Chapter Text
Today was quiet for Viktor. Well, quiet is subjective. He gently closed his locker, carrying his Physics notebook while stealing glances at the ‘Piltover Science Fair’ sign draped over the stairwell in the hallway. It was that time of year again, designing prototypes for the competition and finding spare wire bits in your clothing from late nights in the lab. Fall was always jam packed with opportunities for seniors, especially Viktor.
Most of the students around Viktor had little interest in their future. While he spent his time immersed in his studies, many of his peers seemed preoccupied with fleeting pleasures. They celebrated the latest football victory with wild parties or sought oblivion, getting stoned behind classrooms, their laughter echoing through the halls without a care for the next day. The University of Piltover-Zaun, with its prestigious reputation and its promise of an academic future, was a distant dream for them, one they never seemed to share. It was a source of frustration for Viktor, who poured over his books and researched endlessly, determined to make it into the university. For these students, however, higher education seemed irrelevant—most would likely end up in the working ranks or settle for attending a community college outside the two cities. The thought of such a future seemed tragic to Viktor, for the University of Piltover-Zaun, despite not being the highest-ranked institution in Piltover, still held the key to a life he could only dream of—one of intellectual advancement and breakthrough.
The hallway hummed with the usual buzz of upperclassmen chatter, a dull noise that Viktor had grown accustomed to ignoring. It was always the same trivial conversations about the latest trends, the newest gossip, or the ‘Piltover Golden Boy Star Quarterback ’ and his lunch choices. As if anyone really cared what he ate. Viktor found it almost violating, the obsessive fascination with the lives of others. It was bizarre to him, this constant need to know, to be involved in every little detail of someone else’s world. It all felt so... unnecessary. People like him, the quiet ones, the ones who didn’t fit into the social fabric of the school, were mostly ignored. The only time anyone looked his way was when they needed something—help with a project, access to notes, or maybe a favor. But beyond that, he was invisible. So, what did he really know about how others functioned? Perhaps he was just too focused on his work to understand the value they placed on the fleeting details of others' lives.
Viktor slowly made his way up the stairs to the second floor, the familiar rhythm of his movements offering a small comfort. With each step, he pushed the cane against his right foot, using it as a steadying force to help lift his weight. His grip on the railing was firm, his knuckles slightly white from the effort, but he didn't mind. The subtle ache in his joints had become a constant companion over the years, but it didn’t slow him down—not in the way it should. His focus was unwavering, his mind on the path ahead, as he maneuvered through the worn, creaking steps. To others, it might have seemed like a burden, but to Viktor, it was just another challenge to face. One step at a time, one moment after another—he'd make it through.
That’s why today was so peculiar for Viktor. Normally, he was an afterthought to his peers—an invisible presence, easily overlooked, his work nothing more than a tool for others to exploit. But not today. In Engineering, nobody had come up to him with the usual excuse of needing a pen, their eyes subtly drifting toward his notes, hoping to catch a glimpse of his solutions.
It was the same in Literature—no one had stolen a casual glance at his notebook, trying to figure out how he'd interpreted the latest reading, or waiting for him to unknowingly offer them the answers they hadn’t bothered to study for. It was a strange silence, an unfamiliar stillness. It wasn't that Viktor minded the lack of distractions, but the absence of the usual interruptions felt almost unnerving. As if the world around him had shifted, and for once, he was not a tool to be used. But what did that mean? Why was today different? He couldn't help but wonder.
For Viktor, the silence was almost strange, but in a way, it was also a relief. During his 'Teacher’s Aide' period in Psychology, he was used to being approached by underclassmen, usually the same few who, with all the nerve of youth, would ask him for the time—just an excuse to engage in some idle chatter. It was an interruption he had grown to expect, a dull ritual that broke up the monotony of his day. But today, there was nothing.
No one asked for the time, no one lingered by his desk, and for the first time in a long while, he was left to his own devices. It wasn’t much, but it was the highlight of his day. In a school full of noise and distractions, being left alone, even in the smallest way, felt oddly comforting. For a few moments, Viktor could simply focus—on the paperwork he was grading, the thoughts he was sorting, or even the strange emptiness of it all. It was one of the rare instances when the world around him seemed to pause, and for Viktor, it was all the space he needed.
Until now.
Viktor barely had time to react before he was shoved to the side of the stairs. The force of it sent him tumbling slightly, his cane slipping from his hand and skittering across the floor as the entire Football team barreled past him. They were a chaotic mess of bodies, shoving and pushing each other as they tumbled down the stairs, laughing and shouting like they owned the space. One of the players, oblivious to Viktor’s presence, knocked into him with enough force to send him sprawling onto the cold, hard steps. The impact left his ears ringing and his temper flaring.
As he grumbled in frustration, slowly trying to collect himself, he heard a faint argument behind him.
"Dude, really?" One of the players pushed another, his tone laced with irritation. The other player, unfazed, only laughed.
“What? He was in my way.” He shrugged, casually stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked away, clearly indifferent to the mess he'd just created. The rest of the team followed, some of them still laughing, others barely noticing what had happened. But one player lingered. He turned back, bending down to pick up Viktor’s cane from the hallway floor. Dusting it off with a quick, practiced motion, he jogged back toward Viktor, his expression a mixture of guilt and concern.
"Shit," the boy muttered, offering a hand. “Forgive him, he has a stick up his ass all the time.”
Viktor looked up, studying the player. His hands were rough, calloused from countless hours on the field, marked with scars and scrapes that seemed to tell their own story. His skin was olive-toned, a stark contrast to the soft, almost ethereal quality of his face. Viktor caught a glimpse of his hazel eyes—sharp and piercing—and a small, fading scratch under his left eye. The boy’s presence was oddly calm, his demeanor gentler than Viktor expected from someone so physically imposing.
Viktor, not in the mood for pity or apologies, scrunched his nose and pushed the outstretched hand away. He used his strength to lift himself off the floor, leaning against the nearest locker for support. The player sighed, but without further protest, handed Viktor his cane. Viktor snatched it from his hand coldly, his glare icy, though it seemed to have no effect. The boy’s face remained unchanged—soft, understanding, as though this entire exchange was a mere inconvenience to him, not a confrontation.
“I—” the boy started, his voice a bit rough, “My name’s Jayce. I should probably get going, though.” He turned to leave, but just as Viktor pressed his weight into his cane, Jayce stopped, hesitated, then spoke again. “If he gives you any trouble again, let me know and I'll handle it.”
Viktor glanced up, meeting Jayce's eyes for a fleeting moment before quickly looking away, unwilling to acknowledge the sudden softness in the other boy's gaze. Jayce flashed a small, faint smile, then turned and walked off, blending back into the group.
Viktor stood there for a moment, still gripping his cane, the faint echo of Jayce's words lingering in his mind. For a second, it almost felt like something shifted, as though he were more than just an invisible bystander in this school. But as quickly as the thought surfaced, he pushed it away, his cold demeanor returning. The football team was, after all, still the football team.
He hated these football players.