The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering against broken tiles and puddles of filth before sinking into the sludge beside him with a muffled thud.
Dropping to his knees, Logan then frantically tried to erase what he'd done. His trembling hands left jagged crimson streaks across the grimy ground. But the blood didn't go away. It clung to his skin. It was slick, wet, almost alive—sliding down his arms, dripping from his elbows, soaking the tattered sleeves of his clothes and seeming to crawl into his flesh.
Logan tried to scream in response, but no sound came. His throat felt constricted, as if a coiling serpent had wrapped itself around it, tightening with every breath, choking the words before they could escape. The only sound was the ragged rasp of his own heartbeat, pounding like a drum in his ears.
Panic clawed at him. He glanced around, searching for a way out—or for someone, anyone, to help... but it only got worse.
The alley walls weren't just standing there anymore; they were leaning in, inch by inch, closing around him. Shadows thickened and pooled, swallowing the dim light, pressing closer with each heartbeat. The space grew narrower, the darkness deeper, until it felt as if the world itself were folding in, trapping him in its suffocating grip.
Then, just as suddenly, it all vanished.
Logan jerked upright in his bed, gasping, his chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. Sweat slicked his hair to his forehead, and his hands shook as they clutched the tangled sheets. The blood, the suffocating alley—they were gone, replaced by the soft, quiet hum of his room.
After a moment, he forced himself to calm down, letting the ragged gasps settle into shallow and steady breaths. "…not again," he muttered.
He swung his legs off the bed, the wooden floor cold beneath his feet. Slowly, he pushed himself up and made his way toward the window. He unlatched it and pushed it open. Cool morning air drifted in, brushing against his damp skin and filling the room with the clean scent of fresh air.
Leaning against the railing of his window, Logan took in the view before him. The city of Piltover stretched out below—golden rooftops glinting in the newborn sun, early risers were moving quietly along the streets, and tendrils of steam curling lazily from distant workshops. Above, airships drifted across the skyline, their engines humming softly over the waking city.
For a moment, he simply stood there, letting the breeze and the view before him wash away the remnants of his nightmare. After a while, he stepped back with a sigh because today was the start of the Academy.
He ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat, and glanced around the room. The school uniform hung neatly on the chair by his desk as its polished badge caught a sliver of sunlight that crept through the window. He stared at it for a moment—an emblem of Piltover's order and authority and felt… nothing.
For Logan, joining the Enforcers wasn't about justice or duty. It was about some stability in his life. Some steady pay, a roof over his head, and something to keep him busy.
After years living in the Undercity and fighting in smoke-filled arenas for coin, he'd grown tired of it all. The time when breaking bones made him feel in control, like he was taking something back from the world, had long since faded because somewhere along the way, the anger he felt just stopped meaning anything.
Piltover's people weren't to blame for leaving him orphaned. Well… to some extent it was, but it didn't matter. Nothing could change what had happened, and dwelling on it would do him no good.
Besides, what could he even do about it? Start a revolution? Yeah, right. Someone tried that once, and it ended with nothing but people dying.
Now, Logan just wanted to stay alive and put as much distance as he could between himself and the filth below.
That was why becoming an Enforcer wasn't that much of a leap. Violence was the one thing he'd always understood, and Piltover just happened to pay better coin for it.
With that thought, Logan showered, dressed, and buttoned up the uniform. Stepping in front of the mirror, he studied his reflection for a moment. His damp dark hair clung to his sharp, angular face, and his deep black eyes stared back as his tall, lean frame filled the uniform.
Funny thing—just a few years ago, seeing this uniform would've made him walk in the opposite direction. And now… he was actually wearing it. Life really had a weird sense of humor.
Satisfied, he nodded once, grabbed the sling bag hanging on the hook by the door, and stepped outside.
By the time he stepped out, the city was already awake. More people filled the streets, and the smell of roasted beans drifted from the café down the street. Unable to resist, he grabbed a cup of coffee after waiting in line, took a sip, and kept walking.
The streets gradually grew busier as Logan moved through them. It had been a few weeks since he'd bought an apartment in this part of Piltover. It had cost a small fortune, but the fact that he no longer had to sleep in a bed crawling with who-knows-what made it worth every coin.
Of course, he could've used his Sharingan to make the apartment cost less—or even get it for free by bending people to his will—but some things were worth earning. Using his abilities for something so trivial wasn't worth it or the trouble. Who knew what kind of attention that might draw or what kind of mess it might invite back into his life.
Besides, he had enough coin to last a while, but old habits die hard.
As Logan passed a small bakery tucked between two larger shops, the warm smell of fresh bread hit him. Loaves of crusty bread and flaky pastries were neatly displayed in the window, tempting any passerby.
His stomach growled, and without really thinking about it, Logan's hand moved and a small, still-warm pastry found its way into his hand. But of course, his timing couldn't have been worse, because at that exact moment, a soft, clear voice cut through the morning bustle. "Hey!"
Logan sighed, muttering a quiet curse under his breath. "Shit, just my luck."
Normally, he wouldn't get caught like this. Stealing had been second nature back in the Undercity—a reflex as natural as breathing. It was harder there, but here, in the upper parts of Piltover, it was as easy as taking a lollipop from a child. People were too carefree, not nearly as sharp or on guard as those who lived below.
Simply put, Logan had let his guard down.
Fortunately, from the sound of the voice, the person calling out to him sounded young, a girl he might be able to fool or at least charm his way out of the situation. He didn't want to be such a narcissist, but he was actually pretty good looking.
Perhaps, there was still a chance he could get away without resorting to drastic measures like actually paying for the pastry.
As Logan turned slowly, he changed his expression into something casual before flashing a smile. "What's up?"
The beautiful navy-blue-haired young woman blinked at him, arms crossed, one eyebrow quirking up. She looked about the same age as Logan, maybe a little younger, and her sharp eyes made it perfectly clear—she wasn't falling for any of his bullshit.
"Oh, you mean this. Uh… it's just quality control," he continued, taking a bite of the pastry as if nothing was wrong. "Gotta make sure the bread meets standards, you know?"
"By stealing it?"
"I'm also here for security measures," he added after a moment of thought.
"So let me get this straight," she said, arms crossed. "A cadet on their first day at the academy—who hasn't received any training—is conducting food quality control and security measures?"
Logan took a moment, glanced down at his uniform, then back at her with a serious expression. "Exactly!" he said, snapping his fingers and pointing straight at her.
At this, the navy-blue-haired young woman let out a long, exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes slightly. Clearly fed up, she dug a coin from her pocket and handed it to the baker, who had long appeared upon hearing the commotion. Without another word, she turned and walked away.
Logan watched her leave, then glanced back at the baker and shrugged. "I was gonna pay, you know," he said, taking the last bite of the pastry as if the previous interaction hadn't happened.
The baker waved him off with a grunt.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Logan replied, lifting his hands in surrender...