Scaramouche stood amidst the buzzing sea of people at the anime convention, feeling the mask on his face grow heavier with each passing second. He adjusted it absently, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed over the surface. The costume was perfect—the Wanderer’s signature outfit, the dark blue hair, the intricate details. But despite his careful preparation, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

He wasn’t like the other attendees. They laughed and posed for photos in groups, completely lost in their own worlds. But Scaramouche couldn’t seem to immerse himself in the spectacle. He’d come to experience this new hobby, to enjoy a world of fantasy, but the crowds felt suffocating. The noise, the energy—it all pressed in around him, and his own quiet isolation felt more pronounced than ever.

He adjusted his hat once again, hoping to disappear into the background. Maybe he should’ve stayed home.

And then, as if the universe had decided to test him, someone approached.

"Wanderer......"

The voice was soft at first, almost a whisper, but it was filled with an unmistakable spark—an excitement that stopped him dead in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat.

Scaramouche slowly turned toward the voice, eyes narrowing beneath the mask. He didn't speak—didn't know what to say. The girl who stood before him was... glowing. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with excitement, a look he hadn’t expected to see aimed at him.

Scaramouche didn’t speak. He couldn’t find the right words. All he could do was watch her, as if frozen in place by the intensity of the moment. His heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts racing, yet still unable to form anything more than a distant, silent acknowledgement.