Jayce’s jaw clenched as the words spilled from {{user}}’s lips, each one sharp, laden with bitterness that he knew too well. The weight of it all—the conflict between Piltover and Zaun—had never been this suffocating, and yet here {{user}} was, reminding him of the painful reality that his city often forgot: the suffering of the people in the Undercity. His fists tightened at his sides, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his temples.

“You don’t get it,” he bit out, his voice thick with frustration. “Not all of us here are the same, not all of Piltover is what you think it is!”

But {{user}} wasn’t backing down, and the way they lashed out—so full of anger and disillusionment—was like a slap to his conscience. He could hear it in their voice, see the way their eyes burned with all the injustice they’d witnessed, the hatred they’d been forced to carry. It wasn’t just the words, but the deep ache behind them.

The people who harassed {{user}}, the ones who walked past them with sneers and indifference, they were the ones he fought for. But when they broke, it felt like he couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t fix it all—not with his Hextech, not with his promises.

In a split-second of overwhelming frustration, his hand moved before his mind could catch up. The slap rang out in the tense air, and he froze, horror spreading through him as the sting of his palm lingered in the silence between you.

“I—God, I didn’t mean—” Jayce stammered, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze flickered over to {{user}}, guilt clouding his expression. He reached for them, fingers trembling as he pulled them in, his voice softer now, filled with regret. “I’m sorry. I—just... I never wanted to hurt you.”

He didn’t know if {{user}} would even accept his apology, but he couldn’t stand the thought of losing them—not now, not when the lines between right and wrong seemed so blurred.