The incredibly serious baseball drama anime, Kyoujin no Hoshi ends and introduces its audience to the anime that will take it's place: Tensai Bakabon.

This is one of the most showa era things I can imagine.

PART 14

As soon as Jang Taeyoung went out of the door it was Veeros Alcaziar’s turn then. The moment he saw his father’s familiar blazing face he knew he would get a worse punishment other than being punched by the man who had just left.

He tried, but can’t longer escape when he was already frozen to his spot as her father starts unbuckling its own metal watch, putting it diligently on the desk table and with a swift move… Knocking his own son by the head as Zilo’s temple starts gushing a drip of blood caused by the gold sovereign ring his father wore through its hand. That even blocking it, was useless. He maybe aged throughout the years but he will still admit that his father is as strong as a cow for a 50-year-old.

And with a few more punches, he stumbled on the cold floor once again. Today he wasn’t name as his son, he was a creation he needed to flourish. Thus he wasn’t his father in front of him, but a wild hag he had feared in a lifetime.

A weak grunt run out into his mouth as he was grabbed by his collar, meeting the eyes of obsession. “What did I just tell you, huh? Zilo? I think you have forgotten for a while.”

If it was the first time, he could surely be the scaredy cat back then. But it’s not. What people think behind the mask of a spoiled happy go lucky son is actually a wimpy kid being bullied by his own father. That behind the tolerated back-ups he did from his failed activities, failed hideouts and addictions that had led him busted. It is always ends up being him as the leverage he needed to pay. A collateral of damage done by his own hands.      

Numb. He’s already numb that he got used to it. He goes against. “Stop being delusional father. She’s not even my sister to begin with. Echar un polvo! She doesn’t get an inch of our bloodline!”

And it just takes a second before he felt the heel of his father’s shoe stomps his frail knee earning a hurtful voice of his own. “What did you just say? Are you crazy?! She’s your sister! Your eldest sister whom your mother just bore! Remember that.”

Crap that mother. He knew who he means about that because his father taught him so. He’s full of it already! “She is Sung Eunyoung’s only! You killed my courtesan mother, remember? You are the crazy one father. She had never been yours!” and yes, they knew. They knew all along that she wasn’t simply the great Amilia Martin for she has been a target long before her plan.

Truly as he can still remember how the 4-year-old him witnessed the death of her own mother the moment his father found out that he impregnated her a son. Reason for his berserk finally for he cannot attain any insults of his biological mom. He may only have a vague memory of her yet one things’ for sure, he was loved. On so the following blow of his stomach he expected came in. “Say that again or this isn’t the only thing you can get.” The cold words from his father yet left him unwavering. There’s no turning back indeed. He will go against his father this time. The next thing he knew?    

He was already pressed to the wall as a striking hand envelopes half of his face pinned in sideway as if he was just a mere meat fresh to be grilled easily. Possessively insisting his own conclusion. “Ah. Right, so is this why you tried to harm your sister, eh? You dare hurt her so you can get all my attention? Screw you, son! I’m sorry but your sister is my top priority.” With the last hit of his head by the wall he was laying helplessly then.

His father was too far to be called a psychopath that’s the truth. It was the hidden obsession who’s eating him. The head over heels delusion of his father from Sung Eunyoung’s mother, believing he owns everything about her and only her.

Wiping his son’s blood by his hanky as darting eyes went by the window as if looking someone at the skies. “You are my wife sweetheart, will always be. And I promise you, we’ll going to get our daughter very soon.”  

~

A sinister grimace from Veeros Alcaziar was shown remembering the promise he swears to whom he believes as his beloved wife, waiting for his dearest daughter to come back from an important phone call. And as soon as she came back in the VIP room, it was easy for him to shift in an unsuspicious state by just right there comfortably digging the signature cuisine of the Spanish restaurant they were meeting.

“Sorry ‘bout that Señor. Things just getting hectic with me these days. Where were we again?”      

“Oh, no. You don’t have to. It’s business, we can never say no. So yes as I was saying, I heard what happened between you two. Too bad. Are you alright, perhaps?”

That for another time she had to keep her cringe inside once again. It was just the second time to been asked by the same question, yet it hurts her eardrums already. What else she could do anyway but to play along, shrugging her shoulders as she speaks. “Well, it just happened. Things went wrong in a go. I’m coping up though Señor. Thank you for your concern.”      

Her wary response somehow, opposite to what she thinks that says, ‘Mierda! As if I care.’

“Glad you are. But it hasn’t been long. I bet he’s been calling for you still. Isn’t he?” A casual question from the old Alcaziar and just right for another call coming from their topic.        

“Actually, Señor. He is. And speaking of, he’s currently calling me again.”

Glancing the caller ID then as she intended to show it to the latter who only answered her an awe expression. “Oh? So what you really do every time he does?” and without second thoughts, she just straightly tap the end button for confirmation before nonchalantly boast to the old Alcaziar. “Simple as that Señor.”  thus the old man only laughs for answer with hidden unpleasant thoughts. ‘Wow. Just like you sweetheart. Our daughter is just like you.’  

“Oh well! What shall I say? Am I a proud father again, daughter?”

And she’s lying if it didn’t make her stiffed for a moment because it does. Perhaps from the last time he said it from the first meeting it ain’t sound something, yet hearing it now seems different. A feeling that she rather not wished for.

Tuning her role play on smiling then, she answered. “Be the proud patriarch then…” as she purposely halts her statement, forking her food which dipped on a red sauce like she decides to pass her refusal by it instead. Before proceeding to push the word that just grumbles her to puke.

“Father.”

The word she never imagined she had to call with the man she desires to succumb. Hell how she’s too eager to throw her hidden curses! Opposite to how the Spanish old man’s satisfying thoughts though. ‘That’s it my daughter. That’s it. Your mother will be proud.’ He answered a delighting grin truly.

He’s usually not a patient person on getting what he needed, but he wouldn’t mind if it’s his one and only daughter to wholeheartedly give an exception for if that’s what makes her enjoy once more. ‘Just a bit more. A little bit more.’~

As that’s how their talks ended indeed. Slumping vigorously to her bar table chair of her apartment the moment she finally came home. Tiredly massaging her nape, twirling the content of her wineglass. Needing to consume the alcohol inside her. Her day isn’t as busy as it usually does but for some reason she felt like jam-packed.

Relaxing her spare time totally. Not when a call came after actually. The man she intently ignores for some time now. Including today. She was just gaping with the resonating sound of her phone on the bar table. Somehow finding a sentence she would want to utter even without answering. And she can only search it if she decided to stand up looking from nowhere around the night lights of the city of her glass window.

“Jang.”

Her mere mention of his name after days. It’s been a while, it is. But she’s already cursing herself for sighing like a vulnerable mortified one. Though she’s guilty she admits. “I could have not gone this far if you just stick with our original plan but why? What really wavered you to hide something from me. What was it Jang? What’s the big fuss?”

Shaking her head afterwards remembering her disappointment, she speaks again. “But you didn’t. you’re being stubborn still.” As she currently trailing her index finger of her wineglass’ rim then. “See? Look at you now, bet you’re getting piled up with useless works already. And pretty sure you’re itching to fight me as well. Aren’t you? Tss. Damn you for making me the bad person here though. I hate you.”

Letting out all her unsaid complaints and sentiments, she’s basically picturing her phone as the imaginary Jang Taeyoung certainly as she can’t even help being disappointed when the loud sound of its ringing finally went over. Glancing it with sarcasm. “Jeez, even with phone calls you dare to neglect me. No doubt you can’t wait for me either. Guess it’s really over for us huh?”

“Fine. Whatever, Loco. Good luck anyway. Goodbye for real. Really this time.”

With a seeming smile and final sip of her wine, she confirms her true goodbye indeed.

moonrene a/b/o drabble

Byulyi nearly went cross-eyed trying to balance a pencil on the edge of her nose, leaning back to ensure that no wobbles would lead to the object clattering to the floor.

“Byulyi, would you stop being a dumbass and let me copy your notes?” whined Junghwan from his seat next to her.

“You should have finished it last night instead of playing video games.  I asked you to go to the library after cram school but you said no.”

“I didn’t want to have to get caught up in an enforcer patrol.  They always walk around our school because it’s integrated.”

Byulyi harrumphed as her pencil finally tipped off her nose and she caught it in mid-air.

“The enforcers aren’t that scary.”

“They’re the only branch of the police force that can freely carry guns in Korea.  How is that not terrifying?”

“They only are supposed to use them on alphas that go berserk.  You saw the news the other day right?”

She tipped her head back and met Junghwan’s sullen gaze.  Of course he had.  The whole country had watched breathlessly as the blurry images circulated all across South Korea.  Even though the schools had just started being integrated two years ago in an effort to lessen the bias amongst alphas, betas, and omegas, last week’s news made it a very hard sell.  Byulyi remembered seeing how even the grainy pixels of a handheld video had to be blurred as the alpha, clearly not on his scent blocker medication, had torn out the throat of an omega high school girl in broad daylight.  It’d gone viral in hours and trended globally by the end of the day.

So much for South Korea being the leader in cutting edge scent-blocking pharmaceutical research.

“I heard that alphas might have to start filing their teeth down now,” Junghwan murmured as he pillowed his head on his arms.

“Don’t they already?  I heard naturally they’re even sharper than betas’ teeth.”  Byulyi gave Junghwan a one-handed finger gun and he automatically curled his upper lip to show off the undeniable pointed edge.  But that was just his canines.

“Are they really all sharp? Like actual wolves?”

“Apparently,” Byulyi muttered as she wiggled her pencil in her hand, watching as the rest of her classmates filtered in for the first period of school.  She wiggled her eyebrows at her friend Heeyeon with a smile as the other girl took her seat near the front of the classroom.

“Heeyeon-ah, will you check math answers with me?” she half-shouted across the room.

“After! We’re getting a transfer student and I have to help Ms. Park settle her in.”

“Wait, really?”  Byulyi tilted her head curiously, startling a little when their teacher walked in.  She adjusted something at her desk before the class stood to bow and greet her for the morning.  Byulyi zoned out as she half listened to her teacher do a few cursory announcements.  Outside the classroom she caught sight of dark black hair in the periphery of the window.  If she wasn’t on scent-blockers she probably could smell her but it was mandatory for everyone to be on the medication to suppress as much of their differences as possible.

But, Byulyi could catch the faintest hint of something musky, like pine in the woods on a cold winter night.  It made her heart race a little in her ears.  The scent was untamed in a way that was clearly forbidden as the reintegration tapes had stated.  Wild and free—not for me!

“-Bae Joohyun.”

Byulyi blinked owlishly, tuning back in just in time for the prettiest girl she’d ever seen to slide the classroom door open and enter quietly.  She knew that every one of her classmates was straining a little forward, curious to try to tell what exactly was she.  Was she an omega? A beta? An alpha?

But of course the scent-blockers kept that a secret.  A gift for reintegration.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself, Joohyun-ah,” Ms. Park said with a smile, a hand gesturing to the eager students.

“… My name is Bae Joohyun.  I’m a transfer student from Daegu.  I’m… please take care of me.”  She bowed quickly and the rest of the class began a frenzy of curious questions despite the clear shyness tightening her face.

“What high school did you come from in Daegu? Angel High?”

“Are you an omega?  You’re so cute!”

“What’s your favorite food?”

Byulyi rolled her eyes a little and by chance her and the transfer student made eye contact.  She blinked slowly, nose twitching as she tried to put a finger on the faint scent.  It was almost like Joohyun knew she was trying to smell her because she flushed and silently sat in the empty seat behind Heeyeon, silencing the questions.

Ms. Park seemed a little flustered as she stared at Joohyun for a long moment before awkwardly shifting on her feet.

“W-well everyone, please be nice to Joohyun, okay? It’s hard transferring in the middle of the second year of high school so answer all her questions.”

Byulyi almost snorted because it’d be the other way around.  Joohyun would be lucky if she got through today with her identity not immediately revealed.

----------------------------------------------------

Byulyi usually left her classroom during break to bother Yongsun but she stuck around to watch everyone flock around the new girl.  She almost felt a little bad at the way they swarmed her, bombarding her with questions like they couldn’t tell she was getting extremely uncomfortable under the weight of them all.  Even Heeyeon looked a little terse despite her usual big smile.

She sighed as she stood and ambled over to the fray.

“-my cousin says that’s the best chicken place in Daegu!  That’s so cool your parents own that restaurant chain.”

Joohyun weakly smiled at the comment, ducking her head a little and letting her dark hair fall more in front of her face.  It was a curtain, Byulyi thought with a sad smile.

“Hey, everyone, class representative Moon Byulyi needs to talk to the transfer student.  So I’m going to steal her for a second.”

“Aw come on, Byul, can’t we have a little fun?”

“After I help her out.  Hey, Vice President Ahn, you probably need to go to the bathroom before class starts right? I’ll take care of the transfer kid.”

“Oh could you, Byul-ah? Thanks I’ll be right back!”

Joohyun raised her head, exchanging a smile with Heeyeon as the taller girl practically leaped from her seat and sprinted for the bathroom.

“Want to get out of here?” Byulyi stepped in front of the crowd of curious students.  She blocked them from Joohyun’s line of sight with her back, bracing her hands on the corner of the girl’s desk and chair.  Byulyi almost flushed at how close they were with Joohyun’s thigh almost brushing her knee.

“Where?”

Byulyi just smirked and grabbed Joohyun’s wrist, running off with a barking laugh to the dismay of her classmates.  She didn’t realize the transfer student was laughing too until they’d climbed a few flights of stairs to the empty music classroom.  Byulyi dropped Joohyun’s wrist as she stumbled into a chair, flipping her long bangs out of her eyes.

“Thanks.”

Byulyi looked up at Joohyun who was still uncertainly standing near the door, one hand clenching onto her wrist.  She looked uneasy as she glanced around the empty classroom.  It was like she was worried a chair was going to jump up and bite her or something.

“They’re all really nice.  We all basically went to the same middle school together so getting a transfer student is really fun for us.  But I can get how all those strangers up close might be scary.”

Joohyun tucked some of her hair behind her ear with a nod.  Noticing how stiff the other girl’s shoulders were made Byulyi feel a little guilty.  She seemed just as nervous as when they were down stairs.  With a determined glance around the classroom she ambled toward the only piano in the corner and gestured for Joohyun to join her.

“Can you play?”

“A little.”

“How about this one?”

Byulyi tinkered around a little, pulling a playful rendition of chopsticks from the old keys.  Joohyun bit back a smile as she tapped along, the two of them making a sloppy stream of music.

When they stopped, Joohyun turned to look at her and Byulyi swore her eyes were almost golden in the lighting.  But it must have just been her imagination.  After all, it was a lot having such a pretty girl staring at her like that.

“What perfume do you use?” she asked quickly, making a show of randomly pressing a series of lazy chords against the keys.

“Perfume?”

“Yeah.  Everyone wears it since the scent blockers sort of make you smell… sterile.  Like a hospital room.”

“I don’t wear perfume,” Joohyun mumbled as her eyes fell back to the keyboard, her profile solemn as she produced a sad string of notes from the piano.

“Oh sorry, you just smell-” Byulyi’s eyes widened at the way Joohyun’s jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle twitch “-nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah.  Like have you ever gone hiking when there’s snow on the ground? It makes the trees smell so clean and fresh.  Especially the hour or two before it gets dark.  I think… I think you smell like that.”

Joohyun looked at Byulyi oddly before staring back down at her hands on the piano, small fingers almost engulfed by the sleeve of her uniform blazer.  Even though Byulyi was an omega, there was something about the other girl that made her want to protect the gentleness that seemed to ooze out of the careful way she touched everything.  If she touched me, would she act like I was made of glass, too? Byulyi wondered.

“You shouldn’t be able to smell me with the scent-blockers,” Joohyun muttered tersely, fingers tracing the piano keys but no longer playing.  “Are you an alpha? Your sense of smell is really strong.”

“No.  I’m not actually.  I was born with a good nose.”  Byulyi gave Joohyun a half-smile which the girl almost returned.

“You smell nice, too.”

“You can smell me?”

“Well, you’re standing right here,” Joohyun flushed, her cheeks undeniably pinkish at the way Byulyi leaned forward curiously.

“What do I smell like?”

Joohyun stopped trying to pull away, letting Byulyi be nearly a breath away as she let her gaze slide from her bangs to the slope of her jaw.

“Sweet.  Like candy.”

“Well don’t eat me.  I’ve read Little Red Riding Hood and I know how that story goes.”

“Do I look like the Big Bad Wolf?”

Byulyi lifted her head to laugh at the absurd question Joohyun was posing. This tiny person that looked more like a doll than a girl was asking if she was some monster from a story?

But then when Joohyun just stared back at Byulyi with not a hint of bluster, she found she couldn’t quite say no.  

27 The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. Does he know how crucial it is to get every word right from now on? He must. He will want to help us. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. Then Effie's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Effie can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Portia and Cinna receive huge cheers, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. I'll need to look as girlish and innocent as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage. Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that's when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He's kissing me and all the time I'm thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we're in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right. Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor's chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I'm practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn't enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I'm back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia's put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point. Caesar Flickerman makes a few more jokes, and then it's time for the show. This will last exactly three hours and is required viewing for all of Panem. As the lights dim and the seal appears on the screen, I realize I'm unprepared for this. I do not want to watch my twenty-two fellow tributes die. I saw enough of them die the first time. My heart starts pounding and I have a strong impulse to run. How have the other victors faced this alone? During the highlights, they periodically show the winner's reaction up on a box in the corner of the screen. I think back to earlier years. some are triumphant, pumping their fists in the air, beating their chests. Most just seem stunned. All I know is that the only thing keeping me on this love seat is Peeta  -  his arm around my shoulder, his other hand claimed by both of mine. Of course, the previous victors didn't have the Capitol looking for a way to destroy them. Condensing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat, especially when you consider how many cameras were going at once. Whoever puts together the highlights has to choose what sort of story to tell. This year, for the first time, they tell a love story. I know Peeta and I won, but a disproportionate amount of time is spent on us, right from the beginning. I'm glad though, because it supports the whole crazy-in-love thing that's my defense for defying the Capitol, plus it means we won't have as much time to linger over the deaths. The first half hour or so focuses on the pre-arena events, the reaping, the chariot ride through the Capitol, our training scores, and our interviews. There's this sort of upbeat soundtrack playing under it that makes it twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on-screen is dead. Once we're in the arena, there's detailed coverage of the bloodbath and then the filmmakers basically alternate between shots of tributes dying and shots of us. Mostly Peeta really, there's no question he's carrying this romance thing on his shoulders. Now I see what the audience saw, how he misled the Careers about me, stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let me escape and even while he lay in that mud bank, whispered my name in his sleep. I seem heartless in comparison  -  dodging fireballs, dropping nests, and blowing up supplies  -  until I go hunting for Rue. They play her death in full, the spearing, my failed rescue attempt, my arrow through the boy from District 1's throat, Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing every note of the song. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. Things pick up for me once they've announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta's name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I've seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato's death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta's name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it's my best moment all night. The anthem's playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown. There's just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd's confusion  -  whose head will he place it on?  -  until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Peeta's brow with a smile. He's still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but his eyes, just inches from mine, are as unforgiving as a snake's. That's when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I am to blame for having the idea. I'm the instigator. I'm the one to be punished. Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off from waving when Caesar Flickerman finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews. As if they have a choice. Peeta and I are whisked to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet, where we have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with us. Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Haymitch, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which is terrifying, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta's hand. The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I'll finally get a word alone with Peeta, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door. "Why can't I talk to him?" I ask. "Plenty of time for talk when we get home," says Haymitch. "Go to bed, you're on air at two." Despite Haymitch's running interference, I'm determined to see Peeta privately. After I toss and turn for a few hours, I slip into the hall. My first thought is to check the roof, but it's empty. Even the city streets far below are deserted after the celebration last night. I go back to bed for a while and then decide to go directly to his room, but when I try to turn the knob, I find my own bedroom door has been locked from the outside. I suspect Haymitch initially, but then there's a more insidious fear that the Capitol may by monitoring and confining me. I've been unable to escape since the Hunger Games began, but this feels different, much more personal. This feels like I've been imprisoned for a crime and I'm awaiting sentencing. I quickly get back in bed and pretend to sleep until Effie Trinket comes to alert me to the start of another "big, big, big day!" I have about five minutes to eat a bowl of hot grain and stew before the prep team descends. All I have to say is, "The crowd loved you!" and it's unnecessary to speak for the next couple of hours. When Cinna comes in, he shoos them out and dresses me in a white, gauzy dress and pink shoes. Then he personally adjusts my makeup until I seem to radiate a soft, rosy glow. We make idle chitchat, but I'm afraid to ask him anything of real importance because after the incident with the door, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched constantly. The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and the love seat has been moved in and surrounded by vases of red and pink roses. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. No live audience at least. Caesar Flickerman gives me a warm hug when I. come in. "Congratulations, Katniss. How are you faring?" "Fine. Nervous about the interview," I say. "Don't be. We're going to have a fabulous time," he says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat. "I'm not good at talking about myself," I say. "Nothing you say will be wrong," he says. And I think, Oh, Caesar, if only that were true. But actually, President Snow may be arranging some sort of "accident" for me as we speak. Then Peeta's there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart." Haymitch is actually bent on keeping us alive, but there are too many ears listening, so I just say, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately." "Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time," says Peeta. I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there's no time to analyze why, because they're ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Caesar says, "Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet." So I tuck my feet up and Peeta pulls me in close to him. Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Peeta already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, that easy banter, so I just smile a lot and try to speak as little as possible. I mean, I have to talk some, but as soon as I can I redirect the conversation back to Peeta. Eventually though, Caesar begins to pose questions that insist on fuller answers. "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?" Caesar says. "From the moment I laid eyes on her," says Peeta. "But, Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?" asks Caesar. "Oh, that's a hard one. " I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands. Help. "Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree," says Caesar. Thank you, Caesar! I think, and then go with his idea. "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed," I say. "Why do you think that was?" urges Caesar. "Maybe. because for the first time. there was a chance I could keep him," I say. Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I've said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he's so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" I turn in to him. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh. For Caesar, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena, from burns, to stings, to wounds. But it's not until we get around to the mutts that I forget I'm on camera. When Caesar asks Peeta how his "new leg" is working out. "New leg?" I say, and I can't help reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Peeta's pants. "Oh, no," I whisper, taking in the metal-and-plastic device that has replaced his flesh. "No one told you?" asks Caesar gently. I shake my head. "I haven't had the chance," says Peeta with a slight shrug. "It's my fault," I say. "Because I used that tourniquet." "Yes, it's your fault I'm alive," says Peeta. "He's right," says Caesar. "He'd have bled to death for sure without it." I guess this is true, but I can't help feeling upset about it to the extent that I'm afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta's shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it's better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover. In fact, he pretty much leaves me alone until the berries come up. "Katniss, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind. hm?" he says. I take a long pause before I answer, trying to collect my thoughts. This is the crucial moment where I either challenged the Capitol or went so crazy at the idea of losing Peeta that I can't be held responsible for my actions. It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentence. "I don't know, I just. couldn't bear the thought of. being without him." "Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar. "No. I think that goes for both of us," he says. Caesar signs off and it's over. Everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, but I'm still not sure until I reach Haymitch. "Okay?" I whisper. "Perfect," he answers. I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there's nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. They drive us through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say good-bye to Cinna and Portia, although we'll see them in a few months, when we tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. It's the Capitol's way of reminding people that the Hunger Games never really go away. We'll be given a lot of useless plaques, and everyone will have to pretend they love us. The train begins moving and we're plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly wash the makeup from my face and put my hair in its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Peeta's arm around my shoulders feels alien. When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we're allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There's no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can't find anything to say now that we're alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can't know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I've spent gathering them with Gale. Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can't quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I've been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I've been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home. "What's wrong?" Peeta asks. "Nothing," I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I'm fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come. Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta's eyes. "What's he mean?" Peeta asks me. "It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," I blurt out. "What? What are you talking about?" he says. "It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse," I say. "Coaching you? But not me," says Peeta. "He knew you were smart enough to get it right," I say. "I didn't know there was anything to get right," says Peeta. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out." "No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" I stammer. "But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" says Peeta. I bite my lip. "Katniss?" He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. "It was all for the Games," Peeta says. "How you acted." "Not all of it," I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. "Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says. "I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none's forthcoming. "Well, let me know when you work it out," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I've climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don't see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we're pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he's not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can't explain how things are with Gale because I don't know myself. That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn't matter because I'll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we've just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn't be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform's thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. "One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go. END