In the end, Myriad Dreams didn't dare walk down the street with her face exposed.
She bought a plain white mask from a roadside stall and covered most of her face tightly, as if doing so could shut out the inquisitive and gossiping gazes that might be cast her way.
She was now famous in the truest sense of the word. Those celebratory advertisements plastered all over the streets made her want to vanish on the spot.
'Sigh... it's really going to be hard to keep a low profile now...' she lamented inwardly.
Subconsciously, she shoved her hands into her pockets and hunched her back slightly, trying her best to minimize her presence.
She walked as close to the walls as possible, wishing she could simply become invisible.
As she walked, she suddenly realized something.
'Wait... this posture, with the mask and the hands in the pockets... why do I feel so much like... like the old version of Orfevre-senpai?!'
This discovery made her collapse even further.
'Doesn't this make me look even more like a member of the Gold Family?! Am I that afraid people won't recognize me?!'
Just as she was frantically critiquing her own camouflage skills in her head, a hearty, resonant laugh with a dramatic, theatrical flair echoed from behind her:
"Hahaha! What a fascinating sight! What is the matter, Myriad Dreams-san? Why adopt the posture of a night-stalker in broad daylight? Is this perhaps a bold new attempt at performance art?"
'That voice...!'
Myriad Dreams's body stiffened. She slowly turned around in disbelief.
Standing just a few paces behind her was T.M. Opera O, wearing her signature smile— one that looked ready to burst into a performance at any moment— as she observed her with great interest.
"O-Opera O?!" Myriad Dreams's voice cracked in surprise. "H-how did you recognize me?!"
She was clearly wearing a mask! Was her disguise really that big of a failure?
T.M. Opera O took an elegant step forward, tapping her temple lightly with a white-gloved finger, her eyes sparkling with all-seeing insight:
"Fufufu~ My dear Myriad Dreams, your disguise is a bit too... 'unrefined,' shall we say?"
She elongated her tone with a hint of well-meaning teasing.
"You merely donned a commonplace mask and attempted to hide by turning your back to the world. However—"
She reached out, gesturing vaguely toward Myriad Dreams's entire figure.
"That unique silhouette, your highly personal style of dress, and especially that long, beautiful, deep-sea blue hair that can be spotted instantly even in a crowd... such recognizability'cannot be hidden by a mere little mask!"
"In the eyes of someone truly familiar with you, you are like a... hm, a rather conspicuous blue butterfly trying to hide behind a single leaf?"
Myriad Dreams: "..."
She looked down at her everyday clothes, which indeed hadn't changed, then touched her fluffy long hair.
Finally, she resignedly and dejectedly pulled off the now useless mask, revealing a face that was dyed red with embarrassment.
"I guess... just wearing a mask really is useless..." She lowered her ears and weakly admitted her defeat.
In front of a senior with such keen observational powers as T.M. Opera O, her little tricks were practically child's play.
Watching her dejected appearance, T.M. Opera O couldn't help but laugh again, though this time her smile held more warmth and comfort.
"There is no need for such despondency, my young fellow traveler. Fame is both a burden and a crown of glory. Since it cannot be escaped, why not face it head-on?"
"Greet the spotlight that belongs to you with an elegant posture!"
She patted Myriad Dreams lightly on the shoulder, her tone full of senior encouragement.
"After all, you are a warrior about to step onto the stage of the Arc de Triomphe. Summon the spirit that matches such a feat!"
Looking at T.M. Opera O's infectious smile and feeling the strength in her words, the embarrassment and urge to retreat in Myriad Dreams's heart seemed to dissipate a little.
She took a deep breath, stuffed the mask into her pocket, and tried her best to straighten her back.
'Alright... since I can't dodge it, I'll just have to brave it out!'
Still, she couldn't help but mutter in her head:
'But Opera O... could you maybe not use a metaphor as conspicuous as a "blue butterfly" next time...'