After a week of working alongside Singed—refining Shimmer and slipping into dreams like a phantom—Crane now found himself hunched over scattered schematics.
Blueprints sprawled across the floor. Calculations finally lining up.
He rose slowly, stretching his arms overhead with a grin.
"I did it," he whispered, breathless. "I found a way to make prosthetics cheaper."
He lowered his arms, staring down at the blueprints.
"This… this could be my key into Piltover's hospitals," he murmured, voice tilting toward wonder. "A proper entrance."
Then his eyes drifted to the other design—the exoskeleton.
"And this…" He crouched down, tracing a long, clean line across the page. "I'll keep it. I'll keep improving it. Over and over."
A flash of memory—Sevika's shimmer-fueled arm.
Crane's fingers tightened around the blueprint.
"Better than hers," he muttered. "Cleaner. Smarter."
He grabbed the prosthetic blueprints and made for the door, steps quick with purpose—until he paused mid-stride.
"…Forgot to change."
A sigh. He turned back.
Moments later, he stood before the cracked mirror, dressed in tailored clothes that matched Piltover's polished fashion—clean lines, crisp collar, a faint sheen of effortlessness. He looked like he belonged.
Crane folded the blueprint with care, slipping it into his coat pocket. No need for stomach storage this time.
He opened the door and stepped into the light, his gait calm, collected.
Time to play doctor.
—————————————-
"What's up the Enforcers' ass?" Mylo muttered, watching a pair march down the lanes, boots loud against the metal grating.
"Yeah," Claggor added, adjusting his goggles. "Bunch of 'em been crawling through the Lanes all morning. Asking questions."
"Don't try to steal a gun from them, Mylo. It won't go well," Powder warned, shaking her head as she leaned against the wall.
Mylo scoffed. "I wasn't gonna."
"You were thinking about it," Claggor said.
"Yeah, yeah, sure. But seriously—what do you think's up with the Enforcers, Vi?" Mylo asked, looking over at her.
Vi didn't answer.
Vi didn't answer. She was staring off, lost in thought—about him.
For the past week, her dreams had been full of Jonathan.
And every time they fought, it was never just fists. Always something twisted. Strange.
Bizarre.
"Vi?" Mylo tried again.
Still nothing.
Powder squinted, then marched over and jumped right in her sister's face. "VI!"
Vi snapped out of it, blinking. "What?"
"You were zoning out," Claggor said. "We were talking about all the Enforcers showing up down here."
"It's good," Vi said. "Means they see the Undercity as a threat."
Mylo, Powder, and Claggor all smiled.
"Yeah, that's true! It's g—" Powder started.
"It's also bad," Vi cut in. "They put people like us below them just 'cause of a hunch."
She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. "They switch too fast.
One day they don't care about us, the next they decide we're dangerous.
They can't figure out if they wanna ignore us or be afraid of us."
The others fell quiet, looking down. None of them could argue.
The Enforcers were too unstable.
Vi glanced at the others, seeing them cast their eyes down.
She sighed, relaxing her stance and uncrossing her arms.
"So to answer Mylo's question—a big stick's up the Enforcers' ass."
They all laughed.
"So you were paying attention," Mylo said, grinning.
"Eh, just a little," Vi said with a smirk. "Caught the important bits."
"So, you all wanna hit the arcade?" she asked.
They all nodded.
Powder grinned. "It's better than talking about Enforcers."
————————————-
Meanwhile…
Crane stepped through Jayce's balcony and quietly opened the door.
Inside, he saw Jayce slumped over his desk, fast asleep. Papers and notes were scattered everywhere.
Crane walked over and tapped his shoulder.
Jayce stirred, groaning as he lifted his head. "Just give me ten more minutes, Mom…"
He blinked slowly—and then his eyes snapped open when he saw Crane.
Sitting up straight in his chair, Jayce scrambled to look more presentable. "Sorry! I was working on stabilizing the gemstones and must've passed out."
Crane tilted his head, amused. "It's strange being called Mother, but I'll accept the status with pride."
Jayce chuckled. "It's not your new status—but seriously, why show up now? After a week, I started thinking you died."
Crane reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded set of schematics. He placed them on the desk.
"I've been working on blueprints for more affordable prosthetics," he said.
Jayce flipped through the designs, eyes widening. "Some of these… I haven't even seen before."
"I took the liberty of designing a few original ones," Crane said, a quiet satisfaction in his tone.
"To be honest, I was having second thoughts about sponsoring you… but this is better than I expected," Jayce admitted.
"Yeah, I would've made a prototype, but I don't exactly have the materials. Your family makes tools. Think you could put together a few?" Crane asked.
"Yeah, my family could make some," Jayce said, eyes scanning the blueprints.
"Alright, here's my idea: once you've got the prototypes, we present them together to the hospitals."
"Wait—together? This is your idea, not mine," Jayce said.
"You're sponsoring me. It only makes sense that you're there.
I don't know how to talk business, and you've already got experience selling tools."
"That… actually makes sense," Jayce said with a yawn.
"Well then, I'll check in with you tomorrow. Bye." Crane turned toward the balcony.
Jayce watched him walk away, then remembered something. "Wait—Jonathan! I've gotta give you something."
Crane paused, then walked backwards until he was back in front of Jayce. "Money?" he said, hand outstretched.
"What? No." Jayce opened a drawer and pulled out a badge.
"Caitlyn stopped by the other day. She told me to give you this."
Crane brought it up to his face. "What for?"
"She said to show it to the guards at the Kiramman estate. They'll let you in.
Why she wants you there—I've got no clue," Jayce said, rubbing his eyes, clearly getting sleepy.
Crane looked at him for a moment. "You could go back to sleep. Get those ten more minutes."
"What? No. I'm not that tired."
"Listen to me. Mother knows best."
Crane turned again and stepped out onto the balcony.
Jayce blinked—and Crane was gone.
"…He's not my mother. But I will take a nap."
———————————-
Walking through Piltover, Crane turned the badge over in his hand, thinking to himself:
In her dream, I was wearing a tuxedo and dress shoes…
He glanced up at a nearby clothing store.
I guess I'll buy one. I have money from selling the organs.
A short while later, Crane exited the shop dressed in a sharp tuxedo and sleek black boots.
In one hand, he carried a bag containing his old clothes.
I would've gotten the dress shoes… but the boots looked too good.
As he walked, he ducked into an alley and tucked the bag behind a crate—just in case.
He stepped back into the bustling street and made his way toward the Kiramman estate.
At the grand entrance, a few guards stood on watch. Crane approached one of them.
"State your business," the guard said.
"Oh, uh… with Lady Caitlyn?" Crane pulled out the badge and held it up.
The guard's posture relaxed. "Ah. She's been expecting you."
"So… can you open the gate for me?" Crane asked, lifting a brow.
"Yeah, hold on." The guard turned and spoke with the others. A moment later, the gate creaked open.
Crane walked through, heading toward the grand front doors of the Kiramman estate.
Before he could even reach for the handle, the doors opened, revealing a poised butler waiting on the other side.
"Lady Caitlyn has been expecting you," the butler said, his eyes briefly scanning Crane—taking in the red skin, the tail, and the surprisingly elegant tuxedo.
There was a small, mutual nod between them.
A quiet acknowledgment of good taste.
"Yeah, I've heard," Crane replied.
The butler gestured toward a nearby couch. "Please, have a seat while I inform Lady Caitlyn."
Crane lowered himself onto the plush seat with a sigh. "No rush. I'll wait."
The butler gave a polite nod and disappeared up the stairs.
For a moment, all was quiet—until the muffled sound of hurried footsteps echoed from above.
"Wait, Lady Caitlyn—please don't run, it's not proper to run indoors!" Crane heard the butler call out in a flustered voice.
The footsteps grew louder, but then slower, more measured, as if someone was trying very hard to pretend they hadn't been sprinting.
Looking up, Crane caught sight of Caitlyn descending the stairs.
She wore an expression of calm, though the corners of her mouth twitched with a barely-contained smile.
The butler followed behind her, visibly sweating, trying to regain his composure.
When Caitlyn reached the bottom, she finally looked at Crane directly—and smiled.
———————-
Does everyone else have that one spot in their house that smells like peanut butter?