Tribute ✔

4- The Production

"Be confident, be sure of yourself, but don't be cocky. People will sponsor you thinking you will get over-confident then abandon you at the last second to watch you die a gruesome death."

"Capitol bastards just keep getting worse the more I hear about them."

"Hmm." Pretty Boy hummed knowingly before continuing. "You need to be alluring, have a subtle suave that makes people intrigued. Have much experience?"

Back home Bakugou had no interest in relationships, let alone settling down and having kids. In their District half of the kids died from malnourishment and then later died working down in the mines. And with the ever present Hunger Games looming in the back of their minds every fucking day, it was cruel to bring kids into this world. 

Yet, he knew he got looks from others in his shitty school. He was built, took good care of his body even with the little food and resources he had to work with. A few months before the Reaping he had started working down the mines, meaning his arm strength increased greatly, and he caught people staring at his upper-half too many times to count. Even Deku would point it out.

"I got attention, if that's what you mean. People can't keep their fucking eyes to themselves, but I know I have muscle."

"You aren't ugly. I'll make sure whatever you wear highlights your arms and chest, apparently that's a very popular trend this past month."

"You keeping up with Capitol fashion, halfie? The peppermint hair getting old?"

"It's natural, actually."

"Fuck, really?"

"Hm." Pretty Boy was quiet for a moment, looking just past Bakugou with an expression he couldn't decipher. "It gathers too much attention." He raised a hand to pull at a stray red lock.

"At least it's not fucking yellow like vomit and sticking up all over the place." Bakugou coughed and looked away, wanting to take back the compliment; he caught a twitch of a smile from the corner of his eye before his training continued. 

It was almost funny, Pretty Boy's monotone voice giving him lines to say with slight double meanings and postures that would accentuate his features. Either way it was far more fucking helpful than his shitty mentor's training, even if he did fall asleep with a red blush on his cheeks.

◢✥◣

"It should be red. Matte with a low-rise black shirt."

"On it."

"Oh, he also said your hair looks like vomit."

"Hah?! Are you sure you've picked the right one?"

◢✥◣

The next day passed with a mandatory test of the Tributes, evaluating the skills they had learnt during their short time in the training room. The Training Centre held a tense silence throughout the day as the Tributes went down in turns for their tests. Bakugou and the female Tribute from District 12 were last, meaning he went down just before midday. The morning was spent pacing back and forth in his fucking room, drilling Pretty Boy's advice into his head until he could recite it in his sleep.

"Focus on physical strength. That's the factor the Gamesmakers think is the most important when it comes to winning the games. You need to make an impression but don't show off. Aim for a 10 out of 12 if you can. Any higher and you may become a target for the Careers. If you show off your survival skills they may make changes to the arena to challenge you." He repeated for the dozenth time out loud, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.

"What, think I can't handle a challenge?" he had asked with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't want you to die." Was his sharp reply, leaving him gulping and nodding before focusing on their hand to hand battle. In the blink of an eye he was on his back, a sharp gasp leaving his chest.

Blue and grey eyes appeared above him, as they had every night since they started this fucking thing. Eyes alight with knowledge just out of his reach.

"Focus, trust me, and live."

It felt wrong in a way, entering the training room and not seeing Pretty Boy and his stupid red and white hair standing out amongst all the other Capitol bastards. But he was Bakugou Katsuki and fucking aced his assessment. He threw a heavy fucking metal ball across the room before throwing his axe at various distances. He avoided the dummies and nature section, ending his evaluation by giving a mocking bow to the old, powder-cracked faces boring down at him. 

His mentor had shouted at him when watching his evaluation later, but his stylist Yamada cheered and took a large drink when he scored a 10 in the final ranking, leaving him just below the Careers. He was proud of the score, and for a second felt this to be a personal achievement rather than a ranking of who was likely to not get killed out of a bunch of kids. 

The same fleeting sense of elation surprisingly greeted him at 10 in the training room, Pretty Boy laughing at his hologram, watching the same moment on repeat. He saw a glimpse of himself giving a mocking bow before Pretty Boy put the screen away, becoming serious. 

"Glad my performance makes you fucking laugh." was his greeting, heading over to the training mat to stretch. 

"Good job." was his response.

Whatever lightness was in the air vanished after they finished stretching. Standing opposite each other on the mat, arms raised in a defense position, the air was tense with something far and unspoken.

"This will be the last night of training. After the Interviews tomorrow you need to rest. You will be collected at 7 so sleep early." Bakugou nodded and they began to fight.

Throwing a hook and dodging a side kick, Bakugou was glad to find not only his breaths were becoming heavier with exertion. He was finally a challenge for Pretty Boy, finally getting that cold exterior to crack. Their reflections glinted off the scattered weapons, the dim lighting casting their swift shadows across the floor. One shadow moved quickly, grabbing the other and dropping them on the floor, drinking in the sharp gasp victoriously.

"I win." Bakugou grinned, red eyes looking down at blue and grey for the first time. 

Pretty Boy was quiet for a moment apart from regaining his breath and letting out a deep sigh. 

"Shoto." he spoke at last. He looked up at Bakugou with something akin to hope, and it felt more real than anything else in the Capitol. "My name is Shoto."