The Russian had gone mad, and so had the American. Both men seemingly sweet and charming were playing violent and antagonists roles in secrecy. Silently fighting and discreetly destroying, yet neither dared to throw a punch out in the open where thousands of eyes watched. The state of play had continued to deteriorate for the worst—even more so when Yao had left Ivan's side. The Soviet nation vexed over the fact that the idiotic so-called 'Hero' had Arthur Kirkland by his side when Ivan's own ex-Bolshevik comrade had ripped the medal off his chest and had ran away. Ivan has since then been increasingly imperious, stubborn, and bull-headed. The poor Baltic states had to deal with Ivan's temper everyday, leaving them trembling with fright. Though they did not talk back, their thoughts have all started to shift.

"Mr. Russia has become even more intimidating these days. He's always staring at the Bolshevik metal that Mr. China left behind…along with the basket of apples." Toris commented weakly.

Natalia humphed lightly, her gaze turning cold.

Alfred and Ivan both had the same viciousness in their hearts, so even if they dared not to go out slap each other on the face, they used and manipulated anyone within their reach to do the dirty work for them—the small, vulnerable countries suffocating in their powerful grasps.

Yong Soo and his northern brother was a good example.

And this time, it was Vietnam's turn.

The Soviet nation was in a wonderful mood, he got what he wanted, all was good. He spun around in his chair, smiling while looking at Alfred, who had just arrived from a long trip.

"What is it you wanted to speak to me about? I haven't forgotten whom it was that had carved a scar in Ms. Vietnam's body."

Alfred adjusted his glasses and smiled back, "I've come just to hear your opinion on my boss's decision."

"Oh?" Ivan responded in a playful tone, "To divide the world? To seek a plan?"

Alfred's eyes were a calm and collected shade of blue, "Correct, just as your boss said, 'to divide the world'."

One cut, two slices of cake. Of course the bigger slice was more desired.

Yao had got on Alfred's bad side, he'd left Ivan as well. While trying to get back on track, he realized that his days were not as easy anymore. All the nations out there had gradually formed more and more negative views on him. As he was in the middle of fretfully trying to come up with a solution to this mess, Francis showed up.

"Bonjour, Yao~" a melodic accent sounded, along with a rich aroma of red wine floated around him. The man had asked Yao to meet him at a central park.

Yao had a thick coat thrown on the last second, his eyes were dull and carried dark circles beneath them. He still wasn't feeling well from his illness. He simply didn't have the energy to prance along with the flamboyant Frenchman.

"…Did you need something?

The blonde-haired man affectionately tousled with Yao's hair, "Hm…still got a fever I see, Ivan's comrade?"

Yao frowned with disgust.

Francis smiled.

"I wanted to give something to you." he said as he pulled out a clean, white envelope from his bag.

As Yao accepted the envelope, he shot a look at Francis and said warily, "This isn't another damned treaty, or some letter of debt that Ivan threw at me, is it?"

Francis smiled even brighter, "Seems like our little Bolshevik has really been driven out of his way by Ivan."

His perfume slightly wafted in the air.

Yao humphed coldly, but soon was bent over, coughing painfully. Alarmed, Francis quickly patted his back in worry.

"You should check in with your doctor, really. You seem too ill to be walking around like this!"

Yao waved his hand in dismissal and took a deep breath, "…Just tell me what you want to say, I still have to get back early."

Francis reached and opened the envelope and unfolded the first page.

"Yao Wang, do you want to be recognized?"

"Tell me, do you want to be recognized?"

Yao coughed violently again, then nodded his head stressfully.

"Sign this paper, and we can normalize our diplomatic relations. Then from now on, France will acknowledge your country."

The hand that covered his mouth trembled. Yao looked up to see the man with smooth, curly hair and deep, blue eyes gazing seriously at him.

Ivan once said, "no one in this world will acknowledge you except for me. You must follow behind me."

Ivan once said, "you are mine. You cannot accomplish anything without me."

Ivan once said, "Yao, there is no one in this world that can help you, and there's no one that will, either."

Francis' words proved him wrong.

"To be honest, I'm doing this just to go against that little Alfred, but at least it may help you." the man admitted before leaving.

Yao adjusted his collar, holding tight onto the precious contract. Standing under the blooming tree, he smiled with triumph.

Ivan was furious. He went on yelling about shredding apart the Elysée Palace and throwing a certain bearded man into the Volga river to feed the fishes. While Alfred, recovering from the initial shock, started to carefully plan out his next step to take, regarding his policies towards China.

Alfred was fondling with a jade pendant, swinging it about between his long fingers.

"Hey Honda, I found this laying around, thought I would give it to you as a gift." he said.

Kiku's hand twitched ever so slightly as he was pouring them a cup of tea. The corner of his lips tugged upwards into a somehow vaguely sarcastic smile.

"Are you trying to make up for my scars with jewelry, Mr. Alfred Jones?"

The man with vibrant blonde hair adjusted his glasses and smiled back, "Oh Mr. Honda, don't be like that. I don't mean anything of the sort with this gift."

Light reflected eerily off of his lens.

Kiku fell silent for a few moments before bringing the tea cup to his lips, sipping the aromatic and mellow drink. He kept his gaze down while lightly saying, "If that is the case, I will accept it."

He closed his eyes, pretending not to know. He shut all the truth and lies out of his sight. After the Second World War, he learnt of self-deception; he learnt to run away from his troubles. Kiku did not know exactly when it was that he had been contaminated with this dreadful habit—always masked and defensive when with others, it was like second-nature. Even when in Alfred's company, there was no exception. A frosty facade worn on his face. As time passes, the facade becomes a part of him, it became his skin. He could never get rid of it anymore. He deceived himself as well. He did not understand whether he was doing this solely because he was afraid of betrayal or because he was afraid that others would view him as a betrayer.

The jade pendant was of excellent quality. It was exquisitely carved into the shape of a dragon, and had a very soothing touch to it. Kiku held it flat in his palm and examined it. He suddenly felt a wave of disgust surge through him and up into his throat, like blood gushing out. He thought of himself torturing and tormenting his brother on the silken bed. Fresh blood endlessly trickling down the large slash on the other's back, staining both men a scarlet hue, like pedals of a flower shredded in disarray. The deep, red blood smeared uncannily on porcelain skin, satisfying him, yet secretly making him loath himself.

He hurriedly clamped his fingers shut, fully covering the pendant, not daring to take a second look at it.

After moments of stillness, Kiku asked out of the blue, "…Alfred, have you ever heard of a story about a jade made from blood?"

Hearing no response, he continued without waiting for one, "There was once a man who was wrongly killed by royalty who doubted his loyalty to the nation, he passed away still faithful and true-hearted. When his tomb was dug up many years later, his blood had turned into jade."

His voiced turned soft as he began murmuring to himself, "I wonder if this pedant is made from the blood of a true-hearted man…?"

His speech caused the American to laugh, "Are you really into these iffy stories, Honda?"

The grasp on the jade pendant tightened even more.

"…..No." he spoke after a pause, "It was merely an impulse."

An impulse of remembering the story a man once told him, and the words once said—

—"I hope my people can be like the man in the story, staying true and devoted even when terrible mistakes are made. No one will stop the prosperity of my land, because the same name has been imprinted on our chest…the name that has been enduring with us for the past thousands of years."

Resolved and resolute.

Kiku would never forget how he had come to make his decision. The decision to become stronger, to see the world in new light. With fresh blood, sweat, and tears. Pain that has been hidden for centuries, courage, and pride.

All that he had learnt from the once-prospering neighbouring nation. The success and the failures.

As Alfred was departing from Kiku's house that day, he muttered to himself, "….Seeing how Francis and Honda are both behaving, it all seems like a sign. It's probably time to change my ways to approach Yao's situation?"

A left turn, then right turn, another right turn.

After heaven-knows how many turns he had taken in the mundane halls of the parliament building, Yao pushed open the heavy door. As he stepped into the room, he was greeted with loud chattering of inaudible conversations.

Then, someone forcefully slammed the table with three distinct thuds.

"Quiet! Everybody shut up!" a loud and clear voice shouted into the microphone. It was none other than America, exasperated at the un-cooperative crowd.

This was the world conference room—more specifically, the United Nations conference room. A setting that China was very familiar with. In this vast room, all the nations were seated orderly and primly where their name tags were. They stared at Yao once they sensed his presence. Some with curiosity, some with disgust, and some with gazes as if they were expecting an amusing show to play out.

In the mass of nations, he spotted Kiku, who was dressed neatly in a black tuxedo. He had he hair combed tidily, and wore no expression on his face. He glanced indifferently at Yao for half a second before looking down again to arrange his papers.

Then, someone walked up the stairs to the rostrum and stood next to America. He looked down at the crowd and smiled, the Bolshevik badge on his chest as evident as ever.

"Braginsky, what are you doing up here, I'm not done talking yet." America glared at him.

Yao felt all the blood rushing into his brain as he looked fixedly at Ivan's face, unwaveringly, not able to turn his gaze away. He'd never thought that even after not seeing him for so long, he would still be so anxious at the Soviet nation's presence.

The tall, well-built man wore a thick scarf. Whenever he looked down, his lips would be slightly hidden by the edge of the cashmere. He seemed so gentle and mellow.

"Compared to your silly nonsense, don't you think that Comrade Yao's problem currently needs more attention?" he replied.

The palms of Yao's hands started to sweat immensely. He stared at Ivan, remembering his threats. He tried to make his gaze seem colder and harsher. But he was obviously failing. He cursed inwardly at his inability to mask his feelings.

Roderich, who was sitting at the side glanced at Yao, then at Ivan, then smiled. His long, elegant fingers braced his lips. At this situation, Ivan was obviously smarter than Yao. He had his head turned away, not even sparing a glance at Yao, his gaze only shifted between the other nations.

Alfred scratched his head and took a large sip of his cola, "….Alright, fine then…let's talk about Mr. China's situation first! Please, Mr. China, take a seat. Let's begin."

The lights were uncomfortably bright. Yao clenched his fists and slowly made his way forward. There was an empty seat next to Kiku, but he didn't stop. He turned to his left and continued. Kiku stared at his files, but did not see a single word. He only heard the footsteps come closer, then slowly fade away. His thumping heart beat calming with the footsteps. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, hiding his face.

"You've got to be kidding! Allowing him to join us as the People's Republic of China?" a voice sounded with disbelief.

"Disagreed. We will let him join…because I said so." Arthur humphed.

"What a phenomenon, cher Arthur actually shares an opinion with me. I support Yao on this." Francis smiled his infamous flirtatious smile.

"Shut up, you git." Arthur mercilessly kicked Francis on the shin.

Alfred rested his arm on Arthur's shoulder, seemingly encouraging this situation, "If that's so, then I agree as well. What do you think, Mr. Austria?"

The graceful and sophisticated nation folded his fingers beneath his chin and smiled lightly, "I agree that Mr. China should join us."

The nations started voting.

"As of now, there are 75 votes for, 35 votes against, and 17 votes abstained." Ivan announced. His violet eyes gleaming like a flower bud filled with morning dew. He then raised his head, squinted his eyes slightly as he faintly smiled, "…And I vote for."

Right at that moment, Yao's eyes teared up. He has returned. He's returned to his place after 20 years of immobility, and now, he'd finally catch up with these nations.

In the year of 1971, October 25th. A burst of applause sounded in waves throughout the conference room in New York.

"Congratulations, Mr. Yao." Alfred reached and warmly shook his hand.

Ivan watched silently in the mass of people, before making his way out of the room, his scarf flowing gently with his steps. As Yao turned around, for a split second, he froze. He noticed that the badge on Ivan's chest had been switched, he hadn't been aware of that until the last second.

Normally, Ivan would wear a badge that had five stars imprinted on it, with a red and white ribbon attached to the bottom. But this one he wore on the day had another set of stars on the ribbon itself. It was well-crafted, finely detailed, and had an old glow to it—it was the very badge that Yao had returned to Ivan the day he left.

Ivan had treasured it from that day on, the badge that represented their ambition together. Pinned to his chest, near his heart, he'd been treasuring it all along.

Yao suddenly felt the urge to run up to him and talk to him. It didn't matter what the topic would be, he just wanted to talk to Ivan again. But he was held up by the crowd, the many heads bobbing around had blocked his tear-blurred vision. By the time he had twisted and turned his way to where Ivan had stood, the tall, warm figure had already disappeared.

"Congratulations, China.." Natalia somewhat reluctantly shook hands with an absent-minded Yao, then she leaned in and whispered to his ear, "My brother is waiting for you at the plaza. He said he wanted to give you a pair of new shoes."

Yao was rather stunned.

As he stepped out of the conference building, he saw Ivan sitting by the fountain. His scarf gently drawn to his waist. He had his head raised, gazing at the rows of flags flapping in the wind.

"What'ya staring at, Yao? Let's get going." Alfred bumped into him as he walked out from behind Yao.

….That's right, it is the badge that I once had pinned to my own chest. Yao thought pensively. He'd been keeping it, but I've already gotten rid of the shoes he gave me. It would be awkward if he asked about it…

…So…

"Nothing, let's go." he said and turned to follow Alfred.

Ivan waited for a long time at the plaza, waiting for the little Bolshevik that was fated never to come. Waiting to give the shoes that were never meant to be given.

The sun casted long shadows over the orange scenery as it started to set.

A thin, blue trail of smoke floated and wavered from the incense pot. Ivan had carefully lit the incense with a flick of his wrist. The small patch of light reflected a glow in his amethyst eyes.

Natalia gritted her teeth, "Brother, you are still keeping your old lover's incense?"

"It's the last one." Ivan replied despondently, still staring at the small flame. His voice softer than usual.

"I've told him at the conference! He's the one that chose not to meet up with you….It's just a pair of shoes, you needn't worry, he's not that poor. He can afford something like that." she scrunched up her lips in distain.

Ivan ignored her.

Natalia stood for a while, watching Ivan in distress before giving up and walking towards the door. She stopped and looked back at her older brother.

"Wake up, brother. You need to stay clear-minded." she made one last effort before walking out.

As Natalia was walking down the street, she overheard many doubtful and dejected mutters of conversations.

"Do you what we are doing is right?"; "Who knows?"; "Can this nation really lead us to a brighter future?"; "…Who knows?"

Belarus pursed her lips and wrapped her coat even tighter around her as she walked away.