For a moment, neither of them breathed.
The tiny changing room was silent except for the sound of Pyrrha's heartbeat, which was loud, frantic, and echoing in her ears. Her hand was still over Jaune's mouth and her other, pressed flat against his chest and upper abdominals, where she could feel his pulse hammering just as wildly as hers.
They were so close she could see every shade of blue in his eyes, the way his lashes fluttered in startled confusion, the faint blush that colored his cheeks.
Then, from outside—
"Jaune?"
Ruby's voice.
Pyrrha's heart jumped into her throat.
"Did you call us?" Ruby asked, her voice muffled through the door.
Blake's calmer tone followed. "Strange. I swear I heard him over here."
Pyrrha immediately shook her head, silently pleading with him not to move.
Then, just to make everything worse—
"Jaune? Where'd he go?" Ruby called again. "Blake, do you see him?"
"No," Blake replied. "But I think I heard something from that side."
Pyrrha panicked. Oh no oh no oh no—
Next door, she heard Mocha's voice begin, "Hey, Pyr—"
Before Mocha could finish, Pyrrha snapped her hand outward instinctively. Her Rune flared, invisible energy latching onto the trace of iron in Mocha's blood — and, with surgical precision, sealed her lips shut.
"Mmmpf?!" came the muffled protest from the next cubicle.
"Shhh!" Pyrrha hissed under her breath, her whole body tensing as she pressed closer to the wall — and inadvertently closer to Jaune.
The movement made Jaune inhale sharply. He couldn't help it. She was right there — every inch of body and her warmth pressed against him, the faint scent of her perfume brushing against his senses. The small space made everything feel magnified — the warmth, the closeness, the tension.
Outside, Ruby's voice sounded again, uncertain. "Huh… maybe he wandered off?"
"Or he's hiding from you," Blake murmured dryly.
"Wha—hey! That's mean!"
Their voices faded gradually, footsteps moving away. Pyrrha stayed perfectly still for several seconds, listening until she was sure they were gone. Only then did she exhale a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Her eyes flicked down, and that was when she realized exactly how close she was.
Her hands were on his chest, her fingers curled against the firm muscle under his shirt. His hands were awkwardly placed against her hips, as if he didn't know where else to put them. Their faces… were inches apart.
She could feel his breath on her skin.
Pyrrha's entire face went red in an instant. She jerked back with a soft yelp and released the power of her rune over him, nearly tripping over the edge of her heels. "I—oh gods—I didn't mean—!"
Jaune, equally red, held up his hands quickly. "N-no, it's—uh—it's fine! I mean, it's—uh, you were—"
Words failed both of them spectacularly.
For a few long, painful seconds, they just stood there, not knowing where to look. Jaune scratched the back of his neck, trying desperately not to think about how incredibly close they'd just been. And the feeling of her soft body against his.
His heart was still racing.
Pyrrha pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to cool her face down. "I'm… so sorry," she managed finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "That was— I didn't mean to—"
She glanced up — and her eyes caught his lips. Just for a heartbeat. Then she looked away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.
'Oh gods, why did I look there?'
Her pulse refused to calm. She could still feel the ghost of his warmth where she'd touched him, the memory of his steady heartbeat under her hand. And—no. She shut down that thought before it finished forming.
Meanwhile, Jaune was having a similarly miserable time. He rubbed his arm, trying to look anywhere but her. He'd faced monsters, dreams, and literal creatures from nightmares — and yet somehow this moment was far more terrifying.
Pyrrha Nikos, fighter, calm under pressure, kind and beautiful... had just been pressed against him in a tiny room, wearing something that could've felled lesser men with a glance. And his brain… had not handled it gracefully.
He cleared his throat, voice cracking slightly. "I, uh… totally understand. Really. You don't have to apologize. I probably shouldn't have, um, startled you by shouting your name like that."
She looked at him, flustered but grateful. "Thank you… for being understanding."
"Yeah," he said softly. "It's not every day I get telekinetically kidnapped into a changing room."
That earned him a laugh — quiet, nervous, but genuine. The sound eased something between them.
Then, next door—
"MMMMMPF!"
Pyrrha blinked, startled, before realizing she still had her Rune active on Mocha. She waved her hand absently, releasing the magnetic lock on Mocha's mouth.
Immediately, an indignant voice shouted, "PYRRHA NIKOS! WHAT IN THE ACTUAL—"
Before she could respond, a rustling noise came from below — and then a figure crawled out from under the cubicle wall.
Mocha popped up beside her, half-dressed in her too small witch's outfit, eyes wide and mouth hanging open at the scene before her.
For a full two seconds, no one moved.
Mocha's gaze darted from Pyrrha's crimson face to Jaune standing there, flustered, and clearly out of place in the changing room — and then back to Pyrrha's scandalously heroic outfit.
A slow, wicked grin crept up her face.
"Well," she said, voice dripping with mischief, "this explains so much."
"Mocha!" Pyrrha sputtered, hands flying up in mortified defense.
Jaune, equally panicked, waved his hands. "It's... not what it looks like!"
"Oh, really?" Mocha's grin widened. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly what it looks like."
"Mocha!" Pyrrha said again, glaring daggers.
Mocha smirked and raised her hands in mock surrender, though her expression said she'd be milking this moment forever. "Hey, I'm not judging! You two just looked a little… close."
"Out!" Pyrrha snapped, face bright as a sunset.
Mocha grinned, backing toward the stall divider. "Alright, alright, I'm going. But I expect a full detailed report later."
When she finally ducked back under the partition, Pyrrha let out a long, strangled groan and leaned against the wall. "I'm never living this down."
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, uh… me neither."
They stared at each other for a moment before devolving into a mutual giggles of laughter.
They shared a another look afterwards. One filled with awkward warmth, mutual embarrassment… and something else neither dared name.
"Jaune…" Pyrrha started, voice small.
He smiled, still pink around the ears. "Yeah?"
"…Um... how do I look?" she asked finally.
He chuckled softly. "You... uh... look, really good. I wouldn't have expected to see you wearing something like this, but it... fits you, I guess?"
"It was for the cosplay contest. Mocha... signed me up, against my wishes, might I add. This was the outfit she chose for me."
Jaune paused, giving her a clear look over. The feel of his eyes roaming over her form gave her a hint of butterflies rolling through her stomach but she ignored the feeling.
"Well, she did a fine job. It fits you well."
"Yeah. Though, I still don't know how she got my measurements so perfect." She paused for a moment before biting her lip. "Jaune… thanks."
"For?"
"For… not laughing."
His smile warmed. "Ill never laugh about you, Pyrrha."
For a heartbeat, neither said anything. Then Pyrrha looked away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, heart still fluttering.
Maybe Mocha was right about one thing. Maybe she did look a little amazing.
"Okay Jaune… now get out, please. This is very embarrassing."
"Right, sorry."
Jaune had barely escaped.
One second he was inside a changing stall, half-mortified and half-bewitched, and the next he was stumbling into the hallway beyond like a man fleeing a crime scene. His brain was a scrambled mess of red hair, close proximity, and 'oh no, she definitely noticed.'
He didn't stop moving until he found a corner, slapped both hands over his face, and muttered, "Holy crap. Did that just happen? I think I need some water to wash down my hormones. This is kind of ridiculous."
Meanwhile, back inside the changing room, Pyrrha Nikos stood in front of the mirror, still silent and flushed. Trying very, very hard to get her breathing and blood under control.
It was one thing to let Jaune see her like this. Jaune was… well, Jaune. He was a close friend, not to mention kind, and probably already trying to convince himself that the whole thing never happened.
But everyone else? Especially strangers?
The thought alone made her skin crawl.
The outfit, even with how stunningly Mocha insisted it looked, didn't feel like her. Not in the way her gear or rune frame did. It was too much skin and too much focus. The neckline, the exposed shoulders, the way the short skirt didn't quite obey the laws of decency...
She exhaled slowly. "No. Absolutely not."
That's when the idea hit her.
A deviously ingenious plan, as Mocha would have put it.
Her Ferrous Rune wasn't just simply built for fighting anymore. Not since she'd reached comprehension in the rune.
She'd learned to be able to feel metal, every trace, particle and mote, as an extension of herself. She could even feel the subtle iron coursing through the human body which pulsed like tiny stars when she focused hard enough.
And better yet, she could control it.
There was also one other thing that reaching comprehension had done for her rune. And that was metal creation. Using her aura, she could temporarily create metals to suit her will. Of course, if she let up the stream of aura that was keeping the metal conjured, it would disappear. That was one of her rune's limits.
But at this stage, it was perfect.
"Alright," she whispered, clapping her hands together. "Let's fix this."
She extended her aura and her rune flared faintly in her mind, a soft metallic glow rippling up her forearm.
A second later, thin lines of silvery-red metal began forming, shimmering into existence like liquid mercury catching the light.
First, greaves, sleek, smooth, and modestly practical. They extended up past her knees, replacing the ridiculously sheer thigh-high socks Mocha had gotten her.
Next, the chestplate. She didn't want to ruin the outfit entirely (Mocha would never forgive her), but she adjusted the depth of the neckline until it was less "festival attraction" and more "fantasy duelist."
A few minutes of focused manipulation later, the result gleamed back at her.
Still elegant and still powerful. But now?
Now she looked like her.
A fighter and a warrior. Someone who could stand against the forces of evil and not die of embarrassment halfway through.
And, for good measure, she crafted the pièce de résistance: a smooth, shining helmet, its design somewhere between a knight's helm and a stylized gladiator's mask. She left a narrow opening around the eyes — enough to see — and a groove in the back to let her ponytail fall naturally.
Anonymous, confident and safe.
Perfect.
She admired her reflection one more time and smiled faintly. "There. Much better."
Now, to fix Mocha.
Ten minutes later.
Pyrrha had never heard so much whining come from one person.
"But Pyrrhaaaa," Mocha drawled, dragging out every vowel like it might extend her life. "The cleavage window was integral to the aesthetic!"
"The aesthetic was public indecency," Pyrrha replied flatly, tightening the last adjustment on Mocha's newly armored corset.
Mocha, who was now wearing something halfway between "dark sorceress" and "field-ready witch," pouted dramatically. "You've ruined my artistic vision."
"I saved your modesty," Pyrrha countered, stepping back to inspect her handiwork.
The new outfit was still striking — a black-and-crimson bodysuit with reinforced sleeves and fake runic etchings, a witch's hat trimmed with metallic accents, and a short cloak. But gone were the deep plunges and dangerously thigh-high cuts.
Mocha looked powerful… and extremely sulky.
"You're lucky I'm not controlling your mouth anymore," Pyrrha muttered, mostly to herself.
"I heard that!" Mocha said, pointing accusingly. "And for the record, I would've made this look tasteful! You just don't appreciate art!"
Pyrrha sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose beneath her helmet. "We're due on stage in five minutes. Please behave."
Mocha grumbled but fell in line, muttering something about "artistic censorship" and "creativity under oppression."
When the curtains lifted, the noise hit like a tidal wave.
The space below the stage was packed, students, office workers, visitors, cosplayers and enthusiasts of all sorts, all cheering for the cosplay competition.
Bright lights swept over the stage, glinting off metal props and sequined fabric. Dozens of contestants had already strutted their stuff — from ice queens to mechanical emperors and even sugar-powered superheroes.
And now… it was their turn.
"Next up!" the commentator announced, voice booming over the speakers. "A duo entry — the Crimson Knight and the Witch of Calamity!"
The crowd clapped and whistled.
Mocha, ever the performer, immediately blew kisses, twirling her hat dramatically and striking a pose that had the front row cheering.
Pyrrha, in contrast, stepped forward with all the quiet dignity of a knight who had accepted her fate. Her armor glimmered under the lights, the red highlights of her rune faintly visible in the reflections.
From down below, Jaune nearly choked on his soda.
"Wait, that's Mocha, isn't it?" Ruby said, leaning forward. "And that person over there... she looks familiar... is that Pyrrha?"
Blake tilted her head, her fake cat ears flopping slightly. "Maybe? She's wearing a helmet."
Ruby squinted. "But the posture— that's got to be her!"
Jaune's brows raised as Pyrrha strode confidently across the stage, every movement precise, the metal parts she'd created catching the light like a living sculpture.
Mocha followed behind, posing and spinning her wand, the cloak swirling around her like a magician about to perform.
Blake crossed her arms. "If it is her, I never thought that she would be interested in this kind of stuff. Doesn't really scream Pyrrha. Maybe it's really not her?"
"Hmm... she looks super cool though. Right Jaune?"
Jaune nodded with a distracted look on his face. Ruby didn't notice, more concerned with Blake's reaction.
"Aw guys, we should have signed up as well. It would have been so fun!"
"Absolutely not. And for the record, I still don't like these cat ears."
Ruby grinned mischievously and flicked her own red panda ears. "C'mon, Blake! You look adorable!"
"I look ridiculous."
"You look mysterious."
"Ruby."
"Okay, okay— adorable and mysterious."
Jaune didn't even hear them. His eyes were locked on stage, half-awed, over again.
He whispered under his breath, "She made it look better."
Pyrrha, unaware of his silent awe, glanced toward the audience — and froze slightly, seeing the three of them.
There they were. Ruby, Blake, and Jaune. Ruby's red panda ears bouncing, Blake's unimpressed glare directed at her headband… and Jaune, standing stiffly with his eyes wide.
Under the helmet, Pyrrha's face turned bright red. 'Oh no, he's looking. Don't look nervous. Don't trip. Don't—'
She almost did.
Mocha couldn't help but tease her, seeing her slightly flustered body language. "Be graceful, your highness."
"Quiet," Pyrrha hissed.
They reached center stage, struck their final pose — Mocha's wand raised high, and Pyrrha's fake sword angled downward like a true duelist — and the crowd erupted.
Cheers, whistles, flashes from phones.
Mocha bowed deeply, grinning ear to ear. Pyrrha bowed too, far more awkwardly.
As they exited, the commentator's voice boomed, "Give it up for contestant number twenty-three! The Crimson Knight and Witch of Calamity, duo!"
Backstage, Mocha practically vibrated with energy. "Did you see the crowd? They loved us!"
"They loved you," Pyrrha corrected, pulling off her helmet and exhaling. "I was just trying not to embarrass myself."
"Oh, please. You looked amazing! Like a goddess of steel!" Mocha threw an arm around her shoulders. "And that entrance? The helmet? Genius! No one even knew it was you!"
Pyrrha allowed herself a small smile. "That was the idea."
Then, from behind them—
"Pyrrha?"
They both turned.
Jaune stood there near the curtains, looking sheepish but smiling. "Hey. You were incredible up there. And... you changed the outfit too. It looks great!"
Mocha immediately smirked. "Well, well, look who came to congratulate his knight in shining armor."
"Mocha," Pyrrha warned.
Mocha raised her hands innocently. "I'm just saying!"
Jaune chuckled, "Seriously, Pyrrha. The armor… the helmet… everything looked amazing. You both kind of stole the show."
Pyrrha felt her cheeks warm again. "Thank you, Jaune..."
"Though... using your rune is kind of cheating isn't it?"
Pyrrha sighed. "Maybe a little, especially when everyone put in a lot of effort for their own outfits... but I couldn't wear what Mocha made, so I had to… improvise."
"Hey! My designs were perfect. I still think we should have used the original." Mocha pouted.
"No."
"Party pooper."
Pyrrha stared at her with disgust.
Jaune grinned at the two of them. "Well, the two of you turned 'cosplay contest' into 'tournament finals.' So that was still pretty awesome."
Mocha bowed so low that she nearly dropped her hat.
.
.
AN: Sorry, for the delay. I was rewriting chapter 159 a couple of times, until I was happy with it.
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