Yo! I'me back with another chapter! Well, another "theory" and preliminary chapter (Fortunately, this will be the second to last preliminary chapter)... This is a simpler little thing, like the prologue. I hope you enjoy! This is my second to last chapter on reserve; I just hope I can somehow finish another chapter before I hit the last one, or else y'guys might have to wait for a while. I'm so slow.

Well, either way, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot.

To Create Perfection

"I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him."
—Booker T. Washington

"Theory 2: God Save the People"

I guess you should be able to guess how Arthur felt as he walked home from his visit to BCWD. I mean, isn't it obvious? Right off the bat, he had made enemies with Lovino, Antonio, and Gilbert. He even had hostilities from Francis, who wasn't exactly inclined to dislike anybody at all. In fact, I don't think he ever truly disliked anybody before; after all, he preferred to spend his time and energy to get to know somebody, rather than hating their very presence. So that's saying something. If Arthur could manage to get on Francis' bad side so easily, that would mean either Francis wasn't truly the people-lover everyone thought he was, or Arthur's personality was simply that bad. And, truth be told, the latter is far more plausible. After all, he entered BCWD, ready to impress his future colleagues, but ended up coming out furious like lava bursting from a volcano.

Unfortunately, going home did not help his mood. Upon opening the apartment door, he was greeted by a sprawled out body beside the door. It was his eldest brother, Alistair. He had the most despicable grin on his face and swung around a half-empty whisky bottle in his hand with his crutches strewn aside beside him. Believe it or not, this sort of greeting hadn't been entirely foreign to Arthur, except for the fact that Alistair had two times more alcohol than normal, if the empty bottles littering the floor gave any more evidence away. But there was just something that made Arthur even angrier than usual. Maybe it was because of his terrible experience in BCWD—I don't know. But there was just something that made Arthur shout, something he rarely did. I still can remember the words, even now.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Alistair said something back. I'm not quite sure what exactly it was. It had been slurred out with incoherent, unintelligible words. "Ah ma shell-e-braining yar fish tan peh she dub yu day," I think he had said. But don't take my work for it. All I know is that something he said caused Arthur to make this horridly disgusted expression. That was unforgettable. His giant eyebrows had inched together, his nose crinkled, and his scowl pulled down his cheeks. Green eyes were slitted, and the edges were wrinkled into dark lines. He had been absolutely insulted, and anyone who would disagree is a fool.

Alistair had been a fool. He kept talking, raising the half-empty bottle up.

Arthur should have left Alistair on the floor. He had every right to, and his brother wouldn't have minded in the long run anyway. But he didn't. Instead, Arthur let out a long sigh, brushed his hair back with his fingers, and then pulled Alistair up by the arm. Then he dragged his brother to the single couch of the flat and tossed the drunken man there. Alistair didn't say anything after that. At some point, Arthur had picked up all the empty bottles, laid the pair of crutches against the wall beside Alistair, and placed the half-empty whisky bottle on a table. Alistair had fallen asleep by then with his leg over an armrest, an arm over his head, and his other arm and a stub of a right leg hanging over. His face was still as red as when Arthur first saw him, but the grin was gone.

Silence had followed. I don't know what Arthur had done during that period of time, but I do know that the phone rang. The ringtone was this strange sound so obnoxious and peculiar that even a drunk man could identify it.

Arthur's boss had called. Either him or one of Arthur's other co-workers, I'm not quite sure. They were all alike anyway. All they ever talked about was work and schedules, those silly Chinese restaurant workers. I had only caught half of the conversation, but assuming that Arthur was talking to the employer, then the conversation must have gone something like this:

"Arthur, where the hell are you? You said that you were only going to be a little late. Now you're late by three hours. Three hours!"

"I know. But I'm exhausted now; I don't think I will make it today."

"I don't care. Yong-Soo has been covering you. He's working overtime here, and he's ten times more exhausted than you will ever be."

"Tell him I'm sorry."

"No. Explain yourself. What the hell kept you so long? What's so important that makes you skip on work and completely disregard Yong-Soo? If it's a reasonable response, I may not deduct your pay."

"I visited BCWD. I recently got an internship."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"You should quit."

"Wait. What?"

"Quit. You have a job here. We pay you enough to sustain both you and your brother comfortably. We'll even give you a raise if you want. And you can have boarding here too. You don't need BCWD."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't like it there."

"But I have worked all my life to get there. I still don't get it."

"It stinks of death. Nothing comes out of there alive."

"Huh?"

"Think about it carefully. I won't be deducting your salary today."

Then the conversation ended there. My words may not be accurate, but at least I know they are credible. When Arthur had put away the phone, he looked confused, simply staring at the keypad for a few moments. And then he sat down on a chair, still staring. But after, he picked up a thick book from the stand and flipped it open. I think it was called The Lord of Rings or something like that. He didn't read much after arriving to the World Domain—he had little time to—and all the books he picked up looked alike. He may have read that for a good 3 years before getting halfway through. But that day, he read maybe one or two pages, and then picked up a half-empty whisky bottle and took a long swig.

Something about the call had made Arthur uncomfortable.