Chapter Text
15 Years Ago
The university was a world of contrasts: the brilliance of its architecture, the grandeur of its halls, and the cruelty hidden beneath its polished facade. For Jayce Talis, it was a stage where he shone effortlessly, a scholarship student who had managed to rise above his circumstances with charm, charisma, and an innate ability to make people believe in him. His financial struggles were an open secret, but one most chose to ignore. In a place of wealth and privilege, Jayce seemed to belong, his popularity masking the cracks beneath his golden exterior.
For Viktor, the university was an alien landscape, full of traps and challenges that had little to do with his intellect. He’d earned his place not through social grace but through sheer brilliance—a triumph in an innovation contest judged by the rector himself. Heimerdinger had seen something extraordinary in Viktor and had taken him under his wing, granting him a scholarship and acting as a surrogate father. It was the rector’s faith that kept Viktor going, even when the weight of isolation pressed down on him.
Viktor lived on the margins, unnoticed by most and mocked by the rest. His leg condition made him an easy target, and the walking stick he relied on became a symbol of his vulnerability. He tried to stay out of sight, his days consumed by work in the labs and late nights tinkering with projects. But there were moments—moments when he allowed himself to linger in the shadows of the lecture halls, his gaze drawn to one person.
Jayce.
It was irrational, Viktor knew. Foolish. But something about Jayce captivated him—the way his voice carried, the way his smile lit up a room. Jayce was the kind of person Viktor could never be: confident, beloved, untouchable. Viktor’s admiration grew quietly, secretly, until it settled into something deeper. Something he refused to name.
But admiration, Viktor learned, could turn to ashes.
The day had been like any other. Viktor had finished his morning classes and was heading to the lab, his bag heavy with notes and tools. He avoided crowded paths and stuck to quieter corridors, hoping to make it through without incident. But fate had other plans.
“Hey Genius!”
The voice froze him in his tracks. He recognized it immediately—Draven. Tall, broad, and oozing arrogance, Draven was the university’s star athlete, known as much for his skills on the field as for his cruel sense of humor. Viktor’s stomach churned as he turned to see not just Draven but a small group of the other popular kids.
Qiyana was there, leaning against the wall, her phone in hand and her eyes gleaming with malice. Her reputation as an influencer was only matched by her talent for stirring trouble. Rakan, wiry and sharp-tongued, stood beside her, a smirk already forming. Fiora, intimidating and silent, crossed her arms, her presence more threatening than words.
And then there was Jayce.
Viktor’s heart sank at the sight of him standing at the edge of the group. Jayce’s expression was unreadable, but the fact that he was there at all was enough to make Viktor’s chest tighten.
“Going somewhere, genius?” Draven taunted, stepping into Viktor’s path.
“I have work,” Viktor said evenly, refusing to look at Jayce. He tried to sidestep, but Draven moved with him, blocking his way.
“Work? You mean hobbling around the lab all day?” Rakan sneered. “Must be tough with that stick of yours.”
“Give it a rest,” Viktor muttered, clutching his cane tighter.
“Actually…” Draven reached out and snatched the cane before Viktor could react. “Why don’t we help you out? You’re always so… stiff.”
“Give it back!” Viktor’s voice rose, panic creeping in as he staggered, his balance already unsteady.
“Relax,” Qiyana drawled, her voice dripping with faux concern. “Draven’s just trying to help you walk straight. Right, Draven?”
Draven grinned, twirling the cane like a baton. “Exactly. Let’s see how determined you are, genius.”
Viktor’s pulse thundered in his ears. He glanced desperately at Jayce, who stood apart from the others, his jaw tight. For a moment, Viktor thought—hoped—that Jayce might step in. But Jayce didn’t move. He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t stop them either.
“Come on, gimp genius,” Rakan said mockingly. “Show us you can walk a straight line.”
Draven shoved Viktor forward, forcing him to take a step. Without his cane, every movement sent pain shooting through his leg. He stumbled but caught himself, his face burning with humiliation.
The laughter around him was deafening.
“Not bad,” Qiyana said, her phone raised to capture the scene. “But I think you can do better.”
“Keep going,” Draven ordered, jabbing Viktor in the back with the cane.
Viktor gritted his teeth and moved forward, each step a struggle. His vision blurred with unshed tears, but he refused to let them fall. He refused to give them the satisfaction.
“Faster,” Fiora said, her tone cold and commanding.
Viktor’s knees buckled, his body trembling under the strain. He looked at Jayce again, silently pleading. But Jayce’s face was frozen in horror, his hands clenched at his sides. He looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to watch.
“Enough,” Viktor gasped, his voice cracking.
“Enough?” Draven mocked. “We’re just getting started.”
The shove came out of nowhere, sending Viktor sprawling. He hit the pavement hard, his palms scraping against the rough surface. Pain radiated through his leg, but before he could push himself up, Draven grabbed his arm and yanked him upright.
“Let’s see if you can cross the street,” Draven said with a wicked grin, dragging Viktor toward the edge of the curb.
“No—stop!” Viktor struggled, but his weakened leg gave way.
The next moments happened in a blur. Viktor stumbled into the street, his body twisting as he tried to regain his balance. A horn blared. And then—impact.
For a split second, as the world tilted and the pain swallowed him whole, Viktor saw Jayce’s face. Not mocking. Not amused. Just horrified.
And in that face, Viktor saw something worse than cruelty—he saw pity.
When Viktor woke hours later in the hospital, his leg was gone, it had been too lacerated to work with. The whispers in his mind were louder than ever.
Jayce Talis had been there. Jayce had watched. And Jayce had done nothing.
The admiration Viktor had felt, the quiet affection he’d harbored—it all turned to ash. He couldn’t look back on that day without the searing memory of Jayce’s silence.
And Viktor swore he would never forgive him.
Present Days
...Yet, there he was. Outraged.
Mel's cruelty struck him as both brilliant and abhorrent—a surgical strike aimed right at Jayce’s heart. Viktor leaned back against the cold brick wall outside the restaurant, the chill seeping through his coat. Did Jayce deserve it? Perhaps he did. Mel’s vengeance was an art form, precise and merciless, and yet Viktor couldn’t find satisfaction in it. Instead, something deeper stirred within him: a sadness he couldn’t quite name.
He should have been the one reveling in Jayce’s misery, not Mel. Viktor had suffered more at Jayce’s hands—through his silence, through his inaction—than Mel ever had. But there Mel was, glowing with vindictive satisfaction, while he stood in the shadows, empty. Worse, ashamed. Pity was creeping in again, unwanted and relentless, like a bad taste he couldn’t spit out. Jayce didn’t deserve pity, Viktor told himself. And yet, that didn’t stop him from feeling it.
Moments earlier, he had watched Jayce leave the restaurant, shoulders hunched, head low. Viktor had expected anger, even despair. Instead, all he saw was a hollow kind of resignation, as if Mel’s cruel theatrics had struck at something that had already begun to crumble.
Viktor lingered in the restaurant longer than he should have. He sat there, picking at the edges of his napkin, trying to rationalize what he was feeling. It wasn’t like him. He should be glad to see Jayce knocked down a peg. That man had everything—looks, charisma, popularity, an effortless confidence that had once made Viktor feel so invisible.
But as Viktor finally stood, pulling his coat tighter around himself, he realized he wasn’t glad at all. He was angry. Angry at Mel for pulling Jayce into her twisted games, angry at Jayce for being foolish enough to let it happen, but most of all, angry at himself. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. And yet, here he was.
He stepped out into the night, the sharp wind biting at his cheeks. The streets were quieter now, the hum of Piltover’s traffic distant, almost muffled. Viktor glanced in both directions, a knot tightening in his chest as his gaze swept the sidewalks.
Why was he doing this? Looking for Jayce? To apologize? For what? The absurdity of the thought made him wince, but his feet carried him forward anyway. His cane tapped softly against the cobblestones, punctuating the silence with each step. Why do I feel this way? The question gnawed at him, refusing to be ignored.
Perhaps it was the memory of that night at the university, the haunting image of Jayce’s face as Viktor lay in the street, pain and horror clouding his vision. That face—etched into Viktor’s mind—wasn’t mocking or cruel. It was scared. Regretful. And that expression had haunted him just as much as the laughter of the others. Jayce’s silence was his greatest betrayal, but somehow, Viktor always wondered what could have been.
And now? Seeing Jayce caught in Mel’s trap, humiliated and beaten down, Viktor couldn’t stop himself from thinking: He’s just as trapped as I was back then. Perhaps not by a cane or a shattered leg, but by Mel. By his own inability to escape the weight of other people’s expectations.
Viktor shook his head as if to clear it. He wasn’t here to make amends. That would be ridiculous. Foolish. He had no reason to forgive Jayce, and certainly no reason to feel guilty. And yet, Viktor’s pace quickened.
He didn’t know what he would say if he found him. Maybe nothing. Maybe he would just stand there, watching Jayce from afar, waiting for… what? An apology? Understanding? He scoffed under his breath. How pathetic.
The tapping of his cane faltered as Viktor came to a stop. Up ahead, leaning against the side of a building with his face buried in his hands, was Jayce. For a moment, Viktor froze. This was his chance to walk away. To turn his back and leave Jayce to his misery, just as Jayce had done to him all those years ago.
But something held him there. He watched Jayce for a long, silent moment. Jayce, who had once seemed untouchable, so bright and blinding that he might as well have been the sun itself, now looked small. Dimmed. And somehow, that made Viktor’s chest ache even more.
Viktor took a step forward. Then another. His cane tapped against the pavement again, louder this time, intentional. Jayce’s head shot up, startled, his red-rimmed eyes locking onto Viktor’s face.
Viktor hesitated, words catching in his throat. His anger, his pity, his pride—everything tangled together into a knot he couldn’t untangle.
“What are you doing here?” Jayce’s voice cracked slightly, barely above a whisper.
For once, Viktor didn’t have an answer. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Viktor spoke.
“You… forgot your watch.” It was obvious, but he didn't think of anything else to say . “You can have mine, if you like. Or, I could… buy you a new one.” He offered awkwardly.
Jayce raised a brow, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Uh… I don’t think that’s necessary, boss,” he said, trying to mask his awkwardness with a faint smile. But Viktor’s intensity didn’t waver, and it left Jayce fumbling to soften his words. “It’s, uh, got sentimental value. It was my grandpa’s.”
Viktor tilted his head slightly, a flicker of curiosity flashing in his golden eyes. “Sentiment,” he murmured. “It binds us to objects, to the past, even when they no longer serve us. Strange, isn’t it?”
Jayce shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I mean, yeah, I guess,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
Viktor nodded, as if he’d been expecting that answer. “But sometimes,” he continued, “an object that holds us back can become… a weight.” He glanced at Jayce, his voice softening. “Perhaps it could be replaced. With something more fitting, just like evolution. If you would allow it, we could… perform an experiment.”
Jayce hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. He wasn’t entirely sure why Viktor was so fixated on this, but there was something oddly genuine in the offer. “I don’t know, Mr. Markov,” he started, but Viktor cut him off.
“It is settled,” Viktor said firmly, as if Jayce had already agreed. “There is a shop nearby. I will take you there. You will choose something you like.”
Jayce blinked in disbelief. “Wait, now? You want to buy me a watch… now?”
“Yes,” Viktor replied simply, already turning to lead the way.
Jayce sighed but found himself following anyway. He couldn’t quite explain why he didn’t refuse outright—maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the strange pull Viktor had on him. Either way, ten minutes later, they were standing in front of a pristine luxury watch store.
The glass cases inside gleamed with an array of elegant timepieces, each more extravagant than the last. Jayce’s eyes widened as he realized exactly what kind of store Viktor had brought him to. “Uh… I think this place might be a little out of my league,” he said nervously.
Viktor didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gestured toward a display featuring Patek Philippe watches. “Choose,” he said simply.
Jayce laughed awkwardly, certain Viktor was joking, but the older man’s expression remained serious. “You’re not… actually going to buy me a Patek Philippe, right?”
“Why not?” Viktor asked, his tone devoid of humor.
“Because they’re, like, insanely expensive?” Jayce replied, gesturing toward the price tags.
Viktor shrugged. “A good investment. Quality endures.”
Jayce hesitated, glancing at the watches again. Part of him wanted to argue further, but another part—one he wasn’t proud of—was tempted. Finally, he pointed to a sleek, classic model, hoping Viktor would reject it. “This one, I guess.”
Viktor inspected the watch briefly, then nodded. “Excellent choice.”
Before Jayce could protest, Viktor had already approached the attendant who insisted that he only receives customers with an appointment.
“It's okay Viktor, I don't have an urge for it, I don't even need it”
But Viktor simply stood there, with his cellphone in hands. And only when the security guards started moving towards them, he finally showed his screen to the clerk, who immediately apologized and welcomed both, making Jayce confused and Viktor satisfied.
Viktor paid for the watch... almost without hesitation.
"The sacrifice of the lamb made sinners pure again." The phrase came to his mind, unbidden, as soon as his card swiped in the machine. It's religious undertone clashing against his logical mind. It was a statement of redemption, of absolution through suffering. He stared at the watch, his fingers brushing lightly over the smooth metal, and wondered if this act of generosity was meant to be his lamb, his offering.
Jayce had been there—silent and complicit—on the worst day of Viktor's life. That moment still lingered in his memory, raw and unhealed. Jayce hadn’t participated, but his presence, his passivity, had cut just as deep as any insult. A bystander to Viktor's humiliation, and yet here Viktor was, extending a gift. A symbol of time, of progress, of moving forward.
Jayce stared at it, overwhelmed. “Viktor, I… I don’t know what to say. This is way too much.”
“It is a tool,” Viktor replied matter-of-factly. “Like any other. Use it well.”
Jayce looked up at Viktor, struggling to process the gesture. “Why are you doing this?”
Viktor’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “Perhaps I needed to… test my theory.” he said cryptically.
Jayce frowned, unsure what to make of the comment, but Viktor turned before he could respond. “Come. It is late,” Viktor said over his shoulder. “You should rest. Tomorrow, we work.”
Jayce followed him out of the store, clutching the box tightly in his hands. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, the night felt heavier now, the gift lingering like an unanswered question. And as Viktor walked ahead, his figure half-shadowed by the streetlights, Jayce couldn’t shake the feeling that there was far more to the man than he could see.
As for Viktor, that phrase just couldn't free him.
"The sacrifice of the lamb made sinners pure again." The words mocked him.
Jayce’s inaction had been an act of sin in itself, hadn’t it? To stand by and do nothing in the face of cruelty was to condone it. And yet, Viktor’s own actions now seemed to invert that truth. By offering this gift, was he allowing Jayce to escape the weight of his guilt, to be made pure without atoning for his part in Viktor’s suffering?
Viktor exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Jayce hadn’t helped him then, but he was here now—apologetic, desperate to prove himself. It would have been easy to turn him away, to let him drown in his remorse. Yet Viktor had chosen otherwise. He had chosen to give Jayce the benefit of the doubt, to extend a hand where none had been extended to him.
The act felt hollow, though, as if he were playing a role he didn’t believe in. Was this generosity? Or was it self-betrayal? To sacrifice the pain of the past for a future unmarred by bitterness seemed noble, but it also meant letting go of the anger that had fueled him, the hurt that had shaped him.
And what of Jayce? Could a gift erase the silence of that day? Could time truly make sinners pure again? Viktor’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t want purity for Jayce. He didn’t want to absolve him so easily, to grant him a clean slate without acknowledgment of the pain that had been inflicted.
But he also didn’t want to carry this weight forever. He didn’t want his life to be defined by what others had done to him, yet, at the same time, he wanted revenge.
He had created a paradox for himself.