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

Lukas had to admit it.

Even with everything he knew, even with all the hatred bubbling inside him—

Piltover was breathtaking.

The city stretched high above him, a monument of brass and steel, glass and gold. Airships drifted lazily between towering spires, their sails catching the sunlight. Bridges arched over gleaming blue canals, where merchants loaded cargo onto sleek metal boats.

It felt like stepping into another world.

The air smelled clean. No trace of oil, no stench of smoke or chemicals. Even the cobblestones were polished, reflecting the glow of hextech-powered streetlamps.

People moved with purpose, dressed in tailored suits and elegant gowns, their shoes clicking neatly against the pavement.

No grime. No soot-covered faces. No tired, weary eyes.

It was like walking through a fairy tale.

And yet—

The moment Lukas and Vander stepped onto the main boulevard, he felt it.

The shift.

The way people subtly adjusted.

Not dramatically. Not with open disgust.

But with dismissal.

Their gazes flicked over them—two figures who didn't belong—before immediately looking past them, pretending they weren't there.

Like they were invisible.

Or worse.

Like they were an inconvenience.

Lukas exhaled through his nose.

He knew this feeling.

It was the feeling of stepping into a place that wasn't made for you.

---

They walked through the bustling streets, surrounded by marvels.

Shop windows displayed pocket watches crafted with surgical precision, their gears shimmering under the light. Mechanical limbs and prosthetics stood on pedestals, gleaming like sculptures.

One store had shelves lined with jewelry, too expensive for the common worker.

This could have been Zaun.

Instead, Zaun got scraps.

Zaun got cast-offs. Zaun got the waste from all this luxury.

Lukas clenched his jaw.

These people didn't even realize what they had.

And what was worse?

They didn't care.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, forcing the thoughts down.

Focus.

Their destination was ahead.

The Merchant Guild.

---

The moment they stepped inside, Lukas felt out of place.

The Merchant Guild of Piltover wasn't just big. It was immense.

A vast atrium stretched before them, filled with polished floors, golden chandeliers, and massive windows that bathed everything in natural light.

Mechanical elevators whirred as they carried people to higher levels, their gears clicking with precise efficiency.

Men and women in tailored suits and high fashion moved with purpose, clutching stacks of papers, speaking in hushed but urgent tones.

This wasn't some casual marketplace.

This was where Piltover's true power gathered.

Where money, ideas, and influence dictated the future of the city.

And not a single person spared Lukas or Vander a glance.

---

Lukas took a slow breath.

He had expected stares, whispers, maybe even disdain.

But this?

This was worse.

He and Vander weren't even being acknowledged.

It wasn't hostility.

It was indifference.

Like they were just part of the scenery.

Like Zaunites had no place here, and never would.

Lukas clenched his fists.

Vander, beside him, exhaled quietly.

"Don't let it get to ya, kid," he muttered.

Lukas forced himself to relax.

He had expected this.

But knowing it would happen and feeling it were two different things.

Still, he refused to let it shake him.

They weren't here to make friends.

They were here to change everything.

---

Vander scanned the room, spotting a reception desk near the back.

"C'mon," he said, nodding toward it.

Lukas followed, weaving through the crowd.

No one stepped aside for them.

No one moved to make space.

They had to force their way through, dodging rushing clerks, stepping around rich merchants too absorbed in their conversations to care.

By the time they reached the desk, Lukas was already irritated.

Behind the counter, a young clerk was organizing papers, adjusting his monocle as he scribbled something down.

Vander cleared his throat.

The clerk didn't even look up.

Vander tried again.

Nothing.

Lukas raised an eyebrow.

Oh. It's like that, huh?

He stepped forward—

And knocked loudly on the counter.

The clerk finally glanced up, looking mildly annoyed.

"Yes?"

Lukas smiled.

"Hi, yeah. We're here about filing a patent."

The clerk blinked.

Then, slowly, his gaze drifted over them.

Over Vander's rough clothes.

Over Lukas's clearly second-hand outfit.

Over every detail that marked them as 'Undercity'.

His expression didn't change.

But his bored tone made it clear:

He had already decided this was a waste of time.

"…Patents are handled by the innovation department."

He barely even gestured in the right direction.

"Take a seat. Someone will see you when they have time."

And just like that—he went back to ignoring them.

Lukas felt his jaw tighten.

Vander placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Let it go," he muttered.

Lukas breathed deep.

He wasn't here to pick a fight.

He was here to win the damn game.

So, without another word, he turned—

And sat down to wait.

---

Minutes passed.

Then an hour.

Lukas and Vander sat there, watching merchant after merchant get called in, while no one even glanced their way.

The message was clear.

They weren't just waiting.

They were being ignored.

Lukas sighed, tapping his fingers against his leg.

"We could be here all day," he muttered.

Vander exhaled through his nose.

"Wouldn't be the first time I spent a whole day in a fancy lobby gettin' nowhere."

Lukas smirked.

"Starting to feel nostalgic?"

Vander huffed. "Not even a little."

Lukas leaned back.

"Maybe I should go over there and—"

Before he could finish, a voice interrupted.

"Excuse me, are you two being helped?"

Lukas turned—

And saw her.

---

She was young, early twenties maybe.

Long chestnut hair tied back in a neat braid.

A deep red waistcoat over a white blouse, embroidered with the Merchant Guild insignia.

Her green eyes flicked between them, curious but kind.

Lukas blinked.

For the first time since they arrived, someone actually looked at them like they were people.

Vander stood, offering a small nod.

"Afraid not, miss."

She glanced toward the front desk, where the clerk from earlier was still pretending they didn't exist.

Her expression tightened— just for a second.

Then, with a polite smile, she gestured for them to follow.

"Come with me. I'll handle your request personally."

---

They followed her through the maze of desks and offices.

Lukas ignored the sideways glances they got from other clerks.

Instead, he studied the woman leading them.

She walked with confidence.

Not like she owned the place, but like she belonged.

That meant something here.

When they reached a quieter section of the building, she gestured toward a small meeting room.

"Have a seat," she said.

They stepped inside.

The room was simple but professional.

A desk, a few chairs, and stacks of neatly organized papers.

As Vander took a seat, Lukas leaned against the desk.

"So, what's your deal?" he asked, arms crossed.

She raised an eyebrow.

"My… deal?"

"Yeah. You work here, right? So why are you actually helping us?"

She gave him an amused look.

"Because it's my job?"

Lukas tilted his head.

"Nobody else here seems to think so."

Her lips twitched.

"That's because I'm not like 'everybody else here.'"

She sat down, offering her hand.

"Aerith. And you are?"

Lukas glanced at her hand for a second, then shook it.

"Lukas Fontaine."

She turned to Vander, who shook her hand firmly.

"Vander."

She smiled.

"Alright, Lukas and Vander. Let's talk business."

---

Lukas reached into his bag, pulling out the blueprints for the wireless telegraph.

Aerith took them, adjusting her glasses as she studied the designs.

At first, her face was neutral.

Then her eyebrows rose.

Then she leaned in.

Her fingers traced the diagrams, following the connections between the transmitter and receiver.

"This…" she murmured.

"This isn't just a modified telegraph. It's…"

Lukas smirked.

"Wireless."

Aerith sat back, exhaling sharply.

"This… this is incredible."

Vander chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I said."

Aerith stared at the blueprints again.

"Do you… have a working prototype?"

"We do."

Aerith let out a breathless laugh.

"You realize what this means, right? If this works on a large scale, it could completely change communication as we know it."

Lukas grinned.

"Yeah. That's kinda the point."

---

Aerith exhaled, grounding herself.

"Alright. Here's what you need to know."

She straightened, slipping into professional mode.

"To file a patent for your invention, you'll need to register it through the University of Piltover's innovation department."

Lukas frowned.

"The university?"

Aerith nodded.

"Yes. Because the telegraph itself was originally invented by Professor Heimerdinger. His designs were never personally patented, but the University holds the rights to his various inventions as a way to fund research."

Lukas rubbed his temple.

"So, you're saying they might try to dispute our patent?"

Aerith hesitated.

"Not necessarily. If the Professor himself sees your design, he will support it. But some of the higher-ups in the University? They may not want to share credit."

Vander grunted.

"Typical."

Aerith sighed.

"And there's another problem."

Lukas narrowed his eyes.

"Of course there is."

Aerith folded her hands together.

"The patent process isn't cheap."

Lukas's stomach sank.

"…How much?"

Aerith hesitated.

"Fifty golden gears."

Vander let out a low whistle.

Lukas clenched his jaw.

Of course.

---

Aerith continued, her voice softer.

"I know that's a steep price. But there are other options."

Lukas crossed his arms.

"Like what?"

She tapped her fingers against the desk.

"You could try securing backing from one of Piltover's influential families. If you can convince one of them to invest, they might cover the patent costs."

Lukas grimaced.

"Yeah, something tells me they don't exactly love investing in Undercity projects."

Aerith hesitated.

"…It's rare. But not impossible. Typically, these kinds of pitches happen during Progress Day. It's when Piltover's elite gather to see new innovations."

Lukas's stomach twisted.

"…And when's the next one?"

Aerith checked her calendar.

"Seven months from now."

Lukas froze.

Seven months.

He didn't know exactly where in the timeline they were.

But he knew one thing.

They may not have that much time.

Shit.

---

Vander noticed Lukas's expression shift.

The kid wasn't just frustrated.

He looked almost… desperate.

Like someone watching a ticking clock.

Vander spoke up.

"If we were to go the University route, how long would it take?"

Aerith hesitated.

"Three months. Maybe four."

Lukas exhaled sharply.

Still too long.

But better.

Still, they needed a plan.

Aerith watched them carefully.

Then she smiled softly.

"For what it's worth… I think what you've built is incredible."

Lukas looked at her.

She meant it.

That was rare.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

"Thanks, Aerith. Really."

She nodded.

"I wish I could do more. But at least now you know your options."

Vander stood, offering a firm handshake.

"You've done plenty."

Aerith smiled.

Lukas packed up his blueprints.

It wasn't the answer he wanted.

But it was something.

For now, that had to be enough.