When the train finally pulled into the Capitol, the sunlight struck everything like a stage light—harsh, theatrical, and fake.
Goo stood at the window for a long time, eyes taking in the skyline. The buildings shimmered with impossible curves, unnatural colors, and bizarre designs. A skyscraper shaped like a flower. A hovering sculpture that rotated in slow, solemn circles. Neon vines crawling across marble.
None of it made sense.
It was wealth flaunted so carelessly it became grotesque.
Rue sat beside him, her hands curled into tight little fists in her lap. "They always look at us like we're… things."
He didn't reply.
Because he remembered that look, too—from another life.
He'd seen it in the eyes of Charles Choi's men. Of men who smiled while hurting others. Of those who thought power made cruelty justifiable.
The Capitol wasn't just a rich city. It was a cage wrapped in gold.
And he was a wolf dropped into it.
They were herded out of the train like livestock.
Cameras flashed.
People screamed. Applauded. Pointed.
"District Eleven! Oh my God, look at that one—he's gorgeous!"
"Is that hair natural? No way! I want it."
Goo ignored them. His eyes were scanning everything—angles, exits, weak points. His brain split everything into categories. Threats. Assets. Liabilities.
It wasn't a conscious decision. It was instinct now. Goo Kim didn't just fight with his fists. He studied violence. Anticipated it.
Even surrounded by Peacekeepers with guns, the part of him that belonged to Lookism's brutal underworld was humming.
He could kill them. All of them. If he had to.
But not yet.
They were handed off to stylists.
His team was a trio of Capitol citizens with wide eyes and breathless voices.
"Oh, sweetheart, your skin is flawless—what do they feed you in District Eleven?"
"Nothing," Goo replied flatly.
They laughed. They thought he was joking.
He didn't correct them.
They cut his hair.
They bathed him in synthetic oils and scrubbed every inch of his body with pearl-dusted sponges. They dressed him in a loose white robe, then stared at him like he was a canvas.
"I want to make him look dangerous," said one. "But elegantly dangerous. Like—like a serpent in formalwear."
"Oh yes," said another. "Let's give the Capitol something to fear."
Goo smiled faintly at that.
Good.
Fear was a better weapon than fame.
He met Rue again in the prep room before the Tribute Parade.
She looked... not like herself. Her hair was wrapped in silver coils. Her dress was made of actual leaves—shimmering, metallic ones, but still. She looked like something from a fairytale. Her eyes were huge.
She looked at him—and stared.
"…What?" he asked.
"You don't look like someone from the Districts," she said.
He adjusted his cuffs. His outfit was all black and gold, cut close to his body, glinting under the light. Sharp lines. Clean fit. Somehow, the stylists had captured what Goo already was: poised violence.
"I'm not," he replied.
She tilted her head. "What are you, then?"
He looked at her.
"Something new."