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Marco Bezzecchi's daily routine on the day of the reaping wasn't particularly different. The Capitol's iron grip didn't let go of the residents of District 11, even on the most anticipated "holiday." Quite the opposite, in the week leading up to and on the day of the reaping, they had to work even harder, as the tables in the Capitol were expected to be overflowing with food. The residents begin working from dawn until deep into the night.

During harvest days, children begin to miss school more and more: their bodies don't ache after it, unlike after spending long hours in the fields.

Today will be Marco's fifth reaping. He would be lying if he said he wasn't worried, but the prospect of harvesting all night is currently a more pressing concern.

Bez's tessera count wasn't much higher than that of any other resident of District 11. It was impossible to get rich here, so everyone's chances of getting a piece of paper with your name on it were practically the same.

Marco always tried to wake up early to meet Sava – his best friend. Bez had known him his whole life. Their families lived close to each other, so they often played together as children. School became the place where their bond solidified completely.

Stepping out of the house, he noticed a lanky figure that stood out sharply against the backdrop of dreary shacks due to its bright clothing. One could say that flashy outfits were one of the distinguishing features of District 11. Bright colors, patterns, embroidery, and jewelry passed down from parents to children – all of this left a mark on Marco. He is convinced that the appearance of the inhabitants is a reflection of the District's soul, that despite the constant control from the Capitol, they still have something of their own, that they haven't given up.

"Bez!" Lorenzo shouted, opening his arms for a hug, into which Marco fell without hesitation. "Ready to work for the good of the Capitol's mouths?"

"I can't stand to see these peaches anymore! Soon they'll start appearing in my nightmares!" Marco exclaimed.

"Aren't you the first one at the harvest festival to rush to the plate of peaches?" Sava remarked sarcastically.

The Harvest Festival was Bez's favorite day of the year. No one knew when people started celebrating it, but it had already become official in District 11. Everyone tried to contribute to this small happiness: tables, chairs, and most importantly, dishes were brought to the square. Even the poorest residents, and there were quite a few of them, tried to bring something. The festive table was perceived as a symbol of unity and prosperity.

"I do, but that doesn't make collecting them any easier," Marco replied.

"And it won't, but if you keep complaining, we'll miss the train, and I'm not ready to be punished today," Sava said, heading towards the station.

"I'll just keep complaining on the way. You won't get rid of me," Bez said jokingly, following his friend.

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't get rid of you. You've latched onto me like a burdock."

"You love me anyway."

Lorenzo couldn't find anything to say to that.

It was difficult to call this old stone platform, devoid of any signs and with a large clock, a station. But against the backdrop of the shacks, it looked organic. People were already crowding the platform: no one wanted to miss the train, as it only arrived once.

"We're just in time," Sava said. And at that very moment, the train pulled up.

The guys got into the first carriage they found and stood closer to the wall. There were no seats here, so some people sat on the floor.

"Do you think District 11 has a chance to win this year?" Marco said.

"Just because Marquez worked a miracle last year, winning the Games as a tribute from 12, doesn't mean 11 will win this year," Lorenzo replied, putting an arm around his interlocutor's shoulders.

"I know, but it's so hard to watch the parents of the victims every time the Victory Tour takes place. They seem to lose their spark."

"Well, after Marquez's tour, everyone seemed to have perked up instead."

"I still can't quite understand what that three-finger gesture meant. But I felt some kind of connection with the other Districts," Bez said, demonstrating the gesture.

"Yes, me too, but it seems like a kind of symbol of unity?"

"It felt like a farewell to me."

For a moment, the boys fell silent. Each was lost in their own thoughts, while beyond the small window, a blue sky and endless fields were visible.

Upon reaching their destination and disembarking from the train, a view of gardens opened up. If you hadn't seen them for most of your life, you might be impressed by the scale: trees with paths between them occupied all visible space and stretched far into the distance. The inhabitants called this place Eden. Marco didn't know why exactly Eden, but he suspected it had something to do with the chubby children with wings on the flags that decorated the square during harvest and the victor's tour. His mother always said they protected the tributes in the arena. It was hard to believe, as there weren't many victors from District 11, but it was nice to know you weren't alone and that you were protected, even if clumsily. And what else could you expect from little winged babies?

For seventeen years of life in District 11, Bezzechi's technique had been honed to perfection, so he began picking peaches and placing them in the basket automatically.

Peacekeepers don't favor conversations during work, but Marco, like most residents, sings songs or whistles melodies. This helps him not to go mad from the silence.

If you think about it, the peacekeepers are displeased with almost everything that isn't harvesting, so Bez is glad that they stand in their uniforms in the sweltering heat with him and the other residents. As a child, the enforcers scared Marco because they stood out in their white uniforms against the bright colors. And public floggings didn't help the little men in white be associated with anything good. Now, they evoke only internal indignation, not fear.

Lost in singing and picking peaches, Marco didn't notice that it was time to return home to change for the reaping ceremony. No one saw the point in this useless waste of time, as everyone would still go back to the gardens and fields to finish their work, but those were the rules.

Taking Sava by the arm so as not to get lost in the crowd, they headed towards the stone platform, where the train was due to arrive soon.

"Bezzecchi, you're dressed so smartly for a date? Who's the lucky girl?" Sava joked when he saw Marco.

All in all, Lorenzo didn't often see his friend wearing a waistcoat with trousers. To be more precise, never. And if you add honesty to precision, Sava wished he were that lucky girl. Perhaps today he would gather the courage, after all the work was done, to confess his feelings, which went beyond ordinary friendship.

"Haha, you're so funny," Marco said sarcastically. "Mom decided that since I'll be eighteen in a couple of months, it's time to stop being a scruff at least on Reaping. I thought she was going to pull all my hair out with a comb trying to get it in order!"

"Well, I don't see any particular differences from their usual appearance."

Marco's haystack of hair truly continued to stick out in all directions even after his mother's efforts.

"Be glad you're not my brother, or she would have worked on you just the same. Especially since this is your last Reaping. You would have been even more elaborately dressed than me."

"I spend so much time with your parents and you that I'm practically a full member of the family," Sava said with a chuckle.

"You know, I can't imagine not seeing you in front of me next year."

When Marco turned twelve and went to his first Reaping, the only thing that calmed him was Sava, who stood in front. He felt protected, safe, as the person close to him shielded him from the cameras, the escort of tributes, the peacekeepers. Marco felt untouchable, invisible.

"I'll always be there for you," Lorenzo replied with all seriousness.

"I hope so."

The square where the courthouse was located probably looked beautiful when it was first built, but over time, like most buildings in District 11, it had fallen into disrepair: many structures and stalls were overgrown with ivy, chips had appeared on the stairs, and the floodlights didn't shine as brightly as they used to.

The boys went to their assigned places according to their age: Sava in the front row, in front of the stage, and Bez behind him, in the second

When you face your fear head-on, it's hard not to start feeling anxious. Marco always tried to appear cheerful and pretend he wasn't bothered by the upcoming Reaping, focusing all his attention on his garden work. But now he stands before the stage, and the only thing separating him from it — Sava. He is his protection, his support. As a child, Bez always came to him for comfort and support. Later, Marco stopped doing that. But he knows that Sava is still as ready to help as he was back then.

On the stage, there are four chairs occupied by the mayor, Chaff and Seeder, and Clodia Fulgencio. These people remained unchanged for many years.

Chaff and Seeder are the mentors for District 11. Seeder won the 33 Hunger Games, and Chaff won the 45. Over many years of mentoring, they have lost the spark in their eyes, but the desire to help children who are walking to their certain death remains.

Clodia Fulgencio does not evoke any good emotion in Marco. He is even surprised that this woman is still a maintainer. Once she was a beauty who knew how to get attention on the air, but now, against the background of other escrtrnitsy, she faded: her complexion became unhealthy, wrinkles began to appear. Most likely, she will be replaced soon. Bezzecchi didn't feel anything about it. One woman in a colored wig and bright suit will leave, but another will appear definitely the same. It's even amazing how easily you can replace a person.

The mayor approaches the lectern and begins to speak the prepared speech. Marco could retell it even without a leaf.

He introduces Clodia, who walks out to the lectern to faint applause. She thanks everyone for their presence and that it is an honor for her to be the maintainer of District 11. Obviously, she is lying, since all escort women want to get into districts that are favorable to the Capitol or are respected among its residents.

It's time to pull out a piece of paper with a name from the  reaping ball.

Traditionally, she started with girls.

"Olivia Luciano," came Clodia's ringing voice in complete silence. "Let's greet the new tribute!"

A medium-sized girl took the stage.

Marco knew her. She is the same age as Sava and is in the same class with him. Not to say that they were friends, but communicated during breaks. It is a pity that such a fate befell her.

The inner ends of its thick black eyebrows are raised and reduced to the bridge of the nose, the same dark eyes are slightly narrowed, and the corners of the mouth are lowered. It was clear that she was frightened and upset, but Bez remembers her two dimples when she laughed. Most likely, he saw it for the last time.

"Well, the girl-tribtte was selected. Now it's time to find out the name of the boy-tribute!"

It was the most nervous part of the selection. Each time Marco hoped that they would not get a peace of paper with his name or Sava's. He wouldn't be able to look at the screen where his best friend gets killed on live TV. Although he also doubted that he could sleep peacefully if he did not know what was happening to him.

Time seemed to slow down, as in live broadcasts, when they show murders, so as not to let the residents of the Capitol get bored. Surprisingly, for all the disgust of the Capitolians, they enjoy watching on repeat how the blades cut through the skin and everything is splattered with blood.

And here Clodia reveals a sheet with the name:

"Marco Bezzecchi!"

It sounds selfish, but everyone thought so: "What happiness that it is he, not me." At least it flashed in Marco's thoughts for five years, but this year thoughts are confused, and he's in turmoil.

The legs themselves carried to the stage. Without tried to pretend that he didn't care about the situation in which he found himself, so he smiled in all his teeth. Capitolians shouldn't see his fear. Let them think that he is crazy, who smiles at the thought of his own death.

Upon arriving on stage, Bezzecchi winked at the camera and waved. Valentino Rossi also did that during an interview many years ago.

"This is the mood! Does anyone have a desire to volunteer instead of the winners of the Reaping? " Fulgencio asked, as if she wasn't in District 11, but in District 1, where they are fighting for the right to participate in the Hunger Games, like a prize.

The loudest answer was silencwasn

"Nobody? Okay, we will bring the winners of the Reaping: Olivia Luciano and Marco Bezzecchi!"

Marco didn't feel like a "winner." He was more of a loser. After a couple of minutes, he will lose his family, friends, and later his life. If the Capitol believes that this is the fate of the winner, then Bez wishes all of them victory.

The mayor approached the department and began to read out the "Agreement with the Districts guilty of rebellion," as required by the rules of the ceremony. At that moment, everyone stopped listening. Every person from school knew all the points by heart: the propaganda of the Capitol permeated every sphere of life, so not knowing what the reasons for the Districts could be considered a crime.

Finally, the mayor finishes reading the tedious contract and gestures to shake hands with the newly minted tributes. Marco's hand with many cuticles, due to the bad habit of biting nails, wraps around Olivia's outstretched hand.

The anthem began to play.

After it ends, they are taken under guard. They should be grateful that they are not handcuffed. However, the presence of a group of peacekeepers who can burn a hole in your body with their gaze can be quite uncomfortable.

Inside the Justice Building, Marco and Olivia are taken to separate rooms. Bezzecchi would never have thought that in District, which is on the verge of ruin, there is such luxury: the floor is lined with soft carpet, the sofa and crosses are upholstered in velvet, expensive-looking chandeliers and a glass table. Marco assumed that if he sell all the furniture there, he could restore several buildings on the square so that they don't look so destroyed.

Parents are the first to come. Hands themselves stretch then to hug the father and mother for a long hug. Tears began to flow involuntarily and Marco doesn't even try to wipe them.

No one knew what to say, and words weren't needed here anyway, as they would only have made things worse. Bez couldn't promise he would return, and other things weren't important enough at the moment to be voiced. Although, it was the best moment to say everything everyone had been silent about their entire lives.

Bez tried to memorize the scent that signified home, how his parents' embrace felt, as it was their last day together. It was at this moment he realized he hadn't fully appreciated his life. Yes, he was poor, the labor was grueling, and peacekeepers and cameras instilled fear every day, but he knew what tomorrow would bring. Now, he was a boy without a future.

A peacekeeper appeared in the doorway – time was up.

"Try to come back," his mother whispered one last time.

A new person entered the room.

Sava's face expressed the highest degree of worry, and tears were frozen in his eyes.

Quickly covering the four steps, Lorenzo hugged Marco tightly and, burying his face in his shoulder, burst into tears.

Bez returned the embrace, but his tears had already dried during his visit with parents.

"You know..." Sava began quietly. "Today I wanted to do something after working in the garden, but I'll have to do it now. Will you allow me?"

"Of course."

"Close your eyes."

Marco obediently closed his eyes and felt Sava pull his head away from his shoulder, gently placing his hands on his face.

As soon as Bez caught Sava's deep sigh, he felt his lips being pressed into a kiss. Marco had kissed girls before, so he couldn't be called a novice. But this kiss was unlike any other. It held neither passion nor lust—only tenderness and the despair of an imminent separation. They poured all their fears and unspoken feelings into it.

Both knew that a peacemaker could enter at any moment, and then Sava would be in trouble, so they had to break the kiss. Marco was sure he would never be able to forget it. The touch of another's lips was imprinted on his memory forever.

"I love you and I will ask the angels to preserve your life so that you can return to me," Sava said, grabbing Marco's hands.

"These little ones won't help me," Bez replied with a sad chuckle.

"Then forget everything and live the life you couldn't afford here."

"I will."

The peacemakers returned too soon. They led Lorenzo out of the room.

Later, several of Marco's friends arrived, but he could only think about Sava's confession and the kiss.

The entire platform is swarming with reporters, their lenses ready to capture any emotion that flashes across the faces of the Reaping victors.

Fortunately, the tear tracks had already dried, and only red eyes could betray Marco's emotions. Engaging all  senses, he began to play to the camera. It's terrifying to imagine the hatred and misunderstanding the residents of other districts will feel when they see this broadcast. But this was Bez for the last seventeen years: flirting with people and being cheerful.