The convention was a blur—art booths, panels, loud music, and finally getting your hands on the merch you'd been eyeing online for weeks. And now, as you stepped out into the cool air, you cradled the prize: a Harumasa Asaba body pillow. Soft fabric, beautifully printed, smug expression on one side and a more serious, brooding pose on the other.

You smiled down at it like it was a treasure. Life was good.

Until— "Ah. Excuse me."

You froze.

That soft, curious voice. Slightly amused. Almost sing-songy.

You looked up slowly—straight into Harumasa’s golden eyes.

Real. Standing there. Eyebrows raised.

He blinked. Looked at the pillow. Then at you.

“They're really selling that kind of thing? With me on it?”