Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Cosplay Origins and Crushing Defeat
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The origins of cosplay can be traced back to around 1930.
In 1939, at Worldcon in New York, sci-fi writer Forrest J. Ackerman wore a futuristic alien costume made by his partner and fellow fan, Myrtle R. Douglas. Many consider this the starting point of cosplay as a concept.
But if we're looking for a more specific origin, it has to be the 18th Worldcon held in Pennsylvania in the 1960s.
From then on, the trend of copying and wearing the exact outfits of beloved characters from novels spread. It jumped to Japan and evolved into the cosplay culture we know today.
And it seems like I, Phantom, was the one who truly kicked off cosplay culture in this world.
'Otaku holy land, and that's no exaggeration.'
From protagonists and leads all the way to supporting characters and even extras that even I, the author, can barely remember.
A massive crowd had gathered, everyone pouring their souls into handmade costumes and makeup.
Indeed, no matter the world or era, otaku gonna otaku.
Nothing could stop their passionate immersion.
'...But the win is mine, my poor fans.'
I admired my own perfect Brutus cosplay—something even I was proud of—and let a faint smile of victory play on my lips.
'No matter how hard you fly and crawl, you're just isekai folks!'
Meanwhile, I came from a world where all the play's characters were real historical figures.
There was no way mere isekai natives could outdo my expertise.
I'd just tossed out the bait!
And you'd all bitten hard!
"Next participant, Balthazar Arture! Please come up to the stage!"
"Yes, coming right up."
Recalling the famous line from that movie The Wailing, I chuckled quietly to myself.
Poor mortals who'd been duped by the fictional Phantom and come this far.
Now it was time for the author himself to snag the grand prize with a godlike performance.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ ...I lost.
And I lost overwhelmingly.
Third place, twentieth place—whatever, even Charlie Chaplin made a notable ranking.
I came in dead last.
Not a single fan voted for me, the playwright himself.
I was so mortified I thought my legs might give out from under me.
Dead last! Not first, not tenth, not even hundredth—absolute bottom!
'I'm the author! Even if I hid my identity, I'm still the damn author!'
No matter how bad my acting skills, this was ridiculous!
For reference, the final results had the princess in first and Senior Rosalyn in second.
In a cosplay contest full of male characters from the play, the women took the top spots. A bizarre outcome.
...Fuck. Isn't this rigged?
She probably snagged a ton of votes just by flashing her princess status.
Who'd dare embarrass the heir to the throne unless they were an idiot?
'Still, the quality was undeniable.'
Senior Rosalyn had cosplayed Julia Caesaris, Caesar's only daughter.
She'd married the great Pompey in a political alliance but died young in childbirth—a tragic figure.
To heighten the tragedy in Caesar's saga, I'd portrayed her as wise and kind, with plenty of screen time. Her image perfectly matched that of a fairy-tale heroine of sorrow, just like Senior Rosalyn.
The costume and makeup captured every detail from the play, down to the subtle expressions and gestures.
It was method cosplay so convincing, you could've sworn it was the real Julia from history, not Rosalyn Wenford.
But next to the winner, Diana, it all paled in comparison.
"So you're the infamous Phantom everyone's buzzing about?"
Diana von Klauzewitz lounged on the reception room sofa in full Egyptian queen regalia, casually lifting the corner of her mouth.
Beautiful, elegant, her sensually captivating figure made it hard to look away as she smiled slyly.
"Pleasure to meet you in person. I'm Diana, princess of the Holy Empire."
"I know, Your Highness. How could I not recognize your noble visage?"
I forced a calm demeanor and offered polite pleasantries.
Her voluptuous yet refined beauty kept throwing off my gaze.
"An artist in a mask and black cloak. Quite the aesthetic taste."
Diana eyed me intently, her eyes gleaming.
"The cloak I get, but why the mask? Just to hide your identity?"
"I suffered severe burns in an accident long ago. If I removed it, Your Highness might be quite displeased."
I recited my prepared backstory and unwittingly swallowed hard.
Cleopatra was renowned across East and West as Egypt's greatest beauty.
This had been fully reflected when designing the costume for her actress.
Preserving authentic Egyptian flair while blending in just the right amount of male fantasy and orientalism.
Not overly lewd, but maximizing the sensual allure that defined Cleopatra—I'd put real effort into it.
And now, the empire's sole princess had recreated it 100% and was sitting right in front of me.
'Even Killigrew's actress as Cleopatra wasn't this intense.'
Truly, fashion's pinnacle is face and physique?
Plump, luscious thighs and full, prominent breasts.
A slim yet toned waist and slender deer-like calves.
And delicate ankles that seemed like they'd snap with a light tap.
Her sync rate was so perfect, you could almost believe this world's Cleopatra was her.
The only tiny flaw? Her hair was sparkling gold like the late empress's, and her eyes lime-green.
'...Well, Cleopatra was a descendant of the Ptolemaic dynasty, inheriting Greek blood anyway.'
Honestly, who knows?
She might've had blonde hair and green eyes like Diana instead of black.
In a world that insists a perfectly fine Egyptian queen was a black woman with an Afro, anything's possible.
"You're awfully quiet. For a fan meet as the prize, it's a bit anticlimactic, no?"
Then, with a soft hum, Cleopatra—no, Diana—let out a delicate sniff and chided me.
"Don't tell me you're not interested in me? I have quite the fascination with you."
"My apologies. As a lowly playwright by birth, I seem tense in the presence of royalty."
"Hehe, no need to be nervous. This is just me attending as your ardent fan. Right now, I'm not the princess—just one woman. A writer can't treat a supporter so stiffly."
"Excellent advice. I'll keep it in mind, Your Highness."
Hahaha. I responded with a hearty, insincere laugh and reached across the table.
Pop! I uncorked the champagne prepared for the fan meet and filled her glass.
Sparkling wine I'd stashed away to sip leisurely by myself. What a waste.
"So, Your Highness, what about you? Any questions for this humble soul? Curiosities about me or my future plans? Ask away without hesitation."
"Hmm, without hesitation?"
She sipped the champagne I'd poured with refined grace, narrowing her eyes.
And the next instant.
"Academy life treating you well, Phantom?"
A total bombshell detonated right in my face, completely out of left field.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "The academy? What do you mean by—"
"No need to dodge. I've already confirmed you're an academy student."
Pure bluff with zero evidence. In crude terms, bluffing.
Diana couldn't verify if Phantom was truly an academy student on her own.
She hadn't mobilized any official authority yet—just relying on pure deduction to pinpoint his identity.
So why bluff like this? Simple.
'As expected. He is an academy student.'
It was solely to probe Phantom's reaction.
If he truly wasn't, there'd be no need to respond to her question.
But the expression hidden behind that mask had undoubtedly flickered for a split second.
Diana, with her keen eyes, hadn't missed the tiniest gap.
"Probably first or second year? You habitually use words unique to Brond students, but your vocabulary isn't as vast as an upperclassman's."
And with his academy status confirmed.
"That sturdy build you can't fully hide under the cloak must be hereditary. Plus, the calluses on your palms scream martial noble house. Only hands swinging swords or spears get that rough."
There was zero reason to hesitate now.
"Yet I recall no Brond student with severe facial burns. So the injury story's obviously a lie. And this light brown hair? Magic dye to temporarily change color. Magic products always leave traces after use."
"..."
"But off-the-shelf stuff can only tweak saturation, not fundamentally alter the hue. Factoring in brown tones narrows the candidates even further."
"..."
...He's calm.
As if he hadn't heard a word.
Diana von Klauzewitz still held the reins of the conversation.
But inwardly, she was quite surprised by Phantom's demeanor.
'No further agitation even when cornered like this?'
Even under personal pressure from the empire's princess?
As expected of the heretic who ignored fan letters from high society.
Stunned by Phantom's unexpected boldness, Diana momentarily lost her words.
His unflinching attitude melted away any lingering resentment.
She lifted her head again, driven by deeper curiosity toward this man called Phantom.
And a faint, hard-to-define fondness.
"Well then, who might be hiding behind that mask?"
Leaning forward slightly, Diana smiled seductively.
Like a brazen female cat or a haughty fox, her index finger gently traced Phantom's jawline.
"Should I guess myself, or would you rather reveal your true identity honestly now?"