HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 23

The idea of fairness was a sham. Life was not fair—it was as simple as that. If it was, it could only be in that it was unfair to everyone, but even so, not to equal degrees, and thus the argument collapsed. Nevertheless, it was a concept widely viewed as desirable, and despite its obvious challenges, many remained steadfast in upholding it.

Removing one's name from the equation was a common method employed to facilitate impartiality. In the scientific community, for example, it was typical for publications to be submitted and reviewed anonymously. In the absence of labels, one ought only to focus on judging the work presented purely on the basis of merit—or so the system intended.

Not all circumstances allowed for an applicant's identity to be concealed, however. In cases whereby background checks were necessary, it could even be a determining factor as to whether one obtained a position.

The matter of a Head Gamemaker's apprentice was somewhere in between. The Arena was ultimately a course and students had to be graded, which meant that their assignments had to be linked to them somehow, whether it was outrightly or via the unique alphanumerical codes issued to them by the University. Even if the latter approach had been embraced, it would be easy, with Coriolanus's connections, for him to trace the proposal back to its author. And what would be the point anyway? The interviews had been something he'd planned for a long time coming.

Inspired by previous apprentices notwithstanding, Coriolanus did not need his years as Dr. Gaul's right-hand man to grasp that a few pages were painfully inadequate to represent a person's competency. Essays might distinguish one for college admissions and scholarship awards, but for companies to hire in a similar fashion was unheard of—and rightly so.

A fifteen-minute session was scraping the bare minimum, considering most organizations conducted multiple screenings before extending any formal offers. Although the summation would be substantial with twenty-four potential candidates, it was insignificant alongside the time he would have to spend with this individual in the coming year. Dr. Gaul had snubbed his suggestion before, quoting that such lengths were unwarranted for "just an apprentice." Of course she had. She wasn't the one having to deal with them—she just trusted him or her to Coriolanus.

More like thrusted.

In the past, he still had the option of redirecting her choice to a far off department to become someone else's problem when his patience ran out. It was different now: His duties as a teacher and adviser had to be taken seriously if he aimed to groom a successor. He would not be Head Gamemaker forever. One day soon, he would become the president of Panem, and he would need a capable replacement—at least one that was in his debt—to step in. How else would he continue controlling the Games?

Aside from the renown associated with the title, this had been his main motivation when lining himself up for the role. Coriolanus was therefore prepared to make the six-hour sacrifice to ensure he got someone who didn't just look good on paper. He was tired of babying book-smarts who were clueless to the operations of the real world. His apprentice would possess a decent level of common sense and be reasonably up to the task—it was unrealistic hoping for more.

Naturally, all of that had gone out the window when Lucy Gray reappeared in his life. Well, metaphorically...ish.

To his stark dismay, Coriolanus had been unquestionably and irrevocably intrigued. He knew better than to give himself up to curiosity, but there was nothing for it. Even now, after all these years, when she had to be worlds away, she was still that star of the show, demanding his attention; he still felt drawn in as if some invisible string was tying them together. And it wasn't even her—it was just the notion of her. How ridiculous was that?