Just as Kaen Vexis was about to unleash his first chord upon the unsuspecting citizens of Piltover, the world gifted him the most dramatic opening an artist could ask for. A distant, sharp, piercing wail sliced through the festive murmur. The Enforcers' alarm.
A lesser artist would have stopped. A regular citizen would've panicked. But in Kaen Vexis's mind, he was neither.
His expressionless face tilted toward the sky, as if listening to a divine call. His violet eyes glimmered. The once-carefree crowd was now swirling with confusion and fear. Guards shouted orders, people ran, children cried. It was perfect.
"Ah," he murmured in his monotone voice, which somehow thundered inside his own head. "The world itself sets my stage. A symphony of panic as a prelude to my genius. How considerate."
Ignoring the bewildered stares of the few sprinting past him, Kaen planted his feet firmly on the ground. He leaned into his bass, 'Eardrum-Wrecker,' and with a motion that was somehow both clumsy and majestic, he struck the strings.
The sound that came out was an abomination.
It wasn't so much a chord as it was a sonic war crime. A metallic, discordant howl that sounded like a Scrap Alley cat being thrown into a dirigible turbine. The screech was so atrocious it achieved the impossible: it sliced through the surrounding panic, making several people stop mid-sprint to look back, their expressions a cocktail of alarm-siren fear and a new flavor of auditory trauma.
"Feel the raw emotion!" Kaen cried, though no one could hear him over the racket. He dove into his "song," a wholly improvised piece he mentally titled The Accelerated Waltz of Existential Dread.
He closed his eyes, lost in the performance. His body moved with feverish passion. He swayed, spun, dropped to his knees in a full rockstar flourish, his silver-white hair whipping like a flag in a storm. His fingers, Shimmer-powered, hammered, shredded, and tormented the bass strings, producing a cacophony that could make a stone golem beg for mercy.
The reaction was immediate and universal: people hated it.
"What in the hell is that noise?!" screamed a woman, clutching her child as she dragged him away.
"Hey, you! Cut it out!" barked an Enforcer trying to direct the crowd. "This is an emergency!"
Kaen, deep in his artistic trance, took that as constructive feedback. He opened his eyes, his face a mask of serenity, and pointed his bass neck at the Enforcer. "Ah, a critic! I see your passion!" he shouted over the chaos. "But art cannot be contained! It must be unleashed!"
And with that, he launched into a solo that sounded like a pack of robotic dogs fighting inside a trash can.
It was surreal. In the middle of a citywide evacuation, with whispers of a Zaunite attack in the air, there was one lone node of musical anarchy—a posh-dressed gremlin delivering the worst concert in human history with the conviction of a messiah.
At the climax of his solo, holding a particularly horrific note that made everyone's teeth vibrate within a twenty-meter radius, his eyes scanned the rooftops. It was a rockstar habit—to search for the crowd in the upper seats. And then he saw her.
A small figure, crouched next to a gargoyle. Those unmistakable blue braids, even from afar. Jinx. She was still. Watching him. He couldn't make out her expression, but he didn't need to. His absurd logic filled in the blanks.
"She came," he thought, a completely undeserved wave of artistic pride washing over him. "My first true fan. She followed me here to witness my debut. Such dedication."
Without missing a beat of his sonic assault, Kaen looked up at her. His face remained stone-cold, but his violet eyes sparkled with conspiratorial flair. Then, slowly, deliberately, he winked. A single, brazen wink that said: This horrible noise is for you, my greatest admirer. Enjoy the show.
Then he turned and launched into the chorus—an onslaught of low, dissonant notes that shook his plush Poro, Distortion, off the fountain from the sheer vibration.
The Enforcers had finally had enough. A squad of three, energy batons in hand, broke off from the crowd and charged toward him. "You! With the bass! Stop right now! You're under arrest for disturbing the peace!"
Kaen saw them coming. The end of his set. Every great artist knows when to leave the stage.
"It's been a pleasure, Piltover!" he shouted to no one in particular. With one final, glorious strum that sounded like two trains colliding, he raised his bass above his head in triumph.
Reality hit him in the form of a very angry Enforcer just three meters away. It was time for a strategic retreat.
With a burst of speed that caught the guards off guard, his Shimmer-infused body activated. In a blink, he slung the bass onto his back. With his other hand, he scooped up Distortion from the ground, tucking it under his arm like a rugby ball.
"Don't move!" yelled the lead guard.
"Art never stands still," Kaen replied flatly—and bolted.
He ran. Not in panic, but with the air of an artist leaving the stage as his rabid fans (in this case, furious guards) chased behind. He vaulted over a park bench, slid down a railing, and slipped into a side alley with the agility of a greased weasel.
"Come back next week! I'll play my greatest hits!" he shouted over his shoulder.
He vanished into the maze of Piltover streets just as the Enforcers reached the alley, leaving them with nothing but the dying echo of his atrocious music and a plush Poro missing some stuffing.
From the rooftop, Jinx watched the entire thing. She saw the wink. Saw the horrendous concert. Saw the chaotic escape. And for the first time since the dock incident, the buzzing in her head quieted just enough to make space for something else. A small, trembling laugh.
It was so stupid. So incredibly, gloriously stupid.
Meanwhile, several blocks away, Kaen Vexis leaned against a wall to catch his breath—though he didn't need to. He hugged Distortion and gave 'Eardrum-Wrecker' a proud pat.
"A roaring success," he said to himself, his face as unmoving as stone. "The audience was a little aggressive, but that just shows the passion my music inspires. Next stop… finding somewhere to sleep that isn't a jail cell."
And with his ridiculous confidence still intact, the musical gremlin strode off into the Piltover night—blissfully unaware of the chaos he'd left behind and the fact that his only voluntary spectator was now just a little less broken, thanks to his disastrous symphony.