Chapter 14: Cosplay Festival II

“Dang! It’s so crowded here… Tokio-senpai was telling the truth then?” Memeko said as she stepped off the metro, tagging along with Shina and Anya.

“Yeah… it’s pretty crowded, actually,” Shina replied, her eyes scanning the bustling plaza. The reflection of neon lights shimmered in her serious gaze.

All around them, costumed festivalgoers moved in waves — capes fluttering, wigs swaying, laughter echoing through the chilly evening air.

“We should buy some cosplay stuff! Everyone’s doing it… they’re so cuteee!” Anya said, her voice rising with excitement.

“Dewfinitely, Anya-chan…” Memeko replied, her eyes sparkling. She added, “Anyway, where are the boys? Bossy, didn’t you tell Senpai to stay near the station?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for them… but I don’t see them anywhere. Wait— I’ll just call him,” Shina said, pulling out her phone.

She waited for a few seconds, frowned, and muttered, “Now what!? He’s not answering? Is he ignoring me?”

“I guess his battery died,” Memeko said, trying to calm her.

“Is that so?” Shina sighed, tapping her phone irritably.

“Hey, guys, look! There are so many stalls!” Anya said, pointing excitedly toward the colorful row of booths.

“Rightyy~!! While Senpai and the others come here, we should go check them out, Bossy! So many stalls— shiny and gushy~ I can even smell the dust, can’t I?” Memeko said with a grin.

Shina exhaled, defeated. “Hahh… I guess that’s the best option for now.”

The three wandered deeper into the festival, weaving through waves of cosplayers and glittering paper lanterns that swung gently overhead. The air smelled of grilled beef, caramelized apples, and the faint, sugary burn of cotton candy.

Memeko’s eyes widened like a kid’s.

“Bossy! Bossy! Look—takoyaki! Candied strawberries! Fried chicken! Oh my, they even have octopus-shaped sausages!”

Before Shina could even respond, Memeko had already vanished into the crowd. A minute later, she reappeared, both hands full—one clutching skewers, the other balancing a bag of ice cream and a bag of croissants.

“Seriously? Didn’t you just finish a bowl of extra ramen before we even got on the metro? Do you have a spare stomach hidden somewhere?” Shina sighed.

“Maybe two~,” Memeko said proudly, her cheeks puffed with food. Between bites, her voice came out muffled:

“You see, Bossy… when I brute-force my brain into my laptop screen, it burns extra calories… so I need extra extra sugar to balance it out!”

“Is that your new excuse?” Shina deadpanned.

Memeko just grinned and handed Shina and Anya each an ice cream. The two unwrapped them and started eating.

Anya giggled, licking hers. “It’s been a while since we came out like this.”

“So, you’re having fun?” Shina asked, a small smile curving her lips.

“Yep! It’s really fun,” Anya said, grinning wide.

After eating until even Memeko admitted she was full (barely), the trio wandered toward the game stalls. Their first stop was the goldfish catching booth.

Memeko crouched down like a sniper, her paper net trembling as if this were a matter of life and death.

“Alright, fishies… prepare to be hijacked— I mean, caught!” she declared, dipping it into the water.

Snap!

The net tore instantly.

“Wha—!? I wasn’t even done aiming!”

Shina chuckled, “Aww, you can’t just hijack a silly little goldfishy, huh?”

Then she grabbed her own net, graceful and confident. Two seconds later— snap.

Memeko burst out laughing. “Even Bossy failed! The fish are too OP!”

“Shut up,” Shina snapped, turning away, cheeks twitching.

Then came the slingshot stall. They were supposed to knock down items to win prizes.

Anya accidentally hit the stall owner’s hat.

Shina’s shot went backwards and nearly hit Memeko.

And somehow, Memeko managed to hit a giant candy—which then fell, but the stall owner insisted it didn’t count.

Still fuming, Memeko stomped away from the stall.

“Jeez!” she grumbled. “That old man’s mastered the art of scamming!”

“Or maybe you’re just too desperate to win that giant lollipop,” Shina teased. Then she added mockingly, “Besides, that shot of yours wasn’t even legal, was it?”

“What!? How is it illegal!?” Memeko snapped.

“It was just a slice of coincidence… Nah, maybe the shadows of the wind redirected your bullet’s momentum, huh?” Shina continued to tease.

“What are you even saying, Bossy!? It was a perfect shot! Anya-chan saw it—didn’t you, Anya-chan?” Memeko turned to her.

Anya, still munching on a croissant and lost in thought, blinked and said,

“Hmm? Oh… I guess I missed your shot. Pretty sorry, Memeko-chan.”

Just then, Memeko noticed a ring toss stall nearby and lit up instantly as if fate itself had offered her a chance to reclaim her lost dignity.

They walked over. The prizes glimmered under the festival lights; A cute bunny plush, a few glowsticks, colorful boxes, fox masks, and right at the center, a shiny iron frying pan reflecting the neon glow.

“Guess what! I’m gonna grab that Cutie Bunnyy~ outta there and get my mojo backk!!” Memeko declared, fist raised.

“Sure you do, Mrs. Hacker,” Shina teased, her voice dripping with mockery.

“You can do it, Memeko-chan!” Anya cheered innocently.

Memeko bought eight rings in a row, grinning confidently like a warrior preparing for her final boss battle. Then, with all her spirit, she started throwing …and missed every single one.

Shina burst out laughing, unable to hold it anymore. “Oh come on—this is gold!”

Memeko pouted but didn’t give up. Instead, she fell into an infinite while loop of buying more rings.

With each miss, her determination burned harder and her wallet thinner.

Meanwhile, behind the stall counter, the shop owner watched with an evil little smirk curling on his lips.

That poor little girl… she’s really giving it her all, huh? he thought.

She’d probably win after this many tries… but I can’t let that happen, can I? The rings, made of bamboo fiber and plastic, have a little secret in there. A sliver of iron on the right side, just enough to throw off the inertia and ruin the aim. Heh, pretty clever, huh? Definitely… Gotta keep the business alive, babe.

Meanwhile, Memeko was trying her absolute best. Sweat dripped down her forehead as she stood there, breathing hard, only one ring left. Her arms trembled slightly, but her determination didn’t waver.

She focused, aimed…

And then her foot slipped on a small stone. The ring flew from her hand, spinning awkwardly through the air and landed perfectly onto the shiny frying pan.

For a moment, the world went silent.

Memeko blinked in disbelief, her eyes glistening as if she were about to cry.

“You did ittt!!” Anya shouted, jumping in excitement.

Shina’s mocking expression froze mid-smirk. Then she chuckled softly, switching sides like a betrayed boss.

“So, you’ve brought the head of the King of Atlas, mortal, huh? Though it’s just a dying frying pan made of iron… but congo anyways.” she said, trying to sound casual but clearly impressed.

Meanwhile, the shop owner’s jaw dropped.

“My 128,980-priced Xenon FryMaster Series QP98T-G3AX Pro Limited Edition, NOOO—”

It was supposed to stay in his head, but somehow, he said it out loud.

“What? One hundred twenty-eight thousand nine hundred eighty?” Shina raised an eyebrow. “I see… that must be some premium kitchen stuff.”

Defeated, the shop owner shuffled inside, fetched the prize, and handed it to Memeko. He even made a small announcement declaring the winner but no one cared.

Memeko held the shiny pan like a trophy, rubbing it against her cheek.

“Ehehe~ my precious FryMaster~” she said dreamily, while Shina and Anya just stood there—half proud, half embarrassed.

Meanwhile, at another corner of the festival…

“Damn, still ringing… she’s not even answering. What the hell is with her?” Tokio muttered, pushing the dial-up button hard, ending the call in frustration, and slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Hey Blade, hand me your phone for a sec—” he started, then looked around. Blade wasn’t there. Neither was Eyepatch.

Blade was hunched over a retro RPG arcade machine, fingers flying across the buttons, while Eyepatch was calmly flipping through some magazine at a nearby bookstall.

“Hey, we’re supposed to be at the station. Why are you guys stuck here?” Tokio asked.

“Just gave up, dude… we’ve waited so long and they still haven’t shown up. I’m done… might as well chill,” Blade grumbled, annoyed.

Then the arcade boss defeated him, and he lost it. He slammed the machine with both fists.

“Fuck! This shit sucks!”

“I guess that’s too much gaming for today, Junior,” Tokio said dryly.

Blade sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Haah, you’re right… whatever. How about we take a little walk through the festival while they drag their butts over?”

“Yeah… doing nothing isn’t doing us any good,” Tokio replied, sighing.

Then Tokio called Eyepatch over, and the three of them set off to wander around the festival.

As they walked, Tokio glanced around, taking in the crowd — bright lights, chatter, and a sea of people in all kinds of costumes.

He brushed past a few cosplay girls who bumped into him, one after another.

“Aaagh, these cosplay jerks and cakeis are increasing the density and temperature,” Tokio muttered under his breath, clearly done with the chaos.

Then Blade’s eyes suddenly caught something.

Right there, glowing under the arcade’s neon lights, was a claw machine — and inside it sat a plushie of his favorite game character ‘Rina the Fox’.

“No way… She’s here. My Rina… in the limited-edition summer outfit form!” Blade muttered, awe-struck.

“Don’t even think about it,” Tokio warned.

But it was already too late. Blade was standing in front of the machine, eyes blazing with determination and coins clutched tightly in his hand.

“Stay back, dude. This is between me and my Rina.”

“You’re about to lose both money and pride, aren’t you, Blade?” Eyepatch said, casually eating cotton candy, another stick in his free hand.

“Shut up, bro. Just watch and see,” Blade snapped, already inserting his first coin.

“When did you even grab those?” Tokio asked Eyepatch, eyeing the cotton candy.

“From that stall over there. Want one, senpai? Here.”

Tokio took the offered cotton candy and started eating, settling in to watch the show unfold.

The claw descended slowly… wobbled… brushed the edge of the plushie… and dropped it halfway.

“Crap! That was close!” Blade shouted, gripping the joystick tighter.

He tried again. And again. Each time the claw teased him, gripping the toy just enough to give him hope before releasing it with perfect cruelty.

“Just give it up, man. You’re gonna go bankrupt at this rate,” Eyepatch said flatly.

“Shh! I’m this close,” Blade said, eyes burning with obsession. He reached for another coin—only to realize his wallet was empty.

Still, he didn’t stop. He turned to the others. “Hey… lend me a few coins, yeah?”

Both Tokio and Eyepatch stared at him silently. Then, in perfect sync, they grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him out of the claw machine.

“You’ve got quite the instincts of a gambler, don’t you?” Tokio said, sighing. “I warned you before—those claw machines are built to give fake hope and nothing else. The developers are professional scam artists.”

“Yeah,” Eyepatch added, “I’ve heard the same thing. They’re designed to look winnable but never actually pay out.”

“My Rina…” Blade murmured, staring back at the claw machine like a man who had lost everything.

As the three left the claw machine, a security camera silently followed them until they vanished into the crowd.

Somewhere far from the noise of the festival, in a dimly lit room lightened only by the pale glow of computer screens, two men sat, their faces half-hidden in shadow. They were the owners of the claw machine.

“Now look at that pathetic soul,” one of them said, sipping his instant coffee. “Just gave up already.”

“I bet he ran out of coins,” the other replied.

“Why wouldn’t he? That’s how we make our money,” the first man chuckled.

“Yeah… the claws are designed to jam once they reach a certain depth. Then boom… the plushie slips, and the cash keeps rolling in.”

They both laughed quietly, the blue light flickering across their faces.

“Hey,” one said after a pause, “you ever hear that rumor? That every year, someone goes around the festival and robs claw machines… plushie after plushie?”

“Yeah… I heard his precision’s sharp as a surgeon. They call him…” He leaned closer, whispering with mock drama, “‘The Claw of the Cancer.’”

The other guy snorted. “Pfft. No way. Total rumor.”

Then he stood up. “Anyway, I’m heading to the washroom for a sec. Keep an eye on the cams.”

“Yeah, yeah… and grab me a hamburger, will ya? I’m starving.”

As the first guy disappeared down the hall, the room fell into a dull hum of computer fans. The remaining guy leaned back lazily, scrolling through the feeds.

Then one of the screens flickered.

A man—mid-forties, tall, wearing a grey double-breasted coat—stepped into view. His face was hidden beneath the brim of his hat, his movements slow and deliberate.

The guard squinted, unimpressed. “Huh? Another sucker with too much cash? Fine, go ahead. Feed the machine, pal. I’ll order pizza next time.”

On screen, the man slipped a coin into the slot and placed his hands on the controls—steady, surgical, precise.

The claw descended, grabbed a plushie… and dropped it perfectly into the prize chute.

The watcher blinked. “Tch. Lucky shot.”

But then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, the claw moved like it knew what it was doing—graceful, exact, flawless.

The man’s smirk vanished as cold sweat rolled down his temple.

“N-no way… it can’t be…” he muttered.

“It’s him! The Claw of the Cancer… how in the world—”

He froze, staring at the screen in disbelief as the stranger calmly emptied the machine—one plushie after another falling like captured hearts.

When the last one dropped, the man in the coat straightened up, picked up a small, fox-shaped plushie, and vanished into the shadows beyond the camera’s view.

His voice echoed faintly through the static, “My little princess will love these.”

The screen flickered once more, then went dark.

The man wasn’t just a myth.

He was real… and a surgeon by trade.

A master of precision whose hands could make even a broken claw obey.