Tamara forced herself to wake up early in the morning – it's easy to get up early, but it's not the same if you're sleeping on a goose-down mattress and covered with a cotton futon. The curtains were wide open, and warm sunlight poured on the floor of the third-floor bedroom. When she arrived in Piltover, she slept with the curtains closed on the first night, but she woke up two hours after sunrise, which made her very uneasy, so she went to bed with the curtains open from that day onwards.

She quickly rolled out of bed and walked naked to the window. She reached out and tapped lightly on the stained glass of the window, her fingertips blackened with oil and covered with thick calluses. Colorful light shimmered on her skin, outlining a slender and toned figure like a wild wolf. Even so, she touched her lower abdomen with her hand, as if she was worried about the accumulation of fat. She looked down and saw that many vendors had already begun to set up their stalls on the gravel road. They all want to be able to seize the opportunity in the early morning of Evolution Day. Brightly coloured flags hang between the buildings, and the narrow streets are filled with festive festivity, an atmosphere far from the city Tamara calls home. Gold and red flags, embroidered with gears and keys, flutter at the top of the towers in the distance, the family quarter on the upper slope and the source of wealth flowing through the streets of Piltover.

Thinking of this, Tamara smiled and turned away from the window. Her room was well organized, with everything she should have. In the corner of the workbench is a notebook, next to various tools, a Hex-energy meter, and a stacked blueprint. Yesterday's lunch consisted of brown bread, cheese and dried fruit, wrapped in muslin and laid out next to the tools. A small cast-iron furnace is cleverly embedded in the brick wall, and several sinuous iron pipes exhaust the smoke to the roof. In the middle of the workbench was a wooden box, the equipment inside which had taken her months. The design drawings are etched on wax paper and hidden under the mattress all the way to a well-rolled finish.

She pulled out the night pot from under the bed to relieve herself, and then quickly cleaned herself up with the powder box and perfume provided by the landlord. She put on the coarse cloth coat of a student worker: plain leggings, a shirt with many pockets, and a wrapping blouse. The jacket is fitted with a delicate hook and buckle that allows you to take off the entire garment with a quick pull. She was initially puzzled by the design, but Giesberg blushed and told her that if her coat caught fire while working in the workshop, it would save her life.

She stood in front of the mirror behind the door to straighten her clothes, combed her long black hair behind her ears, and fastened it with a leather strap and copper hairpin. Tamara stroked her high cheekbones with her hand and slid down her cheek to her chin, pleased with herself in the mirror. Colette kept telling her to pay attention to her appearance, but her friend was too young to understand the dangers of being outstanding.

Tamara placed the wooden box in her satchel and brought a muslin wrapped meal, a few notebooks, and a few pencils. She was nervous, but it was normal. Today is a very important day for her and she doesn't want to fail.

She removed the chair against the door, twisted the locking plate, and opened the latch. Compared to her hometown, Piltover is a safe city with a surprisingly low violent crime rate. Its residents don't have to deal with the violence that other cities are accustomed to, but they're not stupid enough to think they can stay up at night.

Especially in the weeks leading up to Evolution Day.

Tamara locked the door and cleared the pot at the central culvert of the apartment on the way downstairs. She wondered where the culvert would eventually lead, but later realized that all the shit and urine would only flow downward. Somewhere in the city of Zuan, there must be a large garden overflowing with fragrance. She placed the night pot on a special washing rack and went down the spiral staircase to the communal dining room. Some of the students are having breakfast, while others are adjusting their equipment, hoping that they will be favored by a certain family. Tamara holds her satchel in one hand, feeling a wave of pride in her work. She carried out the plan precisely, though the final finishing touches were a bit out of line with her ascetic professionalism.

She waved her hand and responded to a few tired greetings, but did not stop to talk. Almost none of them had been able to sleep two hours a day for the past two weeks, and she dared say that someone would have fallen asleep during today's interview. She didn't want to be dragged around, so she opened the door and walked out into the street, but the strong sunlight outside forced her to stand still for a while.

The high-rise buildings on her street are all made of limestone bricks and chipped timber, with bronze finishes, leaded glass windows and brass eaves, each reflecting the dazzling sunlight. The streets are bustling with people coming and going in decent and understated festive costumes. The messenger pushed away the announcers, innkeepers, and salesmen on the road and weaved through the crowd, and those who were pushed away all shouted and waved their fists in demonstration. A few wandering tinkerers laid canvas on the barrels and placed parts of unknown origin, their eyes wide and wide, ready to slip away at the sight of the guards. Zaun's gutter orphan stealthily rode a screaming elevator to the top, hiding outside the street and waiting for an opportunity, searching for a target among passing pedestrians. These were all inexperienced children, who had been driven from the side of the canyon bridge. The bridge is easier to get hold of, so it is taken over by the stronger kids.

Tamara kept an eye on them as she walked. She carefully counted her steps. Although she had nothing to steal from herself, the last thing she wanted to encounter today was to be targeted by the trench cubs. The smell wafted from a newly opened restaurant, and the smell of grilled fish and freshly baked Shurima Sun bread made her swallow, but instead of entering, she stopped a woman pushing a small oven and bought a cup of tea and a sweet cake from her. This sweet tooth made her a little craving.

"Happy Evolution Day, dear!" She took a silver wheel. Tamara motioned for no more looks. "May the gears turn, sweet girl."

The woman's accent was strange, thin and slow, as if she had endless time to say what she wanted to say, though it wasn't uncommon in the border market. There is both Piltover and Zaun's raunchy here.

"Thank you," Tamara replied. "May the haze not enter your house."

The woman tapped her fingers on her head and chest, apparently her parents were from above and below. Although the inhabitants of Piltover and Zaun like to pretend that they are incompatible, their fates are so mixed that they just don't want to admit it publicly. Tamara devoured the sweet cake and walked to the end of the road, exactly twenty paces, before entering the Clock Street. She turned right, took one last sip of tea, and continued to count her steps, checking the numbers at each intersection. The buildings here are even grander than the schoolwork quarters where she lives, built of polished granite and wrought iron columns.

Many buildings are equipped with alchemy-powered door lights, and the jumping firelight adds a cold and dry chemical smell to the morning air. Lighting up early in the morning may seem like a waste, but Tamara has learned that Piltover's social status depends largely on one's apparent wealth and power—both of which are cause and effect of each other. Similar practices abound: the cutting of fabrics for everyday wear, the intense colors of paints, and the variety of charities advertised. Tamara saw many couples walking the streets, both husband and wife, fully equipped and decorated with various small and delicate mechanical prostheses. A woman has an implanted mandibular plate on her face and wears a jewel-shaped monocle. Her arm was around a man who wore metal gloves and the surface of the grid reflected a glittering light. Across the street, a hunchbacked man in a coveralls sits a respirator on his back, a pool filled with bubbling green liquid, and aerosolized steam billows.