The origins of cosplay could be traced back to the 1930s.

 

In 1939, Forrest J. Ackerman, a science fiction writer, attended Worldcon in New York wearing a futuristic costume made by his partner and fellow writer, Myrtle R. Douglas. Some consider this to be the starting point of the concept of cosplay. 

 

However, if we look for a more specific origin, it would certainly be the 18th Worldcon held in Pennsylvania, USA, in the 1960s.

 

It was around this time that the trend of wearing costumes that replicated characters from beloved novels began to spread; this trend then made its way to Japan, where it evolved into the cosplay culture we know today.

 

And in this other world, it seems that I, Phantom, am the one who has officially opened the floodgates for cosplay culture.

 

‘This place is a nerd’s paradise.’

 

From the protagonists and main characters to the supporting roles and extras that even I, the writer, could barely remember, people were gathered in droves, dressed in meticulously crafted costumes and makeup.

 

As expected, otakus will be otakus, no matter the world or the era.

 

Nothing could stop their passionate dedication.

 

‘…But victory is mine, you poor souls.’

 

I surveyed my impeccable Brutus costume with pride, a smug smile playing on my lips.

 

‘You may be skilled, but you’re just people of this world!’

 

I, on the other hand, came from a world where all these play characters were real historical figures.

 

How could these ordinary people possibly surpass my expertise?

 

I’ve set the bait!

 

And you all took it hook, line, and sinker!

 

“Our next contestant is Balthazar Arture! Please take the stage!”

 

“Coming right up.”

 

I chuckled softly, recalling a line from the movie, <The Wailing>.

 

These poor souls, duped by the fictional Phantom, had come all this way.

 

Now it was time for the author himself to steal the victory with a mesmerizing performance.

 

✧❅✦❅✧

 

…I lost.

 

And I lost overwhelmingly.

 

Whether it was third place or twentieth place, Charlie Chaplin at least managed to secure a decent ranking.

 

I, on the other hand, came in dead last.

 

Not a single fan had voted for me, the actual playwright.

 

I felt so utterly humiliated that my knees almost buckled.

 

Last place! Not first, not tenth, not even one hundredth, but dead last!

 

‘I’m the writer! Even if I am hiding my identity, I’m still the writer!’

 

How could this happen, no matter how lacking I might be in acting skills?

 

For the record, the Crown Princess won first place, and Senior Rosalyn took second.

 

A bizarre outcome — despite the plays being populated mostly by male characters, it was the women who claimed victory.

 

…Damn it. Was this rigged?

 

Honestly, it seemed like the princess got plenty of votes due to her status.

 

Who in their right mind would dare to embarrass the future heir to the throne?

 

‘But I can’t deny their performances were impressive.’

 

Senior Rosalyn had cosplayed as Julia Caesaris, Caesar’s only daughter.

 

A tragic figure who, despite marrying the renowned general Pompey for political reasons, met an untimely end in childbirth at a young age.

 

To enhance the tragedy of Caesar’s story, I had portrayed her as a virtuous and kind character, giving her a significant role. Her image perfectly matched Senior Rosalyn, like a sorrowful heroine from a fairytale.

 

The costume, makeup, expressions, and gestures were all flawlessly executed, capturing every detail from the play.

 

It was a method acting performance worthy of Julia herself, not just Rosalyn Wenford.

 

However, all of that paled in comparison to Diana, the victor.

 

“So you are the much-talked-about Phantom?”

 

Diana von Clausewitz, dressed as the Queen of Egypt, sat languidly on the lounge sofa.

 

She displayed a beautiful, elegant figure, almost overwhelmingly sensual, a subtle smile playing on her lips.

 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Diana, Crown Princess of the Holy Empire.”

 

“I know, Your Highness. How could I not recognize your distinguished presence?”

 

I replied politely, trying to maintain my composure.

 

Her alluring, sophisticated beauty was making it hard to concentrate.

 

“An artist who wears a mask and a black cloak. A rather intriguing aesthetic.”

 

Diana observed me, her eyes gleaming with interest.

 

“The cloak aside, why do you wear a mask? Is it just to conceal your identity?”

 

“I… suffered severe burns in an accident. You would be most displeased if I were to remove my mask.”

 

I recited my prepared backstory, swallowing nervously.

 

Cleopatra was renowned as the most beautiful woman in Egypt, regardless of East or West.

 

This fact was taken into account when designing the costumes for her character in the play.

 

I had put a lot of effort into designing that costume, aiming to capture the essence of ancient Egypt while incorporating a touch of masculine fantasy and orientalism.

 

It wasn’t overtly revealing, yet it accentuated Cleopatra’s allure and sensuality.

 

And yet, here she was, the one and only Crown Princess of the Empire, sitting before me, embodying that very costume with absolute perfection.

 

‘Even when the Killgrewber actress dressed as Cleopatra, it wasn’t this impactful.’

 

Perhaps fashion truly was all about the face and physique?

 

Those luscious thighs and ample bosom.

 

The slender waist, toned and strong, and those shapely calves, like a deer’s.

 

And those delicate ankles, so slender they looked as if they could snap with a single touch.

 

The level of synchronization was so uncanny that I almost believed she was the Cleopatra of this world.

 

Her shimmering golden hair and lime-green eyes, inherited from her deceased mother, the late Empress, were the only minor flaws.

 

‘…Well, Cleopatra was also a descendant of the Ptolemaic dynasty, who inherited Greek blood.’

 

Honestly, who knew?

 

Maybe she wasn’t a brunette with black eyes, but a blonde with green eyes like Diana.

 

In a world where people could claim a perfectly normal Egyptian queen was actually a black woman with an afro, anything was possible.

 

“You’re awfully quiet. This is quite an underwhelming fan meeting, considering the reward.”

 

At that moment, Cleopatra—no, Diana—let out a soft snort and chided me.

 

“Could it be that you’re not interested in me? I find you rather intriguing.”

 

“My apologies. I’m just a lowly playwright, and I’m a bit nervous in the presence of royalty.”

 

“Heh heh, there’s no need to be nervous. I’m here as your devoted fan. Right now, I’m not a princess, but just a woman. It wouldn’t do for an artist to be intimidated by their supporters.”

 

“Your advice is excellent. I will take it to heart, Your Highness.”

 

Hahaha. Feigning a hearty laugh I didn’t feel, I reached across the table…,

 

…with a pop, I uncorked a bottle of champagne I had prepared for the fan meeting and filled her glass.

 

This was a bottle of sparkling wine I had been saving for myself. What a waste.

 

“Now then, Your Highness. Anything you’re curious about regarding my future activities or anything you’d like to ask? Please feel free to inquire about anything.”

 

“Hmm, don’t hesitate to ask, you say?”

 

Diana narrowed her eyes as she sipped the champagne I had poured for her.

 

And the next moment…

 

“How’s academy life treating you, Phantom?”

 

A completely unexpected bomb detonated right before my eyes.

 

✧❅✦❅✧

 

“The… academy, you say? What do you mean by that…?”

 

“There’s no need to feign ignorance. I’ve already confirmed that you’re an academy student.”

 

An empty boast, a bluff.

 

Diana couldn’t truly confirm if Phantom was an academy student. 

 

She was currently relying solely on her deductive reasoning, without any official authority to investigate.

 

And yet, she bluffed for a simple reason—

 

‘As expected. He is an academy student.’

 

Her intention was to gauge Phantom’s reaction.

 

If he wasn’t actually a student, there was no need for him to react to her statement.

 

However, Phantom’s expression, hidden beneath the mask, clearly flickered with unease for a moment.

 

Diana, with her sharp eyes, didn’t miss that subtle tell.

 

“You must be a first- or second-year student, I presume? You habitually use words characteristic of Bronde students, but your vocabulary isn’t as rich as that of the upperclassmen.”

 

And now that his status as an academy student was confirmed,

 

“That sturdy build, not even concealed by your cloak, is clearly inherited. Furthermore, judging by the calluses on your palms, you’re undeniably from a noble family with a martial tradition. Only hands that wield swords or spears develop such rough skin.”

 

There was no reason for her to hesitate further.

 

“But as far as I recall, there’s no male Bronde student who has suffered severe facial burns. So your claim about a facial injury is obviously a lie. And your light brown hair? It’s a temporary dye, a magical one. Such products always leave traces.”

 

“…………”

 

“However, commonly available products can only adjust the shade, not completely alter the original color. Considering this, your natural hair color must be brown, narrowing down the possibilities even further.”

 

“…………”

 

…Composed.

 

As if he hadn’t heard a thing.

 

Diana von Clausewitz didn’t lose control of the situation.

 

But inwardly, she was quite impressed by Phantom’s demeanor.

 

‘He’s backed into a corner, and yet he shows no further signs of agitation?’

 

Especially considering that the Crown Princess herself was pressuring him?

 

Perhaps this was the maverick nature that allowed him to ignore fan letters even from high-ranking nobles.

 

Diana was momentarily at a loss for words, taken aback by Phantom’s unexpected bravery.

 

Any lingering resentment she held towards him evaporated in the face of his calm defiance.

 

What arose instead was a deeper curiosity about the man behind the mask — Phantom.

 

And a hint of… something else. A certain attraction she couldn’t quite define.

 

“Now then, who could be hiding behind this mask?”

 

Diana leaned closer, a mischievous smile curving her lips.

 

Her posture resembled that of a haughty feline or a proud vixen as her finger gently traced Phantom’s chin.

 

“Should I reveal your identity for you, or would you prefer to confess honestly?”

 

— End of Chapter —

 

A Word from the Author :-

 

Thank You to the Martyrs of the Korean War

 

Happy Liberation Day, everyone!