Part 1

The young man moved slowly through the crowded aisles of the Comic-Con, unmistakable in an elaborate, expensive-looking **Doctor Doom** costume. He was probably in his early twenties, with the slightly awkward appearance of someone who was far more comfortable discussing comic books than making small talk. He was of average height, perhaps around 5'9", with a slender, somewhat narrow-shouldered build. His frame had the softness of someone who spent more time at a computer than in a gym: slim arms, a modest chest, a slight softness around his waist, and thin legs visible beneath the lower portions of the costume. His hands were long-fingered and pale, with neatly trimmed nails, and he occasionally flexed them inside the costume's armored gloves as he walked.

His face had a distinctly youthful, bookish quality. He had a narrow oval face, a small chin, and a slightly pointed nose. His complexion was fair, with a scattering of faint freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Behind the eye openings of Doom's metal mask, his large brown eyes could occasionally be seen, darting from one costume to another with intense concentration. His eyebrows were dark, straight, and somewhat thick, while his forehead was partly hidden beneath a short, untidy fringe of dark-brown hair. The hair that escaped around the edges of the hood was slightly wavy and looked as though he'd hurriedly combed it before leaving home. A pair of rectangular eyeglasses was occasionally visible when he tilted his head, creating the unmistakable impression that there was a very nerdy young man underneath all that intimidating armor.

The costume itself was far more sophisticated than the typical convention-store outfit. The centerpiece was a highly detailed metallic mask molded to resemble Doctor Doom's iconic iron face, with a pronounced brow, angular cheek plates, a rigid mouth grille, and small dark eye openings. It had enough realistic weathering to make the metal appear aged rather than toy-like. A dark green hood framed the mask and extended into a heavy green cloak that hung almost to his ankles. Beneath it was a full suit of faux metal armor, constructed from numerous overlapping plates covering his chest, shoulders, forearms, thighs, and shins. The armor was carefully fitted to his relatively slender body, giving him a much broader silhouette than he naturally possessed. A wide metallic belt sat around his waist, decorated with geometric details and an ornate central buckle. Heavy-looking armored boots completed the costume, making each step deliberate and slightly stiff.

What made the outfit particularly impressive was the attention to small details. The gauntlets had individually articulated-looking fingers, the shoulder armor had elaborate raised designs, and tiny rivets and seams appeared throughout the costume. The green cloak had a substantial weight to it, causing it to sway behind him whenever he changed direction. Even the exposed portions of the costume's fabric appeared carefully chosen to resemble the layered garments worn by Doctor Doom in the comics.

Yet despite looking like one of the most intimidating people in the convention center, he behaved almost comically shyly. He walked up and down the aisles at a measured pace, stopping occasionally to examine another attendee's costume from several feet away. He studied homemade armor, elaborate wigs, superhero outfits, anime costumes, and obscure character designs with the concentration of a museum curator. Sometimes his masked head tilted slightly as he inspected an especially clever costume.

He never actually spoke to anyone.

If another convention-goer looked directly at him, he would usually glance away and continue walking. If someone seemed about to approach him, he would suddenly become very interested in a nearby display or turn down another aisle. His imposing Doctor Doom costume suggested a powerful supervillain surveying his domain; his hesitant movements and inability to initiate a conversation suggested a young man who had spent weeks perfecting the costume but hadn't quite figured out what to do once he arrived at the convention.

So he continued his silent patrol, cloak trailing behind him, metal boots clunking softly against the convention-center floor, apparently judging the craftsmanship of every costume he encountered without saying a word.

Part 2

His name was **Evan Mercer**, although almost nobody at the convention knew that yet. For the last hour, Evan had been quietly patrolling the aisles in his elaborate Doctor Doom costume, observing other people's costumes with the intensity of a collector examining rare artifacts.

Then he saw her.

She was standing near the edge of an aisle, looking at a vendor's table of inexpensive convention merchandise. She was a slightly chubby Black woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, with a warm mahogany complexion and a pleasantly rounded figure. She was neither particularly tall nor short, and her soft, curving build gave her a friendly, approachable appearance. Her shoulders were gently rounded, her upper arms had a natural fullness, and her waist flowed into noticeably rounded hips. Her legs were sturdy and shapely, giving her a comfortable, grounded stance as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Her face immediately caught Evan's attention. She had a broad, softly rounded face with full cheeks, a gently curved nose, and a rounded chin. Her dark brown eyes were large and expressive, framed by naturally thick eyelashes and carefully applied eyeliner. Her eyebrows had been shaped into neat, graceful arches. A little blush emphasized the warmth of her cheeks, while glossy pink lipstick gave her full lips a cheerful appearance. She had chosen her makeup carefully without making it look overly elaborate.

Her hair was hidden beneath a long blonde wig. It wasn't the sort of professionally styled wig worn by celebrities at expensive photo shoots; Evan could tell that it had been purchased at a reasonable price and adjusted by its wearer herself. Nevertheless, she had done a remarkably good job with it. The synthetic hair was a bright golden blonde, falling in loose waves to about the middle of her back. Two rounded buns had been formed near the top of her head, with long twin tails cascading down behind her shoulders. A few strands had escaped around her face, giving the wig a slightly imperfect, handmade quality that somehow made the costume more charming.

Evan immediately recognized the character.

**Sailor Moon.**

Her costume wasn't an exact replica of the anime uniform. Instead, she had assembled it from affordable pieces and modified them herself. She wore a fitted white short-sleeved top with a blue sailor-style collar, decorated with a simple red bow at the front. The neckline and sleeves were slightly different from the official design, and the fabric lacked the polished finish of a professional cosplay commission. Her blue pleated skirt was somewhat longer than Sailor Moon's usual costume and had clearly been purchased separately. A pair of inexpensive white knee-high socks covered her lower legs, and she wore simple red flats rather than the character's distinctive boots.

A small gold-colored crescent-moon accessory was fastened to the front of her costume. It wasn't made from expensive metal; it looked more like something she had bought from a craft store and painted herself. She also wore a pair of red hair ornaments that completed the general impression.

It was clearly a budget cosplay.

But Evan thought it looked wonderful.

There was something appealing about the way she had taken several inexpensive pieces and combined them into something recognizable. She hadn't attempted to disguise the fact that she couldn't afford a professionally manufactured costume. Instead, she had made the best version she could with what she had, and she wore it with obvious pride.

Evan watched her for several seconds.

Normally, this was the point at which he would quietly move along.

He had spent the afternoon doing exactly that. He would notice something interesting, study it from a safe distance, and then continue walking. He had wanted to compliment several people, but every time he imagined actually approaching someone, his mind supplied a dozen possible ways the conversation could become awkward.

But this time he couldn't quite make himself leave.

He looked at the woman's homemade accessories. Then at the carefully arranged wig. Then at the alterations to her costume.

There was craftsmanship here.

Maybe not expensive craftsmanship, but genuine effort.

Evan adjusted the heavy Doctor Doom mask on his face and took a breath.

The woman turned slightly and noticed him standing there.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other.

Evan almost turned away.

Instead, to his own surprise, he took one slow step toward her.

Then another.

His metal boots clunked against the convention-center floor as he approached the Sailor Moon cosplayer, finally preparing to do something he had avoided all afternoon.

He was going to talk to her.

Part 3

Evan stopped a few feet from the Sailor Moon cosplayer and suddenly became aware of how intimidating he must look.

His metal mask stared down at her, his green hood and cloak surrounded him, and the armored gloves made his hands look considerably larger than they really were.

"Hi," he said.

The woman smiled cautiously. "Hi."

"I, uh..." Evan glanced at her costume. "I really like your costume."

Her smile widened. "Thank you."

"I've always liked *Sailor Moon*," Evan continued. "Actually, I've always thought it would be fun to wear something like that."

She laughed softly. "Really?"

"Yeah." Evan looked down at his armored chest. "Obviously, I went in a different direction."