By the second day, Vince had mapped the tributes in his head — their patterns, temperaments, the cracks in their armor.
He wasn't stronger than them, but he was aware. Every move he made was deliberate — not to stand out, but to leave a faint impression.
The Capitol loved stories. He'd give them one they'd never forget.
Between stations, he caught glimpses of Katniss practicing archery. The way she moved — tense, precise — it wasn't about showmanship. It was survival distilled into motion.
Watching her stirred something in him that had nothing to do with the System.
When he closed his eyes, the System pulsed:
Emotional focus detected.
Processing…
"Don't," he whispered. "Don't touch this."
The glow dimmed.
He sighed and turned back to his station. Haymitch appeared beside him unexpectedly, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp despite the usual haze.
"You're playing the Capitol's game," Haymitch said.
"That's good. Just remember they always play harder."
"I'm not playing for them," Vince said. "I'm playing for us."
Haymitch's mouth twitched — maybe a smile, maybe a warning. "Careful, kid. Words like that sound like rebellion."
"Then maybe rebellion's just honesty in a place built on lies."
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then Haymitch muttered, "You talk too much sense for someone who's already dead," and walked off.
The words stayed with him long after training ended. That night, lying in the too-soft bed, Vince stared at the ceiling until it faded into static. He realized he no longer thought about going home.
He was home — here, in this cruel, bright machine that fed on hope. And if this was his world now, he would learn how to bend it.
System Notice: Adaptation Complete.
Next Objective — "Enter the Arena."
The message glowed for a heartbeat, then vanished. Vince exhaled, the sound quiet but steady.
"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm ready."