Chapter Text
The first thing Yoo Joonghyuk can remember on the day of the reaping is the sight of his own reflection in the almost comically large bowl containing the names of potential tributes. There’s been more care put into his appearance on this day than any other. To his parents, his friends, his mentors, today is the day that his life begins. He’s dressed in his Sunday best, hair gelled neatly back to show off his sharp features. The other children standing around him can’t stop staring at him, shooting him look of admiration, astonishment, jealousy. There’s always been a strange strain of energy buzzing in the air during the reaping in District 1. Yoo Joonghyuk has experienced it seventeen times already, afterall. Now, his last year of qualifying for the games, he is plunged head first into the deep end of it all.
“And for the male tribute--”
Yoo Joonghyuk raises his hand immediately, like it’s being pulled by a string. He’s no more than a puppet, acting under the will of the Capitol. He was the safest bet for the win, born and bred to survive days of mindless killing.
“I volunteer as tribute.”
Yoo Joonghyuk steeles his expression as the camera zooms in and the applause starts. The cheers roar in his ears and send waves of vertigo rippling through his vision. He catches a glimpse of Lee Jihye standing proudly beside him, and momentarily, Yoo Joonghyuk sees Mia’s face, a few years in the future overlapping with hers. Bile rises to the back of his throat. The people of District 1 are unrelenting, as they celebrate the fact that in a few weeks, only one of them will be on the train returning home.
Backstage, Yoo Mia hugs him tightly and pretends that she’s not choking on her own sobs as she buries her face in his jacket, one last time. Yoo Joonghyuk pats her back gently. He’s assured her countless times that he’ll make it back alive, but he knows that if he says anything now, it will feel like nothing more than empty promises. They may be nothing more than empty promises.
“Take care of her,” he says to Lee Seolhwa.
“I will,” his oldest friend replies. “I promise.”
Lee Jihye follows him like a shadow around the train.
“I’m just saying, if I can master another weapon-”
Yoo Joonghyuk shakes his head, “You should be trying to perfect your sword skills now. It’s too late for you to be proficient enough with a new weapon now.”
There’s a ridiculous spread of food in front of them, though it remains untouched. Yoo Joonghyuk’s been on a tailored high-protein diet since he was ten years old, one that doesn’t account for the extra carbs and calories of buttery capitol pastries.
“But if someone else gets the sword at the Cornucopia?”
“They won’t,” Yoo Joonghyuk promises, because this is the only assurance he can offer. “I’ll get you a sword, no matter what.”
Lee Jihye looks at him with eyes like he’s holding the entire world in the palm of his hand, and he becomes acutely aware of the fact that she is just a young girl, still a child.
Looking for a distraction, Yoo Joonghyuk glances at the screen across the cabin, and feels his heart stop in his chest as it focuses on a young boy, quivering in fear as he takes a step out of the crowd.
What terrible luck, being chosen during the first year that you’re thrown into the reaping. Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Not that he would wish being chosen on someone in their last year of the reaping, either.
“Come on now, Lee Gilyoung,” the escort on the screen smiles, and the camera pans out to reveal grey skies and long runs of trees behind the stage. District 12.
“ -o, no!” a voice is barely picked up by the microphone, but Yoo Joonghyuk can recognize the desperation in it nonetheless. A young man tears his way past the peacekeepers and into the aisle, pulling Lee Gilyoung behind him protectively.
“I’ll volunteer! I volunteer as tribute.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Yoo Joonghyuk sees Lee Jihye’s head snap towards the screen too, “A volunteer from Twelve? Has this ever happened?”
“A brave volunteer. Could we get a name?”
Yoo Joonghyuk can’t tear his eyes away as he observes the boy who takes the stage. He’s gangly, and awkward in all the wrong ways. However noble it was for him to volunteer, he’ll never make it past the first night in the arena.
“My name is Kim Dokja. I promise to give you a show like you’ve never seen before.”
Kim Dokja stares directly into the camera, and there’s no mistaking the look in his eyes. Contempt burns bright in Kim Dokja’s eyes, unyielding.
The crowd of District 12 is silent, save for the young boy, who wails like he’s murdered Kim Dokja with his own two hands.
In a sense, he has.
Kim Dokja grabs the hand of the female tribute, a dark-haired girl who looks around the same age. She’s grinning like she doesn’t know how the audience mourns for them prematurely. He raises their hands above their heads, before he swings them back down, and the two take a bow.
They’ve tried to cut it out, but Yoo Joonghyuk can hear the split-second explosion from the crowd before the video stops. They’re cries of frustration, of revolt. Something that Yoo Joonghyuk has never heard from his cushy seat up in 1.
“Holy shit,” Lee Jihye gapes at the screen. “Who the hell was that guy?”
“An enemy,” Yoo Joonghyuk replies, for both of their sakes. “Once we’re in the arena, it won’t matter how he got chosen. It’s you or him, and if remembering that he saved a kid makes you swing your sword a second too late, then you’re gonna be the reason he killed one.”
Yoo Joonghyuk has been learning how to live with his own hypocrisy since the day he was born. He curses the games, the Capitol, every soul who watches as children become murderers for entertainment. Then, he trains. He obediently picks up a new weapon every day, allowing his body to be crafted into the most impeccable killing machine in Panem. His parents, prominent business heads, pay for the best of trainers, dietitians, even psychologists who will help numb his mind to the all-consuming guilt of taking another human’s life. Yoo Joonghyuk sees videos of the coal miners in 12, or the lumberers in 7, working themselves half to death. The videos are played as a warning, a reminder of how grateful one should be to live in District 1. Yoo Joonghyuk is nothing if not cautious. He accepts his fate, his destined future, with bitter resolve. He could always have it worse. Many children in District 11 don’t even live to the age where they can be chosen for the games.
On the first day of training, Yoo Joonghyuk does not see Kim Dokja touch a single weapon. Not that the guy looks strong enough to pick one off the ground in the first place. All of the tributes have been dressed in uniforms, no doubt custom tailored to fit comfortably all around. Black fabric stretches across Yoo Joonghyuk’s back in a polo-type shirt, while red and grey stripes run down his leg on the matching pants. Wearing the same outfit, Kim Dokja looks frail enough that Yoo Joonghyuk thinks he could easily snap him in half.
“That’s him,” Lee Jihye whispers, and gestures to Kim Dokja very obviously.
Kim Dokja catches them staring and waves, flashing one of the most dishonest smiles that Yoo Joonghyuk has ever seen. The other tribute from 12, Han Sooyoung, slaps him upside the head and drags him towards the rack of knives. Yoo Joonghyuk scoffs and similarly leads Lee Jihye away to fetch a sword.
They spar, and Yoo Joonghyuk is unrelenting as he swings down his sword. If Lee Jihye can fend him off, then she should be fine to defend against any other tribute. Yoo Joonghyuk dramatizes each exchange of their blades, and he hopes that Lee Jihye is trying to do the same. Some of the cockier tributes watch them spar unabashedly, while others attempt to sneak glances while continuing with their own training. Alliances, enemies and power dynamics have already begun forming. The games started the moment that each name was drawn.
Eventually, Yoo Joonghyuk ends up with the tip of his blade pressed to Lee Jihye’s neck. She lets out a frustrated groan, and drops her own sword to the ground in surrender.
“Take a break,” he tells her, before finally turning his attention to the quietly watchful eyes that have been trailing him for the past few minutes.
“What do you want?”
Kim Dokja, leaning smugly against a rack of weights, tosses him a water bottle.
“Nothing in particular. You’re quite talented with a sword.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere in the arena.”
“Won’t it?” Kim Dokja challenges. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, taking a step closer to him.
“It’s all a show,” Kim Dokja replies, like it’s not obvious, like there’s a secret behind the four-letter word.
Yoo Joonghyuk decides to humor him.
“Is that what you being nice to me is? A part of the show?”
“Not at all,” Kim Dokja replies, then he smiles.
“What is it then?”
“I figure that you’ll be the one to kill me, so if I’m nice to you, you’ll make it quick, right?”
Yoo Joonghyuk raises his sword, resting the blade on Kim Dokja’s shoulder. The metal shines brilliantly next to the pale skin of his exposed neck.
“Is that why you volunteered? To die?”
“Of course not. I volunteered to stop a sacrifice.”
Kim Dokja closes the distance between them quickly, before Yoo Joonghyuk has the chance to pull his weapon back. The blade cuts shallowly into the side of Kim Dokja’s neck, and blood dribbles out of the wound. He leans in close, until his blood is trickling down onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s own shoulder.
“But between you and me,” Kim Dokja whispers, lips almost grazing Yoo Joonghyuk’s ear. “It was completely about the power trip.”
For the first time in his life, Yoo Joonghyuk’s brain stutters to a halt.
Kim Dokja backs away with a laugh.
“Looks like I accidentally nicked myself on your sword. I should go get this checked out.”
Kim Dokja saunters away, casually, like he didn’t just sample death with his own tongue and teeth. Yoo Joonghyuk realizes that without even touching a weapon, Kim Dokja has become the most dangerous person in the room.
Kim Dokja returns to training the next day with his neck unscathed. It was just a flesh wound, and it shouldn’t be surprising that Capitol technology could heal it in under a day. After spending a sleepless night reflecting on their interaction, Yoo Joonghyuk has chosen to find comfort in knowing that Kim Dokja is no less of a hypocrite than he is. A sacrifice to stop a sacrifice. As if human lives are something that can be placed on a scale and measured for value.
He watches as Kim Dokja makes his rounds, taunting or encouraging the other tributes. A smirk tugs at his lips when Kim Dokja seems to take it a step too far with Asmodeus from District 4, only narrowly escaping the swing of his fist. For whatever it’s worth, Kim Dokja is definitely quick on his feet.
Seeing Kim Dokja waste what could very well be his last days alive chatting casually irks something within Yoo Joonghyuk. Before he can stop himself, Yoo Joonghyuk is interrupting Kim Dokja’s conversation with the tributes from 6 and thrusting a sickle into his hand. Kim Dokja tilts his head in an overexpression of confusion, to which Yoo Joonghyuk rolls his eyes.
“I’ll make it quick when I kill you,” Yoo Joonghyuk sneers. “Never said that I wanted it to be easy.”
Kim Dokja seems to be clumsy with his hands on a good day, and clumsier when he’s attempting to weild a weapon at the same time. Yoo Joonghyuk is brutal in his criticisms. He knows deep down that Kim Dokja won’t be able to learn much in the span of the two remaining days of training, but he’ll try anyway.
Kim Dokja made the ultimate sacrifice for a child who doesn’t even seem to be related to him, and he will not even be awarded the right to a proper death. If just one of these tips can help Kim Dokja survive in that arena, then maybe they’ll all be able to rest easier.
Dinner that night is a quiet affair, filled mostly by jealous glances from Lee Jihye and quiet nagging from their mentor, Namgung Minyoung, for wasting an entire day helping out another tribute. Yoo Joonghyuk decides to make up for it by sneaking out of the District One apartment and squeezing in a few more hours at the training center.
He makes it through half of the weapons on the racks before he hears the sound of quiet footsteps approaching.
“Oh,” Kim Dokja says. “Burning the midnight oil?”
“Something like that,” Yoo Joonghyuk grunts.
Kim Dokja makes his rounds through the training center again, observing weapons and survival gear. This time, he’s jotting things down in a small notebook.
“What are you writing?”
Kim Dokja smiles, and it’s a bit softer, lacking the usual cockiness that he exudes during day training.
“Observations.”
Yoo Joonghyuk draws another arrow in his bow.
“You’ve dropped the act. Is the show over already?”
Kim Dokja stifles a yawn. The arrow flies through the air and lands in the dead center of the target.
“More of an intermission. Hey, just how many weapons can you use?”
“All of them,” Yoo Joonghyuk replies.
Kim Dokja jots something else down in the notebook. Yoo Joonghyuk can’t really bring himself to care if he’s being analyzed.
“And your survival skills?”
Yoo Joonghyuk shrugs, “I’m proficient enough.”
“So you cook, hunt, and you’re modest,” Kim Dokja snaps his notebook closed. “What a dream.”
“Sorry?”
It’s Kim Dokja’s turn to look nonchalant now.
“A lot of the entertainment that we get in Twelve are smuggled books that the other districts deemed garbage. I know one merchant who sells First Murim Training Academy candidate progress logs. They’re stunningly similar to action novels.”
Yoo Joonghyuk feels the tips of his ears burn crimson, “What are you saying?”
“I’ve been your fan for a long time, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
He sinks another arrow into the target.
“So you volunteered just for the chance to meet me,” Yoo Joonghyuk hums. “That’s taking it a bit far, don’t you think?”
Kim Dokja seems to choke on his own spit, taking a moment to all but cough up a lung before he can retort.
“Cute, but sadly not. That boy, Lee Gilyoung, really is like a younger brother to me. I would give my own life for his salvation any day. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a righteous person who would have done that for any kid. I’m quite selfish when it comes to saving others, actually.”
It’s strange, the way that Kim Dokja dips in and out of character. Every lie seems to be followed by a truth so brutally honest, that it has to be buried under another lie again. Then again, maybe that’s the point.
“Still,” Yoo Joonghyuk retorts. “You don’t seem like a rash enough person to rush into the games without a second thought.”
“Who said I didn’t have a plan?”
Kim Dokja stares at him brazenly now. Yoo Joonghyuk lowers his bow.
“Say, Yoo Joonghyuk, why don’t we give them a performance that they’ll never forget?”
It’s much more than a proposition. It’s a promise.
Two days later, the training scores are published. Yoo Joonghyuk ranks highest, with an eleven. Namgung Minyoung ruffles his hair to congratulate him. Lee Jihye scores an impressive nine, matched evenly with Han Sooyoung from 12, and the male tribute from District 10. While Yoo Joonghyuk has no idea in hell what he did to warrant such a score, Kim Dokja achieves an eight. It’s definitely the most surprising entry on the board, considering that he seems to have the survival instincts of an infant. Yoo Joonghyuk feels something akin to pride glow deep in his chest anyway.
“Keep your head up,” Namgung Minyoung instructs Lee Jihye. She’s been at the mercy of their stylists for hours, and the female tribute from District 1 always did have the most pressure by starting off the interviews, but they always take it a bit too far.
A long blue dress wraps around Lee Jihye’s torso and legs, trailing on the floor behind her. She smiles, but her usual rosy complexion is hidden behind the layers of cakey makeup. There’s rhinestones glued on her shoulders, and in her hair, and on her eyelashes. Only Capitol stylists could transform a girl barely sixteen into someone who could be pushing twenty-five.
Yoo Joonghyuk nods curtly as Lee Jihye’s name is called, and she exhales sharply before taking the stage.
Yoo Joonghyuk takes a glance at himself in the mirror one last time. His hair is locked in a slicked-back look, revealing every angular line of his face. There’s minimal makeup on the hollows of his cheeks, the ends of his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose. The stylists seem to have opted for a more simple outfit, a clean black suit with a pocket square to match the blue of Lee Jihye’s dress. Yoo Joonghyuk has gotten off easy this time, compared to the embarrassment that he was dressed in during the chariot rides.
Lee Jihye’s interview unfolds with few bumps. She's definitely nervous during the first few questions, but there’s always a few members of the audience who always find the awkward teenager endearing.
Namgung Minyoung straightens his collar again. A nervous tick.
“Remember, you’re quiet but caring. Mention your sister, maybe. And don’t frown.”
“I’ll be fine,” Yoo Joonghyuk groans.
“Don’t be prideful. Your life's on the line here.”
“I know that better than anyone.”
Curtain call, and Yoo Joonghyuk takes long strides toward the stage. It’s more draining than anything else, but Yoo Joonghyuk knows how to play the game. And he knows how to play well. He stares at the audience through his thick eyelashes, and he smiles shyly after every sentence. His posture is relaxed, but proper, and every one of his replies are well-articulated.
“Having the privilege of participating in the games, it simply means that I have more responsibility now. I am prepared to take accountability for my sins, for using others’ as a fertilizer to spread branches and sprout new buds. For Panem, I won’t hesitate to bear it all.”
The words taste like acid in his mouth, and he knows that he’ll be called a Capitol bootlicker at best. Yoo Joonghyuk knows that he deserves worse.
By the time he returns backstage, Namgung Minyoung looks like she’s going to burst into tears of relief. Lee Jihye is looking at him with stars in her eyes, while the tributes from 2 are looking a little bit green in the face.
“You did great!” Lee Jihye beams. “I would hate to have to follow that, seriously.”
Yoo Joonghyuk resigns himself to District 1’s room backstage to watch the rest of the interviews. He thinks about Yoo Mia, and wonders if she’s watching him back at home with the same dazzled expression.
Before long, Kim Dokja takes the stage to wrap up the night. He’s dressed in black high-waisted slacks and a frilly white dress shirt. It’s as if he’s been pulled out of one of Yoo Mia’s fairy tale books. The crowd cheers for him louder than they’ve cheered for any other tribute, and Kim Dokja replies with a smile so dazzling that Yoo Joonghyuk feels like he should be squinting at the screen.
He’s asked about his experience at the Capitol so far, and obviously about Lee Gilyoung too. Kim Dokja is confident and charismatic in a way that none of the other tributes are, and it’s evident why he’s by far the most favored among them. Kim Dokja offers a bout of humanity, a lie painted as a truth that everyone watching can sink their teeth into. By rooting for Kim Dokja, you’re not rooting for a killer, but a noble hero.
“I’m sure that everyone has been wondering, Dokja, do you have someone special back home awaiting your return?”
Kim Dokja’s smile wavers, only for a second, but it’s noticeable enough that the audience starts murmuring.
“Well… not back home, specifically. There is a special person who I’ve had my eye on for a while.”
“Don’t tell me,” the interviewer frowns. “It’s Sooyoung? Was that part of the reason you volunteered?”
An airy feeling floods into Yoo Joonghyuk's chest as Kim Dokja shakes his head with a chuckle, “Not at all. I’ve been trying to get rid of her for years. When Han Sooyoung’s name was reaped, it was the best moment of my life!”
The crowd explodes in laughter. Once it dies down, Kim Dokja rubs at the back of his neck, as if a sudden bout of shyness took over.
“I’m kidding. Sooyoung is a great friend, and I couldn’t ask for a better ally in the arena.”
“That’s great to hear. Even better to hear that your person isn’t a fellow tribute. Perhaps you’ll be able to gather some courage if you emerge as a victor?”
“Ah, I never said that.”
“What do you mean by that?” the interviewer laughs.
Kim Dokja ignores the question completely, “I’ll try my hardest in the arena tomorrow. I told Gilyoung that I would dedicate my victory to him, if it happens.”
The reply is a bit jarring, but it leaves the right amount of mystery behind Kim Dokja’s character that no doubt will leave the audience wanting more.
“A noble cause!” the interviewer exclaims, and the exit music begins playing.
Yoo Joonghyuk makes his way backstage again, just quick enough to catch Kim Dokja keeled over in the corner.
“Hey,” Yoo Joonghyuk calls out. “Are you alright?”
A look of relief washes over Kim Dokja’s face once their eyes meet, “Just a bit of stage fright.”
“You never would have been able to tell,” Yoo Joonghyuk tells him honestly. “They loved you.”
“You didn’t do horribly, either. Though it was easy to see through the act for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
Kim Dokja stills, as if he’s slipped up and said something he shouldn’t have. He straightens up to face Yoo Joonghyuk properly. Only then does he notice the faint blush gracing the apples of Kim Dokja’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. Residual nerves from the interview, most likely.
“I was your first fan, did you forget already?” Kim Dokja grins, but it’s a bit more meek than the ones he was throwing around on stage.
The smile is wiped off of his face quickly, as a shoe comes hurdling out of nowhere and makes direct contact with the side of Kim Dokja’s head.
“Kim Dokja! You bastard!”
Kim Dokja’s expression manages to become more sheepish as Han Sooyoung approaches.
“My name being reaped was the best moment of your life? I can’t wait to see what you cook up for my funeral.”
“I was thinking something along the lines of, ‘Thanks to the Capitol, we have exterminated the one true evil of this world. For everlasting world peace.’ And then we would release fireworks.”
“Spoken like the true golden boy of this year’s games. You can start a bootlicking business with your new boyfriend here,” Han Sooyoung sneers, gesturing her head to Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk opens his mouth to defend himself, but Kim Dokja is already halfway through his sentence.
“At least District One has luxury boots. You’ll still be stuck tasting ashes down in the mines.”
“Hey--”
As the tributes from 12 continue to bicker, Yoo Joonghyuk steps away quietly. He’d rather not spend what could be his last night alive wearing a cumberbund, afterall.
Lee Jihye is quiet, back at the apartment. No doubt she’s worn out from the interview, but Yoo Joonghyuk can feel the anxiety flooding through her veins too.
“I’ll get you that sword,” Yoo Joonghyuk promises her, because he knows that no other words of comfort could exist for her right now.
Lee Jihye puts on her brave face and nods, “Thanks. I’ll get some rest now.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nods back, and hopes that it’s enough. He memorizes the look on Lee Jihye’s face, and locks it in the little box in the further corner of his mind. It’s a feeling for later, when he can afford to feel the bittersweetness of this moment, or really anything at all. Anything besides the muted rage that is constantly coursing through his veins.
In what is definitely the worst thing that he could possibly do at the moment, Yoo Joonghyuk sneaks out to the training center. He finds solace in the weight of the throwing knives in his hands, the noise of impact as they sink into the training dummies. He throws until his muscles burn, until his lungs heave so violently that the weight on his chest doesn’t feel so suffocating. Another knife. Another toss. Another thud, as it hits the wooden core of the doll.
“As much as I love watching you self-sabotage, you’re going to be sore tomorrow if you keep going like this.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s head snaps to the left. When did Kim Dokja show up? Was he so consumed by emotion that he didn’t even sense someone entering the room? If this was in the arena, he would have already been dead by now.
“I don’t need your concern,” Yoo Joonghyuk replies, wiping off the layer of sweat that’s formed on his forehead.
Kim Dokja hops down from the table he was sitting on, “Hey, don’t get the wrong idea. You’re crucial to my plan, you know.”
Of course, Kim Dokja is here to discuss the technicalities of his so-called plan.
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Sure you haven’t. But listen, it’s going to get messy in there, in ways that neither of us can imagine. I’m not offering you an out, because it’s possible that we’ll both be killed as soon as the countdown hits zero. I’m just saying, if we’re both doomed, why not try to pull one over on the Capitol? I know that I’ll die with one less regret.”
Yoo Joonghyuk places the last of the throwing knives back on the rack.
“Why approach me with this?”
Kim Dokja shrugs, “You’re the strongest tribute here. And you’ve got one thing that no one else here has anymore. You have hope.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowns.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“The fact that you’re here, even hearing me out with this insane plan, it’s proof that you’re still holding out. You’re looking for a miracle,” Kim Dokja smiles, bitterly.
It’s the truth, one that Yoo Joonghyuk desperately wants to deny. Hearing Kim Dokja, a practical stranger, acknowledge it, sends a fire roaring through his heart. Still, he’s not going to bank his life on someone who is so outwardly… frail.
“Survive the first night, and I’ll follow your plan.” Yoo Joonghyuk decides. If Kim Dokja’s score of 8 was warranted, it shouldn’t be too hard for him.
Kim Dojka only smirks at the challenge.
“Deal. Break a leg out there, Yoo Joonghyuk.”