After the electrocution scene, Cassius felt completely drained.
Not from physical exhaustion.
It was the mental toll of repeatedly shoving himself to the edge of death.
Jennifer handed him a bottle of sports drink. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good," he said, taking a long pull. "Just feels weird. One second I'm dying, the next I'm fine again."
Sometimes getting too deep into a role could mess with your head.
"That's just acting," Jennifer said, sitting beside him. "When I did Winter's Bone, we shot one ice-lake scene six times. By the end I couldn't tell if I was in the movie or real life."
They sat together watching the sunset bleed across the volcanic landscape outside the set.
Jennifer spoke up quietly. "The director pulled me aside yesterday. He wants to add a solo monologue for you."
"A monologue?"
"Peeta the night before the Games, talking straight to the camera. Why he volunteered, what he's really afraid of."
She looked at him. "In the book it's from Katniss's point of view, but Francis thinks Peeta's inner world deserves its own moment."
Cassius felt a spark of excitement.
It matched exactly how he'd handled Han Lee—giving a supporting character a real, complete arc.
"Has the script been rewritten?"
"Writers are working on it now. Apparently they want you to say the key line…"
Jennifer thought for a second. "I'm not a hero. I just don't want her to face this alone."
Cassius stayed quiet for a moment.
The line sounded simple, but it carried Peeta's courage and his love for Katniss.
"I like it," he said. "I really like this change."
"I knew you would," Jennifer said, standing up. "Come on, the crew's doing a Hawaiian barbecue tonight."
After dinner, Cassius went back to his trailer alone.
Jennifer didn't follow.
The conditions here were brutal, and it was killing everyone's stamina.
Cassius was fine. His panel upgrade plus all the skill orbs had boosted his body far beyond normal.
Jennifer, on the other hand, was running on empty. The days were punishing, and the nights were just as intense. Even this wild, energetic woman needed real rest.
That night Cassius barely slept.
He kept thinking about Peeta.
The baker's son. Kind. In love with Katniss. Willing to die for her.
But Cassius felt something was missing.
No one volunteers for a 90% death-rate game just because of love.
Peeta would be terrified. He would hesitate. So why did he still go?
Cassius sat at the small table in his trailer for half the night, marking every line and action note about Peeta in the script. He rearranged them, broke them down, rebuilt them, trying to understand the exact motivation behind the choice.
He finally reached a conclusion.
Peeta's decision wasn't heroic. It was simple probability.
If Katniss and Gale went in, would Gale protect her?
Maybe.
But not the way Peeta would—giving everything.
If Peeta went instead, Katniss's chance of survival went up.
Even if it was only by a little.
It wasn't romance. It was calculation.
A baker's son using the most practical math he knew to decide life and death.
The person I love has to have the best odds.
Even if the price is me.
Once he understood that, Cassius finally fell asleep.
The next morning the atmosphere on set felt different.
Normally there was quiet chatter and movement during filming. Today, from the moment Cassius walked into makeup, everyone went silent.
Even the chatty makeup artist worked without a word, like they were preparing for something sacred.
"The director wants this scene shot on a dedicated IMAX lens," the assistant director explained. "So we need total silence on set. Air conditioning's off too—no noise."
Cassius glanced at the thermometer: 85°F (about 29°C).
No AC? They were about to film in a sauna.
He didn't complain.
This scene deserved it.
Makeup done, he changed into Peeta's pre-Games outfit—simple gray shirt and pants, no extra flair.
Director Francis Lawrence walked over without his walkie-talkie or monitor.
"Cass, I'm not giving you any specific direction on this one. The camera will stay on your face from the moment you sit down until you stand up. No matter if you speak, pause, cry, or laugh—I won't call cut."
"Just pretend the camera isn't there. Talk to yourself the night before the Games."
Cassius nodded. "I'm ready."
"Good." Francis patted his shoulder. "Remember—you're not delivering a hero's speech. You're an ordinary person doing something beyond ordinary. There's a big difference."
Cassius understood perfectly.
A hero's monologue would be grand and dramatic.
An ordinary person's would be raw fear and quiet resolve.
The shooting area was ready.
A plain metal chair. A simulated arena entrance wall behind it, covered in faded graffiti.
One IMAX camera pointed straight at the chair, waiting.
The entire set was dead quiet.
Even breathing was kept low.
Cassius walked to the chair but didn't sit right away.
He touched the backrest first.
A small habit he'd created for Peeta—the baker's son who instinctively checked the texture of things.
From this moment on, he was Peeta.
He sat down, hands resting on his knees.
"Action!"
The director's voice was barely a whisper.
The camera began rolling.
Cassius didn't look at the lens immediately.
He lowered his head and stared at his own hands.
Those hands that were good at kneading dough, not holding knives.
Then he started speaking.
His voice stayed quiet.
"Tomorrow we go in."
He spoke like he was talking to the air. "Haymitch came to see me today. Said thank you."
Cassius's face showed faint surprise.
Haymitch had never thought much of him.
"I told him he didn't need to thank me, that this was what I had to do. But honestly… I don't know if I should have done it."
He paused. His throat moved.
"Of course I'm scared. Who isn't scared of dying?"
Cassius finally looked up—straight into the camera.
But his eyes weren't looking at the lens. They were looking at someone behind it, someone only he could see.
"What I'm more afraid of is something else."
The set was completely silent.
Even the cinematographer stopped adjusting focus.
"If I don't go, what happens to Katniss?"
His voice started to tremble, but he held it steady. "Haymitch is a good mentor, but he's old. His leg's injured. He can't run fast. If something dangerous happens, he might not be able to protect her."
He looked down again. "At least I'm young. I can run. I can stand in front of her."
The words were so simple they hurt.
No grand "I'm willing to die for her." Just the plain logic of "I can stand in front of her."
Cassius's breathing grew ragged.
He began unconsciously rubbing his hands together—the same motion he'd used as a child kneading dough at the bakery.
He stayed silent for a full ten seconds.
The camera never left his face, capturing every tiny shift in expression.
He took a deep breath and delivered the line:
"I'm not a hero. I just don't want her to face this alone."
Then he fell quiet again.
This silence was different.
This one was acceptance—of his choice, and of the death that might come with it.
Finally, he stood up, gave a small nod to the imaginary Katniss, and walked out of frame.
"Cut!"
Francis Lawrence's voice broke the silence five full minutes later.
No one moved.
Crew members stood frozen. Some had red eyes. Some were quietly wiping tears.
When Cassius stepped out of the shooting area, Jennifer was the first to react.
She had come over at some point and was standing behind the monitor, still in full makeup.
She didn't speak. She just walked straight up and pulled him into a tight hug.
The director finally stood up from the monitor, voice hoarse. "That might be the best monologue I've ever shot in my career."
"Cass… how did you do that? I've worked with plenty of big-name actors, but that take still scared me. I swear I saw Peeta sitting there."
Francis walked over, eyes full of disbelief.
Cassius had just pulled himself out of the role. He answered quietly, "I just tried to become Peeta."
The director nodded and didn't press further.
He turned to the crew and announced, "That's a wrap! We're shutting down early today. Everyone gets the rest of the day off. Cass needs to recover, and I need time to process what I just saw."
Applause broke out across the set.
Cassius returned to his trailer, closed the door, and finally let the emotion out.
He sat on the couch, hands still trembling slightly.
In that scene, he really had become Peeta. He had felt exactly what Peeta felt.
He opened the system panel.
The Acting Realm progress bar jumped hard.
From 70% straight to 73%.
A full 3% increase!
And that wasn't all.
Cassius's eyes lit up.
It looked like pushing himself with difficult scenes like this was the way to go.
The Catching Fire shoot in Hawaii entered its third week, and everyone was starting to show the strain.
The brutal heat and humidity of the volcano park felt like an invisible steam room, slowly wringing every drop of energy out of the cast and crew.
Jennifer's tight Katniss combat suit was pure torture.
The costume department had used thicker, elastic material so it wouldn't look bulky on IMAX, which meant zero breathability.
Sweat pooled between the fabric and her skin, itching like ants crawling all over her.
"Cut! That's a wrap. Twenty-minute break!"
The second Francis called it, Jennifer bolted to the edge of the set where a few fake volcanic rocks were propped up as background.
She turned her back to the rocks and started rubbing up and down against them like a bear scratching its back.
The motion looked ridiculous.
"Are you performing some kind of secret mating dance?" Cassius asked, walking over with two bottles of water.
"Don't laugh, it itches like hell," Jennifer said, still rubbing. "Whoever designed this suit definitely never wore it for more than ten minutes. Now I get why superhero actors always complain about spandex. This thing is inhumane!"
She gave one last hard rub.
That was the mistake.
The rock wasn't properly secured—it was just sitting on a stand for easy camera moves.
Jennifer's rub shifted its balance. The half-person-tall rock wobbled, then toppled sideways.
Straight toward one of the main support pillars of the soundstage.
"Watch out!"
Cassius reacted almost instantly.
But the warning came too late.
The rock slammed into the pillar's joint with a heavy thud.
Then came the sickening sound of twisting metal.
One corner of the entire soundstage started to tilt.
Worse—the two lighting techs adjusting equipment right next to the pillar had no idea what was coming.
Cassius's mind went blank for a split second.
The same survival instinct from the Rio favela kicked in.
He didn't have time to think.
His body moved.
The Practical Action Performance Essence skill didn't just improve his acting—it gave him real danger prediction and lightning-fast reflexes.
He could see the pillar's collapse path. He could calculate the workers' reaction time.
They wouldn't make it.
So he simply dove.
Left hand shoved the closest lighting tech out of the way. Right hand yanked the second one sideways.
Both men were hurled clear of the danger zone.
But Cassius couldn't dodge the falling debris himself.
"BOOM!"
The support pillar and part of the roof came crashing down, kicking up a cloud of dust.
A jagged piece of broken metal raked across his left arm, slicing a long gash. Blood poured out immediately.
The set went dead silent for two seconds, then exploded.
"Is anyone hurt?!"
"Medical! Get medical over here!"
"The roof's coming down! Everyone back!"
Jennifer stood frozen, face ghost-white.
She stared at the collapsed corner, at the two shaken workers Cassius had pushed to safety, and finally at Cassius.
He was clutching his arm, blood seeping between his fingers.
"I—"
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Cassius spoke first to the rushing medics. "I'm fine, it's just a scrape. Check them first."
The two lighting techs had only fallen. Not a scratch on them.
Cassius stood up and looked at them, full of gratitude.
The director came running, face dark as thunder. "What the hell happened? Where were the safety guys? Who was responsible for checking the set?"
The investigation was quick.
The rocks hadn't been secured because they needed to move the camera freely today. The safety check had missed it. No one expected someone to rub against them.
"This is a major safety incident!" the producer arrived, voice shaking. "Thank God no one died. If those two techs had been hit—"
He looked at Jennifer, then at Cassius, and softened his tone. "Jennifer, this wasn't your fault. It was a failure in safety protocol. But in the future, please don't do anything risky near the set pieces."
Jennifer nodded numbly.
Her agent was already on the way after getting the news.
In Hollywood, an accident like this could be huge or small.
If no one was hurt, they could bury it.
If someone was seriously injured or killed, the involved actor's career could be over.
If Cassius hadn't reacted today and those two lighting techs had been crushed—
She didn't even want to think about it.
In the medical tent, the doctor cleaned, stitched, and bandaged Cassius's arm.
The cut wasn't deep but long—seven stitches.
"Two weeks no water, no heavy activity," the doctor said. "Change the dressing daily. If it gets red or you get a fever, come back immediately."
Cassius nodded, face calm, like the injury belonged to someone else.
Jennifer waited outside the tent. She stepped in the second the doctor left, holding a cup of water. Her hand was shaking.
"Thank you," Cassius said, taking it and drinking.
"I should be the one saying thank you," Jennifer said, voice low. "Second time. First in the first movie, now this. I owe you two lives."
"It's not that serious."
"It is!"
Jennifer sat on the chair beside the bed, staring at her clasped hands. "You know if someone dies on set, the actor involved is basically finished."
She looked up, eyes red. "If those two guys had been hurt today, I can't even imagine what the media would write."
"'Jennifer Lawrence's reckless behavior leads to crew injuries'?"
"I'd get sued, blacklisted, probably never work again."
Cassius was quiet for a moment. "But it didn't happen."
"Because you were there!"
Jennifer's tears finally fell. "You're always there at the exact moment you need to be, doing the exact right thing."
Cassius just said, "Lucky timing."
"I don't believe in luck."
Jennifer wiped her eyes, then stood up. "From now until your stitches come out, I'm taking care of you."
"You don't have to. The crew has—"
"I insist!"
Her tone left no room for argument. "I owe you this. I need to do something, or it'll eat at me."
Cassius looked at her and knew there was no point refusing.
Jennifer was stubborn as hell once she made up her mind.
"Fine," he said. "But don't go overboard. It's just my arm, not paralysis."
Jennifer finally smiled, though it was small. "Don't worry, I won't treat you like a baby."
The next few days, Jennifer kept her word.
Every morning she woke up half an hour earlier, grabbed breakfast from the mess tent, and brought it to his trailer.
She did the same for lunch and dinner, always picking high-protein, vitamin-rich foods that helped healing and avoiding anything spicy.
She even learned how to change dressings and wrap bandages.
The first time her hands shook so badly the gauze came out crooked. By the second time she was much steadier.
"You've got talent," Cassius joked. "If acting doesn't work out, you could be a nurse."
"Only for you," Jennifer said, head down as she worked on the bandage. "I don't care about anyone else."
The atmosphere grew quiet and warm.
After she finished, Jennifer didn't leave right away.
She sat in the chair by the window, looking out at the volcanic landscape.
Hawaii's sunsets were beautiful—the sky shifting from orange to deep purple, faint smoke drifting from the crater in the distance.
She spoke suddenly. "Have you ever thought about what life would be like if we weren't in this industry? If we were just normal people?"
Cassius thought for a second. "I'd probably be a regular office guy. Nine-to-five."
Jennifer turned to look at him. "If I were normal, I'd graduate college, get a regular job—maybe teach or open a small shop—meet someone I like, get married, have kids, live a simple life."
"Sounds nice."
"But then I wouldn't have met you!"
Jennifer said it directly. "I wouldn't have been crushed by you in training camp for The Hunger Games. I wouldn't have watched you act and been completely blown away. I wouldn't have worried myself sick in Rio, and I wouldn't owe you my life today!"
Cassius didn't know what to say.
"So I don't regret any of it," Jennifer said, standing up and walking to the bed. "Even if I can never have a normal relationship like everyone else—no walking down the street without worrying about paparazzi, no worrying about being photographed, no worrying about ending up on the front page—even knowing all that, I still don't regret it."
She leaned down and kissed him gently on the forehead.
"Cassius, remember this. No matter what happens later, no matter who you end up with, no matter what the media writes—you will always be the most special person to me."