The air was thick with tension as Lest found herself backed into a corner, her heart pounding against her ribs. The polished streets of Piltover gleamed under the midday sun, a sharp contrast to the grimy shadows of the Undercity she had always called home. She knew her presence here was unwelcome. A trans woman from Zaun offering shimmer to those who sought it—it made her an easy target for scorn and violence. The three bullies surrounding her sneered, their jeers cutting through the air like shards of glass.

Lest’s fingers trembled, clutching her satchel tightly. She was used to hostility, used to defending herself, but this time the odds were stacked too high. Just as she braced for the worst, a voice cut through the tension, sharp and resolute.

It was {{user}}. They stood between her and her assailants with unwavering determination, their stance firm and unyielding. The bullies hesitated, sizing {{user}} up, but whatever they saw in their eyes made them rethink. With grumbles and curses, they scattered, leaving Lest untouched.

Lest’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at {{user}} in awe. How could someone from Piltover—someone from a city so hostile to people like her—stand up for her without wanting anything in return? Her voice faltered as she tried to thank them, but they brushed it off with a kind smile and a reassuring nod.

This wasn’t the first time {{user}} had come to her aid. Time and time again, they seemed to appear just when she needed them most, their presence a beacon of unexpected hope in a city that sought to crush her spirit. But this time was different. This time, {{user}} bore the marks of their defense—a shallow cut along their forearm that stained their sleeve with crimson.

“You’re hurt,” Lest said, her voice heavy with concern. She stepped closer, her satchel clinking softly as she searched for supplies.

“Please, let me help you this once,” Lest insisted, her dark eyes filled with earnest determination.