Yuto Lysander

## Bio

*Yuto Lysander (he/him). D1 Stylist. Thirty. Sen Mitsuji.*

Even though beauty was her law, her religion, upon the unexpected discovery that she was with a child, Minerva Lysander was prepared for imperfection. Her steady rise to the top of the fashion world and years of working as a stylist had taught her about the nature of first sketches; potential diamonds in the rough, but frequently in severe need of refinement and polishing. And if that didn’t work, an option to discard the idea entirely and start a new project always existed. How delighted was she, then, when she first laid eyes on her firstborn, Yuto. How thrilled when, as her darling boy grew, he appeared more and more like a vision of perfection carved from marble; those wide brown eyes, that dark mop of hair, and those chiselled cheekbones earning adoring coos from any who caught a sight of the boy. How relieved when her son either lacked the impulse or opted not to misbehave, instead choosing to follow the path of beauty in everything he did.

Minerva would go on to have two more children, but they might as well have not existed at all, considering all the doting she bestowed upon her eldest. And it wasn’t just Minerva who showered Yuto with attention. As the young prince sailed through his formative years, attended the best schools and receiving top marks, a league of admirers followed; all the more magnetized by the aura of regal indifference Yuto had carefully cultivated. This was the privileged nature of his childhood, something he never paused to question or examine further. And really, why should he have? Were not all boy kings simply destined for incomprehensible heights of greatness?

Given that beauty had become Yuto’s law, his religion, too, it was no wonder that the young boy found his calling in the area where beauty shone the most in the Capitol: fashion. The moment he first laid eyes on the various fabrics, numerous gilded detail pieces, and the seemingly infinite number of designs in varying states of completion, his blackened heart discovered a reason to beat. He was utterly enamoured, wholly captivated, by all the possibilities. This would be his medium through which he’d produce works of beauty; his canvas he’d get to fill with his brand of art. From that point, this newfound interest began to guide his every action.

Yuto continued excelling in the academic environment of the Academy, but most, if not all, of his free time he spent with a notebook and a pen in his hand, sketching designs each more polished than the previous one. He even chimed in with his suggestions when Minerva was designing costumes for the next cycle’s games — a decision that would solidify Yuto’s godhood status in his mother’s eyes. She immediately implemented his suggestions to her designs, loudly displaying the works to those around her, never failing to credit her darling star of a son for his brilliance. *After your graduation, you’ll become my assistant*, she’d repeat numerous times, patting his cheek as Yuto’s eyes widened with excitement. With this promise in mind, he graduated as the top of his class and went straight to work at his mother’s studio, creating a collection or two of his own, as well as assisting her during the games. Despite his youth, his lack of experience, people took notice of his designs, as they stood apart from the eccentric fashion of the Capitol. Yuto’s style leaned toward classical beauty; regal pieces that would withstand the test of time and everchanging whims of fashion. *You’re perfect*, Minerva would sigh in adoration. *You will, no doubt, surpass me one day.*

The first concrete step toward that came in late December of the year 95, mere weeks before the 115 Hunger Games were due to begin. Several stylist positions were open that year, including a couple from lower districts; notably, though, one of the stylist positions was open for District 2. Despite his apprenticeships, in spite of his evident talent, regardless of who his mother was, nobody expected Yuto to be assigned to such a high-ranked district. He was young, after all. Minerva, however, had other plans. Her son’s immaculate designs would not be wasted on some lower districts; it’d be an affront if she allowed such a thing to occur. Therefore, given her new position as the head of the committee which assigns all stylists to their districts, she utilized her power to assign Yuto Lysander as the new stylist for District 2. The decision was met with some grumbling, and it turned Yuto into a somewhat controversial figure within the stylist community, but he paid no mind to such talk. Their opinions mattered not, for he certainly felt like he was right where he belonged — crafting the best designs for Panem’s best tributes.

He had not paid particular attention to tributes prior to their arrival to the Capitol, but this year, given that it was his first year, was an exception. With a wine glass raised to his lips, he watched as yet another one volunteered for 2 — an act as groundbreaking as floral designs were for spring. What did merit a rise of his eyebrows was the surprised reaction of the crowd and the dissatisfied murmurs that rippled through the crowd. So this tall and dark (and handsome, though he’d rather die than let that observation become known to all) volunteer had defied whatever his district’s tradition, brazenly shoving all aside in chase of glory? Interesting. ~~Attractive~~. Definitely something Yuto could work with, could build an image of a winner, could end these Games before they had even begun.

Nowadays, when Yuto looks back on that moment, an acrid taste coats his tongue and throat. If only he had done a worse job. If only Montgomery Cannon had died in that fucking arena.

Back then, though, when he first properly met Montgomery, the feeling could only be described as *smitten*. Even though this was his job, even though their acquaintance would most likely be short-lived, Yuto nevertheless found his feisty confidence delightful. No one had dared to challenge the Capitol’s favorite up-and-coming fashionista because of his intimidating aura and influence, but this man had no qualms about going against status quo. In a very short span of time, their relationship progressed from purely professional to something laden with flirtatious tension. *Ah ah ah*, he recalls the moment just before Montgomery stepped inside his tribute tube, *I only kiss the very best and you’re not that yet*.

Monty would get his kiss, though, and who even knew how many more in the years that followed. In equal measure, despite their busy schedules, Yuto seized every possible opportunity to spend time with his beloved. Trips to 2 became more frequent; involvement in media projects Monty participated in increased; stealing more of his time at parties where desperate sycophants yearned for a moment in his presence. *Let them starve*, he remembers growling once after Monty’s amused quip about famished admirers. Oh how the victor had known how to play him, to get Yuto to dance to whatever tune he played. How fondly he had played along and initiated games of his own too. It had been so easy, so natural, to fall in love with Montgomery Cannon, even though Yuto had always considered himself above such trivial attachments. Before time would taint those memories, he was perhaps the happiest he had ever been.

But as with all tragedies, nothing good ever lasts. And as the ironic fate would have it, the beginning of the end of Yuto’s happiness came about the same way it started: a Games and a Cannon volunteering as tribute. You see, throughout his years as a stylist, Yuto had never gotten attached to any of his tributes (well, except Monty); they were merely pretty little things he could dress up, instruments through which he could manipulate the minds of Capitol’s citizens. It was of no concern to him whether they lived or died. Everett was no exception to this rule, but considering their connection to Monty, he may have put a little extra effort in — even if it was all in vain in the end. Although not accustomed to being on the giving end of comforting gestures, Yuto did what he could to be there for Monty, providing support and distraction and comforting words where they were needed. He tried. He truly did.

But it wasn’t enough.

It started subtly, how the poison crept in. Frustrated thoughts after a loving gesture goes without notice yet again. Forced smiles after another apology because he hadn’t meant to forget to call back (*of course not, you fucker*). Resentment flashing in his eyes, clear as day, upon being passed over in favour of some discussion about the upcoming Games. It was as painful as it was humiliating, witnessing your own downfall, orchestrated by the one person who you thought would never treat you like this. A better man might have reasoned that Monty had just gone through an extremely traumatic life event and was grappling with grief; therefore, it made sense that a relationship would have to take a backseat in his list of priorities. But Yuto, the boy king raised to believe in his own divinity? Well, gods were not known for their mercy, so neither would he.

Before the beginning of the 123 Games, he went to his mother’s office and coldly demanded a transfer to District 1. The district already had a stylist, and he offered no explanation for his request, but this was his mother — someone who adored him like no other and would do anything to fulfil her darling boy’s wants. Soon enough, the previous stylist retired, and Yuto Lysander was elected to replace her. Anything District 2 -related he dropped without a word, as if he had never been there. A bitter past abandoned in favour of something better.

District 1 is where he has been for the past five and a half years; and should anyone ask, Yuto would tell you this is where he was always meant to be. The opulent district’s classical style compliments his personal style incredibly well and he gets to work with the best tributes their nation has to offer. The lack of attachment toward his tributes or care for their survival remains as strong as ever (he’s learned his lesson, after all), but at least his tributes will make the most gorgeous corpses then. When not styling for the Games, Yuto operates his own exclusive atelier within the Capitol, creating captivating pieces for those with enough money and patience to handle his very long waitlist. *It’s all worth it, darling,* he’ll coo in your ear. After all, beauty was his law, his religion.

(+) creative, decisive, eloquent

(-) judgmental, resentful, snobbish

PENNED BY: HANNA