We headed to a food stall, the smell of grilled skewers and fried dumplings hitting us hard. A guy in a dragon mask flipped skewers, shouting prices over the crowd's noise. Nala ordered two chicken skewers and a soda, handing me one.

"Try this," she said, biting into hers, a bit of sauce smudging her lip. "Best thing here."

I took a bite, the savory flavor bursting. "Damn, you're right," I said, watching her lick the sauce off her lip, her tongue quick and teasing. "You come to these a lot?"

"Every year," she said, sipping her soda, her hips swaying as we walked to a nearby table. "Emma dragged me to my first one, and I was hooked. It's like… escaping reality for a day, you know? Being someone else." She sat, crossing her legs, her skirt hiking up, her thighs drawing my eyes again. "What about you? First time?"

"Yeah," I said, sitting across from her, trying to focus on her face. "It's… a lot. But kinda fun. You make it better, though."

She laughed, nudging my foot under the table. "Smooth talker. Bet you say that to all the cosplayers."

"Only the ones who look like you," I shot back, my Charm stat kicking in, making her blush.

We finished our skewers, the crowd swirling around us, a group of cosplayers in matching Starlight Odyssey outfits posing for photos nearby.

"What's next?" I asked, wiping my hands.

"Games," she said, her eyes gleaming. "There's a booth with a Skyward Rebellion trivia challenge. Winner gets a rare figurine. You in?"

"Hell yeah," I said, following her to a booth decked out with banners of a futuristic anime, Skyward Rebellion. A quizmaster in a pilot's jacket held a mic, firing questions at a small crowd. Nala jumped in, her hand shooting up for a question about the show's main ship, the Aetherwing.

"It's got a dual-core plasma drive!" she shouted, beating a guy in a cape. The quizmaster nodded, tossing her a token. She grinned, turning to me. "Told you I'm good at this."

"Impressive," I said, watching her ass as she leaned forward to answer another question, her skirt tight against her curves. "You're a nerd, huh?"

"Proudly," she said, sticking out her tongue. "Skyward Rebellion is about these rebels fighting a machine empire. The captain, Zara, is my hero. She's fearless but, like, human. Messes up sometimes. You'd like her."

"Sounds like my type," I said, smirking, my eyes on her as she answered another question, winning another token. The crowd cheered, and she turned to me, her face glowing with excitement.

"Two more, and I get the figurine!" she said, grabbing my arm. "Help me out. You know any anime trivia?"

"Nope, sorry."

"Aw, okay. It's fine."

We played a few more rounds, Nala nailing most of the questions, her enthusiasm infectious. She won the figurine—a tiny Zara with a plasma rifle—and held it up like a trophy. "Yes!" she said, doing a little dance, her skirt swaying, her ass catching my eye again. "This is going on my shelf."

"You're too good at this," I said, grinning, my mind flickering to Delilah for a moment—her body under me, her moans. I pushed it away, focusing on Nala. "What else we hitting?"

"Photo booth," she said, dragging me toward a setup with a Crimson Veil backdrop, a hooded figure painted behind it. "We gotta get a pic in our Zararo gear."

She struck a pose, mimicking a teacher's stern glare, her cap tilted playfully. I stood beside her, trying to channel Mr. Nawia's cool vibe, though my tuxedo felt lame.

"Smile, Mr. Nawia!" she teased, nudging me as the camera flashed. The photo printed, showing her grinning and me looking halfway decent. "Not bad," she said, tucking it into her bag. "You're kinda pulling off the tux."

"Kinda?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm killing it."

She laughed, shoving me lightly. "Keep dreaming. Come on, one last stop." We headed to an artist's alley, where tables were piled with fan art and handmade charms. Nala stopped at a booth with Starlight Odyssey sketches, her eyes lighting up at a drawing of Kaelia and Ryn kissing. "This is so them," she said, buying it. "Their chemistry is unreal. You gotta catch up, Evan."

"I'm sold," I said, watching her bend to sign the artist's guestbook, her skirt riding up again, her ass a fucking masterpiece. "You're making me an anime fan already."

"Good," she said, straightening up, catching my stare again and smirking. "You actually should be. It's so much fun."

Suddenly, a man stepped in front of Nala, towering over me, his sharp glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights, a disgusted sneer twisting his face like he'd smelled something foul. He had to be at least forty, but he looked sharp—tailored coat, slicked-back hair, aging like a goddamn movie star. Nala's expression shifted instantly, her eyes dropping to the ground, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, her hands fidgeting with her skirt.

"I knew I'd find you at one of these… these cartoon events," he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Disgraceful."

"Hey, hey," I said, raising a hand, my voice firm but calm. "Chill, man."

"Shut up while I'm talking to my sister, tuxedo boy," he spat, his eyes narrowing as he fixed them on Nala again. "Hope you're happy with that stupid costume, Nala."

She didn't respond, her face growing redder, her shoulders hunching as if she wanted to disappear. I could see the shame in her eyes, but it pissed me off—she didn't need to feel that way. This guy, her older brother, was just a jerk, tearing her down for no reason. He had no right.

I waited for her to say something, but she stayed silent, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. I exhaled, stepping between them, my jaw tight. "Let's all calm down, huh?" I said, keeping my tone steady.

"Who the fuck are you?" he hissed, shoving me aside with enough force to make me stumble. "Stay quiet while I—"

"Talk to your sister? Yeah, I get tha—"

"Evan, stop," Nala said, her voice small, barely audible, her eyes still on the ground. "Just… stop."

"Look how ridiculous you look," her brother said, stepping closer, grabbing the hem of her uniform, sneering. "What even is this? A cape?"

"It's just cosplay…" she mumbled, her voice shaky, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Are you an idiot, Nala?" he said, nudging her shoulder with his index and middle fingers, like he was jabbing her. "Get that costume off."

"I will…" she whispered, her hands trembling.

"Get it off now," he said, his voice cold. "Better to be naked than wear that fucking thing."

"Naked?" I snapped, my patience gone. "Chill the fuck out."

"Last warning," he said, his eyes glinting with menace. "Keep quiet."

Nala's eyes watered, and she started to lift her shirt, her hands shaking. I grabbed her wrists, stopping her, and pulled her behind me, my heart pounding. What the fuck? She was actually going to strip because this asshole told her to? What kind of toxic, controlling bullshit was this? My own family was fucked up, but this was next-level.

"Remove that costume now," he sneered, leaning around me to glare at her. "RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

"Shut it!" I yelled, shoving him back hard. "She's your fucking sister, man! What the actual fuck!"

He hissed, his hand darting to his belt, and before I could blink, he pulled out a goddamn gun, the barrel pointed at me.

"Shit!"

╭────────────────────╮

- SHOP

==========================

• Aphrodisiac Drink (10c)

• Silk Lingerie Set (25c)

• Sensual Massage Oil (15c)

• Mystery Pleasure Toy (30c)

• Flirt Potion (20c)

• Hypnotic Perfume (40c)

• Time Stop (90c)

• 500 Dollars (50c)

• 1 Ability Point (150c)

==========================

- Credits: 55c

- Select item to purchase.

╰────────────────────╯

Purchasing Time Stop for 90c, I activated it, the world freezing around me—cosplayers mid-step, a kid's balloon hovering, the noise of the convention hall silenced. His hand was on the trigger, the barrel aimed at my chest. I let out a shaky breath, grabbed the gun, and disarmed it with ease from my army training. I ejected the magazine and racked the slide, the chambered round popping out onto the floor, rendering the gun useless.

I rummaged through his pockets, finding his phone. Unlocking it with a quick glance at his frozen face, I checked his texts and notes. "Shit… you're the CEO of TechForge," I muttered, reading his messages. "And a cunt. Don't forget cunt."

There was a video labeled 'Useless.' I clicked it. The footage showed Nala in an office, arms behind her back, head bowed. A voice—his—came from behind the camera.

"You've filed a wrong report today," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice small.

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry for being useless."

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry for being useless."

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry for being useless."

The fuck? He kept asking, and she kept answering, the same phrase for half an hour. I fast-forwarded to the end. He stepped into frame, shook his head, and spat on her face, saliva dripping from her chin.

"Get the fuck out of my office right now."

"Y-yes."

"Don't wipe that spit. I want everyone to know how unreliable you are."

"Y-yes…"

The video ended. Holy shit. This was beyond fucked up. He wasn't just her brother—he was her abuser, treating her like garbage, controlling her like she was nothing. My stomach churned.

The ten-minute Time Stop was nearly up. I slipped the phone back into his pocket, positioned myself, and waited. As time resumed, I dropped the empty gun to the ground and swung, my fist connecting with his jaw. He stumbled back, eyes wide, blood trickling from his lip.

"W-when did you…" he stammered, confused, clutching his face.

"NO! EVAN, NO!" Nala screamed, shoving me back with all her strength, her voice cracking. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"Nala, I—"

"STOP! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!" Her eyes were wet, her face flushed with panic and shame as she turned and bolted, disappearing into the crowd of cosplayers.

The CEO wiped his mouth, glaring at me with venom. He reached for the gun, but I stepped on it, pinning it down. "Hey!" I shouted, waving at a security guard, a big guy with a mustache already heading over after Nala's scream. "Found a gun on the ground!"

The brother's eyes darted between me and the guard, his expression darkening. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and slipped away, vanishing into the crowd.

"Damn," the security guard said, picking up the gun. "I gotta report this."

"Please do," I said, my heart still racing, my fists clenched.

Fuck. Nala was in some deep shit. That video, her brother's abuse—it was worse than I'd imagined. I barely knew her, not even a week in, but I wanted to help. How, though? I was just some guy she'd met at a coffee shop.

"Fuck me," I muttered, walking away from the hot-dog stand, the convention's noise fading into a dull roar. "This sucks."

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