Enough that I need to be careful.
This is going to be a very interesting three months.
Not just for the history books—but for me.
Chapter Five
Flavius
Two days since our first real conversation, and I still can’t stop thinking about Dr. Vitale’s questions. Not the ones she said out loud—the ones she didn’t. The way she watched me. The way she listened. Really listened. Most people pretend. She didn’t.
I get to Conference Room B early again, this time carrying something I never planned on giving an outsider: stories. The real kind. Not the jokes and tricks I use for tourists. If she wants the truth, maybe she deserves to hear about the brothers I fought beside, the nights we spent teaching the new ones how to read a crowd before the crowd decided our fate. How we kept each other alive when the world didn’t care if we lived or died.
She’s already here when I walk in, bent over her laptop, focused like she’s trying to solve a puzzle only she can see.
Something warm settles behind my ribs. She came early, too. Chose to be here.
Today she’s wearing a dark blue shirt that softens her eyes. Her hair isn’t pulled back as tightly as usual.
A few pieces slipped free, brushing her cheek. It makes her look less guarded. Like maybe she’s not hiding behind “Dr. Vitale” this morning.
I have a stupid urge to reach out and tuck that loose curl behind her ear. Where did that thought come from? The wanting surprises me.
“Good morning,” she says, looking up with a smile that seems genuinely pleased. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation since Tuesday—”
I interrupt her by holding up a finger, then turn my translation device on and nod for her to continue.
“You mentioned teaching younger fighters to read crowds—I’d love to hear more about that mentorship dynamic.”
Mentorship. There’s a word I never would have used for what we did, but maybe that’s exactly what it was.
“I did not think of it that way,” I say slowly. “But yes. It mattered. New fighters think is all about strength. About winning.” I settle into my chair, already more comfortable than I’d been two days ago. “Strength without wisdom gets you dead very fast.”
“What kind of wisdom?”
“The kind that makes a crowd love you even when you must hurt someone they also love. The kind that turns defeat into something brave instead of shameful.” I pause, searching for the right words. “And knowing how to keep part of yourself safe—even when the rest of you is bleeding into the sand.”
She leans forward, completely absorbed. “That sounds like a hard thing to juggle in your mind.”
“Had to be. Simple fighters died young.” The memories surface more easily now, maybe because she listens without judgment. “I remember a boy—Tiber, was his name. Came to theluduswhen I had been there two years. Strong like bull, brave like lion. But his first time in the arena…”
I pause, seeing Tiber’s terrified face more clearly than the room around me. The boy’s fear still sits heavy in my chest, even now.
“What happened?”
“The crowd wanted to see him lose. It was obvious from the first moment—they loved his opponent, an old favorite who was getting too slow but still had a name. Tiber could have won easy, but he fought like he was training, not like he was performing.”
“Did he survive?”
“Was hurt. After that, I taught him how to lose beautifully, how to make the crowd feel proud of their mercy instead of angry at his weakness.” The sharp taste still stings. “Six months later,he was one of the most popular. He could make the crowd love him.”
Dr. Vitale is quiet for a moment, and I can see her taking it in. “So you taught them how to handle the crowd. How to stay alive.”
“Staying human was the only way we survived what they wanted us to be.” The words are sharp, though I’m not mad at her. “Sorry. Is… difficult topic.”
“No, don’t apologize. I asked because I want to understand.” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “That must have taken a huge toll on you. Feeling responsible for everyone like that.” No one had ever said that to me before. Her words press deep, like she’s not just listening to the stories but seeing the weight I carried.
No one ever thought about that part before. Other researchers I spoke with wanted to know about techniques and strategies, not about the emotional cost of staying alive.
