District 12. The poorest district of the whole Panem. Yeah, you could say that. Dying from starvation is not a strange case here, it is indeed a common case for us. Especially for those who lives at the poorest area of this poorest district. The Seam.

And unluckily, I, Do Kyungsoo, a 17 years old high school boy, was part of the Seam.

"Do Kyungsoo, get your out of your room right now!" I heard a voice from outside my room. It was my dad. He opened the door and stumbled over me. His gaze unfocus, an evil smirk applied on his face. "You." He pointed at me. "Filthy son of a !"

Just when I was about to reply, I felt pain stinging on my cheek. He slapped me. The drunkard old bastard just slapped me. I gritted my teeth. If only he was not blood related to me, I thought.

"Useless!" he spat. "You better get picked for the reaping so I can get rid of you!"

Yep. He hates me that much. It wasn't my fault that mom decided to kill herself because she could not stand this cruel world any longer.

Anyway, I forgot to tell you. Today is the reaping day. The day where the 2 tributes—one young man and woman—chosen randomly from each districts to fight to the death in the arena for an entertainment purpose. Or you can also volunteer. Like some of the wealthy districts where the teenagers already prepared themselves for this violent game called the Hunger Games. But that volunteer thing didn't work out here, I mean, who wanted to volunteer to their own grave? That's pathetic.

"Still not moving?" my dad slapped me once again. "You useless. Go get ready before the peacekeeper comes and drag us both!"

And then he left and slammed the door shut.

.

.

I went to the Hall of Justice—which is located in the center of the town—after I made sure that my outfit was appropriate enough. I wore a white wrinkled shirt and pants that's too short for me. That was the best outfit I've ever had, and clothes that I always wore since I was 14 for this stupid annual event.

Twelve through eighteen-years-old are herded into roped areas marked off by ages. The oldest in the front, while the young ones placed in the back. I was on the second line.

I looked back through my shoulder, searching for a certain someone until I lock gaze with him. The most gorgeous boy I've ever met. He stood just right on the line before me, which means he's younger by one year than me. His light brown hair combed neatly, he wore a completely better outfit than me. Well, yeah, of course he does. He is the son of the baker. He lives in another area than mine. Therefore, he is richer than me.

Kim Jongin. That's his name. He nodded slightly at me, and I turned my gaze to the reaping stage in front of me once again. It's not like we knew each other. Maybe for him, I was just a face that he saw on the school corridor. But for me, he is that mister perfect that blown me away everytime he smile and laugh with his friends. Yeah, he has many friends at school, while I don't have any.

Well, back to reality. An —a citizen of the Capitol (who created this game) whose main duty is to accompany the tributes of their district and teach them to behave. And also have the honor to choose names from the reaping bowl—smiled brightly to the camera. This reaping is broadcasted live for the Capitol.

A brown-haired girl with a blue dress was chosen as the tribute girl.

"And now for the boy!" the moved to the next bowl, a stupid smile still showed on her full-make-up face. She got one of bunch of names, and the smile becoming even wider.

"K..im," she tried to read. "Kim Jongin!"

…what?

Kim Jongin?

My Kim Jongin?

No, it can't be.

As if to answer my soundless question, the called for that name once again and I turned my gaze to Jongin. He was dumbfounded. Just when he's about to move, I ran to the reaping stage.

No. I won't let Kim Jongin suffer. He has a family that cares for him. A friend to share stories.

I saw him looked at me in disbelief. The peacekeepers started to swarm around me. Then I saw my father. Smiling so brightly it hurts my head.

Kim Jongin has everything. While I have nothing.

So I stand up straight as I lift my chin high. And I let my heart guide me as these words slipped out from my mouth; "I volunteer as a tribute."

That's it. There's no turning back.