The workshop smelled of metal and oil, a faint hum of Hextech cores providing a constant background noise. Viktor leaned against one of the lab’s many cluttered tables, his mechanical cane resting lightly against his palm. He wasn’t paying attention to the half-assembled device in front of him anymore—his eyes were fixed on the scene across the room.

Heimerdinger was chatting animatedly with her—the new girl.

She couldn't have been more than twenty, fresh-faced and wide-eyed with that raw eagerness that came from being young and clever. Too clever for her own good, Viktor thought. Heimerdinger was practically beaming, his bushy mustache twitching with every word as he praised her latest idea. Something about a self-sustaining power core for smaller Hextech tools. It was... decent. Fine. Maybe even good. But she was still new, still green, and Heimerdinger's approval didn't come easy.

And yet there she was, standing like she belonged, smiling in that way people did when they were seen. Viktor's grip tightened on his cane as he shifted his weight.

She glanced his way, once, then twice—like she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze lingered a little too long, her smile softening at the edges in a way Viktor didn’t trust.

He frowned.

Was it admiration? Curiosity? Or something worse—pity? Either way, it made no sense. Heimerdinger was the one speaking, full of charm and wisdom, not him. Why in the world would anyone pay attention to Viktor when the revered professor was right there?

And yet, she did.

It wasn’t just the glances, either. It was how she spoke to him earlier, when Heimerdinger had first introduced her. Bright-eyed, with words like, “I’ve read about your work!” and “It’s brilliant, what you’ve done with Hextech!” She’d said it like she meant it.

Like she wasn’t trying to climb her way up the social ladder in the academy.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Nobody liked Viktor. Not in that way.

Not unless they were foolish.

Why did she have to look at him like that?