The Daughter Of The Virtuoso - |A League of Legends FanFiction|

0.1 - The Smile of Evil

I always wondered what I should have understood.

It was clear now that I and that man with the ivory mask had something in common, forsaking the love for art and the show and largely avoiding the fact that he was a mercenary and I was a frightened young girl.

But I did not want to believe it.

I could not be the daughter of a cold-blooded killer, more attached to the death number, the four, so much that he made me four little braids in my hair during the trip, four rose-shaped origami and four odiously flowered garlands.

But I had no choice but to indulge his obsession, after I was all tied up like a salami and the two people beside me seemed to have no interest in me or what was happening around them.

Maybe Jhin had paid them, but they did not seem to have the same style of the masked man.

"Where are we headed?"

I asked, looking at him with a grim look, slightly puffing my cheeks of air, my habit that was created due to boredom that I felt every day and now I almost missed.

"Far from here, capital is a place full of haughty." 

"Look who's talking..."

He glanced at me and he almost didn't burn me with his glare.

"You're not like them, do not try to find in their worldly habits something that unites you to the Ionians."

"You always try to look so much superior from ordinary people, but you do not look like a nobleman!"

He gripped my hair and brought them back, thus raising my head, to make sure that I looked into his eyes.

"We are different, the Khada family is different."

That being said, he left the grip, making me jump on the ground;
Of course that guy did not lack strength.

"We!?! You don't even know if I'm really your daughter! "

"Oh, but dear Jinko, you have the musical talent of your mother and my temper, even if you refuse to see it."

I turned away, I was genuinely frustrated by his words.
I hated that he was right.

The rest of the trip was extremely boring, Jhin was standing on his own just to clean his guns, disassembling and drying a strange liquid released by the bullets of the same color as blood.
It looked like a highly mechanical thing, cleaning and assembling, but I did not see anyone handling a weapon with so much care, touching it with kindness, with the same care as it usually someone gives to a beautiful woman when they want to touch her curvy thighs.

The wagon suddenly stopped, the murder with the white mask made me keep my head low and a male voices were heard not far away from us.