Chapter Text
Seishiro Nagi had never cared for the reaping. To him, it didn’t matter if his name were to be called out to participate in the Games. It wasn’t like the life he was living was any different to those in the arena; they were both a hassle in their own ways. Being from the agricultural heart of the Panem, District 11, he had been fated to become an orchard harvester since the day he was born. As soon as he had turned five, his parents had sent him off with the other children whose youth was seen as nimbleness to retrieve the fruits from the highest treetops. Safety was never a consideration and children were seen as disposable objects only useful for income. His parents must have known this. It was obvious in the way their faces seemed to drop every time Seishiro would come home unscathed. Alive. Like a nuisance or annoyance in their poverty-ridden life. Just another mouth to feed. The fact that he hadn’t been sent to the streets was a mere miracle, though Seishiro supposed that the money he earnt, no matter how little, was enough for his parents to deem him as useful to keep.
In the orchards, Seishiro would watch the other children scale the treetops eagerly, singing through their labour with melodies of encouragement and enjoyment. He never had that desire to work. It seemed no matter how much effort each worker put in, their salary would remain the same measly amount that could barely pay for a day’s worth of food meant to last a month. Perhaps they did it to fulfil that void of boredom, the humane itch to do something more with their lives. To participate in the make-believe game that they were escaping their sealed fate as pawns to the Capitol cycle. None of it was worth it to Seishiro. So, he spent his days putting in bare minimum required so that he could still call a place home. After completing his daily quota (or sometimes without even bothering), he would settle among one of the highest branches of the tree tops and rest against the trunk, feeling the breeze blow through his hair as the Mockingjays repeated the songs of the motivated workers surrounding him. That was his version of escapism of the bleak reality he lived in.
As he grew into his teenage body and sprouted well above six feet, he was no longer required to take the risks the younger children did. The older and more experienced, the more valuable the labour. However, unlike most of the teenagers his age, Seishiro refused the groundwork he was to be assigned, along with the sorry excuse of a ‘pay rise’. Instead, he opted to continue working in the treetops. Despite his lazy attitude towards his work, and his puberty-driven growth spurt, Seishiro’s nimbleness when it came to tree-climbing was undisputed by his supervisors, so his request had been granted. His parents, like when it came to most things he did, were unaware of his refusal to make more money. As long as he put his name in multiple times to the reaping, that was enough for him to keep a roof over his head. Though, he knew they were probably praying for the day that his name would be drawn.
Everyone simply assumed Seishiro’s refusal to work in the fields with the older children was because of his little motivation. Certainly that was part of it. However, his main reason was so that he could return to his favourite spot in all of 11; his branch. Even on his time off work, day in and day out, he would sit in the spot he claimed his and look out at the forever-expanding fields below. He admired the view in every season. When autumn came, the lush green would turn to ash yellow as the harvest began to die. In the winter months, he would watch as the grass was covered in a thin layer of white frost, matching the colour of his own hair. Spring evaporated its lifeless form, making way for Seishiro’s favourite season for examining the fields. In summer, like it was on the day of the reaping, the lavender were in full bloom. In face of the bleakness of his reality, the sight of the endless sea of purple brought him comfort. They eased the constant pang in his stomach from his starvation and filled his usually empty chest with a flicker of hope. Even after the death, the bleakness, the ruthlessness that the turning seasons brought with them, the fields would be filled with lavender once again. Maybe that’s how the workers thought all the time, as they persevered at their seemingly useless tasks. That one day all their efforts would pay off. Seishiro was only capable of feeling such hope when the fields were covered in purple. That lavender fields were truly the only difference Seishiro could think of when comparing his life in District 11 to the Games. He was already dead in every sense but the physical. Maybe getting reaped wouldn’t be as horrible as all his peers made it out to be.
Yawning, he stretched out his arms as he watched the sun rise from the horizon, marking the fated day. He had woken up early and decided to make the effort to see the lavender fields, just in case his name were to be drawn. After all, this would be the only thing that he would miss.
As the sky went from its gradient of auburn to pink to yellow to finally settle on a soft blue, Seishiro began his descent of the tree, gracefully swinging down through its branches. Reaching the ground with a soft thud, Seishiro took one last glance at the field and breathed in its sickly floral scent. He knew the likelihood of his name getting drawn was higher than most. At the age of seventeen, his name was entered 36 times. The punishment for his laziness, he supposed. Moreover, being the 100th Hunger Games, a special twist would be added to the mix due to being the Fourth Quarter Quell. Anything was possible. Not like he cared, though. There was nothing he could do about it anyways and he saw no use in worrying about things that hadn’t happened yet. That just took too much energy.
Seishiro made his way up the long, sloped pathway to the small residential area which housed the fieldworkers, including his family. Housing was compact, stacked upon one another like piles of logs. It wasn’t a home, per se, but rather a shelter. With no proper doors, all the rooms of his ‘house’ flowed into one another allowing little privacy. Nevertheless, it was somewhere that guaranteed a place to sleep, and if he was lucky, a bite to eat. Since it was reaping day, Seishiro hoped that this meant his parents had at least made the effort to provide their only child with breakfast. He was disappointed to find that they hadn’t. In fact, both his mother and father were nowhere to be found when he opened the rickety door to their shack. What they had left him, however, was a neatly-folded shirt along with some dress pants on his unmade bed. No note, no food, no effort to stick around and say the Capitol’s stupid catch-phrase ‘May the odds be ever in your favour!’ like parents who cared traditionally did. Seeing those damn flowers had led him to foolishly give himself away to hope. Having the clothes presented in solidation was a clear enough message as to where their priorities lied. It was as if they were manifesting his name to get reaped. Then, he wouldn’t be a hassle in their lives anymore. The thought of that was enough for Seishiro to forget about his morning spent in the tree tops- this was his reality.
He ran his fingers down the wrinkled, button-up shirt before putting it on, followed by the black pants. Like everything in District 11, new clothes were hard to come by and most were forced to resort to second-hand. This outfit was no different. The shirt had multiple loose threads and was probably originally a crisp white rather than the tired cream it was at present. Thanks to malnourishment, Seishiro was able to fit his waist into the two-sizes-too-small dress pants, which showed their ill-fittedness in their length. He couldn’t care less. Clothes were clothes. The Capitol weren’t interested in what District scum were wearing unless they were reaped.
Seishiro examined himself in the mirror. Though his outfit matched the poverty of his District, the unchangeable features rooted in his genetics ensured he would always stand out. Unlike the dark skin and hair that typically was associated with 11, Seishiro’s fair complexion contrasted greatly with the norm. His appearance was the one thing preventing his ultimate goal of blending into the background. As a last-ditch effort to look somewhat presentable, Seishiro hastily combed his fingers through his hair, attempting to push the strand of hair that stubbornly sat between the middle of his eyes to merge with his parting. Today, obviously, was not the day that it would comply and he eventually let his hair be. Sighing, Seishiro shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced up at the analogue clock nailed to the wooden pole running through the centre of the shack. It was one of the only materialistic items his family owned. Courtesy of the Peacekeepers to wipe any excuses of not showing up to work on time for their designated shifts. The clock’s large hand pointed to the nine. Though the reaping was scheduled to start at 11 am, Seishiro decided to begin the half-hour walk to his District’s centre where the event was to be held. He wanted to avoid the crowd of people that would take the same route as much as he possibly could.
Turning to take in the house one last time, Seishiro’s eyes rested on the windowsill of his room, if you could even call the hastily-nailed piece of wood below the broken glass frame that. He had engineered the shelf himself, all for the sake of his pet cactus, Choki, which he gazed at now. Though he wasn’t certain whether it required sunlight, he figured that he was a cactus, he wouldn’t like to be locked away in the dark. So, in an unusual moment of motivation, Seishiro had crafted a place for Choki to sit and watch the world pass by. The cactus had become more of a family member than any of the humans in his life. At least Choki made the effort to stick around on reaping day.
“See you later, Choki,” Seishiro said to the cactus, before starting his trek towards the city centre, where his fate, like the thousands of other teenagers, would be determined.
* * *
The square had already begun to fill up. Lines were being formed, cries of grief were being screamed, and what Seishiro viewed to be the biggest hassle of them all, families were reluctantly voicing the same, well-rehearsed, ‘goodbye’ speeches to their children. If he were younger, perhaps Seishiro would have felt a pang of jealousy in their interactions. Now, he only thought it was a waste of time. The likelihood of getting reaped was low for most, so why bother with such extravagance? Even on the off chance their names were to be pulled, there was assigned time for proper goodbyes anyways. Seishiro couldn’t understand why people fussed over things that weren't even guaranteed. There was nothing to be done about something that hadn’t even happened yet.
Hands shoved into the pockets of his too-short pants, Seishiro queued in the respective line for seventeen year olds, trying to drown out the distressed noises of those surrounding him. At least his line was fairly quiet. As the second oldest age group, they had been through this process enough times to learn to conceal their terror. Of course, Seishiro himself had never felt anything but annoyance towards the event.
Progress throughout his line was swift, and after only a short, fifteen minutes, Seishiro found himself face-to-face with the Peacekeeper admining his age bracket. Like all members of the Capitol’s military force, they were dressed in signature white armour, face concealed by an oval helmet.
“Name.” A neutral voice droned robotically. For not the first time in his life, Seishiro wondered if there really was a person behind the mask. Maybe all the Peacekeepers were Capitol-engineered machines. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was true; why send actual people to the worthless Districts and waste valuable manpower?
“Seishiro Nagi.”
After a few seconds of flicking through the paper files, the Peacekeeper found his name and scribbled what was likely a tick beside it.
“Finger.”
Seishiro complied, not even flinching as the thin needle pierced his pointer finger. After taking the blood sample and writing a couple more frantic notes, the Peacekeeper nodded their head.
“Proceed.”
He made his way past the desk and towards the Town Centre, which was filled with a sea of faces, arranged in uniform lines. It was always strange to see so many people gathered in one space. The Peacekeepers discouraged large events that weren’t public hangings or Capitol-arranged events. Probably out of fear for another uprising, Seishiro thought as he joined the array of teenagers. Placing his hands behind his back, he looked up at the clock in the centre of the town square. 10:15 am. What a hassle. Maybe he should have waited longer until arriving. If he had done so, perhaps his parents would have returned with breakfast, though he knew that thought was simply optimism speaking. At the thought of food, his stomach grumbled, a sound that Seishiro had come familiar with from a young age. He had learnt to stand through the waves of nausea that came with hunger and low blood sugars. Today would be no different, he told himself. He just needed to take his mind off it. Seishiro scanned the crowd for a distraction.
Unfortunately for him, his view was uneventful. Though he could see all the way up to the makeshift stage where the reaping was to commence thanks to his height, the individuals surrounding the stage remained still and silent. There was no rule stating you couldn’t talk, however, most chose not to once they entered the waiting area. Whether it was out of fear for the reaping or punishment from the Capitol, Seishiro had no clue. He chose not to speak because that was his default. His stomach grumbled again, causing a stabbing pain to consume his lower abdomen. Reflexively, Seishiro squeezed his eyes shut to ride out the wave of pain. He knew it would pass. It always did, if he just let it.
After what felt like hours, a soft tap to his shoulder coaxed him to open his eyes. Slowly, he turned his head to his right where he felt the presence. Seishiro was met by the gaze of a boy with dark hair and square glasses staring back at him. He glanced down to the boy’s hand, which held a piece of half-eaten bread in it.
“Take it. With the noises your liver is making, it’s clear that you are hungry,” the dark-haired boy said, fixing his glasses on his nose with his free hand. Seishiro raised an eyebrow at the boy’s strange remark, but took the bread.
“Thank you,” he replied, gratefully taking a bite. Though it was stale, and only a small amount, it would be enough to tide him over during the reaping ceremony. After finishing the bread, his gaze once again shifted to the stranger. Like him, the boy was tall, pale, and scrawny, his face carved hollow from years of little food. However, his physical features resembled traditional District 11 roots with his jet-black hair and dark eyes. The boy must have noticed Seishiro staring, as he quickly focused his eyes on him.
“That’s all I’ve got,” he said apologetically, fidgeting with the hem of his navy dress-shirt.
“I wasn’t going to ask for more,” Seishiro responds boredly, still examining the boy. He looked familiar. Though, that was likely because of his generic appearance. The only thing that made him stand out from the average citizen were his glasses. Not many could afford such a novelty.
“Why are you staring at me, then? Do I have something on my face?” the boy questioned, bringing a hand up to wipe at his mouth.
“I was looking at your glasses,” Seishiro responded bluntly. He brought his hand up to clasp the nape of his neck as he tilted his head to the side. “Where did you get them from?”
“They were a gift,” the dark-haired boy responded. He looked as if he was about to explain this to Seishiro, however, the piercing sound of feedback interrupted their conversation mid-sentence.
“Ah, sorry guys! I’m really not used to all this technology stuff,” echoed a crisp voice. Seishiro glanced up at the make-shift stage that had been put in front of the community hall and saw a muscular, blonde man standing over the microphone grinning. “My name is Chris Prince and I’ll be in charge of drawing the names this year.”
Seishiro didn’t understand why the man felt the need to introduce himself every year. Even those whose first reaping was today, the name ‘Chris Prince’ was imprinted in everybody’s brain from lessons in school, Capitol news, and, of course, his victory in the 92nd Hunger Games. Being District 11’s only winner since the Games made its revival, Prince’s unlikely victory was famous.
“Before we start, however, in respect to Panem and the Capitol, we must remember why the Games exist. Please stand in silence as we recap our history in this short video,” Prince continued. He spoke the words with a sense of pride, which made Seishiro feel uneasy. He was meant to be District blood like the crowd he was presenting to, however every year since moving to the Capitol like the other victors, Prince seemed to be further losing touch of his roots.
Behind Prince, a projector screen lit up with the same video that Seishiro had witnessed the year before. And the year before that. And every single year he had been a participant in the reaping. He gazed tiredly at the footage shown of the infamous 75th Annual Hunger Games Incident and the uprising led against the old Capitol by the Districts. Of course, no actual footage of the main faces leading the civil war were shown, just the debris and rubble left by their supposed ‘attacks’. The rebels behind the attack had been lost to history, their actions remaining as a way to provoke fear in the destroyed nation they left behind. How the aftermath of the old president’s death had left Panem in a state of anarchy, leaving the Capitol to rise once again to ‘save’ the Districts from deteriorating. At the face of this campaign was Jinpachi Ego, who came to be known as the ‘genius’ behind the reintroduction of the Hunger Games just ten years after the war, to serve as a reminder and punishment for the District’s dark histories. It was the District’s fault that two of their teenagers were sent as ‘tributes’ to the Games for the entertainment of the Capitol, which had managed to rebuild itself into an empire much stronger and powerful than it had been even before ‘Incident 75’, as it had come to be known as in the classroom.
Unlike most things in his bleak life, history was something that interested Seishiro. Other than the fact that the subject was extremely simplistic and only required him to memorise random facts, part of him also enjoyed learning about the Games themselves.
The video came to a close with Ego’s nasally voice wishing the odds to ever be in everyone’s favour, leaving the crowd in silence. Prince stood awkwardly at the microphone, gauging the crowd’s reaction. When he eventually realised that he wasn’t going to get a response (whether he was expecting the crowd to clap or riot was anybody’s guess), he finally spoke.
“The clip never gets old, am I right? I remember being in your shoes a few, short years ago. Terrified. Frozen in place as a scary Capitol lady read out my fate,” Prince said, using dramatic, sweeping hand gestures to solidify his story. Seishiro zoned out of the announcer’s pathetic attempt of trying to be relatable to the crowd. Really, couldn’t he just hurry up and draw the names out instead of dragging out the anticipation? He just wanted to go back to bed and enjoy his day off work, because although his name was in the reaping an unfortunate amount of times, he didn’t really expect it to be drawn. It hadn’t been drawn yet, so why would today be any different? Perhaps after this, he would return to the fields again and admire the lavender. The thought of bathing in the afternoon sun while being surrounded by the flowers’ intoxicating scent filled Seishiro with an unusual feeling of annoyance for the time it was taking Prince to get through his speech.
“Anywho, that’s enough chatter from me,” the blonde male finally concluded, reaching into the pocket of his fitted blazer to retrieve a golden envelope. With a smirk, he waved the thing side-to-side as if he were taunting a child with candy. “As you all know, this is a very special year. Being a Quarter Quell, these already exciting Games will have a surprise twist! I wonder what it could possibly be!”
Eagerly, Prince unsealed their fates, pausing to read over the special rules for the 100th Hunger Games. Seishiro heard the dark-haired boy gulp loudly beside him. The noise made him fix his usually slouched posture. A minute passed. Then another. Seishiro squinted up at the stage to try to make out Prince’s expression, however, like the rest of the seventeen-year-olds, he was too far away to see the announcer’s face in any detail. After the blonde man ran his fingers through his curls a couple of frantic times, he returned to his position at the microphone.
“As a celebration of the 100th Hunger Games, and in regards to preserving the future of the District’s labour due to the dwindling female youth population, the 24 tributes drawn will be all male candidates.” His voice lacked the same enthusiasm it held just minutes prior.
Seishiro glanced at the dark-haired boy once again to gauge his reaction.
“It seems as if the odds are in our favour,” the boy muttered to him. Seishiro frowned as he did the maths in his head. His name was technically in the reaping 72 times now. The odds certainly did not look like they were in his favour. The crowd of boys surrounding him seemed to think the same thing by the frantic sounds they were making in hushed voices. To his left, he could hear the relieved sighs from the comparatively smaller group of girls. Seishiro shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and looked down at his worn leather shoes. With multiple holes in their soles, he could feel sharp bits of gravel digging into his feet. He decided to focus on that discomfort rather than the increasing noise around him. Though the panicked sounds of the boys wasn’t making Seishiro want to join them in their nervous frenzy, their wails were enough to make him feel uneasy.
“Quieten down now, please,” Prince said into the microphone after a few minutes when he realised that the crowd would not settle on their own. His authoritative tone was enough to achieve this. It was either listen to the Capitol or risk getting the Peacekeeper treatment, a lesson that many have learnt the hard way. Seishiro remembered vividly what happened to the girl who tried to make a run for it after having her name pulled on his very first reaping. Her body hung in the Town Centre until her neck decayed to the point where it could no longer hold her head to her body. The stench of rotting flesh still danced at his nose whenever he glanced over at the pillar where she had been years prior.
“Right-o, I would say ladies first, but it looks as if we won’t be needing chivalry today,” said Prince awkwardly, his voice lacking any humour.
“Good luck,” the dark-haired boy beside Seishiro whispered. He nodded in response.
“You too. What’s your name, by the way?” There was something about his new companion that seemed so familiar. He definitely had seen him somewhere before. Work, perhaps? Before the dark-haired boy could reply, Prince was already reading out the first name from the slip of paper he had retrieved from inside the boy’s bowl of tribute names.
“Our first tribute is Zantetsu Tsurugi. Do we have a Zantetsu here, anybody? Please could I get Zantetsu Tsurgui to the stage!”
The dark-haired boy beside him went stiff as the crowd in the Town Centre once again erupted with whispers.
“The mayor’s kid?” Seishiro heard some say in shock.
“You mean the dumb one? District 11’s toast again!”
“His mummy and daddy can’t pay their son’s way out of this one!”
Seishiro only connected the dots when he felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder.
“It looks like my time is up. I’ll see you on the other side, alright?” the dark-haired boy, the middle child of mayor Tsurugi’s family, Zantetsu, said before making his way up to the stage. The other boys gratefully stepped aside to his path. Seishiro brought his hand up to the nape of his neck, curiously watching Zantetsu shake hands with Prince like he was receiving an award. In the eyes of the Capitol he was, Seishiro supposed. Mayor Tsurugi’s son. Infamous for his stupidity and in need of constant financial bargaining from his parent’s status due to the constant trouble he always seemed to find himself in. From what Seishiro heard from the workers in the orchard, despite his low IQ, Zantetsu had strong morals and always tried to do what was right. Though, often he went about it in the stupidest way possible which had resulted in his dislikability. Seishiro had never cared for the District’s politics. The guy had seemed nice in the few brief words they had exchanged with one another. Too bad he would never see the guy again.
“Alright, now who will be joining the town-renowned Zantetsu? The anticipation is simply killing me!” Prince eagerly reached his hand back into the boy’s bowl, swirling it around for extra emphasis. The Capitol loved to toy with them. Seishiro didn’t care for that. Right now, a nap was looking really advertising.
“Here we go! Right from the bottom,” Christ exclaimed, pulling his hand out dramatically before unfolding it with the same excited energy that echoed in his voice. Seishiro wished he would hurry up and get on with it.
“Seishiro Nagi. Could I please get Seishiro Nagi to take his place on the stage?”
Seishiro felt nothing. The words hadn’t seemed to process in his head, even as his legs guided him towards the stage. The crowd was noticeably quieter when his name was called, for obvious reasons. He was a nobody. Insignificant in the eyes of his peers. As somebody who only showed up to school occasionally and never bothered to interact with any of his coworkers, he had successfully blended into the background. Nobody would care for his death, and Seishiro was content with that fact. Perhaps, the Hunger Games was a blessing sent to prematurely end his worthless life, he thought emptily. When Seishiro finally reached the stage, Prince’s hand was already outstretched and waiting. Seishiro raised his hesitantly to greet it.
“Congragulations, Seishiro, for being one of the 24th tributes for the 100th annual Hunger Games! We are honoured that you will be joining us,” he said, flashing a perfect smile. From this close, Seishiro was almost blinded by the artificial whiteness of his teeth. Prince let go of his hand, not before shaking it aggressively a few times, to return to the microphone. “Right-o! That concludes the reaping for this year! However, it is a Quarter Quell, and I can promise you that these Games will have many more twists and turns, so make sure you stay tuned. But, that’s it for now, folks! Have a great rest of your reaping day, and to our two brave, young tributes, may the odds be ever in your favour!”
Seishiro rocked on the balls of his feet as he looked down at the ground, wanting to get out of the spotlight as soon as possible. He couldn’t believe the first emotion he was feeling since having his name drawn was something as silly as stage fright. Though, what was he expecting to feel? He had never held any fear towards the Games. In fact, he had never given them much thought fullstop.
When the crowd didn’t respond to Prince’s closing speech, he only chuckled.
“Geez, tough crowd,” he said to himself, before turning his attention back to Seishiro and Zantetsu. “Alright, tributes! Let’s get you into the mayor’s hall. Your family and friends will have the opportunity to say their goodbyes to you and then we’ll head straight to the train station. We’re a long ways out from the Capitol here at 11, so the trip will approximately take a day, and we’re eager to get you there as quickly as possible, hence why you’ll only have five minutes with each goodbye. I know, a tight schedule, but we must ensure things operate smoothly. It is a big year for the Games after all! Now follow me, tributes!”
Without missing a beat, Prince began to lead the way inside the community hall behind them. Seishiro turned to Zantetsu.
“I’m Zantetsu Tsurugi, in regards to your question,” he said hollowly, extending his hand. Seishiro nodded and shook it, before feeling something hard jabbing into his back.
“You heard the boss. Get moving.” The Peacekeepers that had been guarding the sides of the stage had since made their way beside the two boys, guns held at them threateningly. Seishiro and Zantetsu complied, making their way slowly inside the building that Prince had disappeared into. One last time, Seishiro glanced back at the crowd of fortunate faces who had evaded the reaping for this year. None of them had made any attempt to leave the premises. A sign of respect for the tributes.
“Don’t even think about escaping,” one of the guards said for good measure, noticing where he was looking. They had no need to worry, Seishiro thought to himself. He wouldn’t dare.
* * *
As Seishiro expected, his parents hadn’t bothered to show up to say their goodbyes to their only son. He had no friends either, thanks to his withdrawn personality. He didn’t really care. Goodbyes wouldn’t change his fate. So, as Zentetsu entertained half an hour of heart-felt goodbyes to his friends and family, Seishiro made his way to the train station, with the guidance of the Peacekeepers of course. Neither side tried to strike up a conversation as he was led inside his luxury ride. One carriage of the train was bigger than Seishiro’s house alone and the cutlery laid out on the silk table-cloth were most likely more expensive than all his belongings combined. He had never seen so much silver and gold in one space. In awe, he gazed around the decorated carriages as the Peacekeepers led him through the multiple different sections of the train, each designated for a different function. The extravagant dining area that he was faced with when he entered the train. A living area with a lush, white sofa facing a screen that took up an entire wall. A games room equipped with a pool table and a bar. There was even a carriage with a spa pool, which Seishiro thought was a bit overkill. They would only be on this train one day and likely, he would spend the majority of it in the place where he would be sleeping, which he figured was the room that the Peacekeepers had come to a stop in front of.
“Here’s the card to your room. Scan it to enter,” one of the Peacekeepers said gruffly, extending a hand with a white plastic card held in it. After a few seconds of staring at it, Seishiro took it. “May the odds be ever in your favour.” With that, the Peacekeepers marched right past him back in the direction they came, leaving Seishiro alone in front of his door. Holding the card up to what he guessed was the door’s sensor. Instantly, it slid to the side, granting Seishiro access just as the Peacekeeper said would happen.
Following the luxury theme of the rest of the carriage, his assigned bedroom was no different. The room was decorated with golden accessories, including a large chandelier that hung in the centre of the room. His bed back in the District 11 slums could hardly be called a bed next to the gigantic mattress taking up the majority of the space. Made neatly with a plush, white duvet and sheets, the sight looked heavenly. Seishiro tested that theory by collapsing onto the bed and feeling delighted as his body sank into the softness, exhaling deeply as he did so. He had never felt more comfortable in his life. Even if this train was to deliver him to his death sentence, he was at least grateful that they took into consideration making the journey as enjoyable as possible. Seishiro closed his eyes as he breathed in the chemically floral scent of his bedding. The cleanliness of it suddenly made him very aware of how long it had been since he last bathed. Water was a scarce resource, so it often wasn’t a daily, or sometimes even weekly, event.
He reluctantly arose from the comfort of his bed and dragged himself over to the ensuite attached to his room, grabbing the clothes neatly folded on the ottoman as he went. For the first time in his life, Seishiro enjoyed a hot shower with clean water and soap. Despite being reaped, he thought to himself as he let the warmth and steam consume his body, this may be the best day of his life. Though, having his name drawn wasn’t really a negative thing either in his eyes. After what felt like forever, Seishiro stepped out of his temporary relaxation and changed into the white cotton T-shirt and green cargo pants that had been left for him. He was surprised to see that they somehow fit perfectly to his malnourished body. Capitol magic, he supposed. Ruffling his damp, white hair with his towel, Seishiro made his way back into his bedroom.
“Hey Nagi, sorry I took so long.”
Seishiro almost jumped at the unexpected voice. He turned to see that Zantetsu had invited himself into his room and was currently laying down on his bed, dark blue eyes glued on the ceiling. How did he get into his room? Glancing at the wide-open sliding door, Seishiro realised he had forgotten to shut it before his shower.
“Wow, I think I might be in heaven already,” the dark-haired boy said, expanding his long limbs so that his body covered the entire mattress. “I could just fall asleep here.”
“Did you get lost on the way to your room?” Seishiro questioned, continuing to dry his hair with his towel. His question wasn’t one of sarcasm or malice, but genuine curiosity. He wouldn’t have put it past the other boy, either. From their brief conversation at the reaping and his reputation around town, he knew Zantetsu wasn’t particularly intelligent.
“No. I actually came to give you this. It’s from my dad. He told me it’s his way of wishing the odds to be ever against you.”
Seishiro tilted his head in confusion. Did he mean for the odds to ever be in his favour? He had muddled up the phrase at the reaping too and he doubted the mayor would be actively rooting against his success in the Games. Though he had never talked to the man, he knew the mayor was kind from the charity work he did around the poorest parts of the District. He and his wife had even gone to the effort of providing free dental services to the citizens with their extensive knowledge in the field, though no one really knew where they got their training from. Such higher education was hard to come by.
He took the small, woven bag held out by Zantetsu into his own hands. Immediately, he was consumed by a familiar scent. Seishiro’s fingers went to hurriedly undo the drawstrings of the bag to reveal a small cluster of dried lavender petals. How did the mayor know? Zantetsu must have noticed the small cracks of confusion plastered on his face. He wasn’t usually one to show his emotions.
“My father has his ways. Though it may seem like his interests are only in his dental work and mayor duties, he somehow knows what everyone in the District likes. When he came to say goodbye to me, he said that whenever he came to visit the orchards, he would always see you gazing out over the fields. He thought that the smell might bring you some comfort and that kinda stuff,” he said sheepishly, straightening his glasses as he sat up from the bed.
Seishiro slowly brings the small bag up to his face and inhales the sweet scent with closed eyes. He replays the morning’s memory of him sitting on his branch, surrounded by that same scent as he watched the sun rise over the lavender field. He remembered how their purple petals were framed in gold that seemed to glisten as the summer breeze rippled through the sea of flowers. A nagging sense pulled inside of him. Longing to go back to his favourite place that now felt like a far-fetched fantasy. This wasn’t right. Seishiro had accepted that his life was pointless either way. He wanted to die. Death was meant to be his escape. He wasn’t meant to feel anything towards the Hunger Games. So, why was a small part of him grieving at the thought of never being able to be among the fields of lavender ever again?
“Nagi?” Zantetsu’s voice broke through Seishiro’s thoughts.
“I need some time alone,” he responds quietly without opening his eyes, grip tightened on the bag of lavender. Zantetsu silently complies with Seishiro’s wish. Only when he hears the electronic wishing of the sliding door of his room close does Seishiro open his eyes. Slowly, he lowers the bag from his face and slumps down onto his now-ruffled bed, thanks to Zantetsu. He had been so caught up in his memories and thoughts that he hadn’t realised the train had started its journey to the Capitol. Seishiro turns his head to look at the blurred scene visible from his window. The sight further transformed the nagging feeling in his gut to a full-fleshed stabbing sensation as the train makes its way into through the lavender fields as it leaves District 11 behind. Forever.
* * *
Seishiro awoke in confusion. At first he couldn’t remember where he was, however, the still-lit crystalised chandelier above his head was enough for him to remember his location. What muddled him the most was when he had fallen asleep. His last memory was of looking out the window to see purple. The sight was now pitch black. Groggily, Seishiro sat up and realised his hand was still tightly grasped around the bag of lavender the mayor had gifted him. Inhaling it once more, enjoying how the sickly-sweet scent tickled his nose, he placed the bag on his bedside table and made his way towards the door. He had no way to tell what time it was, but he figured that he had missed dinner, which was inconvenient for Seishiro seeing as he hadn’t eaten all day. Perhaps he could find Prince and ask if there were any leftovers.
The only sound he could hear was his slippers slapping against the polished wooden floor of the train. For the first time since getting on, Seishiro realised how quiet the ride was. There was no constant whirring noise of an engine nor sounds of friction where its wheels met the railing. It was almost unnerving. Seishiro trekked through the corridor, passing numerous cases of closed doors. He continued making his way through the different carriages until he spotted an open passage emitting light. When he peaked inside the room, he recognised it to be the lounge area he had passed hours prior, the only difference being that the projector screen was now switched on showing footage of what Seishiro guessed was the reaping. Moreover, the room was occupied with two bodies. Seishiro leaned silently against the doorframe. Or so he thought. His footsteps in the corridor must have given him away as one of the figures whipped their head around.
“Seishiro Nagi! Lovely of you to join us! Do you prefer I call you by your first or last name? Sorry, I should have asked earlier,” Prince’s overly energetic voice said, forcing Seishiro into the room.
“Nagi is fine.”
“Well Nagi, Zantetsu and I have been getting well acquainted over the past couple of hours. It was a shame you couldn’t have joined us for dinner, but we do have some food down here, please, there’s a spot just for you! We’re just about done watching the reapings from the other districts. Scoping out the competition and all that so that we can make a plan,” Prince continued, patting a free spot on the sofa for Seishiro to sit.
“Nagi! I was going to come get you but you said you wanted time to yourself so I figured you would come out in your own time,” Zantetsu said as Seishiro situated himself between the dark-haired boy and Prince. “Here, try some of this. They call it pork cutlet.”
Gratefully, Seishiro begins to eat the food he had been offered. It was delicious.
“While you eat that, I’ll give you a very brief update on what we’ve watched so far. We’ve almost finished watching the footage, just got District 1 to go,” Prince explained, smiling down at Seishiro, who nodded. “I’m gonna be completely transparent with you kiddo but the odds aren’t looking too hot. It’s a stiff competition.” Seishiro continued to chew on the meat in his mouth, savouring the various flavours that danced on his tastebuds. His enjoyment of his first proper meal greatly contrasted the rapidly fading smile of Prince’s face as he continued to catch him up on the events of the day.
“So far, notable contestants include a broad-shouldered beast from Seven, Shoei Barou. Despite his stupid haircut, his physique will give him an overwhelming advantage. District Six’s Oliver Aiku and District Four’s Rensuke Kunigami are in the same boat. However, it’s obviously not all about the muscle mass,” Prince explained calmly, showing Seishiro a series of images taken from the reaping. He had no idea how the blonde man had managed to print them so fast. He examined the images vaguely, not really caring for them. Again, Seishiro had already accepted that he had no chance of winning, but he supposed the least he could do is lend Prince his ear. The man had obviously gone to an extensive effort to collect this information for the two of them.
“From my experience as a Mentor, I’ve learnt a few things about what different people might be good at based on their body types, besides the obvious size of them. So, another concern I’d look out for is Hyoma Chigiri, also from District Four. I’m pinning my money on him being a fast one. Kenyu Yukimiya from District Five looks pretty quick as well. We’ve also just finished watching the footage from District Two, and before you came in, I was telling Zantetsu that their contestants look like trouble too.”
For the first time since entering the room, Seishiro directed his attention to the projector screen to see where the video had been paused. The film had zoomed in onto a stage which was much grander than the makeshift one they had in 11. Two figures stood overlooking a crowd. The taller boy proudly smiled into the camera, his hand placed on the head of the shorter boy next to him, forcing him down. His left arm was decorated with blue vines that matched the tips of his dyed hair, flowering into a crown on the hand on top of the other boy’s head. Like a king making his servant submit to him. What was surprising was the shorter boy didn’t seem to mind his man-handling. Rather, he shared the taller boy’s malicious smile to the audience.
“Michael Kaiser is the one with the bad hair-cut. Alexis Ness is the one beside him. I don’t know anything about the two, but if I had to guess, I would say the Hunger Games won’t be the first opportunity they’ve had to kill. In fact, both eagerly volunteered as tributes. Though, that’s hardly surprising since it’s District Two we’re talking about.” Prince laughed humourlessly, reaching for the remote. “Let’s see what District One has in store for us, shall we?”
Clicking a button, the projector screen sprung to life, animating Kaiser’s hand which forcefully ruffled Ness’s two-toned hair. Within seconds, the scene changed to show a different stage, though it was of the same grandeur. The footage of the drawing of the names of the tributes had been cut and instead, the camera went straight to a shot of the individuals situated on the stage. Seishiro’s eyes widened.
What had caught his attention wasn’t the red stains plastering both the boys, or the noticeable disruption of the crowd below. It wasn’t on how the taller, dark-haired boy seemed to scowl at a shorter, magenta-haired male who he could only guess was the District One Mentor, nor the way the Peacekeepers had begun to swarm him. No, Seishiro’s attention was glued on the other tribute next to him. Just like the lavender fields in District 11, his purple hair seemed to glow in the afternoon light, paired with the same-coloured bright eyes that seemed to dance with excitement. The smile plastered on his face was charming rather than menacing, despite the flecks of red scattered on his cheek and his well-fitted white suit. The boy’s hands rested casually in his pockets as the crowd continued to move in turmoil beneath the stage.
“What a mess,” Prince said, cringing at the video being played.
“Who is he?” Seishiro said in awe, his eyes still glued to the purpled-hair boy, who was now bowing at the audience in extravagance. Before Prince could answer him, the recording cut to the boy standing confidently to the microphone.
“My name is Reo Mikage, and I will win the 100th Annual Hunger Games.” His voice was laced with determination. A declaration that was filled with promise. Seishiro continued to watch as the boy turned and walked away from the audience, leaving the other tribute and the magenta-haired Mentor watching after him.
“I think he just answered your question for you,” Prince replied, eyes also fixed on the screen. “If I were you, I would make sure to keep a close eye on that one as well. He may not be much in stature, but from my experience, pure drive outdoes most physical abilities.”
Seishiro watched as the recording ended with the boy disappearing off the stage, cutting to a 3D rendering of the Capitol’s logo before the screen turned black. Prince had begun to once again talk strategy to the two of them, however, Seishiro’s mind was elsewhere. Reo Mikage. The boy that reminded him so much of the fields he loved had already rooted himself in Seishiro’s mind, and he was yet to even meet him.