Chapter 1

“Woow, so this is what a real culture festival feels like.”

Miyoshi Hiyori, a 21‑year‑old third‑year student at Tsuhara Commercial High School, was enrolled in the evening course. She wandered alone through the school building, now alive with the vibrant energy of the estival.

The daytime school, which she hadn’t visited in some time, buzzed with activity. Full-time students were at the heart of it, running food stalls, arranging displays, or calling out to draw visitors to attractions like a haunted house. As a third-year evening-course student, Hiyori wasn’t required to participate in school events, and this was her first time attending the festival. She’d come on a whim but had no friends to explore with. Unlike the full-time course, the evening course fostered little interaction among students—a distance that suited Hiyori, a former shut-in, just fine.

“The crafting club? Huh… I didn’t even know we had one,” she murmured, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “I used to see stuff like this on NicoNico back in the day…”

[T/N: Niconico, a Japanese video-sharing service.]

Evening-course students weren’t obligated to join clubs, and the passionate club members—especially those much younger than her—felt like they belonged to a different world. Most evening-course students arrived just in time for classes, rarely glimpsing club activities unless an event like this brought them out. While some did join the same clubs as full-time students, it was uncommon.

Hiyori stepped into a room labeled “Crafting Club.” Inside, two male students sat against the wall, absorbed in their smartphones. When their eyes met, she offered a slight bow. They didn’t seem eager to explain the displays, so she turned her attention to the items arranged on the tables.

The setup was simple, showcasing works from regular club activities. Each piece had a card noting the creator’s name and highlights. The genres varied, but plastic models dominated. A quirky, handmade dog-shaped robot—its rough edges betraying its craftsmanship—roamed within a fenced area, while ship models added to the eclectic, free-spirited vibe.

“Wait, this…” Hiyori’s eyes locked onto something.

“Super Flash Arcadia!? No way, that fast!?”

There, on display, was the “Dream Sword Twice Rocket,” the weapon of Isurugi Karen, a character from the 3D action game Super Flash Arcadia, released just last month by a veteran game company. Karen, a side character absent from pre-release promotions, had skyrocketed to fame with her gripping story arc in the game’s latter half. Hiyori had stumbled upon posts and fan art about Karen on social media, which spurred her to play the game. Just days ago, she’d wept at Karen’s heart-wrenching final scene.

The sword, said to mirror Karen’s soul, had an irregular, almost skeletal form. Seeing it in person—despite its dynamic swings in the game—Hiyori couldn’t decipher its materials or construction. LEDs embedded within it cast a faint glow, mimicking the game’s subtle shimmer, suggesting a cylindrical blade.

But that was as far as her analysis went. The craftsmanship was so flawless it could pass for the real thing, and the sheer speed from the game’s release to the creation of this prop brought an unconscious grin to her face.

“Second Year, Class 1, Higashiura Riku”—the card was sparse, offering no explanations, motifs, or notes. To an outsider, it wouldn’t even be clear what work the sword came from or what kind of weapon it was. Higashiura Riku must’ve thought that was enough, Hiyori mused.

She scanned the other displays but found no more cards bearing Higashiura Riku’s name. The club itself seemed to have only a handful of members. At a commercial high school with few male students, a club likely to attract mostly boys would naturally be small.

“Um, the person who made this…” Hiyori addressed the idle club members. One jolted with a startled “Hie!?”, making her chuckle. The school was predominantly female, yet these boys seemed adorably unaccustomed to speaking with girls.

“Uh… that’s Higashiura’s, right?”

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to the person who made it. Are they around?”

The two exchanged glances, tilting their heads.

“He’s a guy who doesn’t usually show up to club, so we don’t know.”

“He comes by sometimes to use the printer, right?”

“Last time was, like, a month ago?”

From their reactions, this student didn’t seem particularly committed to the club.

“Got it, thanks!” Hiyori snapped several photos and left the clubroom.

She headed to the classroom of Second Year, Class 1, which was hosting a cosplay café. A female student in a bunny suit, holding a sign outside, informed her, “Higashiura-kun is in charge of props, so he’s not on shift.”

And just like that, her search hit a dead end.

“Trying to find someone without knowing their face is kinda impossible, huh…” Hiyori muttered. All she knew about Higashiura Riku was their name, class, and that they were likely male. With over a thousand full-time students across three years, finding one person was daunting. Even with fewer than a hundred male students total, it remained a challenge.

“…Guess it’s not happening today.” With a small sigh, she abandoned the search and resolved to enjoy the festival instead.

“Someone who could make something that high-quality in less than a month… If I could get them as an exclusive, or even a priority—” Hiyori murmured, her thoughts drifting as she wandered the festival absentmindedly.

＊ ＊

“Funfu~un, fufun, fufu~n!”

In the crafting club’s room, a male student hummed cheerfully while working on a laptop. Even seated, his small stature was evident—shorter than the average high school boy—with a high-pitched voice that hadn’t yet deepened. It was nearly 6 p.m., when full-time students were expected to leave the school.

“Maybe 30 more minutes. I wonder if I’ll make it…” he muttered, glancing at a 3D printer the size of a large microwave beside his laptop. This was Higashiura Riku, one of the few male students at Tsuhara Commercial High School and a member of the crafting club.

The club had just five members—the minimum to be recognized as a club. As a ghost member who rarely appeared, Riku was kept on to maintain numbers. He only visited the clubroom when he needed the 3D printer. As anyone familiar with 3D printing knew, the process was slow and prone to failure, so Riku had been there for about three hours.

“Excuse me!” The clubroom door swung open, and a woman’s voice cut through the air.

Between his humming and the printer’s considerable noise, Riku reacted a moment late. “Sorry, sensei, I’ll leave right away—” He stood in a panic, turning to look.

But it wasn’t a patrolling teacher. An unfamiliar woman in casual clothes stood in the doorway.

“…Who are you?”

“Higashiura Riku, that’s you, right?”

“Y-Yes, but…”

His first thought was, “She looks kinda like a gyaru.”

Her bright hair, unmistakably against school rules, and bold makeup marked her as noticeably older. She didn’t seem like a student or a teacher—definitely an outsider, suspicious at that. Security guards patrolled at night, so intruders shouldn’t slip in so easily. Even as Riku puzzled over this, he couldn’t place her and stammered, “Uh…”

“…Do you need something?”

The clubroom had only one entrance, now blocked by her. Escaping would mean leaping from the fourth-floor window—an absurd notion. Calming his racing heart, rattled by the sudden visitor, he took a deep breath and studied her.

As she stepped closer, he flinched. She let out a delighted, “Whoa, so small, so cute…!”

“Wait, wait, you’re a high schooler, right!? Not, like, a middle schooler?”

“…I’m not. I’m a second-year.”

“How tall are you?”

“147 cm, but…”

Riku was painfully aware of his short stature. He drank milk religiously, hoping for growth, but it hadn’t helped, and he was starting to lose hope. He sighed, answering her blunt question. People often asked about his height, and each time, it stung a little.

Realizing her rudeness, the woman averted her eyes, muttering, “Ah, uh…”

“…Sorry for springing this on you. Anyway, you’re the one who displayed that Arcadia weapon at the culture festival, right?”

“Oh… yeah, I did put it up. What about it?”

“You made it yourself, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

He started to nod, assuming she’d seen it at the festival, but then wondered why she’d come at this hour. He hadn’t posted it online, so only festival attendees could have seen it. Parents’ day had opened the event to outsiders, but that didn’t clarify who she was.

Maybe… she’s not suspicious?

Still, she was plenty suspicious. It was already odd for a student to be at school past 6 p.m., let alone someone in casual clothes.

…Ah, maybe she’s from the evening course?

It clicked. Tsuhara Commercial High School had an evening course. Those students attended classes at night in a separate building, rarely crossing paths with full-time students, who scarcely considered them part of the same school. That would explain her age—she looked around twenty, clearly older than full-time students. Maybe it was her mature makeup, her clothes, or her height towering over him. He wasn’t sure.

“How’d you make it?”

“Uh, I heated acrylic pipes from the hardware store, twisted and flattened them to shape it. Then I put LEDs like the ones for Christmas trees inside and painted it with clear paint—”

“Heated!? Wait, hold on, what does that mean!?”

“…Onee-san, are you someone who does crafting?”

She scratched her cheek, admitting, “Nah… I’m not good at it…”

Aah, she’s a cosplayer.

Her reaction made sense, and Riku nodded, understanding her interest. His specialty was recreating weapons from anime, games, or novel illustrations in real-world sizes—a niche called “cosplay crafting.” Unlike the other club members, who excelled at model kits or electronics, he wasn’t skilled in those areas. Most crafting club members were boys into plastic models. Full-time students had to join clubs, but Riku was told he could submit work periodically without regular attendance, so he joined.

“Sorry, I probably can’t explain it well to someone who doesn’t make stuff,” he said, bowing slightly.

Explaining cosplay crafting was tough. Its niche logic—selecting materials and fabricating props—baffled outsiders. Normal people didn’t heat acrylic pipes over an open flame, bending or flattening them past their melting point to shape swords, all while dodging toxic fumes. Only cosplay crafters scoured hardware stores, eyeing every material with the question, What happens if I heat this?

“It was super well-made, but is there, like, a guide or something for how you did it?”

“Nope, I’m self-taught. Even if there was one, someone else’s method is just their method.”

Her eyes widened, and she put a hand to her mouth, murmuring, “That’s insane…”

Cosplay crafting lagged behind cosplay’s mainstream appeal. Cosplay itself had become a common subculture hobby, with many cosplayers sewing their own outfits and manufacturers producing costumes for popular series. But cosplay crafting was different. Beyond clothing, props and equipment—unless for tokusatsu or kids’ shows—weren’t mass-produced, and individuals rarely sold their creations.

“…I have a favor to ask. Can you hear me out?”

Sensing where this was headed, Riku nodded reluctantly. “I’ll listen, at least.”

“Could you make Shanon-chan’s weapon from Arcadia, and if possible, her battle outfit too?”

“I could probably make them, but… what’s the deadline?”

“Summer Comiket.”

“Impossible.”

His response was instant. It was mid-June, leaving nearly two months until Summer Comiket. Still, he refused.

“I-I’ll pay you!” she pleaded. “I really want to do an Arcadia ROM this time! It’s super hot right now, isn’t it!?”

[T/N: A “ROM” refers to a cosplay photo collection or photo book distributed in digital or physical format, typically sold by cosplayers at events like Comiket (Comic Market) or through online platforms.]

“It’s still impossible,” Riku said firmly. “I wouldn’t make it for free anyway—and if it’s for a ROM, you’d need time for the shoot and post-production, right? That shortens the delivery window even more.”

“Wow, you know a lot,” she replied, tilting her head.

“…I know people who do this stuff.”

He sighed, as if expecting this. Thanks to his much older sister, a cosplayer, he’d been tangled in this scene for nearly a decade. The woman pouted, glancing at a calendar on her phone.

“There’s still two months left, you know?”

“It’s only two months. I’m already booked for Comiket, and I don’t have any more room.”

“…I’ll help out too.”

“How are you going to help with something that only exists as a blueprint in my head?”

“You could, like, tell me what to do.”

“The process is only in my brain, so I can’t explain it. Besides, if I had time to teach you, I’d make it myself faster.”

“……Stingy.”

“I’m not stingy.”

A beep from the 3D printer, running this whole time, interrupted his sigh. The print was done. He picked up the still-warm piece, inspecting its details closely. Comparing it to the 3D software on his laptop, he nodded. “Yup.” The club’s high-end printer had failed countless times mid-print, but this was a perfect success.

“Whoa, what’s that? What’d you make?” she asked, leaning in.

“It’s a 3D printer. Never seen one?”

“…Nope. First time. I thought it was, like, some kind of sewing machine.”

As she peered at the machine with a curious “Hmmm…,” he warned, “Don’t touch it, okay?”

“I won’t! So, people who do crafting use stuff like this too?”

“When something’s too hard to make by hand, I leave it to this.”

“Cool. Do you cosplay yourself?”

“Nah.”

“Oh, so you’re a crafting specialist?”

He nodded, and she pursed her lips. “Such a waste when you’re so cute.”

Prop makers like Riku, who crafted without cosplaying, were rare. Most cosplay crafters were cosplayers themselves, making props for their own costumes, not others.

“So, when are you free? When can you start making it?”

“When, huh…” Glancing at his laptop’s calendar, he prefaced with a hesitant “Probably…” before answering. “Next year, maybe.”

“What!? That’s way too far!”

“I schedule with plenty of buffer, but some things take a lot of time.”

“Even though you don’t wear them yourself?”

“Yup.” He began packing up, sensing that continuing this conversation might trap him into taking the job.

“Wait, wait, don’t leave!! Can we meet again tomorrow!?” She reached out, but he dodged with a quick sidestep.

“I don’t plan on coming to the clubroom for a while.”

“Why!?”

“I get more done at home. The painting booth here is too small.”

He gestured toward the booth for plastic models. It had a filter and a duct hose leading outside but was designed for palm-sized parts—far too small for a cosplay prop maker crafting items sometimes as tall as himself.

“…I’ll give you a reward.”

“Money? I’d take that from anyone.”

“Not that.”

She paused, one hand covering her mouth, then, as if struck by an idea, yanked off her off-shoulder blouse.

“What are you doing!?” Riku yelped.

“Thought I’d show you a little.”

“Put it back on!! Pervert!!”

“I’m not!!”

As she started to undress further, he looked away but cautiously glanced back. “It’s not underwear.”

“……Why are you wearing a swimsuit to school?”

She stood in a swimsuit, oddly familiar, making him tilt his head. Her figure—frankly, dangerous for a high school boy’s eyes—rivaled a gravure idol’s.

“I was shooting earlier. Got my underwear dirty during the shoot, didn’t have spares, and came here in a rush.”

“Are you an idiot?”

“I’m not an idiot!!”

“No normal person strips like that out of nowhere.”

“……”

She made an exaggerated thinking gesture, muttering, “Fair point.” Riku racked his brain, recognizing the swimsuit. “Aah… Willhas Hand’s… Urayama Nadeshiko, right?”

“Yup! You got it!” Beaming as he named the character from a trending mobile game with a new swimsuit skin, she relaxed. He pressed on. “So… what’s with the stripping?”

“Like, a private shoot or something.”

“Not interested.”

“You can take sexy photos! I could even take off a bit more—”

“Not interested.”

“Even though you’re a guy!?”

“Not interested.”

Repeating himself like a broken record, he ignored her frustrated “Muuu…” and glanced at his laptop, running a quick search. “Ah, found it. Tsukushi Fumu—this you?”

“Eh?” She froze as he nailed her cosplay name.

“Wait, how’d you know!? There are tons of Willhan cosplayers, right!?”

“The waist tie on the swimsuit—it’s slightly off from the game. I searched and found it right away. That’s a twist cord, right? Satin cord would probably look closer.”

“…Who notices that in a ROM? And you figured out the material in, like, a second? That’s crazy!”

He shrugged at her shock. The laptop showed a provocative cosplayer—likely her—but he was used to such sights and looked away. “Not interested.”

“Agh, back to that… Uh, sorry, I didn’t expect to get doxxed.”

“Whatever. I won’t spread it around. I don’t know you, and I’m not interested—”

“Be interested!!”

“If I get interested, I’ll remember you as the exhibitionist who barged into the clubroom, got rejected, and started stripping. That okay?”

“…That’s not okay, but…” Nodding as if conceding, she steeled herself and met his gaze. “Miyoshi Hiyori, third-year evening course, 21 years old. Remember me, I’m your senpai!”

“Got it.”

“Come on, can’t you be a little more interested!?”

“I’m not interested in exhibitionists…”

“All boys like sexy older girls, don’t they!?”

“That’s a stereotype.”

He shot back instantly. Most high school boys might lose it if an older girl stripped in front of them, but not him. His older sister, a cosplayer and self-proclaimed “naked tribe” at home, had desensitized him to women undressing. He had no illusions about them and even found such types slightly annoying.

“Don’t people ever tell you you’re, like, dead inside?”

“They—don’t.”

“You hesitated just now.”

“No one says that. Also, isn’t it rude to say that to someone you just met?”

“…Fair point. Anyway…”

“…What? If it’s about the job, get in line. I’ll open a request form around year-end—”

A chime rang through the school—ding-dong-dang-dong. Hiyori glanced at the wall clock in a panic. “Crap!” It was 6:30 p.m.—a vague signal for full-time students, but the start of classes for evening-course students like her.

“Sorry! Catch you later!!”

“Yeah, see you sometime.”

As she hurriedly pulled her blouse back on and dashed out, Riku turned to his laptop. “500,000 followers… She’s kind of a big deal, huh.”

Her SNS account wasn’t like typical cosplayers’, who engaged with the scene’s community. Hers thrived on public exposure, prioritizing revealing outfits over costume fidelity. Unlike cosplayers focused on group shoots, location accuracy, or studio recreations, she shot one-on-one with photographers in closed spaces like hotels, sold ROMs at events—definitely not for minors—and earned money through fan site subscriptions. A “profitable cosplayer,” the top earners could make millions a month.

Riku had no ties with such cosplayers and didn’t take their requests. In a world where stripping sold, high-quality weapons or props were unnecessary. That’s why he hadn’t known her, despite her massive following.

“Haah…” Realizing he’d caught the attention of a troublesome person, he let out a heavy sigh. At that moment, he had zero expectations for this provocative older girl. It would take a little longer for their relationship to shift.