Chapter Text
The Undercity was alive with chaos. Smoke curled through the air, thick with the acrid scent of burning chemicals and gunpowder. The dim warehouse was a wreck—shattered glass lined the floors, shimmering under the flickering neon signs outside. Overturned crates spilled their contents across the concrete, and the distant, echoing shouts of Enforcers dragging people from the shadows filled the air like a death knell.
Euijoo stood in the wreckage, gun drawn, heart hammering against his ribs. This wasn’t his first raid. He had stormed into the Undercity before, weapon in hand, orders drilled into his skull, chasing criminals through the ruins of a city he had been taught to see as nothing but filth.
However, something about this one felt wrong.
Maybe it was the way the civilians looked at them—not just with fear, but with hatred, their expressions sharp with an anger that told Euijoo they weren’t saving anyone here. Maybe it was the way the shattered vials of shimmer stained the floors like blood, a drug that had already destroyed too many lives, yet still thrived under Piltover’s rule.
Or maybe it was the man standing at the other end of the ruined warehouse, smirking at him like the years hadn’t changed a damn thing.
Nicholas.
The moment Euijoo’s eyes landed on him, everything else—the shouting, the gunfire, the mission itself—blurred into nothing. The sounds of the raid faded into the background, distant, like echoes through water.
The ruined warehouse felt too still, too empty. The air between them felt heavier than the smoke curling from the shattered vials at their feet.
Nicholas leaned against a rusted metal railing, watching him with a familiar, lazy amusement that set Euijoo’s teeth on edge.
But he wasn’t the same.
His left eye burned molten gold, an unnatural shimmer beneath the surface, glowing faintly even in the dim warehouse light. A deep scar cut from his brow to his cheek, a mark that hadn’t been there before, one that stood out against his pale skin—a reminder that time had not been kind to him.
He was taller, broader. No longer the reckless boy sneaking into the Upper City, but a man who had clawed his way to the top of the Undercity’s filth. His coat hung open just enough to reveal the weapons strapped against his ribs, the faint glint of steel catching the light. He carried himself like someone untouchable. Like someone who knew there wasn’t a single person in this room who could lay a hand on him.
Nicholas had changed.
And yet, the way he looked at Euijoo—sharp, knowing—was the same.
Like he had been waiting for this moment.
Euijoo exhaled slowly, tightening his grip on his gun. His voice didn’t waver. “Nicholas.”
Nicholas grinned, slow and lazy, as if they weren’t standing on opposite sides of a war. “Fancy seeing you here, pretty boy.”
Something in Euijoo’s chest twisted violently at the name—a ghost of a past he had buried long ago.
He had prepared for this moment for years, knowing one day he would find Nicholas tangled in the criminal underbelly of Zaun. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things.
“I should arrest you.” Euijoo forced his voice to remain even. “You’re the reason we’re here.”
Nicholas took a slow step forward, unconcerned by the gun pointed at him. “Now that’s a bold accusation.”
“You run this place. You manufacture shimmer.” Euijoo’s jaw tightened. “People are dying because of you.”
Nicholas scoffed, his smirk curving into something sharper. “People were dying long before I got here.” He tilted his head slightly, something almost amused flickering in his gaze. Then his smirk faltered—just for a fraction of a second. “And here you are, wearing their uniform.” His eyes flicked over Euijoo’s enforcer gear, something unreadable in his gaze. “I should’ve figured. You always were a good boy.”
Euijoo inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the gun. The words shouldn’t have hit as hard as they did.
The Enforcers called it justice, but to the people of the Undercity, it was nothing more than invasion. A reminder that Piltover would never see them as more than criminals, no matter how hard they tried to survive.
Euijoo forced himself to ignore the way his stomach twisted. “Surrender,” he ordered, his voice hard. “Or I’ll—”
Nicholas cut him off smoothly. “You’ll what?”
Silence stretched between them. The sounds of the raid raged on in the distance, but in this moment, it was just them—Euijoo standing firm, Nicholas stepping closer, testing him. The way he always had.
Euijoo inhaled sharply. “I will if I have to.”
Nicholas hummed. “I believe you.”
Euijoo braced himself, anticipating an attack, but then—
A gunshot.
Not from Euijoo’s weapon, but from somewhere behind them. A stray bullet slammed into the metal scaffolding above, sending a cascade of sparks raining down.
Euijoo turned instinctively, just for a second—but a second was all Nicholas needed.
In one swift motion, Nicholas lunged. Euijoo barely had time to react before his gun was knocked from his grasp, a strong hand seizing his wrist and spinning him until his back slammed against the cold warehouse wall.
Euijoo gasped, struggling, but Nicholas was faster, stronger, pressing him into the brick with an ease that made heat curl in his chest.
His breath was warm against Euijoo’s ear. “Still too trusting,” he murmured.
Euijoo’s pulse hammered. “Let me go.”
Nicholas chuckled, voice low, knowing. “You and I both know you don’t really want that.”
Euijoo growled, twisting in his grip, but Nicholas only tightened his hold. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Nicholas’ chest against his own, the slow, deliberate way he wasn’t even trying.
"Tell me something," Nicholas mused, his voice dangerously soft. "Did you know it would be me?"
Euijoo stilled.
Nicholas’ smirk deepened. "When they sent you down here, did you wonder if I was still alive? If we’d run into each other?" He leaned in just enough that Euijoo could smell the faint trace of smoke on his skin. "Did you hope we wouldn’t?"
Euijoo clenched his jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
Nicholas sighed dramatically. "You’re no fun."
Another gunshot rang out, closer this time. Nicholas clicked his tongue, glancing toward the exit.
"Looks like playtime’s over."
His grip loosened, and before Euijoo could react, Nicholas shoved him back—not hard, just enough to put space between them. Enough to give himself a head start.
Euijoo lunged—too slow.
Nicholas vanished into the chaos, his laughter echoing through the warehouse as he disappeared into the shadows.
Euijoo stood there, breathless, fists clenched, heart pounding.
_____________________________________
The echoes of gunfire had faded.
The raid was over. The Enforcers had taken their prisoners, gathered their evidence, and left the warehouse in ruins. Smoke curled through the broken windows, thick with the scent of burnt chemicals, blood, and something else—the remnants of a city that had learned to burn and rebuild itself over and over again.
Euijoo stood outside, gripping his rifle though there was no longer a reason to hold it. His breath was steady, practiced, controlled. His hands didn’t shake.
But his mind was anything but.
Nicholas.
It wasn’t just that he was alive. It wasn’t even that he had become this—a ghost of the reckless boy Euijoo once knew, now a leader of the Undercity’s filth. Nicholas had made it . He wasn’t just another crime lord running back-alley deals. He wasn’t some desperate smuggler trying to stay afloat. He ruled.
The shimmer trade. The black markets. The people that lurked in the shadows of Zaun, surviving off the scraps Piltover let them have—they all answered to him.
Nicholas had carved his place here with intelligence and ruthlessness, climbing through the ranks of criminals and warlords until he stood above them all.
He had power now. He had respect.
But at what cost?
Euijoo exhaled slowly, tightening his grip on his rifle.
He knew what shimmer did. He had seen it firsthand—the way it twisted people, made them monsters of their own making. How it destroyed families, turned bodies into corpses, turned lives into nothing but addiction and desperation.
And Nicholas was the one feeding it.
The realization cut deeper than he expected.
He wanted to believe that Nicholas had just gotten lost, that he had been pulled into this world with no way out. But the Nicholas he saw tonight wasn’t someone trapped. He had embraced it.
Yet somehow—
When Nicholas had looked at him, through the dim light and the chaos, something in Euijoo had cracked.
Because beneath the teasing, the smirk, the effortless way he had slipped through Euijoo’s grasp, there had been a flicker of something else. Recognition. A moment where, just for a second, it felt like they were back on that rooftop, years ago—before the world had pulled them apart.
And then it was gone.
Nicholas had vanished into the night, and Euijoo had been left standing there, gun in hand, heart pounding.
He should report this.
Should write down everything—Nicholas’ movements, his control over the shimmer trade, the fact that he had let Euijoo live when he could have done otherwise.
But when he tried to think of the words, they wouldn’t come.
Because how could he explain the hesitation?
How could he explain that when he had Nicholas in his sight, when he had the chance to end this, his body had refused to move?
That his finger had hovered over the trigger, but he hadn’t pulled?
Nicholas was a criminal. A threat to Piltover.
Even so, all Euijoo could hear was the ghost of Nicholas' voice, low and teasing, whispered under the stars.
"Be careful, pretty boy."
Euijoo squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the memory away.
He was an Enforcer. He had a duty. He had spent years telling himself that this—this city, this uniform, this purpose—was what mattered.
That the Undercity was the enemy. That men like Nicholas were dangerous.
But Nicholas had never been just a man.
A voice suddenly pulled him from his thoughts.
His breath hitched. He turned.
Fuma.
His superior stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable beneath the dim streetlights. Even in the aftermath of the raid, he looked untouched—his uniform still crisp, his movements sharp. The only sign of exertion was the faint sheen of sweat at his brow.
Euijoo straightened instinctively, forcing himself into composure.
Fuma studied him for a moment before speaking.
"Did you find any leads?"
The question struck like a knife.
Euijoo hesitated.
He could tell him. He should tell him.
Fuma was righteous, determined. If there was anyone Euijoo trusted to take this seriously, it was him.
His fingers curled tighter around his rifle.
Not yet.
The words lodged in his throat, suffocating.
"Still the same." His own voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. "The evidence was wiped before we even got here. Someone knew we were coming."
Fuma’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly, searching Euijoo’s face. The moment stretched too long, the silence pressing down like a vice.
Then, finally, Fuma nodded.
"We’ll come back some other time." His tone was clipped, decisive. He turned, already walking toward the waiting transport. "Let’s move out."
Euijoo watched him go, his chest tight with something heavy.
He should have told him.
But something inside him whispered— not yet.
For now, he would keep this to himself.
For now, he would find out the truth on his own.