My First Convention (2)
Beep-beep-beep.
Beep-beep-beep!
The shrill morning alarm assaulted my ears without mercy.
“Nnnh…”
Trapped in a hazy daze between sleep and consciousness, I flailed an arm blindly across the mattress, desperate to silence the noise drilling directly into my eardrums. But whether it was the curse of trading a man’s frame for a shorter, petite woman’s proportions, my fingertips scraped empty air no matter how far I stretched.
“Ugh, come on…”
Defeated, I dragged my torso upright, finally slapped the alarm off, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes to check the time. 7:48 AM.
Back when I was just another sweaty yuksu simp, this was the exact moment I’d turn off the alarm and blissfully dive back under the covers for another hour of shuteye. But today, I was attending as an actual cosplayer, which meant an exponentially longer preparation ritual. If I didn’t get moving right this second, being late was a mathematical certainty.
“Mmgh…”
Hauling my sluggish, heavy limbs out of bed, I shuffled straight into the bathroom. Standing before the mirror, I began washing up with movements that had grown surprisingly second nature.
The warm water cascaded from the showerhead, drenching me from head to toe as I scrubbed every inch of skin squeaky clean. I was particularly meticulous today. After all, I was heading to the venue disguised as Evrina, my absolute favorite character in the entire universe. I was making this pilgrimage to spread her glorious name to the masses, and the last thing I wanted was for anyone to remember her as an unwashed, smelly character.
Squish… squeeze…
I paid obsessive attention to the deep curve under my bust and the narrow valley of my cleavage. These heavy F-cups trapped an astonishing amount of sweat throughout the day, making them a high-priority hazard zone.
Once every inch was thoroughly cleansed and dried, I applied an even layer of sunscreen before donning the universal armor of every female cosplayer in transit: a sleek black face mask and a low-brimmed black cap.
“Phew… all set!”
Time to roll. Grabbing the handle of the compact rolling suitcase I had painstakingly packed the night before, I stepped out the front door.
The GTX-A high-speed line departs straight from Seoul Station.
Virtually every major subculture convention in South Korea takes place at KINTEX, and historically, getting out to Ilsan was an absolute logistical nightmare. But ever since the GTX line cut through the metropolitan sprawl, the mental hurdle of traveling to KINTEX had vanished almost overnight. I wouldn’t be surprised if the recent explosion in convention attendance was directly tied to this very train.
Man, it’s packed.
The commuter car was crammed so tightly that finding room to plant both feet was a minor miracle. Given that the community had just suffered through a long off-season drought, everyone and their mother seemed to be turning out for this event. Wedging myself into a relatively quiet corner, I wrapped a protective arm around my rolling suitcase and let my mind wander into a blank stare.
Seoul Station to KINTEX took a mere seventeen minutes. Even for an introvert like me who detested suffocating crowds that drained my life force, seventeen minutes was child’s play.
Damn, that’s fast.
I passed the time by idly tracking the digital speedometer on the bulkhead display.
Sniff, sniff…
Suddenly, the distinct, sour musk of damp laundry that had never quite dried properly began creeping through the air, teasing the edges of my nostrils.
Ah, that familiar scent.
Honestly, it wouldn’t feel like a proper anime convention without it. In a twisted way, that pungent aroma was the ultimate confirmation that I was truly en route to the holy land.
Hooking a finger under the hem of my black mask, I yanked it up flush against the bridge of my nose, sealing out the air.
Much better. I can actually breathe.
I normally wandered around barefaced and had half-regretted wearing the mask because it felt stuffy, but it had just earned its keep ten times over. I spent the remainder of the ride playing amateur detective, casually darting my eyes around the cabin to pinpoint the source of the biological hazard.
As if bonded by a single hivemind, half the seated passengers rose in unison. A dense swarm shuffled toward the exit doors, each person jockeying for a half-step lead.
Escaping the deep underground station efficiently hinged entirely on catching the elevators. Since there were only a handful available, missing a cycle meant eating a brutal delay on the endless staircases. Everyone was desperately angling to shave off those crucial seconds.
Of course, scrambling like headless chickens was the hallmark of an amateur. True veterans never squandered precious stamina on the commute.
Even if you sprinted ahead, all that awaited you at the venue entrance was a gargantuan, soul-crushing ticket queue. If you burned through your stamina pool now and then stood baking on the asphalt for two hours, you’d be a hollow corpse before the convention even began. Conserving your energy by moving at an unhurried, measured pace was the mathematically superior strategy.
I leaned casually against the partition, waiting patiently until the desperate throng surged past, before rolling my suitcase out onto the platform. Just as I reached the elevator bank at a leisurely stroll—
Ding.
“Talk about perfect timing.”
The elevator doors slid open right in front of me. With the initial wave already cleared, the cabin was blissfully empty.
Surfacing from the station into the crisp morning air, a short walk brought the colossal silhouette of KINTEX into view. Having made this pilgrimage countless times over the years, the sight of those mammoth exhibition halls triggered an instant wave of domestic comfort, almost like returning home.
Click.
Performing the mandatory pre-event ritual I had observed for years, I snapped a quick exterior shot of KINTEX on my phone before stepping through the glass entrance.
The interior concourse was already buzzing with electric, chaotic noise. From the main threshold onward, cosplayers sporting vibrant wigs of every neon hue and sweeping, elaborate armor sets hurried back and forth. It felt as though I had taken a single step across a threshold and tumbled headfirst into a fantasy realm.
Back in my yuksu days, my hawk eyes would have already locked on target, sweeping the perimeter to spot high-tier cosplayers to politely queue up for photos. But today, I was on the other side of the camera lens. Before I could even think about setting foot on the main hall floor, I had critical preparations to handle.
“Uh… is it this way?”
Trailing my suitcase behind me, I navigated the winding hallways until I finally spotted the ascending escalator. Stepping onto the tread, I rode it up toward the second floor.
The moment I reached the upper landing, I instinctively paused at the sight of several cosplayers lounging openly in the foyer chairs. The second floor of KINTEX was universally recognized as an unwritten sanctuary—a quiet zone reserved exclusively for cosplayers to rest and regroup. As a rule of basic decency, male fans and photographers rarely ventured up here to avoid intruding. Rumor had it that any overzealous otaku caught loitering up here would be dragged through the mud on Twitter within the hour.
Because of that unspoken taboo, even an experienced convention rat like my past self had never dared set foot on this floor.
Well, I’ve got legitimate business today anyway.
Not only had I officially re-classed into a cosplayer myself, but Aeru and Gina had also pooled their funds to rent out a private dressing lounge and invited me up. I had every right to be here.
“Room 203…”
Muttering the room number from my direct messages, I wandered through the maze of rental suites until I finally located the door labeled 203. I pushed it open.
“Oh! You’re here?” Aeru called out.
“‘Sup,” Gina muttered without looking up.
Having arrived well ahead of me, the two veteran sisters were already deep into their preparation routines. Their hands moved with the terrifying, practiced efficiency of seasoned pros, applying layers at a blistering pace I couldn’t dream of replicating.
Incredible…
Staring in genuine awe at their mechanical precision, I claimed a patch of floor in the corner and began unzipping my luggage. Even though I had only purchased the absolute baseline essentials recommended by YouTube tutorials for beginners, the assortment of palettes, brushes, and setting sprays managed to swallow the entire floor around my knees.
“Right… let’s do this.”
Following the regimen I had rehearsed at home, I started with Evrina’s signature emerald-green colored contacts. Gently resting the thin film on my fingertip, I popped it over my pupil. Instantly, my dark gaze bloomed into the striking, crystalline green of my beloved heroine. Wearing contacts was something I had done back in my male days, so that part was smooth sailing.
The real nightmare began now.
Drawing a deep breath, I picked up my tools, desperately trying to recall the step-by-step videos I had watched late into the night. Thanks to the biological cheat code of whatever supernatural force had reshaped me into an absurdly gorgeous girl, my natural skin canvas was utterly flawless—no acne, no dark circles, and not a single blemish in sight. Objectively speaking, I required far less foundation and concealer than the average person.
Even with that massive head start, actually applying makeup felt like trying to defuse a live bomb with chopsticks.
“Wait, the eyeliner brush slipped…”
“Pfft! Ahaha! What on earth is that?! Your eyebrow looks like a dying caterpillar!”
“…”
Having two veteran spectators finish their own faces early just to pull up front-row seats to my struggle did absolute wonders for my anxiety. Aeru was biting her lip, visibly trembling as she fought to keep a straight face, while Gina had completely given up on manners and was howling with unrestrained laughter.
The two sisters traded a brief, knowing look before snatching up the brushes and palettes scattered across my floor.
“All right, stand back. The drill sergeants are taking over,” Aeru declared with a radiant grin.
“We usually charge exorbitant fees for private lessons, rookie,” Gina chimed in, brandishing a contour brush like a scalpel. “Watch and learn.”
Sporting matching, supremely confident smirks, the duo closed the distance until their faces were inches from mine. And then, the real sorcery began.
“Is that… really me…?”
“Well? Insane, right?”
“Honestly, working on a canvas this naturally gorgeous makes makeup feel like playing on easy mode.”
What had taken me two miserable hours of trial and error at home, this duo had demolished in a breezy twenty minutes. The end result didn’t just look decent—it was a masterpiece. The sharp, striking allure of Evrina’s icy gaze was brought out to perfection, perfectly balanced with my natural facial contours. If either of them ever decided to quit cosplaying, they could easily rake in millions as professional makeup artists.
“I need to pay you guys. Um… what’s the going rate for a pro makeup commission?”
Reaching toward my purse, I felt a heavy twinge of guilt at accepting this level of labor for free. But before my fingers could graze the zipper, Aeru vigorously waved both hands in dismissal.
“Come on, don’t be ridiculous! What kind of friend charges money just for doing a little makeup?”
“I know, but… it feels completely wrong not to compensate you for this.”
“Forget the cash! Just snap a photo with us instead. If I post a selfie with you on my feed, the likes are going to explode through the roof.”
Likes. Or as the Twitter denizens called it: heart-tapping.
The blue bird app’s ultimate currency, notorious for driving countless insecure cosplayers into spiraling mental breakdowns over engagement metrics. I couldn’t help but tilt my head. Would slapping my unfamiliar face onto Aeru’s established feed really pull in that kind of engagement? If anything, wouldn’t her dedicated followers be annoyed to see a random rookie cluttering her timeline?
“Hurry up, squeeze in!” Aeru insisted, cutting off my internal musings.
“O-Okay.”
Swept up in their momentum, I let myself be steered toward the front camera. With three female cosplayers huddled together, our faces completely dominated the smartphone display.
Perhaps because we were all girls, their physical boundaries were nonexistent. Both Aeru and Gina plastered themselves against my sides, practically wrapping their arms around my waist and pressing their shoulders flush against mine. Aeru raised the phone high, tilting her wrist back and forth to hunt for the optimal flattering angle before calling out brightly:
“Here we go~ One, two, three—!”
Click. Click. Click.
Like the seasoned veterans they were, Aeru and Gina effortlessly cycled through a dazzling repertoire of poses—cheek hearts, playful winks, and adorable head tilts. Meanwhile, I stood wedged between them like a wooden statue, holding up a stiff, awkward peace sign.
“Hey, why are you so rigid? Relax your face!”
“I don’t really know how to pose yet…”
While Aeru and I huddled over the screen to inspect the photo roll, Gina casually cleared her throat and began shuffling backward toward the exit.
“Ahem! Well, I’m gonna go set up my photo line down in the courtyard. Catch you guys at lunch~”
I stopped scrolling through the photos and reached out with blinding speed, snagging her slender wrist mid-stride.
“…”
Gina froze in place, her eyes darting frantically toward the ceiling with the unmistakable posture of a guilty criminal.
“Hey,” I said, narrowing my emerald eyes at her. “When you were pretending to hug me for the photo just now… you definitely squeezed my chest, didn’t you?”
“Uhh… caught red-handed?” Gina offered a weak, shameless grin, sticking the tip of her tongue out.
I let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
Good grief. Fellow women are honestly the biggest degenerates of them all.