Chapter Text
The door slams shut, the sound echoing across the roof. Viktor takes a deep breath in, and lets it out.
For a while, it seemed as though winter would never end. He watched the calendar creep forward, promising a break from the cold; but each day, the chill persisted, as if mocking nature itself. Tonight, the air stings his lungs a little less.
It may have been this which distracted him, the sign of spring enough to steal his breath in a different way. Maybe it was the late hour, dulling his senses and slowing his thoughts. Regardless, when his gaze finally finds a man standing dangerously close to the edge, Viktor actually startles.
The man has already been staring, clearly alerted by the sound of metal on metal. Still, he jerks back, tilting in a way that makes Viktor highly cognizant of the building’s height. He takes in his wide eyes, shocked, upset, and tinged with guilt; as if Viktor’s caught him doing something he shouldn’t. He realizes, a little belatedly, that the carelessness is the goal.
“If you do that,” he says, before he can stop himself, “they’ll start locking the door.”
Out of all the emotions swimming on the man’s face, confusion wins out. “What?”
“This is where I spend my study breaks,” Viktor says, flatly. “I’d ask that you not ruin it.”
A gamble, backed by one foundational assumption: the man will not step over the ledge if he is busy contemplating throwing Viktor off of it. When he sees his expression sour, Viktor knows he wagered correctly.
“Is that supposed to be funny?” the man snaps. He turns fully, taking a step—blessedly—towards Viktor.
“Hardly,” he says. His breaths come a little easier, becoming aware of the tension he held only as it begins to dissipate. “It’s why I’m here, after all. I’m not certain you can say the same.”
An opportunity, thinly-veiled and open to rejection. The man eyes him carefully, as if determining how much he wants to reveal. It’s then that Viktor puts the pieces together.
Viktor cannot remember the last time he attended an athletic event. He came to university with only one goal: finish his schooling, and get out. But even he’s heard tell of Jayce Talis, Piltover’s newest star pitcher.
Jayce had been a mid-year transfer, coming from some private college outside of the city; and, from what Viktor could gather, the cause of quite a stir. One of the best pitchers in the country, abruptly switching to Piltover’s less-than-ideal program. They’d practically paraded him around after the news had broken, using his image for recruiting before he’d even stepped foot on campus. If the Golden Boy is willing to go here, you should, too!
Finally, Jayce’s shoulders slump. He turns away, anger fading to exhaustion.
“I, uh.” Jayce huffs out a laugh. “I walked a guy.”
Referring to his sport, Viktor guesses; while he may not be familiar, he’s sure such a feat would hardly warrant this sort of reaction. Still, he listens.
“We were tied in the bottom of the ninth. Full count. Bases loaded,” he continues. “The kid was a freshman. More nervous than I was. I should’ve struck him out earlier, anyway. Ump was fucking blind.”
Despite the words, Jayce’s tone is entirely devoid of heat. All that lingers is a tired sort of resignation, the kind that stems from a known, but inevitable, defeat. Viktor does not know this man, but he does know the feeling. And he does not like the look on Jayce’s face.
“I had him. I knew I did,” Jayce says. “And I threw a curve, and it just.” He swallows. “Went right into the dirt.”
“You lost,” Viktor confirms, then feels silly.
But Jayce just nods. “Yeah,” he says. “And it was on me.” He isn’t looking at him, now, face trained on the campus below.
Jayce Talis has fans across Runeterra; he can’t count the number of students he’s seen sporting his jersey, traipsing from class to class with the number seven plastered on their backs. Viktor imagines that, if Jayce wanted comfort, he could pick any one of them to fawn over him. He should get back to his studying, rather than soothe the ego of a man who, presumably, could stand to be knocked down a peg.
Instead, he presses his cane to the concrete, and moves closer.
“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m wrong,” Viktor says. “But I believe baseball is a team sport.”
He watches him swallow. “You would think.”
“Then it is unfair for you to shoulder the blame, hm?” Viktor reaches his side. “Either way, the sting is fresh. Better to plan how you’ll get them next time.”
Jayce sucks in a breath through his nose, and shudders through the exhale. He blinks once, then twice. Finally, he nods, and takes a step back.
“You’re right,” he says. He seems more lucid, now, lips pressed into a thin line. Earlier, it was as though he didn’t even take meeting Viktor’s gaze into consideration; now, he avoids it deliberately. “I—I’m sorry. You didn’t need to hear all of that.”
Against his better judgement, Viktor feels his heart squeeze. “If it’s any consolation,” he says, “I am not having the greatest night, either.”
The corner of Jayce’s lip quirks up. “What, you’re not on the roof of the library at one a.m. for fun?”
At that, Viktor snorts. “Not quite,” he says.
“My summer internship fell through. Funding cuts. Not unexpected. But, ah. Still unfortunate.”
He manages to keep his tone even, long-skilled in both giving and receiving bad news. In truth, he’d been preparing for the worst; luck had never come easily to him, and he’d already used the little he had to secure his scholarship.
This time, Jayce’s face softens. It sounds honest when he says, “Oh, man. I’m so sorry.”
Though anticipated, Viktor appreciates the condolences. Yet, Jayce surprises him by continuing: “What work were you doing?”
That’s when Viktor remembers. Golden eyes, staring intently at the screen in front of them; a maroon hoodie and sweatpants, and shuffling out of the room mid-lecture, duffel bag slung over a shoulder. Jayce is an engineering student, too.
“I would be working to develop prosthetics.” Viktor gives him a sad smile. “It’s what I hope to do after graduation.”
At that, Jayce lights up.
“No way! Same here.” He grins. “My mom uses them. They’re amazing, but they could be better. Sometimes they lock up, and they really could be more efficient. Plus, you know, you think about the gains to be made in comfortability, and—“
Abruptly, Jayce cuts himself off. Viktor has to duck his head before he is caught smiling. When he looks up, he has a hand around the back of his neck, sheepish. “I’m doing it again.”
“What?” Viktor asks, amused.
“Talking too much,” he says. “You said you were studying. I’ll…let you get back to it.”
Viktor pulls out his phone, his watch too hard to read in the dark; he sighs as he looks at the time, the amount of work before him making him vaguely nauseous. Still, for a brief moment, he considers shaking his head, letting Jayce spill more of his ideas. Then, his gaze lands on the heavy bags under Jayce’s eyes, the way he sways a little as he stands.
“I should,” he says, quietly. “I won’t be getting any rest tonight, but I suggest that you do.”
Jayce nods. “Maybe I’ll see you around?” he asks. He says it tentatively, tone veering into shy. Viktor is sure he imagines the way his voice tilts up at the end.
A warm feeling spreads through his chest and up to his cheeks. He is completely unaffected when he says, “Maybe.”
“Cool,” Jayce says. He smiles, and suddenly, Viktor understands why Piltover was so eager to cover its campus in his image. “Well, um. Have a good night….” He trails off, and this time, Viktor thinks Jayce might be turning red. “I…don’t think you told me your name.”
“Viktor,” he says, holding out a hand.
Jayce takes it into his, warm, calloused, and a little sweaty. “I’m Jayce. Talis.”
“I know.”
“Oh.” This time, Jayce is definitely blushing. “My story. I guess that might’ve tipped you off.”
And all of the mugs with your face on them, Viktor thinks, unable to suppress a laugh. He begins to make his way toward the door, cane clicking against the roof. “Goodnight, Jayce.”
“Goodnight, Viktor.” To him, he almost sounds wistful.
Behind him, Viktor lets the door fall shut. He makes it halfway to the elevator before he ponders the implications of that thought. Viktor takes a deep, deep breath, and determines that he should really get more sleep.
-
The sun has not yet begun to rise by the time Viktor returns to his apartment. The world is silent and still as he moves throughout the quiet hours of the morning, when even the earliest workers remain asleep. Gently, he rests his cane next to his bed, undoing his brace in the dim lamplight.
If Viktor is lucky, he might get a few hours of rest. He closes his eyes, the events of the day running through his mind; all that’s been done, and all that’s left to do. Studying has managed to lessen the pit in his stomach somewhat, but one problem remains. Viktor tosses and turns, kicks his covers on and off, does whatever he can to calm his mind enough to sleep; but after an indeterminate amount of time, he’s pulling his phone from his bedside table, letting the blue light hit his eyes.
As expected, nothing has changed. No new employers have come forward, eager to give Viktor the opportunity to prove himself; there have been no lucky breaks, or offer letters in his inbox. He thinks about Jayce Talis, standing at the ledge, bearing the weight of expectations with nowhere to go. What must it be like, to move through the world that way? For others to have so much faith in you that you bend beneath it? Viktor supposes he’ll never get to ask.
-
When he arrives at his eight a.m., rumpled and bleary-eyed, as always, the room is nearly full. He scans the lecture hall, searching for his seat.
He makes his way there, gaze sliding away from the right side on instinct, before catching on broad shoulders and hat-messy hair. At first, Jayce had been impossible not to notice, the subject of hushed words and a not-insignificant amount of giggles. But the stares had stopped lingering past the first week. Today, Viktor meets his eyes the second he sits down; not because of their nighttime interaction, but due to the way he’s frantically waving.
“Viktor!” Jayce yells, loud enough that the students around him are drawn to the sound. He’s beaming, smile wide and bright, as if he’s spotted a puppy and not the man who convinced him not to step off a ledge.
The girl next to Viktor raises a brow. With a smile that feels more like a grimace, he gives Jayce a short wave back.
Viktor watches him look around, sitting up in his chair to get a better view of the seats near him. Then, he scans Viktor’s row, brow furrowing. After a moment, he seems to deflate, finally settling down. Viktor shakes his head, letting his laptop come to life in front of him.
Throughout the lecture, he can feel Jayce’s eyes on him, darting away when Viktor looks back. He tries to remember a single instance where Jayce has looked his way, and comes up blank. His mind generates countless causes, devolving with every missed glance. By the end of class, his nerves have been frayed completely, laptop filled with notes he hardly remembers writing.
At the professor’s dismissal, Jayce practically leaps from his seat. Viktor raises a brow; probably, he has an early game, the bus waiting outside. Instead of making a beeline for the door, however, Jayce begins to make his way to him.
It’s at this moment that the realization dawns on Viktor. There’s only one reason why Jayce would be so desperate to reach him; truly, he can’t believe he didn’t think of it earlier, enamored by Jayce’s shocking kindness.
Viktor quickly packs up. He’s halfway to the door when Jayce intercepts him, anchoring himself to his side. A headache begins to build in his temples.
“Hey,” Jayce breathes, grinning. “You know, I was thinking, after, that we must have class together. What are the odds?”
“Mm hmm,” Viktor says. He stares straight ahead, even as Jayce meets his stride.
“I liked the lecture today,” he continues. “I thought it was interesting enough.”
“It was fine,” Viktor mutters. He pretends to check his phone, feigning being in a hurry.
He thinks that Jayce must sense his reticence, because, for a beat, he remains quiet. Viktor imagines that he even got the message, and will soon fuck off into the ether. Then, he starts up again, an awkward laugh preceding his words.
“Man, that project’s gonna be a pain, huh?”
Viktor stops, causing Jayce to stumble behind him. He grips the straps of his backpack, patience reaching its end.
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Viktor says, flatly. “If that’s what you are worried about.”
This gets Jayce to pause, his good-natured smile flickering, expression briefly shuttering.
“What? No. I was just—“ He begins to fidget. “I wanted to say—well.” Viktor waits, watching Jayce run a frustrated hand through his hair. “Last night, when we—you know—“
Viktor watches one of their classmates eye them curiously. “When we spoke,” he clarifies, exasperated.
“Right,” Jayce says. He nods, almost solemn. “I was having a bad night. I…wanted to thank you. For talking me down.”
Oh. He blinks, whatever remark he was about to make dying on his tongue. His shoulders relax, a tiny smile finding its way onto his face.
“No gratitude is necessary,” Viktor says. “But I appreciate it all the same.”
“No, it is,” Jayce says, firmly, the most pushback Viktor has received in his less than twenty-four hours of knowing him. “A lot of guys wouldn’t have been willing to do what you did.”
To be the subject of such strong feelings is overwhelming. Viktor clears his throat, shifting in place.
“It was no trouble at all,” he says, sincerely. “I’m hoping things have turned around for you this morning?”
You’re making small talk, his mind hisses. Viktor studiously ignores it.
To his surprise, Jayce entertains him. “Not quite,” he says. He sighs, running a hand over his eyes. “We’re down a manager for this season. We’re trying to find a new one today.”
Viktor tries for a sympathetic wince, though he has no idea what the position entails. “That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry, Jayce.”
“It is what it is.” Jayce huffs a laugh. “I don’t imagine you know anyone who’d want to take stats for the baseball team?”
“Eh. Biomedical engineering students tend to not be….athletically inclined.” Viktor snorts. “You’d be the exception.”
“Hey, there are plenty of smart athletes!” he argues, though there’s no heat in his tone. “Besides, it really has nothing to do with the sport itself. It’s all about the numbers. Batting averages, RBIs, WHIPs….you’ve just gotta be able to handle the data.”
“Hmm,” Viktor says. He nods, as if Jayce’s gibberish makes perfect sense. “Interesting. Well, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone.”
Jayce nods, as if he understands, but he sports a faraway gaze. His brows furrow, lips pursed together. Then, he stares at Viktor. And stares some more.
All too soon, Viktor gets it. “No,” he says, suddenly. “You cannot be serious.”
Jayce shrugs. “I already know you’re not an asshole. That puts you above most candidates.”
Our initial encounter would imply otherwise, Viktor thinks.
“I don’t know the first thing about your sport.” He really does try to keep his tone free of obvious derision. “Why would you not ask someone qualified?”
“You don’t need to know anything,” Jayce presses. Then, he pauses, sighing. “Listen, you’ve—heard about our record?”
This time, Viktor actually does wince. Because, yes—even he knows of the struggles of Piltover’s baseball team. This was the first season of Viktor’s university career where they’d won a single game. Jayce remained the only one brave enough to wear his gear around campus. It’s why his transfer had been nothing short of a miracle.
“You don’t need to be the most qualified,” he argues. “You just need to be correct. If we’re going to turn the team around, we need accurate stats, don’t we?” He looks up at him, face semi-pleading. “I know you’d be great at it. Think about it?”
Jayce knows absolutely nothing of the sort. There’s clearly a motive behind his flattery, driving the odd desperation Viktor is witnessing now. As it stands, he won’t let it move him; so, he offers Jayce a regretful smile.
“No, thank you,” he says. “But I wish you the best of luck in finding someone.”
Jayce nods, clearly biting the inside of his cheek. Viktor lingers for a beat, giving him ample time to argue. It’s only when he begins to step away that he says, “Here, wait.”
Jayce drops his backpack from his shoulder, fumbling through the contents inside. He rips off a piece of paper, scribbling something messily. He hands it to him, beaming. “Here’s my number. In case you change your mind.”
Viktor doesn’t quite know how to respond to that. He opts to torture Jayce instead. “Wow,” he says. “I know a number of our classmates who would die to have this.”
Jayce’s cheeks flush a satisfying shade of pink. He only feels a little bad when he stutters out, “Hah. You, uh, have a good day, Viktor.”
“You as well.”
Viktor ducks his head, though he thinks the smile is visible anyway.
-
Heimerdinger’s office is a shrine dedicated to every accomplishment he’s ever earned. The wall behind him is adorned with degrees and certificates of every kind, so much so that Viktor is shocked it doesn’t give beneath the weight. Usually, he would find it somewhat soothing; if someone as incompetent as Heimerdinger could make it that far, surely he himself had a chance. Today, he glares at his doctorate as if it’s personally offended him.
The man himself stumbles into the room a few minutes past noon, the door nearly clipping Viktor’s chair.
“Ah! My apologies, my boy. I had some particularly inquisitive undergraduates this morning.” He attempts to right himself, glasses lightly jostled by the encounter.
Viktor does not mention that he himself is an undergraduate. “It is no trouble at all,” he says, because he will need someone to list as a reference on his job applications.
Heimerdinger rounds his desk, depositing himself onto a chair, remarkably plush for an office environment. He wiggles his mouse frantically, his computer steadfastly refusing to start any sooner. “It’s my understanding that you’ve hit a spell of misfortune.”
Viktor makes himself take a breath. “Yes,” he says. “My employer decided not to move forward with my summer internship.”
“Quite a shame,” he says, sounding, for his part, truly sorrowful. “You’re not the only one of our students faced with such a scenario. What could be more important to fund than science?”
“If only the MBAs in charge agreed with you,” Viktor mutters, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice; across the desk, Heimerdinger’s frown morphs into a look of surprise. Letters of recommendation. Grad school. “But we must move forward, yes?”
“That’s the spirit!” he says, his smile back in full force. “With that attitude, you’ll secure a job in no time at all!”
Viktor just nods. Heimderdinger leans in close to the screen, squinting, pulling apart his resume as if it’s a small mammal strapped to a table. After what seems like a few seconds, his face brightens.
“I see you received the Stanwick Pididly scholarship,” Heimerdinger says. “What an honor! That will certainly be a point in your favor.”
Despite everything, Viktor feels a flicker of pride. “They will take that into consideration?”
“Of course. Such an achievement shows incredible dedication to academic excellence.” Vikor sits up a little straighter; it’s nice to be recognized, even by Heimerdinger. “Unfortunately, that seems to be the problem.”
Viktor’s frown is back in record time.
“As you know, we are quite far into the semester. At this time, summer positions are going to be limited,” Heimerdinger says. “Your experience is stellar, but it remains concentrated on your studies. You need something to make you stand out!”
As if he hasn’t put himself through the fucking ringer already. Viktor resists the urge to scream.
“I recommend searching for another job at this time. Something unrelated to your studies.” He gives him a wide smile. “You’re an incredible student, but I’m certain there’s more to you than that. Explore your horizons!”
Ah, yes. Simply find another position, in the same job market that wouldn’t take him.
He manages to get through another few minutes with Heimerdinger. He thinks he nods when he’s supposed to, hmms and has at the right time in his inevitable tangents; not that he’d be likely to notice, anyway. Panic sets in when Viktor steps into the hallway, mind reeling with frenzied thoughts and haphazard solutions.
It doesn’t take long for him to land on a real one.
-
Viktor: What were you saying about this manager position?
Jayce Talis (Baseball): :D
-
At Jayce’s insistence, Viktor submits his application that night. As it turns out, a rave endorsement from the Golden Boy must carry a lot of weight, because Viktor receives an acceptance email not long after.
It’s requested that he attend the next day’s practice, to begin learning the ropes immediately. A flutter of nerves rises in his chest, the reality of the situation finally setting in. Really, Viktor has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. He can only pray Jayce hasn’t looped him into something nefarious.
He arrives comfortably early, an afternoon practice much more amenable to his, frankly atrocious, sleep schedule. Despite his worries, he isn’t the first one there; players outfitted in Piltover maroon toss balls to and fro, already muddying up their pants with dust.
He’s told to head to the dugout, a rickety wooden building that’s half-heartedly been fenced in. Metal bats, covered in dings and scratches, line the walls. Viktor tentatively enters the space, stepping over helmets, haphazardly thrown bags of gear, and sunflower seed shells.
Gently, Viktor sets his own belongings onto a bench, affixed to the wall. It’s this action that spurs a barrage of movement from farther in the dugout.
“Goddamn,” a voice groans. “Why do you have to be so fucking loud?”
A person is sprawled across it, her limbs arranged on a variety of now-flattened duffel bags. Her pink hair sticks up in every direction, a baseball cap resting carefully on her chest. Her pinstriped jersey may be on inside out. At first, she glares at him, before her eyes widen.
“Oh, hey,” she says, slowly. “You’re not Goldie.”
Viktor pauses, before making the connection.“Ah, you mean, Jayce?”
“Golden Boy, Goldie, whatever,” the player says. “Same thing.” She squints, shifting into a half sit-up as she examines him. “Have I seen you before?”
“I don’t believe so,” Viktor says. She doesn’t appear to be interested in shaking hands, so he doesn’t offer. “I’m Viktor. I’m the new team manager.”
“Thank fuck. I thought I was going crazy. Look, just be a little quieter, alright?” She groans. “I’m so hungover, I can’t even think.”
She’s clearly in pain, deeply regretting whatever fun she had the night before. Viktor tries his best for sympathy. “Were you….aware that you had practice today?” He winces.
This has the opposite effect.
“Cut me some slack, okay?” the player snaps. She picks up the hat on her chest, using it to cover her face. “My girlfriend broke up with me last night.”
Ouch. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “How long were you together?”
“Two years,” she bemoans. Viktor barely holds back another wince. “I already miss her. Best first baseman Piltover’s ever seen.”
“I’m sorry,” Viktor says, “your girlfriend is on the team?”
“Ex-girlfriend, now,” she whines.
Viktor hasn’t even begun to formulate a response when he’s interrupted by a shout. The player jerks up from the bench, hat falling to the ground. More yelling; Viktor makes it to the fence just in time to see a young man stumble into the dugout, clutching his nose. Jayce follows a moment later.
“What happened?” The player asks, standing up. She’s suddenly alert, hangover seemingly cured by the current crisis.
“Ekko here took a ball to the face,” Jayce says. “Vi, will you hand me the first aid kit?”
“Oh, that’s not gonna do anything,” she says, in lieu of helping. “That shit is definitely broken.”
Viktor spots it near his feet, tucked close to the corner. He tosses it to Jayce, who catches it easily.
“Jinx did it on purpose!” The man in question yelps, holding his nose.
“Ekko, I highly doubt that she—“
Next to him, Vi shakes her head, eyes wide.
Jayce visibly takes a breath. “Okay, yeah. You know what, we need to clean up that blood.”
Ekko is less than pleased about the subject change, an irritated scowl on his face. He yanks the first aid kit out from his grip, nearly shoving Jayce out of the way in his haste to leave. “I’ll do it myself.”
Jayce just lets him, hands rising into the air. For a moment, he seems as though he doesn’t know how to proceed. Then, he rounds on Vi.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” he demands. “Jesus, Vi, we need you out there!”
“Jayce,” she groans. “You don’t get it. I’ve had a rough morning—“
“I don’t care,” Jayce interrupts. “Suit up. You know better.”
Vi mutters a string of curses under her breath, but she does, in fact, pick up a heap of padding and a strange-looking helmet off the ground. “All this because you can’t survive one day without me.”
“No, please, take all the time you want,” Jayce says. “I’ll carry the team all by myself. I’m used to it.”
“Get your fastball back to ninety-seven and we’ll talk,” she throws over her shoulder.
Jayce’s eye twitches. He lets out a frustrated sigh, carding a hand through his already-tousled hair.
“You might want to give her some grace,” Viktor says, lowly. He assumes Jayce will want to be aware of that particular landmine. “She just broke up with her girlfriend. They were together for two years.”
“Oh, Jesus—Caitlyn! Fuck!” He buries his head into his hands. “She said they’d really try this time.”
Viktor freezes. “What do you mean?”
“This is the third time they’ve broken up this season,” Jayce groans. “She’ll be fine. It never sticks.” He rubs a hand over his eyes. “Vi’ll tag someone out at home, and Cait will be all over her before the bus leaves. You’ll see.”
He sounds deeply resigned. “You have that down to a science,” Viktor says.
“Last game was a shitshow.” A tinge of bitterness enters his tone. “Probably pissed one of them off enough to say something stupid.”
Viktor doesn’t like the direction the conversation is heading. “You’ve got a lot of authority around here,” he notes instead.
Jayce’s expression softens. He gives him a lopsided grin, boyish and stupidly charming. “Being team captain has its privileges.”
Suddenly, his ease at securing Viktor a job makes sense. “Captain?” he murmurs, the gears of his brain turning. “In only your first year with Piltover?”
Jayce, at least, has the decency to look mildly guilty. “They really wanted me to go here.”
Viktor just shakes his head. “Speaking of them,” he says, “where is your coach?”
“Oh, I think Mel’s here now.” He leans back in the entryway, peeking outside of the dugout. He seems more relaxed, now, some of the tension draining from him. “She’s awesome. You’ll love her.”
The theory is tested a moment later, when a woman enters the space. She’s hardly dressed any different than some of the players, in a Piltover windbreaker and pressed black pants; still, Viktor can sense her authority, the assuredness with which she walks through the space. Her twists have been pulled into a bun atop her head, her golden makeup striking in the afternoon light.
“Thank God,” Jayce breathes. “Mel, can you get him set up? We had an—okay, well, it wasn’t really an accident—”
“Jinx?” Mel questions, moving her bag from its place on her shoulder. Jayce nods, wincing. She shakes her head, lip quirking up. “Say no more. I can take over.”
“What would I do without you?” Jayce lilts. He steps around her, waving as he leaves the dugout. “Have fun, guys.”
Mel smiles after him. She turns around, offering a freshly manicured hand. “Nice to meet you. You must be Viktor.”
He nods, taking it. “Coach Medarda. It is a pleasure.”
Privately, Viktor is grateful that she is his first introduction to Piltover’s coaching staff. He’d done a bit of research last night, enough to vaguely familiarize himself with the team and its environment. Mel Medarda, Assistant Coach, had a list of accolades and kind eyes. Allira Salo, Head Coach, shared a last name with a major university donor.
“Please. Call me Mel.” She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you how much Jayce and I appreciate you doing this. Especially mid-season.”
“Of course,” Viktor says, though, privately, his mind pauses. Surely, there were other viable candidates. “I am happy to help.”
It seems like the right thing to say. Mel smiles softly, sitting down in a rare clear spot on the bench. She reaches into her bag, pulling out a thick laptop. “You’ll be a pro at this in no time, don’t worry. You’ve definitely encountered worse in your homework assignments.”
Viktor laughs. “That’s a relief.”
Mel tilts her head. “Biomedical engineering, hm? Jayce is going to talk your ear off on bus rides.”
Viktor lets himself be chatted to as she opens the software, setting it up for him to use. He leans closer, watching the screen come to life.
Baseball, as it turns out, is a statistician’s dream.
Everything is recorded. Viktor will need to count pitches, hits, runs, and walks, as well as calculate a thousand more offensive metrics of varying complexity. Each player requires a batting average, on-base percentage, some measure of their stolen bases. Defense is its own beast, to say nothing of competitor data. This hardly factors in all of the statistics required for Jayce himself; he throws from the mound, and Viktor knows his speed, intensity, and spin rate within seconds.
Mel does her best to outline what she can, but it’s clear that this position will require a bit of independent study. She leaves him alone shortly after, coaching duties demanding her attention. Salo has yet to walk onto the field; Viktor imagines that she is stressed, compensating for a missing staff member.
While Viktor familiarizes himself with his new role, he quietly observes the practice before him. The team conducts batting practice, which is a loud and rowdy affair. It calms down when Jayce breaks into a group of other players who are, apparently, also pitchers. Mel runs drills with the rest of the team, golfing balls into the sky for them to catch. They end the practice with a scrimmage, Piltover Wildcat vs. Piltover Wildcat.
Overall, Viktor assumes that the procedure is relatively standard; nothing stands out as particularly odd or egregious, even with his limited knowledge. Throughout it all, however, one fact remains clear: Jayce is an absolute terror to his teammates.
This may be an exaggeration. In terms of the worst leaders he’s ever met, Jayce would not even crack the top ten. Yet, he has a way about him, grating in a way Viktor can’t deny.
Jayce’s leadership style is volatile, less-than-encouraging. He alternates between lamenting his team’s skills and exploding entirely, the smallest errors poised to set him off. He barks orders constantly, uncaring of the fact that the recipients have long since tuned him out.
Worse still is his penchant for stating the obvious. “Jinx! You gotta catch that!” he yells, when a ball is dropped for the fifth time.
“Ekko, Caitlyn, come on, I need you talking!” When a player could’ve easily gotten out at first.
The team, for their part, treats Jayce’s outbursts the way they treat any aspect of his personality: with complete and utter disdain. When they don’t ignore his words, they laugh at them, or give back as good as they get. The lack of care keeps Viktor’s temper from boiling over, less-than-fond of this new side of Jayce.
Soon enough, practice is over, dust kicking up as the team jogs to the dugout. Viktor gathers his things in record time, only to find Jayce outside the building, waiting.
“Hi,” he breathes, grinning. It’s a stark contrast from the tyrant Viktor’s been observing. “How was your first practice?”
“Great,” he says, attempting to shoulder past him.
Jayce frowns, clearly sensing that something is amiss. “I’m glad,” he says, quickly. He begins to follow, leaving his team behind. “Do you—have any questions? Or anything?”
Viktor is more than a little pissed off. He decides to go for the jugular.
“Actually, yes. I do.” Viktor stares at him. “Where is your coach, Jayce?”
He freezes. If Viktor wasn’t sure that something was going on, now, he’s certain.
“He’s a busy guy,” Jayce says. “Sometimes, he, ah, can’t make it.”
“Is that common, at the collegiate level?” Viktor presses.
Jayce’s smile does something funny. “We’re an uncommon team.” He leans in close, like he’s sharing a secret. “Besides, Mel handles everything just fine. We’re lucky to have her.”
“I’m certain she does,” Viktor says. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Look, it’s just better to have him out of the way,” Jayce says, finally.
“Jayce,” Viktor demands. “Where is your head coach?”
“Salo does what he wants.” Jayce’s arms are crossed over his chest, irritation seeping into his tone. “If we forget to tell him when there’s practice? Or a game? Or that the season’s even started?” He shakes his head. “Then, it is what it is.”
Oh Lord. “And the university is aware of this?” Viktor questions, not sure which answer he’d prefer.
Jayce shrugs helplessly. “It wasn’t a problem when they went oh-and-forty.”
Viktor rubs a hand at his temples. So the team had finally started winning, to its own detriment. “What is your record so far?”
Viktor didn’t care to look that one up. He regrets that now.
Jayce clears his throat. “Four-and-three.”
Just enough success, combined with the draw of Jayce himself; the perfect way to ensure they’d have too many eyes on them. The last thing they needed was a scandal.
The last thing Viktor needed was a scandal.
“Why did your last manager leave?” He has to know.
“We didn’t have one,” Jayce says, quietly. “Mel and I tried to do this on our own. I swear to God. But…” He doesn’t meet Viktor’s gaze. “We need help. And I know I can trust you.”
No, you don’t, Viktor thinks. You don’t even know me. Jayce is asking him to tie himself to a team poised to implode, a ticking time bomb of controversy. How audacious, to risk Viktor’s career for his own.
Viktor is about to tell him so, when Jayce is speaking again.
“Look, I know what they all said.”
Viktor pauses.
Jayce’s jaw is set. “About me coming here. I just want you to know—” He runs a hand through his hair, not meeting his gaze. “It wasn’t like that. I promise you.”
There’s genuine distress on his features, his eyes sad. An odd feeling settles over Viktor, spurred by the way Jayce has gone rigid.
“I care about this team,” he says, quietly. “I know I can be—a lot.” He winces. “But I do. I just want what’s best for them. I mean it.”
Something has happened, enough to follow Jayce to Piltover. It’s clear that Viktor is out of his depth, now privy to a chain of events long set in motion.
Maybe it’s the dejected look on his face, the way he’s gone silent. Maybe it’s because Viktor can’t imagine Jayce being anything but honest, his pain too raw to be false. Viktor takes a deep breath. “You’re an asshole to your teammates.”
Jayce looks up, startled.
“They don’t like you, and, yes, that may not be a problem, but they don’t respect you, either. It’s just as easy to laugh at you, and it’s not in your nature to be frightening. All of this to say,” Viktor leans forward, “It is in your best interest to get them on your side.”
Jayce nods frantically. “Right, yes. You’re totally right.”
“I don’t know what happened at your last institution, nor do I care.” Viktor tilts his chin up. “But if you want me to work with you, I’m going to need to see you be a bit nicer to your team.”
It’s as if a weight has been lifted off of Jayce’s shoulders. He’s animated, eyes huge, like he can’t believe his luck.
“Done,” he says, immediately. “Anything else?”
Viktor scours his brain for demands, each more extravagant than the last. He lands on, “I’m not sharing a seat on the bus.”
“Obviously,” Jayce responds. Viktor blinks.
He takes his silence as evidence of agreement. “So, you’ll stay?” he asks, tentatively, seemingly waiting for Viktor to renege.
He really, really should. “Yes,” he says, with a sigh. “I will stay, Jayce.”
“Okay,” Jayce breathes. He takes a step back, grinning stupidly. “Okay. Great. Thank you, Viktor.”
He looks at him as if he’s hung the moon. The attention is entirely disarming.
“Yes, yes.” Viktor says, already on his way out of the field. He wrinkles his nose. “Now go shower. You’re dusty.”
“And sweaty!” He adds, jogging away.
Viktor groans, dropping his head into his hands.
What the hell has he gotten himself into?
-
Viktor is a scientist.
True, his degree has not yet been completed; still, he would argue that the title persists regardless. And, as such, he cannot stop himself from conducting a bit of an investigation.
The Piltover Wildcats are even more disastrous than their prior record would indicate. Even after his attendance at practice, Viktor fails to understand what could have prompted Jayce to take a chance on them.
So, he takes to the Internet.
A search of Jayce Talis leads to a number of puff pieces and post-game interviews. He finds pictures of Jayce smiling, hoisting a number of trophies, outfitted in blue. His exploits with Piltover have received sufficient news coverage, but are easily eclipsed by his time with Piltover Academy—or, the Academy, as it is commonly called.
Pompous, Viktor always thought, to act as though they were the only school with that title.
His first query does not unearth anything new. Jayce is a phenomenal pitcher, a great student, and photographs very, very well; nothing Viktor isn’t already aware of.
Jayce Talis, academy, however, presents a different story. The news coverage is concentrated on the team’s playoff season, which ended, apparently, quite abruptly. The tone has shifted noticeably, the search results clogged with tabloid articles with varying degrees of hostility.
Wolves abandoned mid-playoffs
Jayce Talis: rising star, or rising ego?
Ferros weighs in on Talis controversy: “I gave that kid everything I had.”
Viktor clicks on an article with a neutral-sounding title, a video opening along with the link.
A young man is being interviewed, a bright blue baseball cap perched atop his head. A microphone is being held in front of his face, his jaw working as he smacks his gum.
A well-dressed woman looks at the camera, then at him. “Dmitri, a great showing out there tonight, three scoreless innings and six strikeouts. How are you feeling after that performance?”
“I’ve known what I can do for a while,” Dmitri says. “I guess I can finally show it off.”
The interviewer nods. “I know the departure of Jayce Talis really affected you guys last year. Tell me, how has the team been navigating his absence?”
“He left during the most important moment of our season. I think that, you know, made it a lot worse.” Dmitri smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’re in a much stronger position now. And we’re learning about who really wants to be here. I think you’ll see that in our record.”
The Academy remains undefeated; the same as when Jayce was with them.
“Well, Dmitri, I’ll leave you to celebrate with your teammates, but one more question first,” the interviewer says. “How do you expect the Wolves to fare against the Wildcats come March?”
Viktor thinks Dmitri tries to laugh. It comes out as a scoff. “Well, we’ll wait and see what Talis can do.”
Talis. Not the team; just Jayce.
Though he has yet to find an answer, Viktor slams his laptop shut, unease running through him. Jayce is tangled in something nightmarish, and has been for quite some time; that much is clear. Viktor closes his eyes, and prays he doesn’t take him down with him.