There are three universal truths about masked characters.
First: if you wear a mask, people will assume you're dangerous.
Second: the less you talk, the more competent you appear.
Third, and most important, once you put the mask on, you are never allowed to be uncool again.
I learned this the hard way.
It started on a rainy night, the kind where the sky feels like it's pressing down on the city, smothering every sound except the drip of water and the distant hum of mana engines. I stood on a rooftop, cloak snapping in the wind, staring down at a scene that absolutely did not need my involvement.
A robbery. Three men. One trembling shopkeeper. Standard stuff.
And yet here I was.
Why?
Because I was wearing a mask.
Not just any mask, either. Matte black, smooth surface, faint silver lines etched along the cheekbones. No mouth opening. Narrow eye slits. It had taken me three weeks of careful crafting, enchantment tuning, and staring at myself in a mirror to make sure it looked cool and not embarrassing.
The moment I put it on, something changed.
My posture straightened.
My breathing slowed.
My inner monologue shut up—mostly.
This was the effect of a mask. It wasn't magic. It was expectation.
People expected a masked figure to be strong. Silent. Mysterious. Someone who didn't hesitate.
Which was unfortunate, because I hesitated constantly.
Below me, one of the robbers laughed nervously. "Hurry it up! Someone's gonna—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
All three of them felt it at the same time.
That prickling sensation on the back of the neck. The instinct that says you are being watched.
I stepped off the rooftop.
Not falling—descending.
My boots touched the wet stone with barely a sound. Cloak settling. Rain sliding harmlessly off the enchantments woven into the fabric. I didn't speak. Speaking ruins things.
One of the robbers swallowed hard. "H-Hey… you see that?"
They all did now.
A masked figure, standing between them and the exit, hands empty, head slightly tilted as if judging their life choices.
This was the moment.
Every cool masked character had one.
If I said too much, I'd sound dramatic.
If I said nothing at all, I risked looking stupid.
So I chose the safest option.
I raised one finger.
Slowly.
And shook my head once.
Silence stretched.
Rain dripped.
The shopkeeper stared at me like I was a god or a demon. Hard to tell which.
"Run," one of the robbers whispered.
They did.
I didn't chase them. Cool masked characters never chase unless absolutely necessary. Letting enemies escape makes you seem confident. Like you know they'll never matter again.
When the street was empty, I finally exhaled.
"…That went well," I muttered, voice muffled behind the mask.
Then I remembered.
Rule number four.
Never let anyone hear you talk like an idiot while masked.
I cleared my throat, turned to the shopkeeper, and gave a single, solemn nod.
He bowed so hard his forehead nearly hit the counter.
"T-Thank you, masked sir!"
I didn't respond. I simply turned, cloak flaring dramatically, and vanished into the rain with a short-range displacement spell I'd practiced exactly 1017 times in private.
Only when I was safely three alleys away did I sag against a wall.
My heart was racing.
My hands were shaking.
Being cool was exhausting.
Still… as I touched the edge of the mask, I couldn't help but smile underneath it.
If I was going to survive in this world—of monsters, mages, and legends—then I needed more than strength.
I needed a persona.
And tonight, I had taken the first step.
Lesson learned:
If you're going to wear a mask
you'd better commit to it.