Jaune wasn't sure what was louder, the convention crowd or Ruby's excitement.
Probably Ruby.
"This place is amazing!" she said, her voice nearly swallowed by the sea of chatter. "Look! They've got a whole rack of replica weapons! Oh—oh—and are those are handmade scythe parts!?"
Blake stood beside her, arms folded and tailing them like an exasperated bodyguard. "You realize those are all made of foam, right?"
Ruby gasped. "Blake! Foam is the gateway material to greatness!"
Jaune commented idly with a smile. "Didn't realize crafting had a hierarchy."
"It does," Ruby replied with the certainty of a prophet. "Foam is the foundation. Then comes PVC, then wood, then aluminum, and then the holy grail—carbon steel."
Blake gave her a sidelong glance. "You're never actually going to make one, are you?"
Ruby hesitated. "…Not with that attitude, I'm not."
Jaune chuckled, following as the two wandered deeper into the store near the cosplay stage. The shop was basically a maze of organized chaos—props stacked on every shelf, costumes draped on hangers, walls plastered with posters. There were even mannequin displays wearing full sets of armor or elaborate fantasy cloaks.
The store was in a prime spot, right across from the cosplay stage. The traffic never stopped.
Ruby and Blake were already drifting toward a display labeled "Magical Companions." Jaune followed more slowly, taking in the details of the props along the way—replica shields, belts, fake weapons that looked impressively real.
Ruby was holding up a red panda hoodie with little ears sewn on top. "Blake, you have to try this one!"
Blake stared flatly. "No."
Ruby pouted. "Why not? It's adorable."
"It's humiliating."
"It's festive!" Ruby countered, hugging it to her chest. "C'mon, live a little!"
Jaune coughed, trying to hide his laugh. "I think Ruby's just jealous because the cat outfit over there would fit you better."
Ruby gasped dramatically. "Jaune! You can't just say that!"
Blake arched an eyebrow. "What outfit?"
Ruby spun around and pointed toward a black costume hanging neatly from a display rack. It was a sleek, form-fitting getup with cat ears, a faux tail, and even a small bell choker. Blake stared at it for a long second—then looked at Ruby.
"No."
Ruby clasped her hands together, pleading. "Pleeease?"
"No."
Jaune grinned. "She's not budging, Rubes."
Ruby turned her puppy eyes on him next. "What about you, Jaune? Back me up here."
He froze. "I'm not getting involved in this. Last time I sided with you, Yang gave me hell for three hours."
Ruby puffed her cheeks. "Coward."
Blake was clearly amused, though her tone stayed calm. "You're surprisingly good at avoiding trouble for someone who attracts it constantly."
"It's a learned skill," Jaune said. "Survival instinct."
Ruby waved the hoodie. "Okay, compromise time. I'll try this red panda outfit—if Blake tries the cat one. Fair deal!"
Blake's tail (well, metaphorical one) twitched. "…You're relentless."
"Uh-huh," Ruby said with a proud grin. "So? What do you say?"
A long pause. Blake finally sighed. "Fine. But I'm not wearing the skirt."
Ruby squealed. "Yes! Victory!"
"Partial victory," Blake corrected. "I'll wear the top. And that's it."
"Choker too!"
"No."
"Pleeeaaase?"
"No."
"Pretty please?" Ruby gave her best impression of the puppy dog eyes. It was super effective!
Blake flinched seeing her expression. But... she couldn't help except to look away. The effect was quite blinding.
"..." (Blake)
"..." (Ruby)
"..." (Jaune)
"...Fine! Sheesh." Blake sighed heavily. "Lets just get this over with."
"Good enough!" Ruby said, dragging both outfits toward the changing rooms.
As they walked off, Jaune raised a brow. "You two do realize the cosplay competition's about to start soon, right?"
"We've got like thirty minutes!" Ruby said over her shoulder. "That's plenty of time!"
"Famous last words," Jaune muttered.
Blake smirked faintly as she disappeared behind the curtain. "Try not to break anything while we're gone."
Jaune watched the curtains close, shaking his head with a small smile. For all their differences, Ruby and Blake actually got along pretty well when left to their own devices. Seeing them banter like that made him feel grounded.
And then —
"Oh, come on, Pyrrha! It's not that bad!"
That voice froze him mid-thought.
Jaune's head snapped up.
It came from somewhere else in the shop, playful, teasing, and unmistakably familiar.
"…Mocha?" he murmured.
He turned and scanned the aisles, behind him. He didn't see her, though, only flashes of movement and people trying on outfits. For a second he thought he'd imagined it.
Then another voice, sharper, flustered:
"Mocha, this is absolutely ridiculous! You can't expect me to wear this!"
Jaune blinked. No way.
He turned back just in time to catch a glimpse of someone across the changing rooms area, through the small gap of a half-open cubicle door. Red hair and a glint of gold.
The door creaked open a little more.
And there, staring at herself in the mirror with the most mortified expression imaginable, was Pyrrha Nikos.
She was wearing what could only be described as a very daring gladiator costume — ornate stylized gold trim, a too-short crimson skirt, thigh-high black stockings, polished bracers, and a chestplate that hugged her curves in an oh-so-ravishing way. Her braid hung over one shoulder, and a gold circlet gleamed against her flushed cheeks. Truly, the outfit left little to the imagination.
Jaune's brain promptly shut down.
'…That's Pyrrha. That's really Pyrrha. Wearing that.'
He opened his mouth to say something but forgot how to form words. For a moment, all he could do was stare, caught between awe, embarrassment, and something dangerously close to... admiration?
Admiration. Definitely admiration.
Then his mouth finally cooperated. "Pyrrha?!"
Her head whipped around. Their eyes met through the cracked open door — hers wide with shock and horror.
He froze, then awkwardly waved. "Uh—hey! Fancy seeing you here!"
The silence between them was deafening.
Jaune, desperate to make it less awkward, called out over his shoulder, "Hey guys, Pyrrha's here t—"
He didn't get to finish.
An invisible force clamped his mouth shut and yanked him forward. He recognized it from the many times it had been used against him. Pyrrha was using her rune, Ferrous. She was controlling the iron in his blood.
One second he was standing by the door and the next, he was flying forwards, the world blurring around him.
"Wha—?!"
He barely had time to register Pyrrha's outstretched hand before gravity reasserted itself and he crashed into the small changing room. The door slammed shut behind him with a click.
His back hit the wall and the air left his lungs in a whoosh. Her body was pinned to him with her hand coming up to cover his mouth. Their faces dangerously close.
Pyrrha stood over him, cheeks scarlet, eyes wide and shimmering between horror and mortification. Her flustered whisper brushed against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Please... don't, say a word."
.
.
.
(Pyrrha pov)
Pyrrha had faced down monsters, sparring matches that left her half-dead, and even the occasional lecture from Goodwitch about her... "enthusiastic work ethic." None of that, however, prepared her for this.
"This," in this case, being the outfit dangling in Mocha's hands.
Pyrrha blinked once, then twice. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm very serious," Mocha said cheerfully, twirling the garment between her fingers as if she were presenting some sacred relic. "It's thematic! It's bold! It says, 'I'm confident, mysterious, and I have a fantastic sense of Halloween spirit.'"
"It's not Halloween! This outfit says," Pyrrha countered, voice tightening, "that I'm auditioning for a... slut competition! One that I have no business being in."
Mocha gasped dramatically. "Blasphemy! You'll say no such thing about yourself! You'll look amazing in it."
The outfit in question was a glossy, sleeveless, sexy gladiator-ish ensemble with dangerously high cuts at the hips and trimmed lace, and topped off with sexy black stockings that somehow seemed to wink at her. It looked more suited for... something else... rather than a cosplay event.
Pyrrha crossed her arms and glared at her friend. "Mocha, that's not an outfit. That's temptation given form."
"It's called fashion," Mocha replied, smoothing the black fabric lovingly. "And look, mine's even worse!"
She lifted her own costume from the bag. The short description was that it was a witch's outfit. A risqué one. It was dark purple, short, and accompanied by a pointed hat and a corset that left very little to the imagination.
Pyrrha's cheeks burned instantly. "That's your outfit?"
"Yep! Totally on theme. Totally appropriate."
"It's not appropriate!"
"Oh, come on!" Mocha grinned. "I'll have a robe on over it, so it's fine. No one will even notice the, you know—" she waved a hand vaguely at the deep neckline "—details."
Pyrrha pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mocha, this is a cosplay con competition, not a... "
"That's why the robe! You think I'm reckless?"
"Yes," Pyrrha said flatly.
Mocha's grin faltered. She put the witch outfit down and took a slow, measured step closer, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "Oh, I see. You're scared."
"Scared?" Pyrrha's voice jumped a little higher than she intended.
"Yeah." Mocha folded her arms smugly. "You've got the body of a goddess and the confidence of a shy puppy. Admit it."
"I am not—" Pyrrha stopped mid-protest as she realized half the store was looking at them now. She lowered her voice, fuming. "Mocha, please, this is ridiculous. I can't wear something like that."
"Pyrrha," Mocha said sweetly, "please? For me?"
And there it was—the look. The big, glistening eyes, the faint quiver of her lower lip, and the small, pitiful tilt of her head that could melt steel.
Pyrrha sighed. "No."
Mocha's lip trembled more. "But—"
"No, Mocha."
A beat.
Then Mocha lunged.
"PLEEEAAASEEEE!"
"Mocha! Get off me!" Pyrrha hissed, trying to pry her friend off as Mocha clung to her arm with the desperation of a toddler denied candy.
"PLEEEEASE! You'd look so pretty! You'd make me look like a team player!"
"Mocha, people are staring!"
They were. A few nearby cosplayers had turned to watch, unsure if they were witnessing an emotional breakdown or an impromptu comedy sketch. Someone even pulled out a phone.
Pyrrha wanted the ground to swallow her whole. "Fine!" she whispered furiously, face blazing scarlet. "Fine! I'll wear it!"
Instantly, Mocha perked up, beaming like she'd won a trophy. "You're the best!"
"You're insufferable!" Pyrrha growled under her breath, yanking the outfit from Mocha's hands before storming off toward the changing rooms. She could still hear Mocha giggling behind her, trailing after her and muttering something about "legends never dressing boring."
Inside the changing room, Pyrrha hesitated before the mirror.
The outfit hung in her hands like a challenge.
She inhaled slowly, then stepped into it.
Five minutes later, she regretted every decision leading to this moment.
Her reflection blinked back at her—someone tall, strong, and startlingly... alluring. The fabric hugged her in ways that made her blush furiously. The cut of the top emphasized her shoulders and her bust, the lines of her waist, and—Pyrrha swallowed hard—far too much else.
Her long, toned legs gleamed under the lights. The mirror seemed to highlight every curve, every inch of smooth, trained muscle. The black stockings and heels drew attention she didn't want to think about. Even her hair looked unfairly good, cascading against the dark fabric in a way that almost made her look like one of those models she'd always quietly envied.
"Good gods…" she murmured, pressing a hand to her burning face. "What has she done to me?"
She spun once, half-expecting something to fall off or tear, but no—it fit perfectly. Perfectly sinful, but perfect nonetheless.
"How did she even know what my sizes were...?"
And though she'd never admit it aloud, a small, traitorous part of her thought: I look… kind of amazing.
She immediately crushed the thought. "Focus, Pyrrha. You are not that kind of person."
Still, her eyes flicked back to the mirror. Just once more.
Maybe twice.
Shaking her head, she heard Mocha's voice from the next cubicle over, where she was changing into her own outfit. Pyrrha opened her cubicle door a smidge to project her voice to Mocha's stall clearer.
"How's it fit?"
Pyrrha stiffened. "You don't want to know."
"I look ridiculous!"
"Ridiculously hot?" Mocha teased.
Pyrrha nearly choked on her own breath. "Mocha!"
A laugh. "Come on, let me see!"
"No!" Pyrrha hissed, covering her chest as though Mocha could see through the walls. "I'm not walking out there in this!"
"Should I crawl under there to see?"
"Mocha!"
"Oh, come on, Pyrrha! It's not that bad!"
"Mocha, this is absolutely ridiculous! You can't expect me to wear this! Especially where other people can see me!"
Suddenly, before Pyrrha could say another word, someone called out her name. "Pyrrha?!"
She whipped her head around, and out of the open door she noticed a familiar figure who had stopped by near her changing room. He was tall, blond and very recognizable.
Her blood ran cold.
'...Jaune?'
Her heart skipped.
'Oh no.'
He froze, then awkwardly waved. "Uh—hey! Fancy seeing you here!"
The silence between them was deafening. Suddenly, she saw Jaune calling out over his shoulder, "Hey guys, Pyrrha's here t—"
Before the sentence finished, instinct and mortification collided.
Pyrrha reached out with her Rune. The iron in his blood answered her like a reflex.
One moment he was outside—The next, inside.
The door slammed and the air whooshed out of him.
And Pyrrha—red-faced, breathless, and entirely panicked—pressed her hand over his mouth, pinning him to the wall of the cramped stall.
Their eyes met—hers wide with horror, his wide with confusion.
Neither moved.
Time stopped.
.
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AN: Advanced chapters are available on patreon.