Did I Want To Play Her Game Anyway?

“What kind of deal?” I asked, not quite sure how to reply other than with that lame question.

Meanwhile, the horror of Clarisse’s beheaded head reattaching itself to her body played out in front of me. She stepped down from her throne, walking slowly, deliberately, toward me.

Then, she pulled on my tie.

Wait, what?

Our lips met.

This time, no sorcerer trick. No illusion. No manipulation pulled by Elysia.

What surprised me wasn’t the kiss itself—but my uniform.

Yes, the police uniform I wore.

A blue blazer with a black vest, complete with matching pants and—ugh—the damned high heels.

The exact same outfit I died in.

“Shocked? I should be the one here. You truly have a great taste in fashion,” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Madam, I’m supposed to be the one questioning your taste, if anything.

Wait—did she really think this full uniform was meant as a fashion statement?!

That’s not exactly the kind of outfit I’d ever want to wear willingly. In fact, what she was wearing seemed way better. It gave her an aura of elegance, power… even a kind of female masculinity.

If you’ve never heard that last one before, well—I just made it up.

Anyway, this whole thing was sounding like a hot mess. No one nowadays would consider a uniform something aesthetic.

Still, I wouldn’t dare correct her.

“What kind of fashion are you referring to?” I asked, my cheeks slightly flushed—probably because of the kiss.

Apparently, this was the polite way to continue the conversation.

And honestly, if I were her, I’d be embarrassed to death realizing this was just a uniform. Like one a soldier wears on duty.

I didn’t want to shame her for having such a weird impression.

“You know… this black top of yours is quite appealing. And the blue shirt underneath—it’s the perfect combination.”

Now that’s a twisted sense of fashion.

I couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if she discovered this was just an ordinary, average-issue uniform. Maybe she’d rage and hunt down the officer corps responsible—but no, that’s me exaggerating.

No.

Honestly, even my casual clothes at home look better than this. Let alone my cosplay outfits—okay, wait, that’s too far.

“I’ve never really had a sense of fashion, Clarisse,” I muttered, mustering what little courage I had left.

“Oh my… how daring. And don’t lie to me, sweetheart. This reading of mine doesn’t lie.”

No way… how did she—

She pulled out a device. On its screen were those embarrassing pictures.

My cosplay photos from social media, laid bare for her to see. From one character to another, every outfit documented.

“And oh, look at this one! How domineering. Especially that sharp glare!”

Oh no. She noticed it.

It was from AniCon.

A cosplay from a game I probably shouldn’t name here, because lawsuits are scarier than her stare.

Let’s just say she’s a war general with serious daddy issues—and yes, I said daddy.

You know—the one with the black-and-crimson coat, the pointed smirk, and that whole “don’t call me mom” energy?

That was the cosplay.

And since her hair was already short—perfect for mine—I only needed to dye it white, leaving a few black strands to finish the look. 

I also designed the whole outfit myself. 

From cutting to sewing, every stitch was hand-made to perfection.

Not that I’m proud or anything. Obviously

“Now, do pray tell… what is this called, hm? You seemed to brag about the clothes in front of others.”

Hah? You can’t even call it bragging!

Okay, yes, in a way it is meant to be a show-off event, where you display your creativity and passion.

But that wasn’t even the gist of it.

Cosplaying is about becoming the character. Stepping into their shoes—with fiery passion and the nerve to defy the fear of being seen.

“It’s a costume. Clothes used to become a character. Something like that.”

“My my, that’s so interesting. Wait—are you a designer, by any chance?”

Of course not. I can’t handle that many jobs at once.

Unless babysitting and single-handedly running a household count, of course.

“No, I’m not.”

She was wasting my time. Still hadn’t told me anything about the deal.

“Anyway… what about the deal?” I asked again.

“Oh, right. The deal…”

She smiled, eyes gleaming.

“What about you… helping to make the best 'costume' for me?”

“And in return, I’ll tell you everything I know about myself.”

"Yes, everything."

“Are you interested? Do tell me.”

I stared at her.
Then at the screen.
Then back at her.

“You want me to design your costume?”

“Well, technically it’s mine,” she said, grinning. 

“You’re just the humble 'costume' designer.”

“Humble artisan? I’m not even a real tailor.”

“Oh, but you are,” she said, circling me like I was some rare fabric. 

“You made that outfit, didn’t you? Every stitch. Every detail. All by hand.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again.
This was insane.
The same woman who could casually walk around after being beheaded was now talking to me about cosplay.

“Why me?” I asked. “You’re some immortal aristocrat or whatever. Don’t you have magical tailors or undead fashion consultants?”

She looked genuinely offended. 

“Please. Do I look like someone who trusts others with something this important?”

“So you do trust me?”

“Not quite. But you have style. Elegance. And dedication. That’s a rare combo.”

I'm pretty sure that was an insult, but whatever fits her bills, I suppose.

She leaned in, eyes gleaming. 

“Besides… consider this as a test.”

“A test? A test of what?”

“To see if you’re worth livi.”

There it was. The hidden blade.

I could say no. Walk away.
But would she even let me?
And—more importantly—did I want to walk away rom this?

I didn’t answer right away.

I had to think through the consequences before accepting this tempting offer.

And you ask me why?
Did you forget already?

Because if there’s one principle I’ve always lived by—one that never failed me—it’s this:

There’s not a single person in this world you can trust.

Not even in isekai.

Especially not someone who knew my face, my past,
and smiled like she already had the ending written.

I stared at her.
One real question lingered in my mind:

Did I want to play her game anyway?