Sunday arrived without haste.
The sky over Saitama was clear, a light, almost pale blue typical of mornings when the night's chill still lingered, but the sun already promised a pleasant day. There was no rush in the streets. Families walked slowly, shops opened calmly, and the city's rhythm seemed to perfectly match the kind of day that demanded no difficult decisions.
The train station was crowded, but not chaotic. The constant flow of people coming and going created a natural rhythm: students chatting loudly, couples holding hands, elderly people reading newspapers while waiting for the next train. Announcements echoed through the speakers in that calm, impersonal female voice, listing schedules and platforms.
Isagi stood near one of the pillars, leaning lightly against it, completely blended into the scenery. He wore simple yet elegant dark clothing: well-fitted black pants, discreet sneakers, a plain t-shirt, and a light jacket over it. His hair was styled naturally, and his posture was relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world.
His phone was in his hands.
On the screen, the numbers were climbing.
1,000,000 subscribers.
His main channel had finally reached one million.
Isagi let out a quiet sigh, almost a restrained laugh. There was no exaggerated celebration or dramatic shock. In truth, he was more excited about the money he would receive the following month—likely around ten million yen, or even more, considering the combined income from his three channels. Speaking of the others, the second channel had already surpassed three hundred thousand subscribers, while the third was quickly approaching two hundred thousand. For someone who, in his previous life, had many acquaintances in the media circle and had learned many secrets of YouTube's algorithm from them, making more than one channel take off was relatively easy; besides, if he had already succeeded once, why wouldn't he be able to repeat it twice more?
He switched between tabs, checking comments, likes, and shares. Recent videos were still exploding in views. The algorithm was on his side, and for the first time in a long while, he decided not to ignore it.
He opened the ads dashboard.
Without overthinking, he invested part of the money he had received from AdSense that month. Just enough to boost the right videos at the right times.
He confirmed.
He mentally noted that decision as yet another small piece in the puzzle he was slowly assembling.
Next, he uploaded the latest videos he had edited during the week. He adjusted titles, descriptions, and thumbnails. All with care...
When he finished, he locked the screen.
He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.
And waited.
A few minutes passed.
Then, amid the constant flow of people, a familiar figure came running through the station entrance.
"ISAGI-KUUUN!"
Her voice arrived before she did.
Marin appeared weaving through the crowd with quick steps, her backpack on her shoulders. She wore casual but carefully chosen clothes: a short skirt paired with tights, a light sweater, and an open jacket that moved with the breeze. Her blonde hair was loose, catching the morning light, and her face... well, her face practically glowed with excitement.
She stopped in front of him, slightly out of breath.
"Sorry! Sorry!" she said quickly, bowing slightly. "I lost track of time choosing my outfit and— ah! Good morning!"
Isagi smiled faintly.
"Good morning, Kitagawa-san..."
Marin straightened up, her eyes full of anticipation.
"Did you wait long?"
"No," he replied casually. "I just got here."
It was a lie.
But it didn't matter.
Marin broke into a huge smile, clearly relieved.
"Great! Because today is going to be amazing!" she said, already stepping closer, as if the distance between them was entirely optional. "Anime convention, cosplays, weird food, photos, everything! I barely slept!"
Isagi observed that overflowing energy calmly and simply said, "Shall we go, then?"
Marin nodded repeatedly, too excited to stand still.
"Let's go! Let's go now!"
And side by side, they headed toward the platforms, blending into the station crowd as the Sunday truly began.
The train arrived a few minutes later, gliding along the tracks with a low hiss before stopping at the platform. The doors opened, and the two boarded along with a few others.
There was no pushing or excessive hurry.
The car was relatively empty, with several free seats scattered around.
Isagi chose one of the side benches and sat down. Marin sat beside him almost immediately, resting her backpack on her lap. The doors closed, and the train began moving smoothly again.
For a few seconds, neither spoke. The gentle sway of the car, the rhythmic sound of the tracks, and the occasional announcements created a tranquil, almost overly comfortable atmosphere.
Isagi was the first to break the silence.
"Is the Shizuku cosplay in the backpack?" he asked, glancing discreetly toward it.
Marin looked down, as if only now remembering, and nodded energetically.
"Yes, it is!" she replied, hugging the backpack lightly. "Everything neatly folded, protected, no chance of wrinkling..."
She paused briefly and then continued, as if an idea had just struck her.
"Ah, but you might not really know how these cosplay events work..." she said, leaning slightly toward him, excited. "A lot of people go already fully dressed from home, with wig, makeup, everything ready."
Isagi kept his attention on her, listening in silence.
"But I prefer to change there..." Marin explained quickly, gesturing with one hand. "They always have a specific area for it. Like a big changing room just for cosplayers, with mirrors, tables, sometimes even help with wigs and stuff. It's much more comfortable... and less embarrassing too—not that I care what others think and I want everyone to see my love for Shizuku, but I prefer to get dressed calmly at the event..."
She finished, laughing lightly.
Her anxiety was evident. The words came out fast, her eyes sparkled, and her foot tapped discreetly, as if counting the minutes.
Isagi nodded once, understanding.
"I get it. Makes sense." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before adding, "It's similar to soccer, actually."
Marin blinked, surprised.
"Similar?"
"Yeah," he continued casually. "We usually arrive at the stadium wearing the uniform underneath—pants, jacket, everything zipped up. But the actual uniform is already on underneath. Then, in the locker room, you just take off the outer layers and adjust the rest."
He shrugged, as if it were obvious.
Marin stared at him for a few seconds, absorbing the comparison.
"...Wow," she said at last, smiling. "When you put it that way, it sounds so simple."
"It is," Isagi replied. "In the end, the logic is the same. Preparation beforehand, presentation in the right place."
The conversation flowed naturally after that.
For the rest of the trip, they talked about simple, light topics. Marin commented on the current season's anime, complained about endings that frustrated her, and praised others with exaggerated enthusiasm. Isagi listened, occasionally asking a question or making a brief observation, but always attentive. In return, he mentioned training and even vaguely noted that he was working on "some online projects," without going into details.
Time passed too quickly.
When the train slowed and the announcement sounded through the speakers, Marin leaned forward, already excited.
"This is it!"
They got off at Hoshimiya Station, a city located just a few kilometers from Sukisugi, known precisely for hosting cultural events and regional conventions.
Outside, the atmosphere was already different.
There were small groups of people carrying suitcases, large bags, poster tubes, and accessories too unusual to be casual.
Marin hailed a taxi almost immediately.
During the short ride, she could barely sit still, pointing out the window and commenting on themed cafés, temporary shops, and how the city always "got into the spirit" when there was a convention.
The taxi stopped in front of a large exhibition center.
Colorful banners covered the facade.
Isagi paid the fare, got out, and for a moment, simply observed. People everywhere. Some already fully in costume, others carrying parts of armor, wigs, fake wings, plastic swords...
Marin was already a few steps ahead.
"Isagi-kun! Come on!" she called, spinning on her heels. "This is going to be amazing!"
She started climbing the wide stairs leading to the main entrance almost skipping, full of energy. At the top, she stopped suddenly, spread her arms dramatically, and announced loudly, as if on a stage:
"Welcome to the paradise of otakus, cosplayers, and people with no shame about loving fictional characters!"
Isagi climbed the last steps and stopped beside her.
His gaze scanned the area with calm strategy. Hundreds of people. Costumes of all kinds. Characters he recognized at a glance, others completely unknown. Cameras, laughter, background music, constant flashes.
Marin turned her face to him, grinning from ear to ear. Eager to see his reaction, but disappointed to see only a slight raise of an eyebrow and a small smile—one that indicated genuine recognition.
"It's... impressive," he said at last, calmly. "It exceeded what I expected. Looks like it'll be fun."
Marin blinked once.
Then she pouted visibly, crossing her arms for half a second.
"That's it?" she asked, clearly expecting something more dramatic. "No jaw dropping? No 'wow, this is insane'?"
Isagi tilted his head slightly, as if reconsidering.
"I am impressed. I just don't usually react exaggeratedly."
She stared at him for a moment... and then lightly tapped his arm, laughing.
"Ugh, you've already gotten the spirit of the thing without even realizing! This is the kind of place you feel, not explain!"
Without giving him time to respond, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him fully into the convention flow.
The halls were filled with colorful stalls. Vendors called out their wares, tables displayed detailed figures, huge posters covered the walls, and music came from different points in the hall. Marin seemed in absolute ecstasy. Her eyes darted from side to side, recognizing characters, commenting on names, series, and details with contagious excitement.
"Isagi, look at that one!"
"It's perfect, the wig is identical!"
"Ahhh, I love that anime!"
She didn't stop.
At several moments, Marin approached different cosplayers, politely and enthusiastically asking for photos. Isagi watched everything calmly, holding her phone to help, taking pictures when asked, and staying discreetly by her side while she smiled for the camera, vibrating as if she were exactly where she belonged.
But no matter how much fun she was having, there was something she kept checking mentally the whole time.
The cosplay.
After another lap around the hall, Marin stopped suddenly and turned to him.
"Okay," she said, determined. "Now for the most important part."
She led him to a more reserved area, where signs clearly indicated the Cosplayers' Changing Room. There was a constant flow of people carrying suitcases and large bags, some already partially in costume.
Marin turned to him, gripping her backpack tightly.
"Wait for me here, okay?" she asked, with a smile full of anticipation.
Isagi nodded without hesitation.
"Sure."
She gave one last excited smile before disappearing into the changing room.
Isagi sat on one of the nearby benches, resting his arms on his legs, observing the movement around him with calm attention. People came and went, some nervous, others confident, all carrying a bit of that same anticipation.
Time passed curiously slowly. He checked his watch only once, then gave up. People entered and exited the changing room, some already fully in costume, others adjusting details on the way. Animated conversations, nervous laughter, the constant sound of zippers and hurried footsteps filled the space.
About twenty minutes later, Marin finally emerged from the changing room.
She was dressed perfectly as Shizuku; the cosplay was flawless. Not just because of the clothes—the dark dress, the delicate details, the way the fabric fell—but also the posture. The gaze. The slightly distant, almost melancholic expression, exactly like the character. Even the way she walked seemed straight out of the eroge, and that was what truly surprised him.
On the day he had brought the cosplay to her, Marin had practiced a lot, but she hadn't been this good at embodying the character—not nearly as good as she was now...
It was as if Marin had turned off part of herself to make full room for the character.
"...Wow," he said, before even thinking about it.
Marin blinked.
The Shizuku expression melted away instantly, replaced by wide eyes and a smile that practically lit up the hallway.
"Really?!" she asked, approaching quickly. "Did it turn out good?"
"It's perfect," Isagi replied honestly. "You don't just look like her. You became her."
Marin brought her hands to her face, clearly trying—and failing miserably—to contain her excitement.
"I knew it! I practiced the expression in the mirror for hours!" she said, laughing. Then she grabbed his arm without ceremony. "Come on! Let's go! I want photos! Lots of photos!"
She practically dragged him back to the main hall.
And as soon as she appeared among the crowd, the effect was immediate.
Heads turned. People whispered. Phones emerged from every direction. Some otakus, especially men, looked with perhaps excessive enthusiasm, drawn not only by the fidelity of the cosplay but by the fact that Shizuku was a character from an eroge.
Marin seemed aware of it... but not uncomfortable. On the contrary. She remained confident, smiling when people asked for photos, adjusting her pose naturally.
Isagi stayed by her side.
He didn't need to say anything.
A single colder, more direct look was enough for anyone who got too close to immediately rethink their courage. There was no trouble, no unpleasant situations because of it...
Isagi took dozens of photos.
Some posed, others candid. Marin switched expressions with absurd ease, alternating between the character's distant air and subtle smiles. Every so often, she ran over to him to check the result on the screen, praised it, asked for another, suggested a different angle.
The rest of the event flew by.
They wandered through more stalls, bought a few keychains and a poster that Marin insisted on rolling with exaggerated care. They ate something simple around noon—event food, nothing extraordinary, but it felt perfect in the moment. They laughed at strange cosplays, praised incredible ones, rested for a few minutes sitting on the floor against a wall.
At some point in the afternoon, Marin returned to the changing room.
When she came back, she was in her casual clothes again, the glow on her face a little more tired but still satisfied.
They took a taxi back to the station, Marin leaning against the seat, talking less than before but smiling whenever Isagi commented on the day.
When they arrived at Hoshimiya Station, the sky was already taking on warmer tones.
The event was behind them.
But the feeling of a well-spent Sunday still lingered.