Raito tightened the last stitch, tugging the pink fabric to test its strength. The cut on the Kawai Kitty mascot's stomach was nearly invisible now—thanks to years of fixing his own suits, slashing wounds, and occasionally, plush toys that meant more to him than they should.
He let out a slow breath, still shirtless beneath the open mascot body, before zipping it back up and slipping his arms into the sleeves. The suit was hot, heavy, and clung to his sweat like a wet towel, but it was part of the role now. One hour more. Just one.
He opened the door cautiously, poking his giant foam head through the crack.
The two staff women outside were still there, chatting and sipping from water bottles. When they saw the now fully dressed Kawai Kitty emerge again, they both stiffened slightly, their cheeks faintly pink remembering the earlier… view.
Raito, as emotionless as ever, gave them a polite nod. "Sorry for the wait. I fell earlier and the voice box stopped working. Do you happen to have a spare?"
One of the women blinked. "Oh! Uh, yeah. We've got a couple backup kits in the tech box." She turned and rummaged through a bin, pulling out a small device with a bubblegum pink sticker on the side. "Here."
"Thank you," he said simply, accepting the voice box and snapping it into place inside the suit with practiced ease. The faint click and startup jingle played, signaling it was functional again.
"Make sure you take a break soon," the other staffer called as he turned to leave. "You've been at it a while."
"I just need to finish this last hour," he replied through the newly working voice box. It came out in perfect Kawai Kitty cheer:
"Kawai Kitty never gives up! Not until every smile is protected, nya~!"
The women both giggled, charmed despite themselves.
With the signature strut of the bubbly feline idol, Raito re-entered the convention halls. Lights flashed. Children cheered. Fans waved. But none of it mattered much anymore.
He walked onward, swaying his foam hips left and right like the character would, repeating internally like a mantra:
"Just one more hour. Then I'm done."
He just had to survive the next sixty minutes… and hope no more thugs, revelations, or actresses tried to ruin his exit plan.