Arcane: I have Plasmids F*** YEAAAAAAH!!!

The morning air in the Undercity was thick with the usual scents of smoke, metal, and desperation. The sky above was a dull gray, barely visible through the tangle of pipes and crisscrossing walkways that made up the Lanes.

Lukas and Vander walked side by side, weaving through the narrow streets, past merchants setting up stalls and workers heading to another long day in the factories.

Lukas had barely gotten any sleep, but at this point, exhaustion was just part of the package.

"So," Lukas said, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "Where exactly are we going?"

Vander took a long drag from his pipe before exhaling slowly. "Old friend of mine runs a tailor shop. He's helped a lot of folks who need to look presentable for work in Piltover. Figured he could help you out."

Lukas quirked an eyebrow. "So, what? You're making me into some kinda Zaunite gentleman now?"

Vander smirked. "Somethin' like that. You wanna make an impression topside, you gotta play their game."

Lukas sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Clean up nice, act respectable, try not to make snide remarks about how their entire economy is built on the backs of the people they oppress—"

"That last one's optional," Vander cut in, chuckling.

Lukas grinned. "No promises."

---

After a few more minutes of walking, they arrived at a modest-looking shop nestled between two larger, much grimier buildings.

A wooden sign hung over the entrance, the paint faded but still legible:

"Cid's Tailoring "

The front of the store had a small display window showing off a few suits—nothing fancy, just practical, well-made clothing.

Vander pushed the door open, and a small bell jingled.

Inside, the shop was surprisingly well-kept. Bolts of fabric lined the walls, and half-finished garments were draped over chairs and tables. The scent of old cloth and faintly lingering pipe smoke filled the air.

Behind the counter, hunched over a sewing machine, was a grizzled man in his late fifties. His salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses sat perched on his nose as he focused on the fabric in his hands.

Without looking up, he grumbled, "We're closed."

Vander smirked. "Cid. You say that every time I walk in here."

The old man's hands froze. Slowly, he looked up, adjusting his glasses.

A beat passed.

Then, his face split into a grin.

"Vander, you son of a bitch!"

He stood, moving around the counter to clasp Vander's hand in a firm grip.

"Hell, it's been a while," Cid said, shaking his head. "Figured you were too busy playin' king of the Lanes to stop by."

Vander chuckled. "Still keepin' this place runnin', huh?"

"Someone's gotta make sure you lot don't look like complete trash."

Cid's eyes then drifted to Lukas, giving him a once-over.

"And who's this? Don't tell me—another one of yours?"

Lukas, arms crossed, gave a short nod. "Lukas Fontaine."

Cid snorted. "Hmph. Fontaine, huh? Fancy-sounding name for a street rat."

Lukas smirked. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Vander rolled his eyes. "The kid needs a proper set of clothes. We're headin' up top tomorrow."

Cid raised an eyebrow. "Piltover?"

"Yeah," Vander confirmed.

For a moment, Cid just studied Lukas. The kid had that sharpness in his eyes—the kind he'd seen before in people trying to climb their way out of the gutter.

Finally, Cid grunted and walked towards a rack of neatly folded shirts.

"Alright, kid. Let's see what we can do."

Cid rummaged through his racks, pulling out a few shirts and jackets, muttering to himself as he did. Lukas stood in the middle of the shop, arms crossed, watching the old man work.

"You got a preference, kid?" Cid asked without looking up.

"Anything that doesn't make me look like a complete tool," Lukas replied.

Cid smirked. "Tough order. You already got that face."

Lukas narrowed his eyes. "Wow. Appreciate the customer service."

"Yeah, yeah. Stand still."

Cid tossed a shirt at Lukas, who barely caught it before another piece of clothing hit him square in the face.

Vander chuckled from the side. "Welcome to Cid's tailorin' method. Clothes to the face till somethin' fits."

Lukas peeled the shirt off his head, muttering, "I already hate this place."

Cid grinned. "Good. Means you'll remember it."

---

As Lukas begrudgingly tried on different shirts and jackets, the bell at the door jingled again.

A kid walked in, carrying a stack of neatly folded fabrics.

Pink hair. Bright green eyes.

Wait, Why does she give 'main character' vibes?

Then...Lukas froze.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

Something primal and instinctive in his soul screamed, warning him of imminent danger.

Lukas had played enough League of Legends in his past life to know exactly who this little kid was,

A nightmare for anyone who had ever played Botlane.

The relentless poke. The infinite CC.

The 'UwU positivity' while his health bar disappeared.

That insufferable Hellspawn.

---

She hummed softly to herself as she set the fabrics down on the counter before finally noticing the unfamiliar boy in the middle of the shop.

"Oh! Uncle Cid, we have a customer?"

Cid grunted. "Sorta. More like a charity case."

Lukas gave the old man an unimpressed look.

The girl giggled before walking over. "Hi! I'm Sera, short for Seraphine."

He stared at her for a moment, then muttered under his breath, "I don't like you."

Seraphine blinked, then tilted her head. "Huh?"

Vander sighed, rubbing his face. "Kid, for Janna's sake—"

"No, no, it's fine," Seraphine said, waving it off, still smiling. "I get that a lot!"

Lukas squinted. "You do?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yup! Some people say I talk too much, or that I'm too cheery, or that I—oh, I'm doing it right now, aren't I?"

Lukas groaned. "Oh gods, you're self-aware."

Seraphine giggled. "You're funny!"

"I'm not joking."