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?
Very.
Incredibly.
Unacceptably.
So very, incredibly, and unacceptably ridiculous that Coriolanus hated himself for it. He hated still having a heart that could be tugged. And then he hated Lucy Gray—even in death she was manipulating him.
But while he had failed to exercise self-restraint, he had not thrown all caution to the wind. On the contrary, he was consciously on his highest guard possible. Coupled with the caffeine he'd consumed throughout the day and the anxiety plaguing him since the moment he'd dismissed her the evening before, Coriolanus felt strung out and restless. It was late afternoon on Wednesday before he was put at ease.
Once he had settled on Lilith Gold as his apprentice, Coriolanus imagined himself embarking on the journey towards unraveling her secrets. Her proposal and interview only reinforced that decision—and his stand that, whatever the measures, so long as humans were involved, fairness could never be guaranteed. Even if she had not worn that cursed rainbow dress, even if her name had not been on that essay, there was no doubt he would select hers.
Everyone had their own preferences and pet peeves: some leaned towards specific writing styles; others were sticklers for grammar accuracy. Whether it was an issue of language or preconceived opinions pertaining to various subjects, there were always factors contributing to bias. Patently, it hadn't been the stylists that influenced Coriolanus.
In the decade since his own stint as a tribute's mentor, there had not been a single mention of the disastrous affair, particularly not of reviving it. Granted, Lilith Gold did not envisage engaging high school youths as Dr. Gaul once had, because Capitol citizens apparently had no idea what it was like to be tossed into an arena. If nothing else, she had bagged the apprenticeship just on the account of the straight face she'd kept. He himself had been on the verge of expression, so disconcerted and caught unawares by the remark.
Outwardly, her proposal was by no means the most striking, but he hadn't been totally patronizing in echoing Dr. Gaul. Reading Lilith Gold's essay, Coriolanus had indeed been strongly reminded of Sejanus, and consequently his predecessor's observation. Her impeccable and prodigious academic record lent substantial weight to his less-than-intuitive choice, and he pocketed the excuse, ready to parry any suspicions that arose. What he had not anticipated was the purported height of her own misgivings.
Leaving the ball in Lilith Gold's court had been vital, for it simultaneously underscored his apathy while forcing her hand. Alas, this ploy hinged on his confidence that she could be expected to relent, which was wavering after yesterday's performance. His mind warned him not to buy her wretched tones and shimmering eyes, yet it could hardly deny their sincerity. Moreover, if he could conclude anything from the encounter, it was that she cared deeply about two things: being called a liar, and one Athena Click.
Honesty and loyalty plainly contradicted the manner in which she was exploiting her comprehensively knowledge of his history. Seeing that she must have acquired it from her alleged best friend, the treachery of her actions were only magnified. If Coriolanus was to believe either of these facets, he was inclined towards the latter—goodness was not the rule but the exception. All the same, he found himself unconvinced that her nobility was a charade. This led him exactly nowhere, except into absolute certainty that he was absolutely uncertain about her and her wishes.
Should she refuse him, what then? Two could play at this game. The ball would be in his court, and it would be his hand that was forced. He would have to go after her if he was resolved to expose her deeds—and he was. Would it have to come to that?
Taut and twitchy, Coriolanus had ridden on the University's requirement of a concrete lesson plan and had Gaia fire out another email: It requested a copy of Lilith Gold's schedule, albeit explicitly stating that it was only mandatory if she consented to the undertaking.
Around a quarter to five, the printer in his office, which was wirelessly accessible by both his and Gaia's computers, whirred to life. Just as it spat a sheet out onto the collection tray, his assistant sounded over the intercom, informing him that it was none other than the timetable he'd sought. Coriolanus promptly retrieved it, not because he was interested in the contents—he wasn't—but because the piece of paper was essentially his trophy. Admiring it, he smirked.
It was fortunate he had more than two minutes' notice, for his feelings of victory, and especially relief, had been rather immense. Even with his skill, some effort had to be expended to quell them. By six, though, his head was level, and he greeted Lilith Gold with a courtesy befitting him and the occasion. She returned it.
As she lowered herself into the same chair, Coriolanus spotted the puffiness beneath her eyes: For the most part, makeup had camouflaged them. If not for the serendipitous angle of the light, they could have gone undetected. Their severity was as if she had wept the entire night, and in combating the sympathy rising in his chest, he delivered a dig.
"I'm glad you've come to your senses," said Coriolanus, seating himself.
Lilith looked at him truly for the first time that day, her gaze more wounded than displeased. He might as well have just kicked a puppy. So much for combating his sympathy. Trying to brush off his guilt, he soldiered on.
"I think we're qualified to dispense with introductions, don't you? I'll cut to the chase." Having spread out several documents on his desk, Coriolanus picked one up. "It says here that as the Head Gamemaker's apprentice, you will receive twelve credits in addition to the three accrued from Road to The Arena. For the parent elective, your hours shall be fulfilled in accordance with the rest of your cohort: fifty percent through direct faculty instruction and coursework, fifty percent in practice. For the apprenticeship, all of your hours are to be completed here, under me.
"I won't break down the math for you; surely, you could do it faster than me even in your sleep. In short, a normal student's commitment in the field translates to approximately a week in the summer. Yours will be appreciably heavier, and if you are to learn the day-to-day proceedings of a Gamemaker, I find regular contact to be much more effective than concentrating your time during the holidays. That said, I'd like to get a feel of your load in school."
Coriolanus laid down the first leaf and lifted a second—her timetable. Examining it, he asked, "Aside from these, are you doing anything else? A final year project? Any extra-curricular activities?"
"I'm on the honours thesis programme," replied Lilith. "I'm also on the track team, but I'm no longer serving on the executive committee, and I've stepped down to the reserves this year, so that shouldn't take much."
A memory stirred in his head, and he assumed the character of a concerned mentor.
"College or varsity?"
"Varsity, sir."
"What's your event?"
"Middle and long distance."
Hmm. This was not in alignment with his remembrance, but he dropped it, lest he seemed overly keen.
"Talk to me about the thesis," said Coriolanus. "What kind of hours are you doing now? Does your supervisor fix them?"
"No, sir. I'm in the lab whenever I can, basically every day of the week. But that's more than we're obliged, and I've discussed it with my professor: If I have to cut back now, she's flexible for me to make it up next semester when my schedule's more forgiving, since I won't have any classes, with the rest of my credits stipulated for graduation covered by the apprenticeship. Overall, I should be able to do more on both ends by then."
"I see. And what kind of work are you doing in the lab? Is it experimental? Suppose you went in on alternate days rather than consecutive days, how disruptive would it be?"
"There's not a lot of hands-on for me with the mutts—that's the biologists. Literature study aside, it's mostly running prediction algorithms and analysing the results. I wouldn't say it would be disruptive, but I suppose there's always momentum to be reaped in continuity."
Coriolanus nodded slowly. "Very well. Now, back to your apprenticeship. Whatever you may or may not have heard from your seniors, you will do well to forget it. As my apprentice, you will first and foremost be shadowing me to familiarize yourself with our work. I'll be guiding you through them, but you are welcomed—encouraged—to ask questions at any time. You will be assisting me, but you are not my assistant; that means you won't be asked to fetch my coffee. I will also be assigning you a project suited to your station. I'll touch more on that later.
"Personally, I'm with the military in the mornings and here in the afternoons, so that's when you should come. I'm thinking twice a week, one of them Fridays, because that's when we have our weekly round-ups. It summarizes the achievements of the current and emphasizes the focus of the next. It's a good opportunity for you to get an overview of how we function and be caught up on our progress. According to this"—he raised her timetable again—"your classes end at two-thirty, which should not be an issue. If you come straight, you should still make the meeting.
"Mondays and Wednesdays will be the next best options, but bearing in mind our recent discussion, I suppose Thursdays wouldn't hurt. You could still get in a couple of hours, and, like you said, the rest can be made up later. How does this arrangement work for you?"
The backpack on Lilith's lap had been swapped for a pastel pink leather diary, upon which she seemed to be jotting down his every word. Coriolanus wondered if her left-handedness registered with him by virtue of its rarity or due to the fancy, girlish pen it was clutching—but only briefly, for something else overtook his mind.
Her demeanour since she'd entered had been lacklustre, and though she wasn't yet behaving with any visible enthusiasm, her meticulousness gave the contrasting impression that she was anything but resigned.
"It's fine, sir." But Lilith was still scrutinizing her notes. "What time did you say the round-up was?"
He hadn't. "Three to four."
She wrote that down. "May I ask how many hours a week were you planning on initially? If you'd like me to come in on Wednesdays, I suppose something can be worked out with Professor Kay. Perhaps alternate weeks?"
Professor Kay. Mutts.
Could the world really be this small?
"Professor Kay?" repeated Coriolanus. "As in Minerva Kay?"
"That's right, sir. She's my thesis supervisor. Are you two acquainted?"
So it could be.
So it was.
"As it is, we are."
AN: Back on the topic of premium Wattpad users, does anyone pay to unlock chapters / books earlier than their free releases? Also, I'm curious how much are you guys on WP. Comment below long you spend on this app in a week and what you do — are you a reader or writer? ☺️