The next morning.
I woke up in my futon, stared at the ceiling, and whispered to no one:
"What should I do… seriously, what should I do…?"
Rafine is here.
In Magikosmaia.
Alone.
Looking for me with the scariest smile in the world.
I almost crawled back under the blanket and pretended the world didn't exist.
But today was the day.
Eve's shopping trip.
The price for my Ancient Artifact Exhibition ticket.
No matter how many princesses were hunting me, I was not giving that up.
So I met Eve at the meeting spot wearing full Magical Disguise + red hair + the cursed Hanamegane (just in case).
She took one look at my paranoid twitching and sighed.
"You look like you're about to be executed."
"I might be."
She disappeared for two minutes and came back with a full set of gleaming silver full-plate cosplay armor and a closed helm with a dramatic T-visor.
"Put it on."
"…How much?"
"Free. Wear it."
I wore it.
Now I looked like a walking tin can.
Face completely hidden.
Perfect.
Eve nodded, satisfied.
"Yup. Cool."
I love armor anyway, so no complaints.
Ten minutes later we stood in front of the store she picked.
The sign read: **Lunéclat**
Normal-looking from the outside.
Definitely not the ultra-luxury boutique I'd feared.
"…Huh. I expected something ten times more expensive."
"I thought you'd drag me to some royal tailor and bankrupt me."
Eve pouted.
"Expensive doesn't mean good."
She marched in like she owned the place.
And then the fashion show began.
First outfit: light-blue one-piece with subtle white embroidery.
"Copper…?"
"…I mean, it looks good?"
Eve stared.
Second outfit: light-blue dress with slightly different sleeves.
"This?"
"Also good?"
Third outfit: light-blue cardigan combo.
"This?"
"Looks good?"
The curtain slammed shut so hard the rod rattled.
Next second, Eve grabbed my helmet with both hands and squeezed.
"Answer. Seriously."
Her blank face was scarier than any dragon.
"I-I am serious! They all look the same to me!"
Eve's eyes narrowed to slits.
"If you can't tell the difference, you're no better than a mirror."
She lectured me for five straight minutes about "silhouette balance," "color temperature," and "fabric drape."
I understood exactly zero words.
Eventually she sighed like a disappointed teacher.
"Fine. Next one will be obvious."
She vanished into the fitting room with an armful of clothes.
I sat there in full plate armor, sweating.
Rule #1 of survival: when a girl says "this next one will be obvious," you better have an opinion or you die.
Curtain opens.
Eve stepped out.
Black off-shoulder mini-dress, silver belt, thigh-high boots, hair tied high, a single long earring swaying.
The entire store went silent.
Even the shop clerk dropped her measuring tape.
Eve looked at me with the tiniest hint of uncertainty.
"…Well?"
I swallowed.
My brain short-circuited, rebooted, and produced the only honest answer.
"You look illegally good."
Eve's ears turned pink.
She quickly hid her face behind the curtain again.
A muffled voice came out.
"…That's acceptable."
I exhaled in relief.
Mission "don't die in a clothing store" → barely cleared.
She changed into six more outfits after that.
Every time she stepped out, I gave increasingly detailed compliments just to be safe.
- "That skirt makes your legs look like they go on for three days."
- "The ribbon placement is perfect—symmetrical but not boring."
- "If you wear that in public, traffic accidents will triple."
By the end, Eve was hiding small smiles behind her hand, cheeks faintly red.
She bought eight outfits.
Total damage: surprisingly reasonable.
As we left the store carrying a mountain of bags (I was the pack mule, obviously), Eve glanced up at me.
"…Thanks for coming. It was… fun."
I shrugged inside my armor.
"Anytime. As long as the ticket's safe."
Eve nodded, then muttered under her breath:
"…Next time I'll pick something even more obvious."
I felt my soul leave my body again.
There's going to be a next time?!