The First Convention, Part 4

Every single day, they waged toxic waifu wars over which female cosplayer was prettier and who truly deserved the crown of Back Gallery Empress.

They fought bloody, mud-slinging caste disputes over whether camera geeks or sweaty yuksu simps ranked higher on the food chain, and bickered incessantly about whether crop-sensor bodies or full-frame rigs truly belonged on the cosplay floor. Give them any topic under the sun, and the denizens of Dwit-gal would instantly splinter into rabid, feather-plucking fighting cocks.

Yet, even those chronic contrarians agreed on a single, indisputable axiom without a shred of dissent:

Remarkably, not a single soul dared challenge that universal truth. Having once bought a cup of sweet fried chicken at a convention and suffered through an agonizing, gut-wrenching aftermath the following day that I never wished to relive, I too had sworn a blood oath never to touch convention concessions again.

And yet...

Grumble...

"Ugh, I'm starving..."

Even the most solemn vows crumbled to dust in the face of raw, unrelenting hunger.

"You're seriously not eating?"

"..."

"I've gotta run my photo line again all afternoon, so I have to keep my stomach flat and eat light," ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Gina said, raising an eyebrow. "But you're not even holding a line, right?"

"Ugh..."

"Then why aren't you eating? Literally makes zero sense."

Watching Gina tease me by waving a crispy fried dumpling inches from my nose before smugly popping the whole thing into her own mouth, I couldn't endure the torture any longer. I hauled myself to my feet.

"Oh? Finally heading out to feed?"

"Just a tiny bite..."

"Right, right. Gotta eat well to keep all that boob fat intact."

"..."

Having successfully pressured me into surrender, Gina thrust her chest out with triumphant pride. Glancing from the towering fullness of my own twin peaks down to the hopelessly flat, smooth expanse of her runway torso, I couldn't resist offering a candid critique.

"Washboard."

"The hell did you just call me?!"

She knew damn well she was completely flat-chested, and she even leveraged it to her advantage when cosplaying petite characters. Yet the second I called her out on it, she went nuclear. Before she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could unleash her full wrath, I dashed out of the dressing lounge.

Just one thing, I promised myself. I'll eat exactly one item, and that's it.

Firm in that resolution, I stepped back into the bustling convention hall.

The first thing greeting my ears was the DJ booth.

"Flashback~ Anata no~"

"Anata no~!"

The crowd packed into the DJ zone seemed entirely immune to fatigue. From the opening bell right up to this moment, they had been belting out anime anthems at the top of their lungs, dancing their hearts out. I paused near the back to watch the seasoned veterans swinging their King Blade lightsticks, executing dizzying, lightning-fast otagei routines, when something caught my eye.

"Wait...?"

Smack in the middle of the sweat-drenched mosh pit stood the very man who had timidly asked me for a photo earlier.

"Stardust...!"

He had looked like a completely normal first-timer just an hour ago, yet here he was, acclimated at warp speed, shrieking the Japanese lyrics with every fiber of his being. His face shone with the radiant, unadulterated bliss of a lost wanderer who had finally discovered the promised land.

"Good for him."

Chuckling at the certainty that I would see him roaming future cons as a regular, I made my way toward the food truck zone set up along the adjoining wall. Fitting for an event swarming with thousands of people, the food trucks stretched in a long, bustling line. I narrowed my eyes and began scanning the illuminated menu boards with hawk-like scrutiny.

Judging purely by the names, they were foolproof festival classics that ought to taste good no matter what. But having been burned once before, I refused to let glossy banners and tempting descriptions lower my guard. Instead, I ducked into a secluded corner, angled my phone away from prying eyes, and opened Dwit-gal.

As expected, the overwhelming consensus was to stay far away.

"Is this beyond even Dwit-gal's collective wisdom...?"

Just as I sighed, ready to surrender and pick a relatively harmless grilled sausage, a fresh notification pinged.

"Cold kimchi noodles?"

Out of nowhere, an anonymous commenter had thrown out this completely unexpected dish.

"Noodles... at an anime convention...?"

The soul of any noodle dish lay in the texture of the noodles themselves. At a massive convention like this, vendors were guaranteed to prepare them in bulk, meaning proper temperature and firmness were almost impossible to maintain. That was why I had eliminated cold noodles from my personal shortlist right from the start. And yet, this guy was actively vouching for them?

Is this bait?

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. Right at that moment, another reply popped up.

The commenter advocating for the noodles had posted physical dimensions so unhinged they defied basic human anatomy.

Just another troll farming attention.

I was about to close the app and disregard him entirely, when a new thread landed at the top of the board.

"Whoa..."

He had dropped an actual, indisputable photo of his hand, confirming his gargantuan stature beyond a shadow of a doubt. Naturally, the comment section went into total meltdown.

Every single reply was drenched in reverent awe, users scrambling over each other to follow the esteemed culinary doctor's prescription. A prickle of urgency shocked my system. If this horde of gallery degenerates descended on the noodle truck at once, the queue would wrap around the hall.

As an unnerving number of people began shifting their course toward the noodle stand, I sprinted across the concrete floor, practically sliding into first place at the front of the line.

"One cup of cold kimchi noodles, please!"

"Coming right up~"

True to a high-turnover festival truck, the cup arrived in my hands within seconds.

Snap.

Drawing on the well-honed muscle memory of a convenience store clerk, I split the wooden chopsticks cleanly down the middle, lifted a generous tangle of noodles, and slurped them up.

The moment I tipped the cup and tasted that icy, crimson-tinted broth—

Tears almost welled in my eyes.

"Ah... the Doctor was right..."

From this day forward, Kim-mal-guk was my non-negotiable convention staple.

"Hmm..."

Having thoroughly refueled my energy reserves, I disposed of my trash and debated my next move. Heading back to the lounge was pointless; Aeru and Gina had already set out to establish their afternoon photo lines, and I had already browsed all the indie creator booths earlier this morning.

A massive corporate booth for a popular rhythm game remained, but...

"Whoaaaa...! Full combo!"

Just witnessing the serpentine queue of players waiting for a turn instantly drained my willpower. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't have hesitated for a split second to march straight into the cosplayer area and simp my heart out like a proper yuksu. But now? Wandering over there felt like an invitation to get cornered into an impromptu photo line against my will.

"Hmm..."

Drifting aimlessly through the hall, a banner abruptly caught my eye.

The sign seized my attention.

The Korea Dessert Fair.

It was an exhibition where artisanal patisseries, boutique cafés, and confectioners from across the country showcased and sold their handcrafted sweets. Intriguingly, it was run by the exact same company behind Ilsan Comic World, and as such, whenever Ilco ran, the Dessert Fair was held concurrently in the opposite exhibition hall. Of course, back when I was a guy, I had zero interest in sweets, and I had always been far too busy running around Ilco to ever set foot inside.

Guess they decided to mix things up.

Sharing an organizer, Ilco had evidently integrated a curated selection of Dessert Fair booths directly onto the main convention floor this time around. And by the looks of it, business was booming.

I swallowed hard at the dazzling lineup of confections. The old me wouldn't have cared in the slightest whether Ilco brought dessert booths or not. But now... was it because my hormones had shifted?

Deep within my core, an overwhelming instinct screamed at me to devour those gorgeous heaps of pure sugar this instant. Macarons—treats I previously wouldn't have spared a second glance at out of sheer terror of insulin spikes—looked impossibly, irresistibly delicious.

Gulp...

Swallowing the saliva pooling on my tongue, I cautiously steered my steps toward the confectionery stalls. It wasn't like I was actually going to buy anything... I just wanted to take a quick look and leave. They had worked so hard to craft such exquisite sweets; surely the least I could do was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠appreciate their artistry, right?

Mm-hmm. Strictly looking.

Clinging to the excuse that I was merely window-shopping, I stepped into the dessert aisle, enveloped by the rich, heavenly fragrance of warm butter.

"Thank you so much, miss! Have a wonderful day!"

"Huh...?"

What in the world just happened...?

I tilted my head in utter bewilderment, staring down at the mountain of desserts clutched in both arms. I had set out with the sole intention of seeing what sweets were on offer. Yet somehow, as I emerged from the booth lane, both my hands were overflowing with treat boxes and paper bags.

The variety was absurd.

Strawberry tarts, honey-glazed twisted donuts, sugar-crusted ring donuts, macarons, chocolate hotteok, and golden butter madeleines. To finish it all alone wasn't... entirely impossible, but it was unquestionably an overwhelming amount of food.

"..."

It seemed transforming into a girl had left me catastrophically vulnerable to sweets. Letting out a heavy sigh, I retreated to a quiet corner of the hall. Nobody had swindled or coerced me into buying these; my traitorous body had simply surrendered to the sugary aromas and gone on an unhinged shopping spree. Now that my sanity had belatedly rebooted, I wasn't shameless enough to march back and demand a refund.

I carefully set the haul on the floor so nothing would get crushed, then leaned my back against the wall.

"Guess I'll... have to share these with Gina and Aeru."

In my current state, I felt entirely capable of polishing off the whole pile, but doing so would go straight to my waistline. I decided I would taste just a tiny bit here, then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hand the rest over to Aeru and Gina.

"First up... the macaron..."

My fingers reached straight for a pastel macaron. I lifted it to my lips and took a delicate bite.

Crunch.

"...!"

The instant the meringue shell shattered with an airy, crisp crumble against my tongue, my eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock.

What is this flavor?

Why is this so insanely delicious?!

I had eaten macarons here and there back when I was a guy, but they had never tasted anything like this. Simply having my body swapped into a woman's made the sweetness feel euphoric.

Gulp...

Having annihilated the macaron in seconds, I swallowed down a rush of saliva and gazed at the remaining confections. From the glossy strawberry tart to the plump butter madeleines... every single one looked utterly, tantalizingly irresistible.

After agonizing back and forth in my head, my hand crept toward the next box.

Just one more... Let me try just one more...

Seriously, just this last one, and then I'll stop.

Probably.