The sun was hot. Not just warm or irritating, but the kind of sun that baked skin into leather and pulled sweat from your pores like it had a vendetta. Goo—if he could even still call himself that—lifted a hand to shield his eyes.
District 11.
He remembered this place from The Hunger Games books. Agricultural. Poor. Oppressed. If District 12 was starving, District 11 was starving and watched like prisoners. Tall fences. Peacekeepers with itchy fingers. And, most noticeably, kids who didn't smile.
He walked forward slowly with the rest of them, toward the stage set up for the Reaping. That word… it meant something terrible here. Not the harvest. Something darker. Something final.
His new body felt powerful. Even malnourished, even underfed and dressed in rags, there was something—reflexes beneath the surface, muscle memory. He flexed his hands behind his back. Yes, he could still feel it. The Goo Kim part of him, the fighter, the chaos engine, was intact. But his mind… that was where the real confusion lived.
He was both.
The boy from Earth—just some guy who loved reading webtoons, watching Lookism, devouring fan theories late at night—he was still in there, panicking, quietly screaming.
But Goo Kim? He was the one breathing now.
They lined up in rows, boys on one side, girls on the other. Goo stood somewhere near the middle, eyes scanning. Most kids were trying to stay invisible, heads down, hands clenched. A girl near him was trembling so hard her teeth chattered. He caught her glancing his way—and the moment their eyes met, she flinched.
Ah.
He smirked a little.
Even here, in a world full of death, he was the wolf among sheep.
But something in his chest twisted at that. He looked away. Maybe it was guilt. Or pity. Or maybe just the leftover remnants of a conscience from his old life. The kid he used to be, before waking up in Goo Kim's body, wouldn't have scared people just by standing still.
The woman on the stage adjusted her microphone with a tinny squeal. Blonde wig. White makeup. Clownish, but not funny. Her smile looked stapled on.
Effie Trinket, or someone just like her.
"Happy Hunger Games!" she chirped.
The crowd didn't respond.
Goo didn't either.
The Reaping. One boy, one girl.
He wasn't worried. Statistically, the odds were low. Even if he was picked, well—he wasn't the same as the rest of them. He wasn't scared of some kids with spears. He'd fought grown men. Monsters. Lookism's world had been brutal, twisted—and he'd survived it. No, thrived in it.
Still… he didn't want to get picked. Not yet. He didn't understand this world fully. The Capitol. The cameras. The way the rules worked. He needed time.
But fate had other plans.
The girl's name was called first. She stumbled forward in shock. Goo didn't catch the name. It didn't matter—her face had already gone blank, like she'd already left her body behind.
Then came the bowl for the boys.
Long fingers reached in.
A name was read.
"Goo Kim."
And just like that, the crowd drew a collective breath—and held it.