The sun was barely up when Yuki barged into Haruto’s living room, her eyes gleaming with excitement and her hands filled with fashion magazines. Haruto groaned, still half-asleep on the couch. Today, apparently, was “Costume Fitting Day,” a day he hadn’t agreed to but couldn’t seem to escape from.

“We need the perfect outfits!” Yuki declared, flipping through pages of wild and extravagant costumes. “A film is nothing without style.”

Haruto, still in his pajamas, scratched his head. “Isn’t the story more important?”

“Not when you’re wearing "that",” she pointed to his baggy hoodie.

And so, the gang found themselves at a local costume shop, searching for the most over-the-top ensembles they could find. The store was a maze of glittering fabrics, feathery boas, and ridiculous hats. Yuki was in her element, dramatically pulling out gowns and capes like she was on a runway.

As Yuki fussed over a particularly garish pirate outfit, Haruto drifted into a flashback. He was back in middle school, on what he considered the most humiliating day of his life—School Dress-Up Day.

He had dressed as a knight, thinking he would be the coolest kid in school. Unfortunately, his armor was made of cardboard, and by the end of the day, it had rained, leaving him looking like a soggy, sad mess. Yuki had been there too, wearing an elaborate princess dress and stealing the spotlight as usual. The memory still made his cheeks burn.

Back in the present, Haruto was jolted out of his thoughts by Taro’s arrival. The conspiracy theorist had outdone himself—he was wearing a trench coat covered in question marks, a tinfoil hat, and sunglasses that were far too large for his face.

“What in the world are you wearing?” Daichi asked, eyebrows raised.

Taro adjusted his tinfoil hat and grinned. “I call it the ‘Truth Seeker Ensemble.’ It’s a metaphor.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“A metaphor for what? Bad taste?” Daichi muttered.

Yuki waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, I love it. It’s bold, it’s mysterious. You’re keeping it.”

As the group continued their chaotic shopping spree, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Well, well, well. Look who’s here.”

It was Misaki, flanked by her ever-perfect entourage, all of them dressed in sleek, fashionable clothes. She glanced at the bizarre array of costumes in their shopping cart, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “Are you guys seriously going to wear that? You’re going to look like clowns.”

Yuki, never one to back down, crossed her arms. “It’s called creativity, Misaki. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

Misaki smirked. “We’ll see who’s laughing when we win the festival.”

The group moved on, determined not to let Misaki get under their skin. They tried on a series of increasingly ridiculous outfits, one more absurd than the last. Yuki insisted on a bright pink gown covered in feathers, while Taro tried to convince everyone that his tinfoil hat had “scientific significance.”

Haruto found himself staring at a neon green jumpsuit that looked like it had escaped from a 1970s sci-fi movie. “Do we… really need all this?”

“Absolutely!” Yuki declared, adjusting a feathered tiara on her head.

Daichi, ever the realist, was not having a good time. Every outfit Yuki pulled for him seemed more ridiculous than the last. One was a sequined tuxedo, another a cape made entirely of velvet.

“I’m not wearing this,” Daichi said flatly, holding up a neon cowboy hat.

“We just need something that screams ‘you,’” Yuki said, rummaging through a pile of clothes.

Daichi sighed. “What screams ‘me’ is a plain t-shirt and jeans.”

Yuki groaned. “You’re so boring.”

“I call it practical.”

After what felt like an eternity, they settled on a simple black suit for Daichi—still dapper, but fitting his no-nonsense personality.

Haruto, who had mostly stayed out of the chaos, finally found himself drawn into the mix when Yuki handed him a spool of fabric and asked for help with her gown. Grumbling under his breath, Haruto reluctantly tried his hand at costume design. To his surprise, he wasn’t terrible at it.

As he adjusted the hem of Yuki’s gown, making it flow perfectly, he realized he actually had a knack for this.

Yuki twirled in front of a mirror. “Wow, Haruto! Who knew you were secretly a fashion designer?”

Haruto blinked. “Yeah… who knew?”

By the time they left the store, their cart was overflowing with a bizarre collection of costumes. They had capes, sparkly dresses, ridiculous hats, and even a plastic sword or two.

Haruto looked at their purchases, part of him wondering if they’d gone completely off the rails. But there was also a strange sense of excitement. Sure, they looked absurd, but maybe that was part of the charm.

“We’re gonna win that festival,” Yuki said confidently, adjusting her feathered tiara.

Haruto, now holding a pair of sequined gloves he didn’t remember picking up, chuckled. “With these outfits? Yeah, we just might.”

As they walked out of the store, heads held high despite their outrageous attire, Haruto felt something he hadn’t felt in a while—hope. Maybe, just maybe, they had a chance.

At the very least, they’d make an unforgettable impression.