“Oh yeah, one last thing,” Sofiane clapped his hands. “Clothing fitting.”

“Hah?” Natsuko said.

He looked her up and down. “You’re not showing up like that. Not happening.”

She swiped a bottle of whiskey and slugged a gulp from it before wiping her mouth. “No, we’re not playing dress-up, that’s what’s not gonna happen!”

Sofiane crossed his legs and sipped from his martini. “Natsu, Natsu, Natsu. Oh predictable Natsuko. No, see, you are, and I’ll tell you why. You are used to being an obscure nobody. Maybe there’s even some nobility in that humble existence. But that’s not gonna work here. Right now, other than Daisy, we’re all nobodies. Why would Yuna care about a grubby tomboy, her nerdy side-kick, a dork in the trenchcoat, and their moderately fashionable babysitter who’s been kicked to the curb? Why would anyone care!?”

While Sofiane was delivering his manifesto, Natsuko grabbed a handful of cinnamon sugar, tossed it in her mouth, and washed that down with another gulp that dribbled down her chin. “Okay. Consider this, puffball, why do I care if they care?”

“Because,” Sofiane said. “These special events are rigged. It’s a spectacle, not a competition.”

“D-Did we prepare all of that for nothing?” Shuixing said, her tone exhausted.

Sofiane sipped from his martini. “No, there will be card games and we’ll have to win them. What I mean is the matches aren’t pulled randomly. The organizers—the ones who take their orders from the Yishang—have to set up a narrative. There’s gotta be characters! Tension! Drama! If we don’t slot into their story we’ll get a bunch of shitty matches out-of-sight and maybe get lucky if we get matched up against Yuna in the final round if she makes it, which isn’t a guarantee. She’s a big-spender but she’s not necessarily the best card player.”

“So playing dress-up is supposed to make us the good guys of the tournament so that the organizers will match us up with Yuna?” Natsuko said, her eyes glazed over at the stupidity of it.

Sofiane swirled the olive in his glass. “Think about it, Natsuko. Glamorous big-spenders who have never played cards before show up and flaunt their opulence in everyone’s face and talk a big game? No, we’re gonna play the villains, and we’re gonna do it so well that our decadence will piss the Rebel General, Defender of the Downtrodden People off so much she’ll try to lift our money off us.” He thrust a finger at Natsuko with such force his martini almost sloshed over the rim of his glass. “That is how we’re going to get an audience with Yuna.”

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Natsuko said.

“We’re going to a highly-recommended tailor and you’ll wear whatever he tells you to wear,” Sofiane said.

“Or how about I don’t? The only thing I’m even there for is to whack someone with my bottle if there’s an emergency. Hell, I’d be better off dressed as the wait staff!”

“Believe me, I was really tempted to disguise you as a servant because I think you’d be perfect for the role, but alas, no, we need you in the entourage.”

After giving him the middle finger, she felt obligated to ask why.

“Because we’re making a statement, and the more exclamation marks you put on the statement, the more people have to pay attention to it. Why stop at three exclamation points when you can have four?”

“Bullseye!!!!!” Daisy said in enthusiastic agreement. The sprouting enthusiasm came from the deep roots of playing the Use-Ranking game for so long.

Natsuko slumped into a chair and pulled once again from the whiskey bottle. “I’ll wear something, but it won’t be a dress.”

Pechorin made some appropriate amount of grumbling to come across as a reluctant participant but, unlike Natsuko, it was a token effort at best.

“Erm, regarding your exclamation point math, does that include Daisy?” Shuixing asked.

“No. Daisy’s going on her own. Which is unfortunate, because this whole glamor thing would be much easier to pull off if we were all her guests rather than you all being mine, but the moment we associate with Daisy, the gossip mill starts, it gets back to Yuna through her informants, and she finds out that we’re working for her new sworn rival.”

“As of yesterday, apparently,” Daisy said with an eye roll.

“We would definitely get a match then, but her guard would be up, so it’s a no-go. Alright, all on the same page now? Good. Let’s go clothing shopping.”

The sun was setting as they walked to Sofiane’s chosen tailor. It flashed in their eyes whenever they passed a North-South street, with Tianzhou’s famous gridded streets providing a view straight to the harbor. Some of the streets started to look familiar, but she couldn’t place why.

The feeling in the streets was an anticipatory one. Nothing was happening yet, but the Non-Heroes were loosening up their strict patterns of behavior for the big event tomorrow. It astounded Natsuko that this was all for a yearly card tournament.

Eventually they arrived at Sima’s Silk Store, the street-level shop in a teetering five-story commercial complex. The shop assistant that greeted them traded in his smile for a frown the second he saw Natsuko.

“Oh no. Please, I don’t know where that fox is, okay? If you’re not going to buy silk…”

Sofiane turned to Natsuko and squinted. “What the hell did you do?”

“Uhh… I don’t remember. Listen, dude, we’re just here to get clothes. Although, if you do see that creepy ass fox again, call me,” Natsuko said.

“We have an appointment with Master Sima, 5pm,” Sofiane said.

“I-I’ll go get him,” the shop assistant said. “Please don’t knock anything over.”

Natsuko huffed at the accusation that she would deliberately knock something over while not either drunk or in combat. At the moment she was only pleasantly tipsy.

Master Sima came out of the back scarily fast. He was an old man in plain, conservative robes with a wispy white beard and a heavy stoop. Not at all the kind of person Natsuko would have guessed made high fashion for Heroes. He looked more like an old sect master looking for an apprentice to pass on his martial arts techniques to, rather than a tailor.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

His razor-sharp gaze sliced through Natsuko and made her feel naked in her default outfit. She half disliked and half respected the hell out of a Non-Hero that fierce.

“So,” Master Sima said, placing his arms behind his back. “This is what we’re working with? The Yishang summoned you in those clothes, I imagine.”

“Yeah, so what?” Natsuko said.

“Nothing. I was just thinking how much practice the Yishang have had since your generation. And I would wager that you three aren’t making the design calls?” Sima said, sweeping a gnarled, liver-spotted finger across Natsuko, Shuixing, and Pechorin.

“I’m absolutely getting a say in what gets put on my body, thank you,” Natsuko said.

Sima looked towards Sofiane who shook his head. He turned back towards Natsuko.

“And what’s your say?”

“I don’t— what do you mean what’s my say? I just get veto rights is all,” she said.

“Outfits, like all art, must begin and end with a well-defined vision, girl. Everything else is mere play. Do you have a vision for your outfit?” he said.

“What? No, I—”

“Then let an artist work. Mr. De La Nuit, I understand this is a smaller part of a larger statement to be made upon your entrance to the annual card tournament. Do you have a vision?”

Sofiane smirked. “Why, yes I do. This is going to be glamor and opulence with a hint of self-aware irony. These outfits need to say, “yes we’re losers, but we look better than you because we are better than you, so who are you?” do you follow me? Ostentatious. Obnoxiously so. And let’s see some regional pride and make these ensembles a glowing sign that says, “oh yes, my backstory, here you go, burn it into your retinas.” Work for you, Master Sima?”

The tailor’s leathery, wizened face crinkled into a smile. He shook his finger at Sofiane while staring at the other three. “That is a vision. Now, let us make it a reality. First, the measurements.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been measured before,” Shuixing said.

To Natsuko’s eternal embarrassment, not only did she know her measurements, but had made a point of making them known when she was starting to lose popularity because someone said that the Celestials cared about that sort of thing. Apparently, they did not.

“I’ll save you the trouble. I’m 28, top-to-bottom,” Natsuko said.

“A good thing you came to me then. I can even make wooden planks look beautiful,” Master Sima said.

“Hey, watch your tongue you rude geezer!”

“Or what, you’ll knock over more of my merchandise? I’m in the business of making people beautiful, not making them feel better. If you want that, the masseuse is two doors down,” Sima said. “Now, Ms. Shuixing, let’s get your numbers.”

Shuixing’s eyes were spinning with how fast the tailor was able to wrap measuring tape around her shoulders, arms, bust, waist, high and low hips, and neck

“We’ll do a hanfu for you, no doubt. A little more conservative, more cumbersome, more delicate, very refined, but you’re a scholar, right? I can tell by the robes. From Vermögenburgh? Let’s give you a little bit of “yes, headmistress” in there. I’m thinking a mid-calf hemline and some heeled boots which will match the indigo color we’re going for on the long skirt. White for the outer-garments and for the designs on the skirt… hmm… cranes would be the go-to, but I’m really feeling maple leaves and owls. What do you think?”

“O-Okay,” Shuixing said.

“Now, onto the gentleman here. You are from…”

“The Sibe-lands,” Pechorin said.

“Interesting, interesting. I’m new to working with their clothing,” Master Sima said, looking Pechorin over. “And it’s not showy. A lot of layers, very shapeless, very frumpy. Good colors though, although you seem to like black.”

“My clothing is a reflection of my soul,” Pechorin said.

“Your soul is very bland,” Master Sima replied. “Black is sharp. I’ll give you that. But you need something to off-set it. Some contrast. You want to keep the dangerous lone-wolf energy? I understand. More red then. We’ll do something martial too, but refined. A military officer with a dangerous level of detachment from the value of human life, I think.”

Pechorin shrugged.

“Good. We’ll have to borrow more from Deco-Imperia I think. They’ve simply got more fashion sense than steppe nomads. We’ll add in a little Sibe touch though. I’m thinking an Imperian tuxedo. Black suit, black shirt, but a garnet vest and tie with a thorny rose design. Give it a bit of luster so the light catches it. Then a blood-red boutonnière. Hell, let’s get you a copper wristwatch to go with it. Then some random bits of martial accoutrement for the Sibean angle. Sound good?”

“I am indifferent,” Pechorin said, lying.

“Your audience won’t be. Now, for you,” Master Sima said, shifting his gaze to Natsuko.

She glared. “Why does that sound like an insult?”

“Because you’re the type to take it as an insult. I don’t relish Mr. De La Nuit’s job of whipping you into presentation shape.”

“That makes two of us,” Natsuko said.

“Three,” Sofiane said.

Master Sima circled Natsuko like a vulture. It gave her the same kind of discomfort as when she thought too hard about why exactly there was an “Ero-Art” number at all. Instinctively she crossed her arms.

“It’ll be a kimono, obviously. That goes without saying,” Sima said.

“I told Sofiane, no dresses,” she said.

“Not a dress, a kimono. Specifically a short one. Mid-thigh length and—”

“No.”

Master Sima raised his hand up to stroke his beard for a moment, squinting at Natsuko. From his throat came the low rumbling of rumination on something. Shuixing and Pechorin shared an awkward glance but Natsuko’s eyes remained locked on Master Sima in a battle of wills. Sofiane wandered off to go look at shoes.

“You were Rank #1 at one time, weren’t you?”

“So what?”

“So, you played the game, which meant dressing up to grab the Celestials’ attention. You did a lot of that, I’d wager.”

Her knuckles curled into the skin of her crossed arms. “Yeah. Again, so what?”

“And it stopped working because you were already on the way out. And when it stopped working but you were still trying, that felt embarrassing. Humiliating, even. Am I close to the truth?”

Shuixing gasped. Sofiane turned away from the shoes and raised an eyebrow. Pechorin continued to do a good job faking indifference.

Natsuko growled. “No! I never gave a shit about dressing up. It was just something I had to do and I stopped when I didn’t have to do it anymore.”

Master Sima smirked. “I can see how it would be more comforting to believe that, but it’s a load of crap. The reason you’re putting up so much resistance is because you’re afraid of feeling that humiliation again. Refusing to play is your fallback position. It’s a bunker that you can’t be hurt in. But it self-reinforces. Let me tell you right now: You look like someone who wants to be irrelevant and powerless.”

“Screw you, asshole! Stick with clothes, your preaching career isn’t going anywhere,” Natsuko said, storming out of the clothing store. Shuixing rushed after her friend to calm her down.

Sofiane glanced at Master Sima. “I’ve been trying to avoid saying exactly that for that very reason, you know.”

The old tailor grumbled and tottered towards a desk with a drafting book on it. “I’ll tell you what I told her: I’m in the business of making people look beautiful, not feel good.”

Sofiane exhaled and rubbed his neck. “Okay, make the outfit anyway, and I’ll convince her to wear it. Somehow.”

Master Sima chuckled. “I’m thinking maybe a donkey design for the kimono. For the stubborn jackass.”