The Cosplay Beast That Hides His Cursed Eye! - Catoblepas Housamo

"O-okay, thanks for stopping by! I'll be going now!"

Catoblepas waved at the small crowd of wandering cosplayers, reluctantly parting ways with the group he felt so close to. The day was reaching his end, and unfortunately for the beast Thiren, he had to return back to Akihabara's base of operations before nightfall.

He stooped down to scoop up his gigantic sword carved out of EVA foam, unintentionally scattering the rest of his hard-earned memorabilia and souvenirs out of his bag.

"S-sorry..."

Catoblepas muttered to no one in particular, frantically trying to gather his cluttered trinkets and barely succeeding half the time. The crowd paid no heed, simply sidestepping past the Thiren's belongings yet Catoblepas' mind was battering and beating itself for his clumsy nature. Soon enough, two whole minutes of nerve-wracking anxiety passed and he managed to finally gather the rest of his things, hastily stuffing them in his backpack before blending back into the crowd of passersby, somewhat.

It was quickly apparent that he stood out by a mile thanks to his costume alone. His bulky armor and flowing cape made the Thiren look straight out of a video game. Couple with the clumsy, sluggish movement that unintentionally made Catoblepas' cosplay more authentic, and the innately herculean physique he obtained from reading manga and watching anime, the Thiren was practically in sync with his own outfit in body, mind, and soul.

Yet even as he slowly lumbered past the crowd, constantly bumping into random folks, be it fellow Thiren or human, Catoblepas still felt at ease. His head slowly swiveled around, his windswept hair following his general direction yet still concealing that dreaded evil eye he refused to reveal to anyone. The Thiren seemed content in his own suit of foam, and he would have never taken it off it weren't for the fact that he'd stink after a few hours. In his eyes, his cosplays were his own mask to put on, to escape from his reality, a shield from himself and the expectations of the world. Oftentimes he could envision himself in the shoes of whoever he cosplayed, disposing of that timid, anxious Catoblepas even if temporarily. Yet, even in his valiant suit of armor, the Thiren still had to keep his head down in the crowd, in hopes of avoiding any model scouts or even worse, accidentally unveiling his eye.

"Almost there... Almost there..."

The Thiren reassured himself, counting each step under his breath while slouching down to try to make his massive body seem as frail and as pathetic as possible. The neon lights flickered and pulsed around him, a dazzling dance of color reflecting off the glass storefronts. Screens blasted advertisements for the latest gacha games, idol concerts, and tech gadgets, while the air buzzed with overlapping conversations—excited chatter from tourists, the rhythmic hum of passing train cars, and the occasional call from vendors trying to push their limited-time merch. The streets were alive, chaotic yet familiar, a symphony of sights and sounds that made Akihabara feel like another world entirely in his eyes.

His grip on the shopping bags tightened as he navigated the ever-moving current of pedestrians, carefully avoiding direct eye contact. Every bump sent a jolt of anxiety through his body, but he refused to stop again—his earlier fumble had already made him want to melt into the pavement. No more delays. He just had to keep moving.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A tall, sharply dressed man, standing just a few meters ahead. Sunglasses, an expensive-looking jacket, the kind of polished, effortless presence that made Catoblepas' fur stand on end. And the worst part? The way the man’s head turned slightly in his direction as if he’d taken notice.

"Crap..."

Panic surged through him like a bolt of electricity. He didn’t need confirmation, he knew that was a scout. He had dealt with their type before. The way they lingered, eyes scanning the crowd for anyone with a "striking look," someone they could rope into the industry with flowery words about their "natural potential." And right now? His attire was practically a dead giveaway to be approached by those sorts of folks. Catoblepas had been approached more times than he’d like to admit, each encounter more unbearable than the last. He had no interest in being some walking advertisement, no desire to have his face plastered on posters or magazine spreads.

Not today. Not ever.

He ducked his head lower, willing himself to disappear. His pace quickened despite the weight of his bags and the bulk of his costume. His heart pounded as he maneuvered between groups of people, nearly colliding with a particularly excited pair of tourists taking selfies with a life-sized mecha statue. A small misstep and his glasses nearly slid off his snout. In his frantic movement, his bangs momentarily lifted, just enough for his left eye to catch the neon glow of the cityscape.

A sharp gasp. Not his own.

His heart stopped. Had someone seen it?

He slammed his hand against his forehead, forcing his hair back down in place, breathing heavily. No, no... he couldn’t afford to let that happen. Not here. Not now. Not where there were too many people, too many eyes.

He pushed forward, weaving past a group of salarymen emerging from an izakaya, the smell of grilled meat and alcohol filling his nose. The Creators' shared space was close, he could see the sign now, glowing like a beacon amidst the chaos of Akihabara. The familiar, comforting scent of ink, fabric, and warm drinks drifted from within, promising sanctuary.

With one final push, he slipped inside, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him. The moment he crossed the threshold, the noise of the outside world dulled, replaced by the ambient hum of quiet chatter, the sound of sewing machines at work, and the faint jingle of a lo-fi playlist playing over the speakers.

Safe. Finally safe.

With a heavy sigh, he straightened up, his tense shoulders finally relaxing. He adjusted his glasses and ruffled his hair slightly, making extra sure his left eye was still covered. The Thiren took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar, comforting atmosphere of the Creators' haven. Here, there were no model scouts, no expectations, no judgment, just artists, cosplayers, and dreamers, all wrapped up in their own worlds.

And for now, that was more than enough.