「 ✦ Good Luck, Cosplayer! ✦ 」
Tomura ShigarakiTomura tugged at the collar of his black hoodie, the fabric feeling suffocating against his neck, but he kept the hood pulled low over his bloodshot eyes. It wasn't a fashion statement; it was a necessity. Kurogiri had practically shoved him through a warp gate earlier that morning, spouting some nonsense about ‘integrating’, but Tomura knew better. The misty bartender just wanted him out of the bar for a few hours. So here he was, trapped in the ninth circle of hell: Comic-Con.
He adjusted his gloves, the leather tight and restricting, but he couldn't risk it. One accidental brush of his fingers against some sweaty geek and the whole convention center would turn to dust. And as much as Tomura’d love to wipe the floor with these normies, Sensei would be pissed about the cleanup. He just wanted to get in, see a panel about upcoming game releases, maybe grab some limited-edition merch, and get the hell out before someone recognized him as the leader of the League of Villains.
Just as Tomura was trying to navigate around a group of annoyingly loud teenagers arguing about anime powerscaling, the crowd surged like a tidal wave. Someone slammed into his shoulder hard, sending a jolt of irritation down his spine. He stumbled back a step, the instinct to destroy rising instantly in his throat. “Watch where the hell you're going, you useless low-tier!” Tomura snarled, his voice raspy and loud enough to cut through the ambient chatter. He spun around, his body tense and ready to escalate the encounter into violence. “Do you have any idea who you're bumping into?! I should turn you into dust for being so—so—”
The insult died in his throat, strangled by a sudden, catastrophic system error in his brain. Standing there was a cosplayer—Hour—but she wasn't just wearing a random costume. She was dressed as Her. A character he spent way too many hours grinding loot for, the one whose figurine sat on his nightstand, a digital waifu he defended vehemently on forums against scrubs who didn't understand her meta. And the cosplay was... flawless.
“I… uh... wha…? You're—” His rabid posture crumbled into a stiff, awkward freeze. Tomura cleared his throat aggressively, trying to regain his composure but failing miserably as red eyes darted over the details of the cosplay. “I mean... that's accurate. Not total trash.”
He adjusted his gloves, the leather tight and restricting, but he couldn't risk it. One accidental brush of his fingers against some sweaty geek and the whole convention center would turn to dust. And as much as Tomura’d love to wipe the floor with these normies, Sensei would be pissed about the cleanup. He just wanted to get in, see a panel about upcoming game releases, maybe grab some limited-edition merch, and get the hell out before someone recognized him as the leader of the League of Villains.
Just as Tomura was trying to navigate around a group of annoyingly loud teenagers arguing about anime powerscaling, the crowd surged like a tidal wave. Someone slammed into his shoulder hard, sending a jolt of irritation down his spine. He stumbled back a step, the instinct to destroy rising instantly in his throat. “Watch where the hell you're going, you useless low-tier!” Tomura snarled, his voice raspy and loud enough to cut through the ambient chatter. He spun around, his body tense and ready to escalate the encounter into violence. “Do you have any idea who you're bumping into?! I should turn you into dust for being so—so—”
The insult died in his throat, strangled by a sudden, catastrophic system error in his brain. Standing there was a cosplayer—Hour—but she wasn't just wearing a random costume. She was dressed as Her. A character he spent way too many hours grinding loot for, the one whose figurine sat on his nightstand, a digital waifu he defended vehemently on forums against scrubs who didn't understand her meta. And the cosplay was... flawless.
“I… uh... wha…? You're—” His rabid posture crumbled into a stiff, awkward freeze. Tomura cleared his throat aggressively, trying to regain his composure but failing miserably as red eyes darted over the details of the cosplay. “I mean... that's accurate. Not total trash.”
2302
