Disclaimer: I don't own JJK.

Control

"The secret to a rich life is to have more beginnings than endings." -Dave Weinbaum

Peacekeepers paraded us through town, allowing District 7's people to get one last look at its Tributes. They kept their distance, the air forlorn and somber as they weakly waved us goodbye. I noticed Muta's attention was focused solely on the crowd, clearly looking for someone and visibly getting more upset when he didn't see who he was looking for. If I were a more nosy individual, I would've asked who he was searching for. Instead, I took a deep breath and ignored the distraught expression on his face, keeping my eyes forward as we entered the train station.

I was sickened by the accommodations on the bullet train, but maybe that was just the unwilling Tribute status talking. It was positively extravagant, filled with plush cushions that looked too perfect to sit in, food that I had never even seen before in my whole life, and everything shimmered like a fork that had been polished for hours. It was nauseating and made something bitter sit unpleasantly in my mouth. I was almost overcome with the childish urge to tear through everything, wanting to see how easily those cushions could rip between my fingers and if that expensive looking food would stain the carpet that curled around my now bare feet.

I couldn't even describe the rooms. It felt criminal to remain in my room, lavishly decorated for literal royalty instead of the tree-climbing urchin that I was. Clothes had been up for grabs in the huge closet, but I'd turned my nose up at that offer, petulantly discarding my shoes by the door and hurrying back out the door. Muta had made his own grand appearance minutes later, looking just as disgusted with his lips curled and entire body wrought with tension as he stiffly sat on the couch across from me.

"Oh, you two!" Our Escort clicked her tongue, eyes roving disapprovingly over our appearances as she jumped to her feet from her relaxed position at the table. "Did you not see the new clothes in your rooms? You simply cannot waltz into the Capitol wearing those ghastly things, I won't allow it!" She fluttered by us, muttering under her breath and bringing with her the overwhelming scent of oranges.

Frowning, I picked at the sleeves of my kimono. Granted, it was a little worn from many years of loving use and maybe a little dirty, but I didn't think it looked that bad. Muta's dark kimono hid any and all imperfections, so unless our Escort had x-rays for eyes, he looked far more presentable than I did in my soft pink one.

A hand held out a glass of water, eliciting a whole body twitch from me at the unexpected movement. "Drink. It'll help ease your nerves." She offered the same to Muta, who reluctantly took the offered water. "Don't mind Izumi. She's one of the more out there Escorts, always giving a big damn how she's represented and how her Tributes look. Just ignore her."

My eyes roved over this new face, admiring the thick blond hair that stretched and stretched down her back, her praise worthy athletic build that her form-fitting black shirt and baggy red pants did nothing to hide, and the way brown eyes critically examined myself and Muta in return. I didn't know her name, but something instinctive told me she was formidable and it would be in my best interest to have a healthy amount of respectful fear for her. She was strong and demanded my attention without having to ask for it.

(She was what I imagined a Victor to look like and maybe it was the beginnings of hero worship, but admiration was beginning to take root.)

She caught my probing gaze, grinning in amusement at the way my ears turned red and I hurriedly turned away from her. She didn't call me out for my staring, merely plopping down beside me and sliding an arm across the back of the couch. "I know you two must have questions, but I'm not doing this whole mentor shit alone, so we're gonna wait until Suguru gets his happy ass out here."

"That's fine," I agreed easily.

"Not confident in your own abilities to teach us?" Muta snipped, glaring at her. It was the exact opposite of my response.

"I just don't want to deal with crying kids is all," She denied, shrugging. "It's annoying and too much of a pain."

Muta snorted. "How typical of a former Victor. You halfass the work asked of you and just want to go back to your cushy lifestyle as fast as possible."

I balked, scandalized. "Muta! Don't say that to her!"

He scoffed. "It's true isn't it? She's already written us off as lost causes, so there's no harm in saying what I want."

A massive frown pulled at my lips. "You're kind of acting like a brat right now, you know that? There's a difference between voicing your opinion and speaking for somebody else. She hasn't written us off; you're just not giving her a chance."

"It's obvious if you'd just open your eyes," Muta denied with a shake of his head.

The woman hummed, grin sharpening into something more unpleasant. "I can see that you've got a hell of a chip on your shoulder, kid. That's good. You can channel that in the Arena." She pointed a lax finger at him. "You'd do well to direct it at someone that's not me, however. I won't train a brat that back talks the way you sound like you're going to."

"H-He didn't mean it," I stuttered, anxious scenarios of a fight breaking out haunting the forefront of my mind. Call it selfish, but I couldn't stand the thought of one of our mentors not sharing her knowledge on surviving the Arena because she'd developed a grudge against a mouthy Tribute. Dark eyes snapped towards me, narrowing indignantly. "It's just been a trying Reaping Day and—"

"Every Reaping Day is trying," She interrupted coldly, staring Muta down with razor-sharp brown eyes. Said boy was as still as a statue, scowling at the woman with impressive energy as his fingers clenched around his glass. "Nobody wants to be picked for these Games, but your name was pulled, so you're either going to accept your Fate and listen to my advice to stay alive or you're going to die in the Bloodbath. Take your pick, brat. Either way, I get to go home, so it's no love lost on my end what you do."

I cringed at the cruel lilt of her words, shrinking in on myself a bit as I subtly tried to scoot away from the intimidating aura she was exuding. I was right. She was not someone we wanted as an enemy.

"That's enough, Yuki," Another voice chided. "Don't say such cruel things. I know it's what you're known for in District 7, but we need them to trust us, not avoid us."

I had to do a double-take because no way this man was the same one I saw at the train station two years ago.

The pull he had was positively criminal. I tried so hard not to stare, really I did, but it was impossible not to admire the silky sheen of the dark hair pulled back into a bun, the wide shoulders that transitioned into biceps that were very obviously muscled through his dark, long-sleeved shirt, and gods above, he was incredibly tall. It was crazy how long his legs were, they seemed to go on forever.

Oh. He's...really cute. Unbidden, a flush crawled across my nose and not thinking, I slapped my cheeks sharply.

The woman, Yuki, cocked an eyebrow at me. "You good?"

"Yes!" I reassured, silently cursing at how high-pitched my voice was. "Yes, sorry, I'm fine. I'm just trying to...center myself." I hoped the laugh I let out didn't sound too nervous. "There's a lot to discuss, so I'm preparing myself to pay attention."

"Uh-huh," Yuki said, clearly not believing me. She glanced between me and the pretty dark-haired man, seeming to contemplate something before a slow smirk crawled across her lips. Nervous because she was giving me vibes that she has no shame of speaking her mind, I directed my full attention to the man.

"You're our other mentor?" I asked, not embarrassed by the rather obvious question.

"You don't even know who they are?" Muta muttered. "What, have you been living under a tree or something?"

"Excuse me if I'm not a social butterfly like you," I retorted shortly, glaring at him. "I keep to myself and don't interact with anyone outside of our class." Of course, I did recognize him, but only vaguely. His hair looked longer and his features sharper, but I'd remember those fox-like eyes anywhere. Those hadn't changed.

Muta's eyes shone with a nasty challenging gleam, as if daring me to keep snipping at him. "You'd know who they were if you watched their Games. Geto Suguru is a talked about prodigy and Tsukumo Yuki won through brute force and deadly accuracy with her axes."

"I feel kind of flattered he knows me so well," Yuki whispered not so quietly to Geto, who merely rolled his eyes at her.

"I don't watch the Games," I revealed. "Never have, never will. I won't buy into the Capitol's propaganda that murdering children is okay."

"It's illegal to not watch the Games," Muta snapped. It was painfully obvious he was trying to get under my skin if he was willing to throw Capitol law out in the open, but he was mistaken if he thought it'd faze me.

My upper lip curled into an obvious sneer, taunting him. "Does it look like I give a shit? Are you gonna tattle on me to the Peacekeepers?"

Yuki clapping her hands startled me out of my standoff with Muta. "Okay!" She drawled loudly. "Introductions! So we can move on from this obvious tension between you two. Little Spitfire over here asked who you were, Geto, so spit your name out already."

The gentle smile that crossed his lips made the corners of his eyes crinkle and the gesture alone lightened up his face more than the sunlight streaming through the windows ever could. "My name is Geto Suguru." He pointed to Yuki. "And this is Tsukumo Yuki. We'll be your mentors for these Games."

His tone was polite, soft-spoken, but direct. I wondered how someone like him made it out of the Arena alive considering the atrocities that must be done just to survive. Yuki's body language and attitude alone told me she didn't have any qualms winning her Games, but this man...Geto Suguru...he didn't seem like the type to be okay with casual killing. Or even killing in self-defense.

How did you win your Games?

"How did you two get roped into this?" Muta demanded. I gave him a confused look and he gave an aggrieved sigh. "Mentors don't have rotating shifts. It's whoever wants to volunteer to train the dead weights for that year. And last I checked," Here, he gave them his signature disgusted scowl, "you two were recluses." He pointed at Geto. "You haven't been seen by the public since you came back and you," He pointed at Yuki, "only make appearances at the Reapings. So what gives?"

"Geto, you can take this one," Yuki deadpanned. "I'll train the quiet one since she's been a good girl and hasn't been throwing not so subtle jabs since she boarded the train." The arm behind me looped around my shoulder, tugging me towards Yuki and eliciting a squeak from me. Embarrassed, I couldn't decide whether I was comfortable with this situation or not.

"This is a team effort, Yuki," Geto said firmly, dragging a chair closer to us and sitting down in it. "We're not isolating them from each other or us. We've talked about this."

Yuki groaned, thankfully releasing me and straightened up, elbows on her knees and hands fisted under her chin. "Fine. Get on with it then."

"Answer my question!" Muta snapped. Irritation began to bubble in my stomach again, threatening to break free. I'd never spoken to Muta before today, so I didn't know what he was like at home, but stranger or not, I'd never tolerated rudeness from anyone. These were District 7's Victors and they deserved some respect from us freshly picked Tributes. (Mom used to say my temper was like a volcano. Stagnant and quiet, but explosive when touched.)

"There's not really a big explanation for us being here," Geto said calmly. "The mentors from last year wanted a break, so Yuki and I took their spots. Simple as that." Muta looked displeased and unsatisfied with that answer, but blessedly let it go and slouched backwards.

"Can we start now?" Yuki asked sarcastically. "As you know, the Games change every year. New Arena, new training instructors, and new demands so that future Tributes can't come in already knowing what they have to do to win over sponsors. The Capitol wants to make it a challenge, to expose the Tributes for who they are and to make it as exciting as possible for the rich bastards who support these Games."

"Our job is to help you get these sponsors," Geto continued, "and to paint you in the best light possible so you have as many advantages as you can get."

"And to keep us alive," I whispered, freezing when those dark eyes glanced my way. I didn't know eyes so dark could express such a level of softness, but it seemed to come naturally to Geto.

"Yes," He agreed, nodding, "to keep you alive. That's every mentor's goal."

"Even if it's impossible," Muta grumbled petulantly. A bit more of my patience snapped away.

"I will toss you off this train," I threatened. "Your negativity is getting old."

Muta sat up so quickly that it had me tensing in my seat, feet planting loudly against the floor. "I'd like to see you try, tree hugger!"

"Can't you come up with a more creative name?" I hissed back. "That's such a typical thing to call someone from District 7! What, is your brain too small to comprehend something meaner?"

"What'd you say?!"

"Want me to say it slower for you, jackass?!"

Geto sighed and he looked to Yuki. "Why don't you take him to the other car? I'll keep her here so we can get some things done before we reach the Capitol."

Shit. I wrung my hands anxiously, watching Yuki manhandle Muta into standing and dragging him away, much to his loud protests. "I'm sorry," I apologized the second the door closed. "I don't know where that came from. You wanted us to be together for this, but you ended up having to separate us anyway."

Geto hummed. "It's alright. Adjustments can be made as we go. Sometimes it's necessary if we want things to get done, but I also understand that tempers will fly when you pair two Tributes with completely different personalities together." He leaned forward, resting on his knees. "But enough of that. We have more pressing things to talk about before your first day will be monopolized by your stylists. Tell me about yourself. What are your strengths?"

Mind stuttering to a halt, my mouth opened and closed numerous times as I scrambled to find something to say. My strengths? Like what kind of strengths? What I was good at in school? Hobbies? No, wait, he means what could benefit me in the Arena. Embarrassed, I ducked my head down when he started chuckling, flushing furiously at how deep his laugh was and how much I enjoyed hearing it.

"Here's an easier question," He offered, taking pity on me. "What's your name?"

That was easy. "Naegi Suzume. My mom and I are in charge of dispersing the fruit and wood that come into the town."

Geto tapped his chin, thinking before he snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. I've seen you both at the forest's edge directing traffic for the loggers."

Great, so that means he's seen me walking around covered in dirt and bark scratches. Awesome.

"So that means you must be a good climber, yes? Climbing into those wagons can be challenging for some considering the lack of hand holds."

"I would say I am," I said slowly. "I sometimes go out with the younger ones to collect from the fruit trees when we're behind on orders; it usually only takes me a day of being out there to get us back on track."

"That's a good thing," Geto mused. "We can use that. Are you strong?"

"Not at all," I denied immediately. Total honesty was key here, I chanted to myself. "I'm a fast climber, but don't ask me to pull myself up onto something more than once. I'm only able to scale a tree so quickly because of my legs."

He arched an eyebrow. "Kind of the opposite thing to do compared to what you're shown in the woods, don't you think?"

I crossed my arms, uncomfortable. "I had to make do. A lot of the time, branches were out of my reach and no amount of pulling myself up was going to get me closer to them. I'm smaller compared to a lot of other people, so using my legs to push harder so I could propel higher was the only thing I could do."

"A high jumper then," Geto confirmed, nodding. "Strong climber and jumper, what about survival skills?"

"I can confidently start a fire, but I have a hard time keeping it under control." (A future pyro, my mom would say almost fondly while shaking her head at my latest accident in the woods.) "I know what poison ivy looks like, but that's about it for my plant knowledge."

"And weapons?"

Ah, shit. I was dreading this question. "Nothing," I admitted. "I've never handled any of the saw mill equipment or even an axe."

He wasn't fast enough to hide the shock on his face, but my heart thumped painfully anyway when he quickly cleared the expression away. "That...will have to be fixed," He said quietly.

"Mom told me that Tributes can win without having to fight, though," I protested, stomach twisting. Mom had said to pick up a weapon, but secretly, I'd been hoping I could get away without having to do so. I didn't want that blood on my hands.

"It's rare for a Tribute to win without claiming a life," Geto explained carefully. "The final four Tributes always incite a hunger in the Gamemakers that make them notoriously impatient to end it all. Whether by coincidence or the Gamemaker's interference, you will be thrown together and by that point, running away just won't cut it. They won't let you get away from the final moments of the Game."

My Mom's last words to me were the only thing keeping total dismay from swallowing me whole. Come home alive. Come back to me. "Be honest with me," I asked lowly, clenching my fingers. "Do I even stand a chance? Two weeks isn't a long time to learn a weapon and...I'm not confident I can willingly kill someone even if it means I get to stay alive for one more minute."

"It's all a mental game," He said. "The Gamemakers know most Tributes are largely reluctant to spill blood, but they have an uncanny ability in bringing out the most primal of survival instincts in us. Nobody knows how far they're willing to go until they're put on the spot in a life or death situation." The look in his eyes was indescribable. They roved over my form carefully, lingering on my fists, before reaching my face. "I will do whatever I can to keep you alive," He promised. "You deserve a fighting chance. No Tribute deserves to go out like a lamb being led to its unknowing slaughter."

I believed him and his words wholeheartedly. He seemed taken aback by the hopeful smile on my face, but he returned the gesture easily, hand reaching out to graze against the back of my own. Fire ignited beneath my skin where he touched, a blazing inferno that chased away a portion of my worries and fears. It was...comforting.

My bedroom door slid open. "Okay!" Izumi crowed, arms full of different fabrics. She grinned widely at my horrified face, not noticing the way Geto retreated. I felt the absence notably, a chill crawling down my spine. "Let's get you changed, dear!"