picture in the past ten minutes. Jayce managed a small polite smile despite the ache in his cheeks, squinting as the camera flashed him with bright light.
“Oh, my heart.” Ximena clasped her hands together over her chest, eyes glimmering with unshed tears of pride as she watched her baby grow up in front of her.
“This again,” Jayce rolled his eyes affectionately at the return of his mother's tears.
“Let’s get one with the cap!” The photographer prepared to take another photo, before Jayce interrupted him.
“No no,” Jayce smiled politely as he stood up, “I think we’ve got enough pictures now.”
His graduation outfit was exactly what one would expect from a Piltovan. And then some. The gown itself was a crisp, ivory-white satin with a rich sheen, a nice contrast against the deep navy stole overtop. Heavy gold piping ran along every edge: the wide sleeves, the upright collar, the front closure, and the sweeping hem. Around his neck hung the valedictorian medal—large, weighty, and circular, suspended from a ribbon of matching navy blue. It probably weighed a literal pound.
As he got up, he turned and immediately was met by the sight of many people whom he didn't know swarm him. An old woman with graying hair and a warm smile hugged him tightly. “Oh, you've grown up so fast!”
Jayce returned the hug stiffly, looking at his mother and mouthing, “who is she?” Ximena chuckled, but didn't have time to answer before a middle aged man in a suit, the home ec teacher, went to shake Jayce's hand just as he had managed to escape the chokehold of an embrace.
“It was wonderful getting to know you, Jayce. You're a very capable young man, and an excellent cook. I taught you well,” he praised as he shook Jayce’s hand with a firm grip.
(Jayce barely knew how to make scrambled eggs.) He nodded, returning the handshake with less than equal fervor. “Means a lot from you, Mr. Laurence.”
So many voices, and all at once. At least sixty percent of them talking to Jayce alone. The warm shining lights above them seemed too bright now. It was overwhelming. Jayce looked at Ximena. “I’m gonna go get some air, Mom.” Jayce told her, before leaving toward the balcony.
He opened the glass door and stepped outside, the refreshing and cool summer wind tousling his dark brown hair. He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, before approaching the railing. His hands grasped it firmly and he leaned forward, lost in the various thoughts swimming around in his head. Some of them more insistent than others. Thoughts of his future, and where he planned on going from here.
From the balcony, he could see Piltover Academy in the distance: the glass domed ceiling of the environmental science building, the tall gold arches of the main entrance, and the towering white spires that emerged from the corners of the main rooftop. Everything looked so pristine, and perfect. Just like the rest of the city.
Beyond the river at the edge of the skyline, Zaun's haze peeked out. Musky, and bleak. A sharp and striking contrast against the bright clear sky of Piltover. It wasn't too bad, over there. At least in the part of Zaun that Jayce had been to, just past The Bridge of Progress. Not quite down into the deep valleys and mines that were actually underground, below Piltover.
Jayce’s index finger tapped against the balcony railing like a metronome.
Where am I going from here?
There it was. That was the one. The thought that kept pestering him. Popping into his mind over and over again throughout the entire day. Nagging him like an incessant itch. Jayce knew he would be going to Piltover Academy, but what about after that? Best case scenario he'd double major and get his masters in mechanical engineering and material science, but then what? What did he actually plan on doing with his life?
He shifted, resting his forearms on the railing and leaning down, his forehead pressing against the cold metal.
Eight weeks.
The balcony door creaked open behind him. His mother’s head peeped in. “People are waiting for you, my heart.”
Jayce opened one eye, looking back at her. He straightened himself, running a hand through his hair and forcing a small smile. “I'm coming.”
September had finally arrived, but nothing about it felt like the fresh start Viktor had imagined it would. He was assigned a single dorm room on the fifth story and forced to argue with the housing office for thirty minutes just to convince them that he was better suited to a lower floor. “If you’re ambulatory, I don’t see a problem,” they said. When he finally did get his new dorm on the lowest possible floor they could give him (which was still two floors up), he was displeased to see that it contained a standard-issue loft bed six feet off the ground, with a ladder. He had to have another long talk just to explain how he was physically incapable of climbing a ladder. He slept on a mattress on the floor for three days before he was finally given a new bed. Overall, it was a hellish experience.
But all of that had ended. Viktor stood in front of one of the university classrooms and stared down at the single line on his schedule that decided the next nine months of his life.
PHYS 202H – Honors Analytical Mechanics & Lab
Prof. Heimerdinger, Cecil
MWF 9:10 a.m. + Th 7–10 p.m.
Lecture Hall A-1
202H. The weed-out class. However, Viktor didn't feel worried, barely giving the paper a second glance as he entered the classroom.
Immediately, Viktor felt like a fish out of water.
He essentially was one: a disabled Zaunite surrounded by tall, tanned Piltovans. He stood out worse than a sore thumb. He scanned the lecture hall, deciding where to sit. In the second-to-back row on the left, a blond with glasses had sprawled notebooks and supplies across three seats, claiming territory. On the right side, third row from the front, three friends laughed loudly over something the girl in the middle had said. And in the second row, up front on the left, a tall dark-haired boy with a fit build sat with an eager expression. A bit too eager for Viktor.
Eventually, he made his decision and limped toward the middle row on the right-hand side.
As he pulled his textbook out of his bag, he saw a small Yordle walk in front of the whiteboard and start writing down the things they would go over in class. Professor Heimerdinger; inventor, Piltover council member, and teacher, apparently. Viktor almost felt nervous to be one of his pupils. Almost being a key word.
As all the students finished settling into their seats, Heimerdinger climbed up onto a small footstool and cleared his throat. “Hello everyone,” he greeted with a mix of cheerfulness and professionalism. “My name is Professor Heimerdinger, and I'll be your teacher this semester. Some new faces, I see. I'm very eager to get to know you all.”
“Before we get started, working with other people will be quite important for a large part of this class. So before we begin we're going to establish lab partners,” students began to look at their friends before Heimerdinger continued, “you will be assigned a partner based on your skills, and theirs. Some of you may be better at different things than others, theory versus application, etcetera. That should be utilized. You should learn from your partner, not try to compete with them.” Heimerdinger explained, before he picked a notepad up off the table and began to read out the names listed.
“Loretta Parrish and Hazel Craine,
Kristall Hiems and Evelia Whitmore,
Ana Ellsworth and River Caldwell,
Thomas Winters and Amaya Beckett,”
Partners?
Viktor internally groaned. That's all he needed. Somebody to slow him down. He knew that was a bit narcissistic of him to think, but that didn't make it any less true in his mind. He was no religious man, but prayed that there would be an uneven amount of people.
“Derek Montrose and Luis Rockwell,
Eren Reed and Joseph Blair,”
But since the world could never be that great,
“Jayce Talis and Viktor…” Heimerdinger paused, squinting at the entry. “... Viktor.”
Damn it.
Viktor sighed and stood up, looking around the classroom for whoever this Talis person was, but wasn't able to tell who was who through the crowd of people also trying to find their partners.
Then, he heard a voice from behind him.
“Excuse me? Are you Viktor?”
Turning around, he saw the eager boy from before. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with warm eyes and a kind, slightly nervous expression. Of course Viktor was paired with him. They saw a cripple and thought “pair him with the six foot tall gym bro, that'll balance it out”.
Great.
“Excuse me? Are you Viktor?”
Jayce asked the student standing in front of him, back toward Jayce. The student slowly turned around, staring at him. He was shorter than Jayce, pale, with a sharp jawline and amber colored eyes that seemed to focus on him, like they were calculating Jayce's future and finding it lacking.
“Yes. I presume you're Jayce Talis?” the student, Viktor, replied. Jayce was surprised by his thick, Eastern European accent, spoken slowly with enunciation to every individual vowel, making Jayce’s voice in comparison sound too loud and cheerful.
“Yeah. It's nice to meet you, partner.” Jayce replied with a friendly smile.
He knows I mean partner like lab partner, right? Science. Experiments. ’Cause we’re lab partners. Not like, “Great horny toads, pardner! Them mangy heifers—” right? God, why the hell did I say “partner”? I don’t even say “partner”. Ever.
He held his hand out toward Viktor out of pure reflex, immediately regretting it but not taking it back. Viktor's gaze flicked down to Jayce's outstretched hand, then back up at him. Then, he shook it with indifference. “Indeed.”
“You want to—” Jayce pointed his thumb back toward his seat. Viktor nodded, picking his bag up off his seat and swinging the strap over his shoulder. A classic, leather, briefcase bag. Most likely his father's. A bit beat up due to its age, but still functional. Jayce walked back to his seat in the second to front row, Viktor beside him. He slowed his speed down a bit so as not to outpace him. He stepped to the side, letting Viktor slide into the seat beside his, before settling down next to him. “What are you here for?” he asked in an attempt to break down the tension.
“Physics and electrical engineering.” Viktor replied, not looking away from Heimerdinger and the whiteboard. “And you?” He asked, finally looking at Jayce.
“Also double majoring. Mechanical engineering and material science.” Jayce answered. “What high school did you go to?”
Viktor looked like he was about to respond with something dry and vague, but didn't get the chance to do so as Heimerdinger then began speaking.
“Now that you've all located your partners, why don't we play a bit of trivia before we start?” Heimerdinger erased “1. PARTNERS” from the whiteboard. “Now, I'm going to ask a few questions, please raise your hand to answer it and I'll call you on.” He explained. “First off, an easy one, If you’re in a windowless elevator in free fall, how do you know you’re moving?” Heimerdinger asked, multiple students raising their hands at the seemingly simple question. Heimerdinger pointed to the student in the third row with their hand raised confidentially.
“You don't. You'd feel weightless, like in space—no way to tell that you're falling.” The student answered. Heimerdinger hummed in confirmation.
“That’s correct. Next, picture this. A strip of bright magnesium metal is weighed carefully on a scale, then ignited. It burns fiercely in the air, leaving only white ash. After everything cools, has the total weight on the scale increased, decreased, or stayed exactly the same?” Heimerdinger looked at the class. Fewer hands were raised this time, but there were still quite a few confident ones. Heimerdinger pointed to a girl in the back row.
“The total weight has increased, because the magnesium combines with oxygen from the air to form magnesium oxide, and that added oxygen makes the ash heavier than the original metal.” She answered in a proud voice, adjusting her gold rimmed glasses.
“Correct! Moving on, imagine a long, flexible chain lying coiled evenly in a pile at the bottom of a glass beaker. One end of the chain is gently lifted over the rim and allowed to fall outside the beaker. Once enough chain has fallen to start pulling the rest, the loose end still inside the beaker begins to rise upward like a fountain before disappearing over the rim. Why does the end inside the beaker rise instead of simply sliding out?” A minute passed before a few, slightly hesitant hands finally went up. Heimerdinger pointed to a girl in the first row.
“Um... I think the end rises up like a fountain because, uh, when the chain is pulling the next bit from the pile, the pile kind of pushes back up on it? Like, gives it a little kick upwards you know, so it goes higher before falling over the edge… right?” She said nervously. Heimerdinger smiled reassuringly.
“That is correct, but your wording could use a bit of touching up on.” He commented with a teasing tone, before he hopped off of the footstool. “Two identical ice skaters stand facing each other on a frozen lake, holding the ends of a long rope. They pull steadily on the rope at the same time with equal force. Assuming the ice is perfectly frictionless, do they both stay in place, do they both move toward the center at the same speed, or does only one skater move while the other remains stationary?”
No hands went up. Finally, Jayce raised his. Heimerdinger pointed to him.
“They both move toward each other at the same speed. Since the ice has no friction and they're pulling with equal force, the rope tugs each one toward the other exactly the same amount. With identical masses, they speed up the same way and meet right in the middle.” Jayce answered, trying his best to sound confident but unable to help the way he winced in fear of being wrong.
“Excellent. Now, the last question, a thin rubber hose lies flat on a table, filled with water and open at both ends. You quickly lift both ends simultaneously to the same height, forming a U-shape so water begins to siphon out of both sides equally. Now, while the flow is steady, you suddenly release one end, letting it drop back to the table. Common sense says water should now pour out only from the lowered end—but in fact, water briefly spurts upward from the lowered end like a fountain before reversing. Why does the water momentarily defy gravity and flow upward?” A full minute passed with nobody raising their hand.
Until finally, Viktor raised his. Heimerdinger looked surprised, but gestured for him to answer. Jayce glanced at him with curiosity.
“The water briefly spurts upward from the lowered end due to the moving water having momentum—it was already flowing steadily toward that end. When you suddenly drop it, the inertia keeps pushing the water out and up against gravity for a moment, before the new hydrostatic pressure from the longer column reverses the flow.”
Heimerdinger paused for a moment, impressed. “Most impressive indeed! You’ve given us not merely the observation, but the underlying principle—a rare gift on the very first day. Over the course of this semester, we shall cultivate that same insight in all of you: not simply what occurs, but the beautiful why behind it. The universe, after all, rewards those who ask deeper questions!”
Jayce mouthed “nice job” to Viktor with a small friendly smile. Viktor acknowledged it but said nothing.
“Now, moving on to grading. Passing grade is a sixty percent, but please, do not let that fool you. These exams will be longer and much more intense than your standard high school quiz, so the average is lower but the expectations are far higher. There will be homework and quizzes, but they will not save you if your exam goes badly so I do encourage studying and preparing beforehand.” Heimerdinger flipped a page on his clipboard. “For your first laboratory session this Thursday, you and your partner will design, execute, and analyze a simple verification experiment for one of today’s intuition questions. Choose any we discussed. You must collect real data, calculate uncertainties, and explain any discrepancies from theory. A short joint report—two pages maximum—is due at the end of lab. Collaboration is required; identical reports from different pairs will be… frowned upon.”
A few hours later, Viktor sat alone at a dark oak table in a quiet corner of the university's library where he and Jayce had agreed to meet after their classes—already working on the joint report. A notebook lay open in front of him, the scratch of his gel pen scribbling down words in a nearly illegible handwriting being the only sound apart from the pitter-patter of light rain outside. He and Jayce hadn't agreed on anything yet, but Viktor didn't have time to waste searching for a consensus when they would end up doing what he wanted regardless. He looked up at the sound of a chair being pulled back against the wooden floor and his cane clattering to the ground from where it leaned against the table. Viktor looked at it briefly with a glimmer of irritation on his face, but said nothing.
Late.
“Hey, Viktor.” Jayce greeted as he sat down and pulled supplies out of his bag.
“Talis.”
“You, uh, you already started?”
Viktor nodded. Jayce appeared like he wanted to say something, but decided not to. He pulled his laptop out of his bag and set it down on the table, opening it to an empty document. “... Alright. First, we should decide which of Heimerdinger's questions we want to tes—”
“We’re doing the siphon. It’s the only one worth actual analysis.” Viktor interrupted him, continuing to jot things down in his notebook.
Jayce furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and what looked like slight agitation. Interesting. Viktor didn't know Talis was capable of negative emotion. “Well I think the elevator one would be cooler to demo.”
Viktor glanced up at him. “But theatrics weren’t what Professor Heimerdinger requested, no?”
Jayce blinked. “He requested that we work together. Let's just go down the list and agree on something.” He insisted.
“I've already analyzed the potential of each one and the siphon is objectively the best choice.” Viktor sat up fully, no longer hunching over the table.
“Sure, you did. But I didn't.”
“Is one opinion not enough?”
“It's a group project.”
“Hardly.”
“At this point? Yeah. Hardly. That's the problem.” Jayce’s voice got sharper, rising slightly in volume. Viktor said nothing in return, but did shut his notebook with a forceful thud.
“Fine. What is it that you want to do?” Viktor crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. Jayce didn’t seem to have an exact answer, staying silent for a few moments.
“...” The more Jayce thought about it, the more he found himself thinking the siphon would be a good choice. But his pride wouldn't let him say that. “The… the first one.” He muttered, trying to sound confident but failing.
“Seriously? I just don't think—” Viktor began, before stopping. He brushed a loose strand of hair from his forehead. “Fine. You do your idea. But I'm still doing mine.”
“We can't do two ideas.”
“I'll do mine, you do yours. In the end we'll see whose report is better and choose the one to turn in.” Viktor explained.
“I don't think that's what we're supposed to—” Jayce began, but cut himself off short of finishing. “... Fine.”
For the following two hours they both sat in silence and worked on their separate reports, neither saying a thing to the other. And it wasn't a comfortable silence. Rather like the pause between lightning and thunder. Soon enough, Jayce and Viktor began to pack up their things, barely muttering a goodbye to each other as they left the main building.
Viktor stepped out the side exit, squinting as rain drizzled onto his face, droplets running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. He adjusted his bag strap on his shoulder, his cane clicking against the wet stone repeatedly as he walked the long way—anything to avoid running into Talis.
He didn't need consensus. He didn't need a partner. Any other student would have been thrilled to have someone do the hard work for them. But Viktor never was a lucky man.
Viktor saw a flash of lightning in the distance, quickening his pace.
Tomorrow will be better.