"I'm Zaunite through and through. I'm willing to give everything I have to the Undercity, to Zaun's development…"
Troubadour, a middle-aged Zaunite mechanic, sat stiffly on the plain sofa and carefully looked at the black-haired, brown-eyed man across from him.
The man had a calm, steady air. Even seated, his tall frame could not be hidden. His sharply carved features gave him a stern, almost distant look, and the broken brow over his left eye added a fierce edge to his face.
The faint stubble along his chin and jaw made him seem a little younger than he first appeared, but Troubadour did not dare underestimate him because of that.
In the Undercity, in Zaun, no one dared look down on this young rising power.
"But my daughter, my only daughter, my greatest treasure, is growing up. She's beautiful, and she has real talent. I don't want her to waste her life in the Undercity the way I have."
Troubadour paused. When he received no response, he took a deep breath and continued.
"Over the years, my craft has helped me make quite a few friends in Piltover. But when I went to them, every one of them brushed me off with one excuse or another. Only then did I understand that, in their eyes, I was just another Zaunite they could ignore. So I told my wife that, at a time like this, perhaps only Mr. Torvan could help us."
Click.
The tobacco in the pipe caught flame. Van took a deep draw, then slowly breathed out the smoke.
"We go back a long way, Troubadour. Back when the Lanes had only just started to improve, your skill and your contacts helped me a great deal. I'll always remember that friendship. And I have never been stingy when it comes to helping friends."
Van gestured with his hand, and the Vastayan boy waiting at the side stepped forward to pour Troubadour a glass of liquor.
Troubadour hurriedly cupped the glass with both hands, not daring to act careless. He knew this boy. Scar, the Firelights' infamous rising figure, already known for being ruthless and feared.
As the Lanes continued to rise, this gang of Zaunite brats born from its streets had begun to make a name for itself too.
"But you weren't honest with me, Troubadour. You would rather believe those so-called topside friends of yours would help you than come to me first?"
"I…"
Sweat broke out on Troubadour's forehead. He swallowed nervously, then gritted his teeth and spoke.
"I am deeply sorry, Mr. Torvan. Even so, I sincerely ask you to help me with this. For that, I'm willing to pay any price."
"I can't do it, Troubadour."
Van took a sip of strong liquor. The mingled taste of alcohol and burning tobacco left him slightly intoxicated.
"I understand a father's love for his child. But I also hope you understand the difficulties I face as the Lord of the Lanes. If everyone came to me hoping I could help them live like topsiders, am I supposed to grant every request?"
"Please name your price. As long as my wife and I can manage it, we will—"
"No, no, no, Troubadour… You don't respect me at all. Honestly, what do you take me for?"
Van's brows slowly drew together, and Troubadour's breath caught.
"A friend you can trust and speak to honestly? Or just someone to bargain with? I can't help wondering whether you came to me because of our friendship, or because you saw this as nothing more than a transaction."
"I understand now…"
Troubadour seemed to realize something. He picked up his glass, rose to his feet, and walked up to Van.
"My daughter is a kind, beautiful child, but this world is not kind at all. One father alone cannot protect her. She needs someone with real status and real power to become her second father."
Troubadour bowed deeply, held out his glass with both hands, and presented it to Van.
"I sincerely ask you to become my daughter's godfather, Mr. Torvan!"
Van looked at the glass held out before him. His expression did not change, as if he were still considering it. Troubadour remained bent over the entire time.
"How old is your daughter this year?"
"She celebrated her tenth birthday two months ago."
Van nodded.
"The age gap is a little small, but it still works."
Van raised his own glass and clinked it against Troubadour's.
"Then I am honored to accept."
Troubadour was overjoyed, unable to hide his excitement. He lifted his head and drained the whole glass of strong liquor in one go. The burn flushed his face red, but he forced himself not to cough. Van only took a shallow sip.
"In that case, whether out of friendship for a friend or love for a daughter, I should do what I can to help you settle this."
"Thank you, truly… Then, when should I bring my daughter to meet you?"
Van tapped his forehead with a finger and thought for a moment before speaking.
"The first of next month. On that day every month, I pray to the Spirit of the Wind. Let Goddess Janna witness it."
Van really could not think of any ceremony in the Undercity with more weight than one involving Janna.
"Yes. I'll make every preparation for that day!"
"Oh, right. I still don't know your daughter's name."
"She's called Seraphine. A beautiful girl. She takes after her mother."
"Mm."
Van nodded to show he understood, then lifted the remaining half glass of liquor slightly.
"I will help you and your family live a peaceful life in Piltover. But if one day, though perhaps that day will never come… I hope you remember that you are Zaunite."
"I understand, Mr. Torvan."
"Then this matter is settled for now. I still have work to handle. You can go home and wait for good news."
"Yes. Once again, please accept my most sincere gratitude, Mr. Torvan."
"No need to be so polite… Scar, see Mr. Troubadour out for me."
At once, Scar walked up to Troubadour and silently extended a hand in a gesture of invitation.
Seeing that, Troubadour did not dare linger. He bowed slightly to Van again, then followed Scar out of the room.
Once Scar and Troubadour left one after the other, the door closed, and the room sank back into silence. It seemed as though Van was alone again.
Van slowly leaned his head back and sprawled across the soft sofa. The tiredness on his face could no longer be hidden, and the authority he had shown moments earlier vanished.
"Even Troubadour… Zaun is slowly losing people's hearts…"
"Mm-hm~ You really do have Vander's style, huh?"
As Van reclined against the sofa, a beautiful figure had somehow appeared on the backrest. Two long legs crossed over Van's shoulders and rested against his chest.
Powder, now grown into a young woman, had suddenly appeared beside Van and was idly playing with his hair.
Of course, although Van and the people close to the Lanes still called her Powder, everyone knew her now as Jinx.
Van did not care much about that. A name was only a label. If changing it helped Powder forget even a little of her past pain, Van had no objection at all.
[End of chapter]