Jayce and his ridiculous concern for his well-being.

When the door opened. Standing before him was... well, a man. A very large man. Broad shoulders that seemed to take up the entire doorway, arms corded with muscle, and a chest that could probably bench-press Viktor and his entire lab setup. The long-sleeved black shirt clung to him just enough to be professional while still giving Viktor the distinct impression that this was... unfairly attractive.

"Come in," the man said, his deep voice calm and steady, like it was no big deal to have this effect on people. Viktor, however, felt the full weight of panic settle in his chest. He hesitated, shuffling awkwardly until the man gently stepped aside, gesturing with a hand that could probably crush a Hexcore. Viktor shuffled inside, his cane clicking against the floor like a traitor announcing his arrival.

"Where does it hurt?" the masseur asked, voice professional.

"Everywhere," Viktor almost muttered, though it came out more like a nervous cough.

The man nodded, unfazed, and motioned to the massage table. Viktor obeyed like he was on autopilot, heart hammering as he handed over his cane. The masseur set it aside with careful precision, then gestured for Viktor to sit.

He lowered himself onto the table stiffly, back still hunched and shoulders drawn tight. This was absurd. Humiliating, even.

The masseur started at his shoulders, large hands kneading with firm, practiced movements. At first, Viktor bristled, his body instinctively tensing under the touch. But gradually, the pressure began to melt away the stiffness in his muscles. Fine. He’d admit it—this was... relaxing.

And then—CRACK.

The sound shot through the air like a bolt of lightning. Viktor gasped, a sharp intake of breath as the masseur twisted his back in a way that shouldn’t be possible. The air rushed out of his lungs, and his hands flew up, instinctively gripping the man’s wrists.

Had he just been broken?!

But then... Relief.

Oh.