CHAPTER 1: IMAGINARY STRANGER
SYNOPSIS: A soulmate journal with no reply, a protest gone wrong, and a pink-haired Enforcer who thinks you're an idiot.
series masterlist. | WORD COUNT: 4,007 words.
CONTENT WARNING: enforcer!vi. mean!vi. soulmate lore is established. kind of quick pacing cause it’s the intro (next chapters will be longer, i promise). swear words but meh they're fine. mentions of a mild explosion. pretty tame. you can feel the enemies-to-lovers begin. a lot of journal entries at the beginning.
notes: first chapter's out now... yup i just finished writing it. i'm so excited! this is my first series so feedback is deeply appreciated. and i gotta say i kind of lowkey highkey love mean!enforcer!vi
October 7th, 2025 omg hi! i’ve been waiting for this day ever since i learned about these journals!! how are you? is it been a while for you too?
October 8th, 2025 i forgot to introduce myself lol my name’s (y/n), what’s yours? do you wanna play a quick question game to get to know each other?
October 11th, 2025 sorry i didn't write before, i've been a bit busy! whenever i have a long day, i lay down in bed and listen to music. but now, it helps me to write and think that you'll answer one of these days :) maybe you’ve been busy too, and it’s okay! i’ll keep telling you all about my days, feels comforting to think i’m talking to my soulmate
October 12th, 2025 i doodle every now and then, if you tell me what you look like maybe i can try and draw you and you let me know if i got close <3
October 13th, 2025 morning! have a nice day :) i hope you’re having a nice time. wish you nothing but the best <3 good night xx
October 17th, 2025 i was thinking, i’d like to show you the best coffee places around! we can go on little dates to rank them all, would you like that?? we could go on this little mission while we also get to know each other, it’s on me ofc
October 20th, 2025 god i didn’t even ask, do you like coffee? we can do anything else! ummm i don’t know, tell me a bit about yourself so i can plan the perfect date :) i like painting, drawing, reading… meh idk, i can try anything you like. the idea of meeting you makes my heart beat faster, is it stupid??
October 28th, 2025 the other day i saw a heart-shaped cloud and i thought of you! well, it wasn’t a good heart shape… my friends told me it looked more like a watermelon. but i like to think it was the universe way of telling me that you’re somewhere in the world and we’ll meet someday !
October 29th, 2025 …i’m sorry, yesterday’s entry was kind of lame, right? maybe we can try being friends first. i’ll follow your lead.
November 4th, 2025 am i bothering you?? i’m sorry, i was maybe too excited at first. i’ll try and write you less often so i won’t annoy you…
November 11th, 2025 i’ll keep writing. maybe you just haven’t gotten your journal yet… or maybe you’re just super busy. anyways, i hope you reply soon. i’d really love to meet you.
November 16th, 2025.
You stare at the curve of your own handwriting, sighing in frustration as that was the only thing you could look at. No new entries. No different handwriting. No response at all.
The notebook lands beside you with a soft thud and you stare at it for a second. You wrote your very first entry over a month ago, and you flipped through the pages every day ever since —a flutter on your chest as you hoped to find something new. But you never did.
“Why are you sulking?”
You blink and glance up. Viktor is standing on the doorway, hair mussed and cup of coffee in his hand. He makes his way over to you, handing you the coffee once he gets close enough.
“I’m not sulking,” you scoff, but accept the coffee and take a sip of it. The warm liquid makes its way down your throat, and you hum happily.
He raises an eyebrow, “You’ve been staring at that book like it insulted your entire bloodline.”
You let out a soft laugh and Viktor sits down next to you, sneaking a glance at the notebook on the other side of you. He notices it’s worn leather cover and nods in understanding.
“Still nothing?”
You shake your head, setting the cup down on the table so you can grab the journal and quickly skim through the pages. During the first two weeks, you felt devastating disappointment each time you opened the notebook and found only your entries. Now, it’s a dull ache that presses lightly into your chest. You’ve gotten used to it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
“I thought they would’ve written… something, anything by now. It’s been what? Five weeks already?”
Viktor doesn’t say anything at first. He just leans against the table, studying your expression.
“Maybe they haven’t gotten their journal yet,” he says finally. “Or maybe they’re terrible with words.”
You try to smile at his attempt to lighten up the mood, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’d take terrible words over silence.”
He hums quietly, thoughtful. “Then write something for yourself. Use the journal as your own diary. Maybe when they finally get it, they’ll be amazed by all your writing.”
You look down at the journal, still half-open where you dropped it. Maybe Viktor’s right. If you keep writing, one day your soulmate might realize you’re still here.
You remembered the day you received your journal. You wanted to unwind after a long day at the Academy, opting for reading a bit before going to bed. As you looked at your bookshelf, debating on which book to read, you noticed an unfamiliar notebook.
It was small, the leather was soft and well-worn, as if it had already lived a life of its own. There was no title, no inscription, but it felt strangely familiar. You instantly knew this was the moment you had been waiting for your whole life —your soulmate journal had just arrived.
You were filled with wonder and excitement as you opened the first page, ready to either write the first letter to your soulmate or to read all the things they wrote to you. But you noticed something strange.
The first couple of pages were missing.
The edges of the torn pages were jagged and uneven, as if someone had intentionally ripped them out.
Back in the present, you open your journal and trace these edges with your fingertips. Ever since you learned about soulmate journals at a very young age, you couldn’t stop searching for answers.
No one knew where the journals came from. Some assume it is a gift from the universe, an ancient and unspoken tradition that no one dared question. Everyone receives theirs on their sixteenth birthday. But when your own journal never arrived, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with you. As you researched the phenomenon more deeply, you found something: while most people do get their journal at sixteen, there were rare exceptions.
Some received theirs earlier if they had been exposed to extreme emotional experiences at a young age. Trauma, loss, or a forced maturity due to harsh circumstances could trigger an early awakening —a need to connect with someone. The journal seemed to know when their soul had been tested, when they had been pushed past innocence too soon. Sometimes even before they were old enough to grasp the depth of what it meant.
On the other hand, there were those who received their journal later in life. Maybe they were too young at heart or had yet to face the trials that would awaken their soul’s need for connection. The journal finds them once they grow into themselves and learn to face and manage their own emotions.
You needed a break. Your head was full of endless thoughts that weren’t making sense anymore, so you decided to go out for a walk. Viktor opted to stay at the Academy, mentioning something about having a lot to work on with his partner, Jayce.
A quick walk sounded easier than staring at the same page, as if words would appear out of nowhere and you’d finally hear from your soulmate. So, you grabbed your jacket and bag and headed out.
You walked around with no clear destination in mind; you just needed to breathe and distract yourself. You held onto your bag tightly, as if the book would somehow disappear. It was fun to think of that, since one of the journal’s oddities was the fact that, no matter how hard you tried to get rid of it, it would always come back to you.
You tried to burn it? It’s intact even after the fire dies out. You threw it as far as you could or deep into a lake? It’s waiting for you on top of your bed once you come back home.
Deep in thought, you ended up near one of the main bridges that separated Piltover from Zaun. You leaned against the cold railing, hands trembling as you tried to focus on the steady city sounds instead of your overwhelming thoughts.
That’s when you heard it. Raised voices. Fast footsteps.
You turned your head and noticed a small group forming farther down the bridge. On the side you were on, a crowd started to move toward it, while others were already backing away.
Without really thinking about it, you started walking toward the curious crowd.
As you got closer, you realized the group causing the commotion was formed by teens and young adults, wearing patched and worn clothes. Their faces were smeared with colorful pain, and almost all of them had some shade of blue in their hair: streaks, tips, even full dye.
They weren’t carrying weapons, at least not that you could see. They mostly carried homemade signs and megaphones, even cans of bright paint like the one they had all over their bodies. They looked restless and angry. Their shouting wasn’t just noise, it was words of frustration and accusation: “You live above, we die below”.
You took a quick look at the protesters, and you felt a tug in your chest as you realized most of them were no older than you. A couple looked around your age, some roughly older, but the majority… they were so young.
One protester climbed onto the railing, voice cracking as he screamed something about finally being heard. His hands fumbled inside his jacket, pulling out a small metal cylinder the size of an apple. You didn’t know what it was, but the sudden panic in the crowd alerted you.
“Put that down!”, “Run!”, you could hear people yelling. The boy threw the cylinder before anyone could decide what to do.
It hit the ground, rolled, and clicked. Boom.
The explosion wasn’t lethal, but it was strong enough to rattle the bridge and set everyone into motion. Purple smoke burst outward in a violent cloud, burning your eyes and throat.
People screamed and pushed, scrambling in every direction to try and get away from the bridge. Someone shoved you from behind, and you stumbled forward, nearly losing your grip on your bag.
That’s when you heard a small, choking cough.
You focused your gaze and looked around to find the origin of the sound, and you spotted a little girl, no older than six, curled near the railing, trying to cover her eyes with her arm. She wasn’t moving, probably too scared to stand.
You froze for a couple of seconds, but your body reacted before you could fully think it through.
You pushed your way to her, shoving around the panicked crowd, and dropped to your knees as soon as you got next to her.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” you said in a soft voice, which came harsher thanks to the smoke, “I’ll get you out of here, okay?”
The little girl didn’t answer, only let out a cry and reached blindly for you. You took her into your arms, trying to cover her face as best as you could to prevent her from inhaling more smoke.
Just as you took a deep breath and prepared yourself to run to safety, you heard a sharp screech as the railing bent outward. The explosion wasn’t big enough to cause a destruction, but it had weakened the railing, and in the chaos, too many people had slammed into it at once.
You could feel your stomach drop as your heel started to slip against the bridge floor, people running dangerously close to you and the little girl. You were right at the edge, a single shove and the metal would give out an inch further, and you were going over.
For a split second, you thought you could make it. Pull the girl closer, shift your weight, make the jump.
A hand clamped onto the back of your jacket, jerking you so hard you felt the air leave your lungs. You barely had time to process what was going on before you were pulled backward with force. You fell butt-first to the steadier ground, and you didn’t know if you whined out in pain or relief.
A strong pair of hands came into your sight, and the girl was taken from you for a terrifying heartbeat. As you blinked to focus and managed to see through the thick smoke, you realized the girl was being held by another person.
“Got you,” a female voice muttered softly, “You’re alright. I got you.”
You cough roughly, lungs burning as you stand up and try to catch your balance. This caught this person’s attention, whoever dragged you off the edge, and they turned to face you.
Pink hair. Bright blue eyes. Jaw clenched hard enough to crack a tooth.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she snapped, eyes sharp with anger, “You don’t fucking run toward an explosion. These Pilties…”
You opened your mouth, but the young woman didn’t wait to hear your reply. She focused on the little girl, checking her over for injuries as her tone lowered.
“Are you hurt?” her voice was softer, comforting the little girl who had just stopped crying. She brushed dust off her cheek and murmured something reassuring.
Then she looked back at you, and the softness vanished instantly.
“You could have gotten her killed,” she snapped at you, “And yourself. Next time, stay out of the way.”
Without saying another word, she stepped past you, the child securely against her. You were left standing there, shaking and staring at the cracked railing. You realized how close you’d come. And how fast this mysterious pink-haired girl moved.
You don’t remember how you got from the bridge to the Academy’s medical facility. When Viktor found out you were on the bridge attack, he insisted on having you stay the night under medical watch to make sure you were alright.
In any other circumstance, you would have argued with him about not needing someone to take care of you. But you were exhausted, and spending a night at the hospital didn’t sound so bad.
The next morning, Viktor and Jayce were there when you woke up.
“How are you?” Jayce asked first, eyes looking at you carefully as if he wanted to make sure you were okay.
“Better,” your voice was still raw from the smoke, but at least you felt rested. “The attack… what happened?”
“We don’t fully know yet,” Viktor was sitting at the edge of your bed, “There will be a council meeting to address the incident.”
“Can I join?”
Jayce shook his head almost instantly, not even daring to think about it.
“You’re not a council member.”
“Please,” you insisted, lifting yourself up to sit straighter, “I want to help. The protesters, they said—”
“We need to make important policy decisions. That protest was violent and unruly,” he cut in in a sharp tone.
Your brows pulled together in annoyance.
“You didn’t hear them. They’re angry. It’s gonna get worse if we don’t listen to them.”
“Maybe we can give her a chance to give her statement in front of the others,” Viktor chimed in, his hand resting atop of yours as if to give you some comfort. He was looking at Jayce, almost pleading with him.
And, as it goes, Jayce has the hardest time trying to say no to Viktor.
Once you were cleared out by the medics, Viktor helped you gather yourself. He’d even brought you clean clothes and waited outside of your room while you changed. When you stepped out, he offered a small smile, then walked with you toward the council chamber where the others were gathering.
On the way there, you spotted a familiar flash of pink just ahead. It was unmistakable, as it was the same pink hair that saved you on the bridge the day before. Only she was wearing the classic Enforcer uniform.
“Hey, Pinky!” you called out, and Viktor looked at you as if you were insane.
The woman paused her step, turning just enough to look over her shoulder. The moment her eyes landed on you, her expression dropped into immediate irritation.
“Not you again,” she muttered, turning around as she crossed her arms.
You ignored the sting in your chest at her annoyance, taking a couple of steps forward.
“I just wanted to thank you. Back on the bridge… you saved me. And the kid. I—”
“Yeah, I remember,” she cut in, already sounding bored. “You almost got that girl killed.”
You blinked, taken aback. “I was just trying to help.”
“And you made things worse. We don’t need untrained Pilties playing hero.”
You opened your mouth, but she was already turning away, dismissing you like an inconvenience. Like you were only another case to file, not a person she pulled from a collapsing railing.
You huffed in annoyance as you watch her disappear through a large set of double doors, arms crossing in front of your chest before looking back at your best friend.
“What the hell’s her problem?”
“Vi’s had a tough life,” Viktor touched your shoulder slightly, “Don’t take it personal.”
“She’s the one who shouldn’t take it personal,” you roll your eyes and huff once again, “Vi. What a prick.”
He shook his head, hiding his amused smile. “We should go. They’re waiting for us.”
You nodded and followed him, though your steps were heavier than before. First, your soulmate ignored you. Now, the woman who saved your life seemed to regret doing so. What a week.
Viktor pushed the doors open for you, and the conversation inside the chamber immediately quieted. You walked inside, your entrance shifting the attention from their discussion to you.
You quickly noticed at the middle of the table Jayce, who offered you a polite nod. Although you didn’t personally know the council members, being close to Jayce and Viktor meant you knew who they were.
To your left sat Mel Medarda, Minister of State and Foreign Affairs. She was the council’s sharpest strategist, the one who keeps Piltover’s political machine running. She managed negotiations, legislation, and anything that required a well-crafted deal. She sat with effortless poise, her posture straight and commanding. Her expression remained calm and observant, as if she could read every thought that crossed your mind.
To your right sat Caitlyn Kiramman, Chief Inspector of Piltover —or, as everyone else called her, The Sheriff. She was known for treating justice not as a duty, but a personal standard no one was allowed to fall short of. She was disciplined and precise, and she could trace a secret or motive with frightening ease. If Mel commanded the room, Caitlyn was the one who already knew everyone’s truth.
Jayce Talis was Head of Security and Engineering Policy, as well as the Lead Councilor. Idealistic and driven, he carried the final word in most decisions —though he never delivered it without first taking into consideration his fellow council members’ insight.
Viktor Hale was Director of Research and Innovation, the brilliant mind behind Piltover’s most progressive technological advances. He focused on projects that would serve the people rather than gain power. His insight was sharp and grounded in both logic and compassion.
Finally, leaning against the far wall with zero interest in being seated, was Vi. Vi, what a cute name for an asshole, you thought to yourself.
By rule of elimination, you figured out her role at the council meeting. She had to be the Commander of Enforcement Division. The badge on her chest practically glared at you, all polished in authority and a silent warning. She didn’t answer to anyone —they answered to her.
“Welcome, (y/n),” Mel greeted you, voice firm and soft at the same time. “Jayce informed us about your desire to help us.”
“I want to help both Piltover and Zaun,” you clarified.
“Do you disagree with us when we say the protest escalated into a violent attack?”
You shifted your weight from one foot to another, feeling exposed as you stood in front of them. It was as if they secretly judged you from their seats.
“No, I agree. But if you had heard them, you’d know—”
“We’re not having a civilian join our forces,” Vi chimed out from her spot against the wall, arms tightened against her chest, “I’m not risking my units.”
‘Not risking my units’, so she doesn’t care about your civilian life.
The room went quiet for a second, but you refused to let her words be the end of the conversation.
“With all due respect,” you said, forcing your voice not to shake, “I was already risking my own life. I helped because no one else was close enough to.”
Vi’s eyes remained flat, unimpressed. “How did that turn out?”
You felt as heat shot straight to your cheeks. Your fists clenched and unclenched behind your back, but you refused to look away.
“If you think the solution is to ignore willing help, maybe that’s part of the problem.”
That earned a reaction.
Jayce shifted awkwardly in his seat, already regretting listening to Viktor about giving you a shot. Caitlyn straightened slightly, eyes narrowing —not in a hostile way but evaluating you. You couldn’t see him, but Viktor’s brows lifted, a hint of oh no on his face.
Vi pushed off the wall, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud as she walked towards you.
“Listen closely,” she said, voice low once she got closer to you, “the last thing I need is a Piltie who thinks good intentions equal actual skills.”
You kept your chin up, not willing to back up now.
“I think doing nothing because you’re scared that a civilian will make you and your Enforcers look bad is pathetic.”
Mel’s eyes flickered with interest, not fully disapproving of your words. Caitlyn glanced briefly at Vi, ready to intervene if needed. Even Viktor covered a cough that sounded suspiciously like ‘don’t punch her.”
Slowly, Vi smirked. But her eyes were sharp, staring at you as if she were sizing you up.
“Someone’s gonna end up hurt, and it’s not gonna be me.”
She turned away, returning to the wall like you were no longer worth facing.
You noticed Jayce exchange looks with both Mel and Caitlyn. They didn’t speak, but the silence that followed said plenty.
“This situation requires training and clearance,” Caitlyn finally said, diplomatic but distant.
Mel nodded as she looked at you, a curious glint in her eye, “We appreciate your concern, but we don’t need civilians in the room right now.”
“We don’t,” Jayce emphasized, voice soft as if it was softening the blow.
Your hands tightened as you held them together, “That’s it? I was there; I saw the attack. You’re just going to ignore it?”
“We’ll run witness statements,” Vi smirked as she raised her eyebrows, “You can give one to the Enforcers outside before you leave.”
You stared, disbelief and frustration twisting in your chest. Leave. Just like that.
Viktor put a hand on your shoulder, and you turned to look at him. He offered you a faint, apologetic nod. As if he was the only one to truly see you at all.
November 17th, 2025 okay i’m sorry soulmate i wasn’t planning on venting this soon but i gotta let it all out or i’m going to fucking explode i just met the world’s grumpiest traffic cone with fists and awful social skills […]
NEXT PART: chapter 2
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