Chapter 89: Cosplayholic, Part 3

The crossbody bag, which used to draw attention regardless of gender by emphasizing the chest, was placed on one side of Choi Arin’s desk.

Leaving it on the floor felt inappropriate, and sharing the closet was also out of the question, so naturally, the empty space on the desk became its designated resting place.

While at it, she casually tossed her easily stretchable cardigan on top—just like that, the outfit change was complete.

She crept onto Choi Arin’s bed and pulled the blanket over her lap.

She was about to start the Cosplay Holic screening session in earnest.

“Hey, what about snacks…?”
“Oh.”
“Oh…?”
“I forgot…”

She could only let out an awkward laugh at Choi Arin’s question.

She forgot.

Too caught up in admiring her own reflection in the mirror, she had completely neglected to bring the most important thing.

“Well, yeah, of course, getting snacks is my job, huh?”
“Ahaha…”

Maybe it was her pride getting bruised at being seen as nothing more than a snack shuttle.

Choi Arin snapped back sharply, shook her head, and walked out of the room.

When she returned, she was carrying a tray with something on it…

And on that tray was none other than—

“Tteokbokki?”

The glossy red sauce shimmered appetizingly.

“Mom made it when she heard a friend was coming over. Honestly, it’s easier to eat than snacks you have to hold with your hands. Guess it worked out better this way.”

Though she didn’t scold Hayoon for breaking her promise and forgetting the snacks, she handed over a fork with such a gentle expression that Hayoon couldn’t help but think—

“She really has such a generous heart… She’d definitely make a great mother one day.”

“Sorry in advance to your future kids, unnie.”

Feeling slightly guilty for enjoying privileges that rightfully belonged to Arin’s future children, Hayoon accepted the fork.

“I have a small side table I use as a backup. Let’s set it up by the bed so we can eat comfortably. But, my bed sheets are white, so don’t even think about spilling anything.”

“Come on, I’m not a kid. I won’t spill.”

“Then good. Try it first while I set up the game.”

“Okay.”

As Choi Arin fiddled with her computer, getting the game ready, Hayoon took a piece of tteokbokki onto a small plate and popped it into her mouth.

“Ohhh…!”

The chewy rice cake delighted her palate, and the sweet yet spicy sauce danced on her tongue.
The taste was so stable and well-balanced that it could easily have attracted long lines in front of a school snack shop.

“It’s delicious, unnie.”

“Then make sure to thank my mom when you leave later… Oh, but if you go out looking like that, she’s going to lecture you for ages. I’ll lend you some clothes to wear home.”

“Okay, unnie.”

Even planning ahead for Hayoon’s trip home, Choi Arin was always thorough.

Ha-yoon grinned and happily picked up a well-seasoned piece of fish cake.

“Mmm.”

Seriously.

Why are moms so good at cooking?

Do people automatically become good cooks just by becoming mothers?

Savoring a taste distinctly different from the meals Yoon Soohee made, Hayoon paused her fork.

It would be inconsiderate to eat everything by herself.

Meanwhile, Choi Arin—

“Alright, it’s set… What do you want to name it?”

“Let’s just go with the default name. Feels more like watching a movie that way.”

“Okay, then… Subtitles on auto-play…”

After tweaking the monitor angle for better viewing from the bed, Choi Arin sat next to Hayoon and picked up her fork.

“Alright, let’s eat!”

Her voice was filled with excitement.

Was it because she loved her mom’s cooking?

Because she was eager to see Cosplay Holic in action?

Or maybe… was she just happy to be in the same space as Hayoon?

Whatever the reason, their Cosplay Holic screening session officially began.

Cosplay Holic.

Since it was Ha-yoon’s first story-driven project, the plot was fairly simple.

While not bad enough to be called a disaster, it also wasn’t exactly a masterpiece.

A story filled with clichés and heavily edited sentences—Cosplay Holic’s narrative settled somewhere in the realm of “decent.”

But—

“Phew, all that effort paid off.”

“Yeah, really.”

What elevated this “decent” story to another level was Hayoon’s artwork, Choi Arin’s animation, and the voice actors’ performances that put the final touch on it all.

Hayoon might not have been a strong writer, but she had a good enough eye to recognize excellent voice acting and the ability to articulate it in words.

And this was the result.

“It looks good enough to eat.”

A game so visually appealing that just looking at it was a treat.

To put it in Hayoon’s terms, it was a visual novel that truly focused on visuals.

Many indie teams without professional writers used this approach—boosting their game’s appeal by prioritizing stunning artwork over intricate storytelling.

“Who cares about the plot? As long as the illustrations are gorgeous and fanservice moments deliver, it’s a masterpiece.”

A shallow but effective marketing strategy that Hayoon, as a fan of visual novels, personally despised.

Yet—

“The story is kind of bland, but…”

Now that she was actually developing a game, she found herself using the exact same method.

Hiring a professional writer would increase expenses, and the storytelling conventions of visual novels made the gap between amateurs and experts less pronounced.

Even hiring a pro didn’t guarantee a good story.

But investing in artwork?

The more money spent, the better the illustrations and the more CGs could be included.

That’s why so many indie teams focused on visuals.

Now, experiencing it firsthand and realizing that the results weren’t bad at all—

She felt as if a core belief she held as a visual novel fan was beginning to crack.

“This is just how it works. This is why other teams do it too.”

“Right? Who even reads these days? If the art is good and the scenes are memorable, it’s a masterpiece.”

Choi Arin casually voiced what would make any story purist rage.

But considering she was an animator and an aesthetic-focused otaku, it wasn’t surprising.

Having finished their tteokbokki, the two pushed the side table away and leaned against the wall, shoulders touching, as they listened to the voice acting and soothing background music.

“Well… I guess it’s not entirely wrong.”

As Hayoon begrudgingly admitted the truth in Arin’s words—

“Maybe strong visuals really can compensate for a weak story…”

Just then—

“Should I test her reaction…?”

On that October night, remembering the mischief she and Hong Seohyun played before, Choi Arin stealthily slipped her hand under the blanket…