I wash dishes until my hands are cracked and dry. I know my minimum wage won't be enough. But I'll work for every penny until I have to dedicate myself to the games.

"This is your last day?" the restaurant manager asks me. His eyebrows arch toward the ceiling. If anyone knows how badly I need work, it's him. It's uncharacteristic of me to quit, especially since I've washed dishes with fervor for more than a year.

I take one last look at his uneven mustache before throwing my last dish onto the drying rack. "Found better work," I say, not wanting to explain. I'll be labeled crazy if he found I was applying for League of Fame.

"Good luck," he says, gruff voice grating my ears as usual. "You were one of our best."

I want to cringe, knowing he's never raised my wage once. It seems like an empty sort of compliment. Instead, I turn away from the kitchen that I know has mold in the corner and a rat that hasn't been caught for two months. The dinginess leads out to a pristine dining room, but you can't fool me again. I'll never wash dishes as a job again in this lifetime.

The walk to home is somber, worry weighing on my chest like dumbbells. Today is the day I'll have to tell my parents. I've been avoiding the topic, dodging the questions of why I look like I'm being strangled at the dinner table. My brother, gathering enough strength to join us to eat, glances at me like I'm hiding something. I definitely am, but I've avoided the confession for as long as I could.

The restaurant is two miles away from my apartment. The whole way there, I rehearse lines in my head. They sound more and more absurd as I go on. I've signed my life away to League of Fame. I did it for my brother, even though there's a ninety-nine percent chance I'll die. I've made an alliance with a boy I barely know.

I enter a dark living room. My parents are on the couch, cuddled up next to each other. I know my brother is already sleeping. He's been tired all the time lately, staying home from school to lie on bed and steady his breathing.

My parents look like angels in the cheap candle they've lit from the kitchen table. They look younger than their years, and I imagine them falling in love two decades ago, back when Seoul was on even more uncertain ground. They were scavengers too, finding each other to stay afloat.

My grandparents on my mother's side immigrated here from China to expand their jewelry business. Dad, who came here when he was a baby, was just here by chance on vacation when the bombs struck and destroyed the majority of the world. My grandparents on both sides are dead—after being plagued from health issues after the explosion, stress of staying alive that turned to chronic conditions.

Dad, Mom, and Zion are all I have left.

"Cosma," my mother starts, her voice as comforting as it was when she sang me to sleep when I was little.

"I entered League of Fame," I say.

Silence suffuses the room. It feels like I've started the spark that will lead to a dynamite swallowing up my whole world. My heart rushes, the heat of panic washing out all color in front of me.

My mother cries. It's the most sudden change of emotion I've ever witnessed. Her tears are heavy, wetting her cheeks immediately. She curls into herself, and for a moment she looks like the girl who received the news that her husband got into a biking accident and would never walk without a cane. Her sobs rack through my body like they're my own.

Dad looks at me like I've proposed to sell our apartment and donate the money to the bank. "Cosma?"

I take one last look. At my home, my parents, and I don't even have time to say goodbye to my brother. In the light of the candle, everything mixes into one gray and blue art piece. "I'm sorry."

I leave quickly. Because I know if I stay, my parents will convince me to stay with them. But I can't afford to. My brother needs me, and I'll do everything I can to save his life. Even if that means entering a games that makes no sense and offers a chance so slim I might as well enter the lottery instead.

With tears in my own eyes, I enter the night knowing that my brief encounter with my parents could've been the last time I'll ever see them. I make my way through the dark, avoiding the oddballs on the street and ignoring a boy who cat calls me and tries to lure me into the nearest bar.

I have nothing but the clothes on my person. I didn't bother to pack anything. I may not know much about the League of Fame program, but I know they won't allow me to bring in comforts from home.

My legs move without me thinking. It isn't long until I pass the last habitable apartment and step into the outskirts of Seoul. The wind is chilly, seeming to nip at my bones. In the moonlight, the destruction almost looks like a painting by an artist with a trembling hand.

I don't know why my feet led me here. Maybe because this place has turned into a safe haven for me. Yes, I risked my life to scavenge here. But it became one of my joys to find objects to pawn. Like I was doing something noble to support my parents and brother. I sit down, ignoring the stones digging through my pants. I pull my knees up to my chest. I wait for a long time, thinking that I'll remain in solitude until the sunrise.

"What are you doing here?"

I look behind me, to where Jungkook is holding his gun in his right hand. He's in the same outfit that I saw him in last, black jeans and a leather jacket. His clothes fit him perfectly, I notice. So even if he stole them, he must've chosen his target carefully.

"Waiting til the games," I say, telling half the truth.

He hesitates a bit. Then he comes near, setting his gun down first and then sitting next to me. "I thought about your proposal," he says.

"You did?" I ask.

He shakes his head, leaning back with his palms against the ground. "The answer is no. I don't want to team up with you. When we get into the program, it's every man for himself."

I don't bother to hide my disappointment. With tears in my eyes already, I already look like death. "Okay," I say. "Then may you come out the other side alive."

"You too," Jungkook says.

I wait with him until the sun rises. The pink and orange auras slowly invade the sky, until blue slowly makes its appearance. Jungkook stands, offering me his hand.

I ignore him and stand on my own. Yes, he may have saved me once, but it's best I learn not to depend on it. My life, and my brother's, depends on it.

"Let's head to the headquarters," I say, wondering if this is the last and only time we'll walk together. I glance at his pistol, which he holds almost like a second limb. "And they won't let you keep that."

Jungkook takes one last look at his weapon. With a mighty swing, he tosses it far into the trash heap. I want to scream at him, telling him he could've pawned it. But maybe it's too precious to pawn. Maybe he wants someone to find it later, to use it like he did.

I shake my head, turning back to the innards of Seoul. Jungkook and I are about to fight for stardom. And even though I don't know exactly what to expect, I know I'll miss these simpler times—when I was a scavenger, not a competitor. 

A/N: Thanks for reading!