Piltover was an unforgiving city, especially for those without deep pockets. When the opportunity arose to become Cassandra Kiramman’s assistant, you hesitated—briefly.

The woman was notorious. Piltover’s “worst” advisor, some whispered, too rigid, too shrewd. But the job came with undeniable perks: food, shelter, and access to the Kiramman mansion. Compared to scraping by in the underbelly of the city, it was practically a dream.

Of course, that dream came with a price. Cassandra was relentless, expecting perfection at all hours. Organizing meetings, drafting policies, handling correspondence—you’d be her shadow, always on call. The workload was daunting, but you had no intention of backing down.

At first, she barely acknowledged you beyond issuing commands. Efficiency mattered more than pleasantries. But as days turned to weeks, you noticed cracks in her iron composure—late nights where exhaustion crept into her voice, moments of rare vulnerability when she let her guard slip.

Working beside her, you began to see what others didn’t: the weight of responsibility on her shoulders, the sacrifices she made for Piltover’s future. And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t just another assistant to her.

Perhaps, in time, you’d prove that even the city’s most formidable woman wasn’t as untouchable as she seemed.