Chapter Text
The sound of squeaking sneakers and the smell of sweat filled the gym as tiny hands fumbled with oversized basketballs. A tall figure with bright pink hair stood in the middle of the chaos, her booming voice cutting through the din.
“All right, all right, Sam—you don’t have to dribble like the ball’s on fire! You know how to do this, so let’s go!” she barked, clapping her hands together.
The kids giggled nervously as Sam, a wiry boy with messy hair, adjusted his dribbling and tried to focus.
“Uh… I think I got it?” Sam glanced up at Vi, his wide gray eyes hopeful.
Vi smirked, grabbing the ball and crouching slightly to meet him at eye level. “Thinking isn’t gonna win us the game, little man. You gotta show me.”
Sam’s mouth opened, but before he could answer, a new voice—crisp and measured—cut through the gym’s noise.
“My, you’re certainly… thorough.”
Vi turned, ball tucked under her arm, and looked up to see an older woman standing at the edge of the court. She was tall and poised, with long, wavy dark hair, the slight wrinkles on her face complementing her sharp blue-gray eyes that seemed to take in every detail of the scene. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable, but there was a faint air of disapproval about her.
“Yeah, thorough,” Vi replied, standing up straight. “I’m building champions here, lady.”
The woman arched an eyebrow. “Champions? I wasn’t aware that champions required… tackling.”
Vi tilted her head, a lopsided grin spreading across her face. “Hey, you’ll thank me when we go up against some snot-nosed Piltover team that doesn’t stand a chance.”
Caitlyn hesitated, her gaze sharpening. She’s bold, Caitlyn thought, maybe too bold. She studied Vi, the way she carried herself—confident, almost brash, but with a natural authority Caitlyn couldn’t quite place.
Vi turned back to the court, casually bouncing the ball to one of the kids and motioning for them to keep practicing. The kids scrambled to obey, their squeaky sneakers filling the silence that lingered between the two women.
“I don’t agree with… how you teach my son, but he always has something good to say about you when he comes home. I see how much you care about these kids. Can I ask why you want to coach here, in Piltover?”
Vi raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. “Well, I assume you know how important connections are, Cupcake.”
Caitlyn’s disapproval of the nickname was immediate, her brows furrowing ever so slightly. It amused Vi.
“Connections? So, you’re using these kids as a stepping stone?” Caitlyn crossed her arms again, her tone sharper now.
Vi shrugged, crossing her own arms in return. “Everyone uses something, lady. At least I’m helping them along the way.”
Caitlyn’s gaze softened as she studied her. “And these connections—are they for you, or someone else?”
Vi hesitated, just for a second, before deflecting with a smirk. “What do you care? Don’t tell me you came here just to critique my coaching.”
Caitlyn raised her eyebrows, unbothered. “I’m just curious, that’s all. I don’t see many Zaunites jumping to coach Piltover kids.”
Vi’s grin faltered for the briefest moment before snapping back into place. “Funny, I thought you Piltover folks didn’t care what we did as long as we weren’t in your shiny streets.”
Caitlyn hesitated, her voice softening. “Maybe some of us do care.”
Vi eyed her for a moment, then gave a small laugh. “Yeah, I can tell, detective.”
The words lingered, the playful edge of Vi’s voice a stark contrast to the silence that followed.
Vi crossed her arms, watching the kids for a moment before glancing back at Caitlyn. “Guess the little guy’s got your determination, huh?”
Caitlyn gave a playful scoff as her eyes fell on her son. He’s so determined, she thought, her lips curving into a faint smile. It was almost like he had inherited some of that relentless energy Vi seemed to radiate. He ran along the court furiously, his dark coarse hair ruffled and in the way of his now red and flushed face. She observed him focusing on his task, his gray eyes squinting as he dribbled the ball back and forth.
Every night after practice, Sam came home excited to tell Caitlyn what Vi had taught them that day—or whatever silly, occasionally inappropriate joke, in Caitlyn’s opinion, she had told during practice that had the team laughing. Before today, she had never met Vi, but she had carefully listened to her son’s stories and gathered an idea of who she was. There was more to Vi than she’d assumed, and Caitlyn wasn’t sure she was ready to admit how much she wanted to figure it out.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of children mocking Sam, their laughter sharp and teasing. Caitlyn felt annoyance bubbling up, but before she could step in, the same bold voice from earlier cut through the noise like a knife.
“Hey, enough!” Vi clapped her hands, her voice sharp but not angry. “You tease him, you better be ready to take him on when he schools you later.”
The kids quieted, their sheepish expressions a mix of guilt and respect. Vi strode across the court, her presence commanding yet effortless. Caitlyn’s annoyance ebbed, replaced by a reluctant sense of relief. Her eyes followed Vi’s movements, noting the way her tattoos flexed as she gestured, the streaks of pink hair catching the harsh gym lights. There was a steadiness to her—a kind of raw authority that Caitlyn couldn’t quite place.
“Alright, champs,” Vi called, tossing the ball to one of the kids. “Hit the showers, or whatever you Piltover kids do after practice. And don’t forget—next time, it’s sprints if I see anyone slacking or teasing like today.”
Playful groans filled the air as the children scattered, their sneakers squeaking against the scuffed hardwood floor. Even the boy who’d been teasing Sam muttered a quiet “sorry” before shuffling toward his bag. Caitlyn relaxed slightly, though her gaze lingered on Vi.
Caitlyn studied her, noting the ease with which she moved among the children. She carried herself like someone who had fought for every scrap of authority she had—and earned it. It was… disarming. Unsettling, even. Her frame was sturdy and compact, her movements deliberate yet unpolished, like someone who had carved her way through the world with her fists. Caitlyn wasn’t sure what intrigued her more—the confidence in her stride or the ease with which the kids seemed to gravitate toward her. There was something magnetic about her—a rawness that felt out of place here, among Piltover’s polished gyms and orderly routines. Caitlyn wasn’t sure if she was impressed, wary, or both. It felt out of character to be so fascinated by someone so much younger, but Vi wasn’t what she expected—not at all.
Sam hurried over, beaming. “Did you see me, Mom? I dribbled just like Coach Vi said!”
The aforementioned trailed just behind her son, a grin on her face, one hand resting casually on her hip. “Told ya he’d get it. Your kid’s got hustle,” Vi said, her tone a mix of pride and teasing.
Caitlyn glanced at her son with a playful arch of her brow. “Let’s hope that hustle applies to homework, too.”
Sam giggled, water dribbling down his chin as he took a sip from his bottle. Vi reached out to ruffle his hair, and he swatted her hand away with a groan. “Coach Vi, stop!”
Vi smirked, stepping back. “Hey, you earned it, little man.”
Caitlyn shifted her gaze to Vi, her voice carrying a touch of formality beneath the warmth. “I was planning to take Sam for ice cream. You’re welcome to join us, though I imagine your taste might run more toward… whatever Zaunites prefer.”
Vi raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the invitation. “Ice cream, huh? Fancy Piltover hospitality,” she said, masking her surprise with a smirk. “As long as they’ve got a Zaunian sludge flavor, I’m in.”
Caitlyn allowed herself a short laugh, slipping an arm around her son’s shoulders. “Come on, Sam,” she said softly. “Let’s see if Coach Vi can keep up with us off the court.”
Vi glanced back at Caitlyn and Sam, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. “Guess we’ll see if you Piltover types know good ice cream,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door.
Caitlyn watched her go, her mind wandering. Vi was far from what she’d put together in her head—and perhaps that was what intrigued her most.