Go-Offstage – The Cosplay Illusion!

The Go-Onger team stumbles upon Hanto performing heroic moves at a large cosplay event, only to discover he believes he's merely a cosplayer honoring the "real" Go-Onger heroes. As confusion deepens, Sosuke and the others begin to question their own identities, haunted by the possibility that they, too, are nothing more than performers playing a role.

PS: This is my try collaborating with another illustrator, Echo, let me know what you think about his awesome artwork!

Special thanks to my loyal and royal patron friends:

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Violet Fentenstine

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俊介 星野

にとり 河城

Russell shuey

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George Hellerman

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Mike020578

Acting like it’s real!

The scene begins with the remaining four Go-Ongers—Sosuke, Renn, Saki, and Gunpei—striding confidently into the bustling chaos of the local convention center. The double glass doors glide open, and they are hit with an immediate barrage of sensory overload: blaring music from a DJ booth in the far corner, the hum of overlapping conversations, and the occasional shriek of excitement from fans spotting their favorite characters brought to life. The air is thick with the smell of overpriced snacks—popcorn, candy, and the distinct aroma of oily convention food. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, reflecting off glossy posters and the polished floors.

Booths packed with trinkets and merchandise stretch as far as the eye can see, forming a maze of makeshift alleyways. Posters of popular anime characters, superheroes, and gaming icons adorn nearly every wall, their vibrant colors clashing with the eclectic mix of costumes worn by the attendees. Some cosplayers wander the hall in outfits that look meticulously handcrafted over months, while others sport cheap, store-bought alternatives. A man in a Pikachu onesie squeezes past the Go-Ongers, the faint squeak of his sneakers lost in the noise.

The Go-Ongers, still clad in their shimmering, skintight suits and helmets, stick out like sore thumbs—but not how they expect. Instead of alarm or awe, they are met with enthusiastic cheers and compliments. Someone pulls out their phone every few steps to snap a picture or point excitedly in their direction.

“Man, look at this place,” Sosuke mutters, his voice carrying an edge of frustration as he scans the overwhelming crowd of vibrant costumes. His helmet turns from one garishly dressed attendee to the next, as though the sheer absurdity of it all might give him a headache. “What kind of lunatic would want to spend their time here instead of fighting pollution monsters?”

Saki chuckles, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “Maybe the same kind who loves racing cars. You know, people with hobbies?”

“That’s different,” Sosuke retorts immediately, crossing his arms defensively. “Racing is about speed, precision, competition—this?” He gestures broadly at a group of people posing dramatically for photos, one of them wearing what looks like an elaborate Gundam suit made of foam. “This is just... weird.”

Gunpei, bringing up the rear, snorts audibly. “Says the guy who drives a flying car powered by a talking condor. You’re hardly in a position to judge.”

Sosuke opens his mouth to retort, but Renn, ever the peacemaker, steps in before the conversation can escalate. “Everyone, focus,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “We’re not here to criticize anyone’s hobbies. Hanto’s missing; the longer we waste time arguing, the less chance we have of finding him. That pizzeria deal didn’t feel right, and this place might hold the key to what’s going on.”

“Renn’s right,” Saki says, nodding. “We need to keep moving. Let’s split up and cover more ground. Meet back here in 30 minutes if we don’t find anything.”

But as they start to move through the convention, splitting up proves difficult. The sheer density of the crowd forces them to stay together, and their presence draws more attention than they anticipated. Whispers ripple through the throng like waves, accompanied by the occasional shout of excitement.

“Whoa, check out those Go-Onger cosplayers!” a teenage boy exclaims, tugging on his friend’s sleeve. “The detail on those suits is insane!”

Sosuke halts mid-step, his head snapping toward the teens with the intensity of a missile lock. “Cosplayers?!” he repeats, his voice incredulous. “We’re the real—”

Before he can finish, Saki grabs his arm with both hands, tugging him aside. “Not here,” she hisses, her voice low but urgent. “We can’t blow our cover, even if these people think it’s all a joke.”

Gunpei steps up beside them, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Let it go, Sosuke. Let them think what they want. We’ve got more important things to deal with.”

Renn, standing slightly behind the group, lets out a quiet sigh. “We’re not here to prove anything to these people,” he says patiently. “The sooner we find Hanto, the sooner we can leave.”

Despite Renn’s attempts to defuse the tension, the comments don’t stop. As they continue to push through the crowd, more people approach them, their faces alight with enthusiasm.

“Can we get a picture?” asks a young woman dressed as Sailor Moon, her phone already outstretched. She doesn’t even wait for an answer, snapping a quick selfie with the confused group in the background.

“Your Go-On Red is spot on,” adds a man in a Deadpool costume, giving Sosuke a thumbs-up. “I love the helmet shine. How’d you do that?”

Sosuke’s fists clench at his sides, his patience wearing thinner with every passing second. “I didn’t ‘do’ anything!” he snaps, his voice rising above the chatter. “This is the real—”

Renn places a firm hand on Sosuke’s shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Enough,” he says quietly but firmly. “You’re making a scene.”

Saki steps between Sosuke and the man in the Deadpool costume, offering an apologetic wave. “Sorry about him,” she says with a forced laugh. “He’s really into character.”

Gunpei, who has been silent for most of the exchange, chuckles dryly. “Too into character,” he mutters, earning a glare from Sosuke.

The Go-Ongers pressed deeper into the convention, their emotions a chaotic mix of frustration, embarrassment, and unease. Sosuke’s outburst had drawn more attention than they wanted, and now the group huddled in a quieter corner of the venue. The bright lights and colorful chaos of the main floor gave way to dimmer, less populated areas, with only the faint hum of the crowd audible in the distance.

Sosuke paced back and forth, his fists clenched tightly. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered, his voice dripping with frustration. “They think we’re just a bunch of posers. Cosplayers. Like we’re not even real!”

Saki crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, her tone sharp but measured. “You’ve got to let it go, Sosuke. Picking a fight with random people won’t help us find Hanto.”

Gunpei, standing a few steps away, gave a dry chuckle. “She’s right. The more you yell, the more you look like some guy who got too into character.”

“That’s not helping!” Sosuke snapped, spinning toward Gunpei. “We’re the Go-Ongers! We’ve saved the world more times than I can count, and they—”

“And they have no idea,” Renn interjected, his calm voice cutting through the rising tension like a blade. He stood with his arms crossed, his helmeted gaze fixed on Sosuke. “To them, we’re just part of the show. You can’t expect them to believe anything else. And honestly, does it matter right now?”

Sosuke opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He exhaled sharply, his hands dropping to his sides. “Fine,” he muttered. “But this whole thing feels wrong. Hanto’s out there somewhere, and we’re wasting time.”

“Then let’s stop wasting it,” Renn said simply. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a quiet authority to it that made the others fall silent. “If we don’t stay focused, we might miss something important.”

The group nodded in agreement, the tension easing slightly. Renn turned his attention to their surroundings, scanning the area with a careful eye. The corner they had found themselves in was far less crowded, with only a few scattered attendees wandering nearby. The booths here were smaller and less ornate, many of them half-hidden by dark curtains that hung from the ceiling like ominous shadows.

The trio strode through the convention hall, their polished suits and helmets gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Sosuke in his red Go-Onger suit, marched ahead, his frustration boiling over with every step. Behind him, Renn and Gunpei followed with wary stance.

“This place is insane,” Sosuke muttered, his gloved hands curling into fists. “They’ve got Go-Onger stuff everywhere, and we didn’t give anyone permission for this! Do these people even know what we’ve done for the planet?”

“You’re the only one surprised by this, Red,” Gunpei said dryly, his voice steady. “You’ve seen the kind of stuff they put out. Lunchboxes, bobbleheads, posters... they don’t care. They just want to make a quick buck.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” Sosuke snapped, turning abruptly and pointing at a nearby stall. “Look at this junk! They’re selling my face on a mug! And that—” he gestured dramatically at a life-sized cardboard cutout of himself, mid-pose, with sparkly accents around his helmet. “That is not how I stand!”

“Focus, Red,” Renn said calmly, tilting his helmeted head toward the stall. “We’re not here to argue about mugs. We’re looking for Green.”

“Who gave you the right to sell this stuff?!” His voice rang out with the force of his convictions, laced with the indignation of someone who had fought too hard for the title of Go-On Red to see it turned into cheap merchandise.

The stall owner, a wiry man with thinning hair tucked under a novelty Go-Onger cap, raised his hands in defense. “Look, I just sell the stuff, okay? I didn’t make it, I didn’t ask for it—I just unpack the boxes and put it out on the table.”

“That’s not an answer!” Sosuke shot back, gesturing toward the shelves stacked with Go-Onger memorabilia. “Who’s your supplier? Where did you get this stuff? I mean, look at this!” He grabbed a cheap lunchbox with his helmeted face plastered across it, the words “Speedy Hero Go-On Red” emblazoned in neon font. “Who authorized this?!”

Blue and Black exchanged wary glances behind him. Black crossed his arms, leaning closer to Blue. “Here we go,” he muttered. “Hothead mode activated.”

The stall owner’s nervousness turned to mild irritation. “Listen,” he said, gesturing around his booth. “This stuff sells. I don’t ask questions about where it comes from. I just put it on the shelves. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with the distributors.”

“That’s not good enough!” Sosuke shot back, leaning closer. “Who’s your distributor? Where do they get this stuff? And who the hell said they could use our brand?!”

“Red,” Blue interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “Look at this.”

Reluctantly, Red stepped back from the counter and turned toward Blue, who was holding a pair of gloves. The material looked scuffed and worn, the edges frayed as though they had been through countless battles. Blue turned the gloves over in his hands, his visor tilting as he studied them.

“These aren’t replicas,” Renn said slowly. “They’re real.”

Red frowned, snatching the gloves from him. He turned them over, his breath catching as he noticed the familiar wear patterns. “No way,” he muttered. “This... this looks like Green’s.”

Gunpei stepped forward, his attention drawn to a helmet visor lying at the edge of the table. He picked it up, his gloved fingers tracing the scratches along its surface. “This isn’t some cheap knockoff,” he said grimly. “This has seen action. And look at this—” He turned the visor, revealing a faint smudge of dried mud along the edge. “This isn’t from a factory.”

Sosuke slammed the gloves back onto the table, his anger bubbling over again. “Where did you get this stuff?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “I’m serious. Who sent it to you?”

The stall owner blinked at him, confused and clearly intimidated. “I don’t know!” he said quickly. “It came in with the rest of the shipment last week. I didn’t ask questions. Look, if you want it, I’ll give you a discount. Just—”

“I don’t want a discount!” Red snapped, his voice echoing. “I want answers!”

Gunpei slammed his team captain’s helmet, stopping him mid-rant. “Enough,” he said softly. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Sosuke huffed but stepped back, his fists clenched. “Fine,” he muttered. “But this isn’t right. If these are Green’s, then—”

It was then that Renn noticed something unusual. At the far end of the corner, behind one of the heavier black curtains, there was a faint glimmer of movement. He tilted his head, stepping closer to the curtain as a sound reached his ears—a familiar voice echoing faintly from somewhere deep beyond the fabric.

“Green Light of Ecstasy! GO-ON GREEN!”

Renn froze, his body going rigid as the words registered. The others noticed his sudden stillness and turned toward him, their postures immediately tense.

“What is it?” Gunpei asked lowly.

Renn pointed toward the curtain. “That voice. It’s Hanto’s roll call.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances before Sosuke stepped forward, his earlier frustration replaced by determination. “That’s him. It has to be. Let’s check it out.”

The Go-Ongers moved cautiously toward the curtain, the world around them seeming to fade as they approached. The music and chatter of the convention became distant and distorted, as though they were stepping into another realm entirely. Renn pulled the curtain aside, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor that stretched far into the distance. The faint sound of Hanto’s roll call echoed again, bouncing off the walls in an almost haunting way.

“You guys feel itchy too?” Gunpei muttered, his hand instinctively moving to his weapon. “This place doesn’t feel like it belongs here.”

“I don’t like it either,” the wavering Renn admitted. “But if Hanto’s down there, we don’t have a choice.”

Sosuke nodded, his grip tightening on his own weapon. “Let’s go. Stay close, and keep your guard up.”

The group stepped into the corridor, their movements slow and deliberate. The walls were lined with peeling black paint, the air heavy with an unplaceable scent that made their stomachs churn. The further they went, the darker it became, until the only light came from faint, flickering bulbs spaced irregularly along the ceiling.

As they walked, the sound of Hanto’s voice grew louder—but it wasn’t normal. The roll call, once full of energy and pride, now sounded warped and exaggerated, the words stretched and distorted like a broken recording.

“Green Light of Ecstasy! Goooooo-On Greeeeen!”

The unnatural cadence sent shivers down Gunpei’s spine. “What’s wrong with his voice?” he whispered.

Renn’s expression was hidden behind his helmet, but his posture betrayed his unease. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t sound like him.”

The corridor led to a dilapidated back alley. Rain poured heavily from a broken gutter above, drenching everything in sight. The alley was filled with debris—splintered wood, rusted metal beams, and water pooling in shallow cracks. And Hanto stood on a small, broken stage in the center, illuminated by the faint green glow of a malfunctioning light.

His Go-On Green suit glistened under the relentless downpour, rainwater streaming off his helmet and armor. His body moved through the familiar roll call poses, but something was wrong. His movements were exaggerated and robotic, like a newbie who had never been a hero. Each pose was executed with unsettling precision, the rain masking the sound of his boots on the stage.

"Green Light of Ecstasy! GO-ON GREEN!"

The voice echoed louder, booming unnaturally through the storm. Red stepped forward, his fists clenched tightly. "Green! What are you doing out here? It’s us—Red, Blue, and Black! Snap out of it!"

Green froze mid-pose, his helmet tilting slightly toward them. For a moment, the only sound was the heavy rain pounding against the ground. Then, slowly, Green turned to face them. His posture was unnervingly relaxed, his head cocked to the side as if in idle curiosity.

"Oh, hey there!" he said, his tone disturbingly cheerful. "Are you guys the other cosplayers they hired? Nice suits! We’re going to be the opening act for the Go-Onger guests! Isn’t this exciting?"

The words hit them like a sledgehammer. The trio stood frozen, the weight of his casual dismissal crushing their ability to speak. Rainwater dripped from their visors as they processed what they were hearing.

"Hanto..." Blue began cautiously, stepping forward. "What are you talking about? It’s us—your team. Don’t you recognize us?"

Hanto tilted his head further, his movements slow and deliberate. "Teammates?" he repeated, his tone childlike. "No, I don’t know you. I got recruited last week for this gig. Aren’t you here for the same thing?"

The trio exchanged horrified glances. Red’s fists tightened, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. "We’re not here for any gig! We’re the Go-Ongers! You’re Go-On Green! Snap out of it!"

Green laughed, the sound high-pitched and unnerving. "Go-On Green? Me? Nah, I’m just a cosplayer. Pretty good, right?" He gestured to his suit, turning slightly to show off the details as if it were just another costume.

"Stop it!" Red shouted, his voice cutting through the storm. "This isn’t funny, Green! What’s wrong with you?"

At first, the sight of him filled them with relief. He was in his Go-On Green suit and helmet, seemingly unharmed. But as they stepped closer, the relief was replaced by confusion—and then dread.

Hanto was performing his roll call, but it was wrong. His movements were exaggerated and cartoonish, each pose more over-the-top than the last. He leaped into the air, spinning wildly before landing in a flamboyant pose, his voice booming unnaturally as he shouted his roll call again and again.

“Green Light of Ecstasy! GO-ON GREEN!”

“Hanto!” Sosuke called out, stepping forward. “What are you doing? It’s us!”

Hanto froze mid-pose, his helmet tilting toward them. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching unbearably. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Nice suits!” he said, his tone overly cheerful and far too casual. “You guys cosplayers too? Here for the show?”

The words hit like a slap, the casual dismissal of their identities leaving them momentarily speechless. The room felt colder now, the spotlight casting long, eerie shadows across the walls.

“It’s us,” Gunpei said cautiously, his voice steady despite the growing unease. “We’re your team. What’s going on?”

“Hanto, wait!” Renn called out, his voice alarmed as Hanto's gloved hands reached up toward his helmet.

Sosuke lunged forward, grabbing Hanto’s arm to stop him. “What are you doing?! Don’t take your helmet off here! What if someone sees you?”

Hanto tilted his helmeted head, his movements slow and deliberate as if he hadn’t fully registered Sosuke’s grip. “Relax, man,” he said, his voice light and almost sing-songy. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like I’m really him or anything.”

“Hanto!” Saki snapped, grabbing his other arm. “Stop messing around! We’re in public! Have you lost your mind?”

Gunpei stepped in front of them, his imposing figure blocking Hanto’s path. “Think, idiot! You’re part of a team. You don’t just take your helmet off in the middle of—”

But Hanto twisted his arms free with an unsettling strength, startling all of them. With a carefree laugh, he removed his helmet in a single fluid motion, holding it under his arm like a trophy. His face was pale and slick with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands. But it wasn’t just his appearance that sent a chill through the others—it was his expression. His lips were pulled into a wide, childlike grin, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as though he were seeing something that wasn’t there.

“There we go!” he said, exhaling dramatically. “Much better! You guys should try it too. Those helmets are such a pain after a while.”

The team stared at him in stunned silence, their shock and confusion mingling with an underlying sense of dread. Sosuke was the first to speak, his voice rising with barely contained frustration. “Hanto, what the hell are you doing?!”

“You can’t just take your helmet off like that!” Saki added, her tone somewhere between anger and disbelief. “Do you even realize how dangerous that is?”

Hanto blinked at them, his grin faltering slightly. “Why are you all so uptight?” he asked, his voice light and almost mocking. “It’s not like we’re saving the world or anything. This is just for fun, right?”

“For fun?!” Gunpei barked, stepping forward. “What are you even talking about? We’re Go-Ongers! We fight to protect the Earth! How can you not remember that?”

Hanto’s smile faded entirely, replaced by an expression of genuine confusion. He tilted his head, looking at each of them in turn. “Go-Ongers? Protect the Earth? What are you talking about?” His brow furrowed as though he were struggling to process their words. “I’m just a cosplayer. I got recruited for this gig last week. Are you guys... new here or something?”

The words hit like a sledgehammer, the weight of them settling heavily in the air. Sosuke’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration giving way to disbelief. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly. “We’re your teammates, Hanto! Don’t you recognize us?”

Hanto’s expression remained blank, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. “Teammates?” he repeated, his tone almost childlike. “Sorry, but I don’t know you guys. I just got hired to dress up and wave this thing around.” He raised his arm, revealing the Self-Changing Gun Mantan Gun in its rod mode. From a distance, the weapon had always appeared sleek and heroic, a powerful tool of justice. But up close, in Hanto’s unsteady hands, it looked like a cheap plastic prop. The once-pristine paint was scuffed, and the edges were rough, as though hastily assembled.

The sight of the weapon sent a fresh wave of unease through the group. “Hanto,” Renn said cautiously, stepping closer, “what are you doing with that? That’s not a toy. You know that.”

Hanto laughed, a high, nervous sound that grated against their nerves. “A toy? Nah, it’s part of the costume!” He grinned as he flipped the weapon around in his hands, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. “Watch this!” Holding it aloft, he performed an exaggerated pose and shouted, “Engine Soul set!”

The team watched, their breath caught in their throats, expecting the familiar burst of power that always accompanied the call. But nothing happened. The Mantan Gun remained lifeless, no light, no energy, no response. Hanto lowered the weapon, frowning at it as though it had betrayed him. “Huh. Guess the batteries died,” he said with a shrug.

Saki covered her mouth with her hands, her heart sinking. “No... it’s not possible,” she whispered.

“What is this?” Sosuke demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “Hanto, who recruited you? Who told you to dress up like this?”

Before Hanto could answer, a voice echoed from the shadows behind him. “That would be us.”

The Go-Ongers turned sharply toward the source of the voice, their weapons drawn instinctively. Two figures stepped forward from the darkness, their presence sending a chill down the group’s spines. They were dressed in Go-Onger suits—perfect replicas, down to the last detail—but something was wrong. The suits seemed... off. The colors were too vibrant, the material too reflective, like hollow imitations of the real thing. Even the helmets, though expertly crafted, lacked the subtle nuances that made them genuine.

Hanto snapped to attention, his face lighting up with childlike glee. He raised his hand in a sloppy salute. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “Took you guys long enough!”

The figures ignored Hanto, their faceless helmets fixed on the Go-Ongers. One of them stepped forward, their voice cold and mocking. “So, you’re the ones pretending to be us.”

“Pretending?!” Sosuke barked, taking a step forward. “We’re the real Go-Ongers! Who the hell are you?”

The second figure laughed, a hollow, distorted sound that sent a shiver down their spines. “The real Go-Ongers?” they repeated mockingly. “That’s rich. You’re just impostors, clinging to a title that no longer belongs to you.”

Renn stepped forward, his voice steady despite the growing tension. “If you’re claiming to be us, prove it. Who are you, and what have you done to Hanto?”

The first figure tilted their head, their body language eerily calm. “Oh, we’ve done nothing to him. He’s just... found his true calling. Isn’t that right, Hanto?”

Hanto nodded eagerly, his grin stretching unnaturally wide. “That’s right! These guys are the real deal. They’re the ones who showed me the ropes.”

The Go-Ongers exchanged horrified glances, their unease turning to outright dread. Whatever was happening here, it was far worse than they had imagined.

***

The fake Go-On Red held up an Engine Soul in his gloved hand, the faint shimmer of light from the object reflecting off his hollow helmet. The team’s hearts sank as they recognized the unmistakable design—the glowing object that powered their Engines, their bond to their sentient partners, and the very essence of their heroism.

“Looking for this?” the fake Go-On Red taunted, tilting his head slightly as though amused. His voice was calm, mocking, and far too casual for the gravity of the situation. “Poor little Green here was keeping it all to himself. Said he didn’t know what it was, that it was just some cheap trinket. Cute, really.”

Hanto, still standing beside the impostors, chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he muttered sheepishly. “Guess I’m not as good at this cosplay stuff as you guys.”

The fake Go-On Red turned his attention to the real Go-Ongers, holding the Engine Soul up between two fingers like it was a meaningless bauble. “So, which cosplay club are you from?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with venom. “I’ve seen some good work in my time, but this... this is almost convincing. Almost.”

“I—uh—we’re from...” Sosuke stammered hard. For the first time, the fearless leader of the Go-Ongers was at a loss for words.

The silence stretched unbearably until Renn, shaking himself free from the paralyzing doubt, stepped forward. “We’re from the Dynamic Heroes Club!” he blurted out, awkwardly sharper than intended. The others turned to him in shock, their confusion momentarily breaking the spell of the impostor’s words.

“Yeah!” Gunpei added quickly, nodding in agreement. “Dynamic Heroes Club. That’s us.”

Sosuke stared at his teammates in disbelief, his helmet tilting slightly as he processed their words. “What are you guys—”

“Just go with it,” Renn hissed under his breath, stepping slightly in front of Sosuke as though shielding him from the impostors’ probing gaze.

For a moment, it seemed as though the lie had worked. The fake Go-On Red tilted his head further, his body language unreadable behind the hollow suit. “Dynamic Heroes Club, huh?” he mused, his tone dripping with amusement. “Not bad. I’ll admit, you’ve got the look down. But you’re missing one key thing.” He tossed the Engine Soul into the air, catching it lazily in his palm. “The power.”

The Go-Ongers’ blood ran cold as the impostor’s words hit home. Their grips on their weapons tightened, and their muscles tensed. For a brief, horrible moment, the doubts returned—what if they weren’t real? What if everything they had fought for, everything they believed in, was just an illusion?

“No,” Sosuke said suddenly, low but steady. The others turned to him, startled by the quiet intensity in his tone. He stepped forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “No,” he repeated, louder this time. “We’re not from any cosplay club. We’re not actors, and we’re not fakes. We’re the real deal.”

The fake Go-On Red tilted his head back slightly, as though laughing silently. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Damn right it is!” Sosuke snapped, pointing directly at the impostor. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but you’ve got no right to stand there and call yourself Go-On Red. That title belongs to me, and I’m not about to let some cheap knockoff steal it.”

The fake Go-On Red’s stance shifted slightly, his posture almost predatory now as he took a step closer. “Big words,” he said in a colder manner now. “But words don’t mean much without proof, do they? If you’re really Go-On Red... show me.”

Sosuke didn’t hesitate. He raised his weapon, the Road Saber, and pointed it directly at the impostor. “You want proof? Fine. Let’s settle this right here, right now.”

“Sosuke, wait!” Renn called out, stepping forward. “This could be a trap—”

“I don’t care!” Sosuke shot back with conviction. “I’ve had enough of these guys pretending to be something they’re not. If they want a fight, I’ll give them one.”

The tension in the room was palpable as the two Reds faced off, their stances mirroring each other. The fake Go-On Red let out a low chuckle, the sound distorted and unnatural. “Bold move,” he said. “Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to back it up.”

Sosuke tightened his grip on the Road Saber, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew the odds were against him—he didn’t fully understand what these impostors were or how they had managed to warp Hanto’s mind. But one thing was certain: he wouldn’t let them win.

“Bring it on,” he growled.

Sosuke gripped his Road Saber tightly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He could hear his friends behind him, murmuring anxiously, their voices wavering in a way that sent a chill down his spine.

“Yeah... just cosplayers... nothing more,” Gunpei muttered, his normally resolute tone reduced to a hollow echo of itself.

Renn’s voice joined the chorus, shaky and uncertain. “We’re just here for the convention. That’s all... right?”

Sosuke’s heart dropped as he turned to face them, his frustration boiling over. “What the hell is wrong with you guys?!” he barked, cracking full of anger and desperation. “Snap out of it! We’re not some cosplay club! We’re Go-Ongers! We’re the real thing, damn it!”

His words seemed to jolt his teammates momentarily, their postures stiffening as they looked at him. But the doubt in their eyes lingered, a shadow of uncertainty that refused to fade. Sosuke clenched his fists, turning back to his opponent with renewed determination.

The fake Go-On Red tilted his head, his body language mocking and condescending. “Looks like your friends aren’t so sure about that,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “But don’t worry, I’ll settle this for them.”

The impostor’s smug stance and mocking demeanor only fueled Sosuke’s fire, but behind him, the real Go-Ongers stood in an unsettling silence. Their resolve, their confidence, their very identities were wavering.

The fake Go-On Green, fake Go-On Yellow, and fake Go-On Blue stood behind their Red, their postures relaxed, almost tauntingly casual. Each held their Engine Souls, idly caressing the glowing objects as though they were sacred artifacts. The faint glimmers of light from the Engine Souls cast long, flickering shadows on the walls, creating an eerie and surreal atmosphere.

“Go get him, Go-On Red!” the fake Go-On Blue called out, his tone full of exaggerated enthusiasm. “Show these wannabes what a real hero looks like!”

“Yeah, make it quick,” added the fake Go-On Green, leaning casually against the wall. “They’re not even worth the effort.”

The fake Go-On Yellow smirked, tilting her helmeted head toward the real team. “It must be embarrassing for them, huh? Watching their so-called leader get trampled like this.”

Hanto, oblivious to the tension and completely under the impostors’ spell, clapped and cheered enthusiastically. “That’s right! You’ve got this, Go-On Red! Show them how it’s done!”

Sosuke tried to block out the noise, but Hanto’s cheers pierced through his focus like a blade. He grit his teeth, refusing to let his heartbreak show. “I’ll bring you back, Hanto,” he muttered under his breath. “No matter what.”

Behind Sosuke, the real Go-Ongers exchanged uneasy glances. They knew they should be cheering for their leader, rallying behind him as they always had. But the overwhelming doubt seeded by the impostors and Hanto’s betrayal had taken root. The soft, caressing motions of the fake Rangers’ hands on their Engine Souls seemed to radiate a strange energy that seeped into their minds, clouding their thoughts.

“You can do it… I think,” Gunpei muttered awkwardly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as though trying to shield himself from the growing unease.

Even Renn, usually the first to rally the team, hesitated. “Come on, Sosuke,” he said, flat and almost mechanical. He wanted to believe in their leader, but his mind felt heavy, muddled, as if a fog was settling over his thoughts.

The fake Go-On Red chuckled darkly, his stance relaxed as he gestured for Sosuke to come at him. “Hear that, ‘Red’? Even your own team doesn’t believe in you. How pathetic.”

Sosuke glanced over his shoulder, his heart sinking as he saw the halfhearted and awkward attempts at support from his friends. Their body language screamed hesitation, their once-proud voices barely above whispers. The doubt in their stances mirrored the very thing Sosuke was fighting against. “Snap out of it!” he barked at them as the team captain. “You’re Go-Ongers, damn it! Act like it!”

His words jolted them slightly, their postures stiffening as if waking from a daze. But the doubt lingered, their gazes flitting nervously between Sosuke and the impostors.

“Oh, how noble,” the fake Go-On Red sneered. “Trying to rally your ‘team.’ Too bad they already know the truth—you’re just a cheap knockoff. Let’s end this.”

The fake Go-On Red charged forward in a blur of motion, his weapon slashing through the air with fiery precision. Sosuke barely managed to block the strike, the force of the impact sending a jolt through his arms. He stumbled back, his boots skidding across the floor as the impostor pressed the attack.

“Too slow!” the fake Red taunted, darting around Sosuke with impossible speed. Each strike came faster than the last, forcing Sosuke to stay on the defensive. He swung his Road Saber desperately, but the impostor dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid and confident.

“Don’t lose, Red,” Gunpei added awkwardly, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest.

Renn’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his usually sharp mind clouded by doubt. “You have to focus, Sosuke,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

The impostors laughed, their voices echoing in the room like a twisted chorus. The fake Go-On Yellow leaned toward the real team, her helmet gleaming under the flickering light. “Face it, your ‘Red’ doesn’t stand a chance. Why don’t you just give up and join us? You’d fit right in.”

The real Go-Ongers stiffened, their gazes snapping toward her. Her words seemed to resonate momentarily, the idea of surrendering creeping into their thoughts like a venomous whisper. The fake Go-On Green chuckled, holding his Engine Soul up to the light. “These things are amazing, aren’t they?” he said, his tone almost reverent. “They make you feel like you’re really part of something bigger. You should try it.”

The caressing motions of the impostors’ hands on their Engine Souls seemed to grow more deliberate, the faint light pulsing in time with their movements. The real Go-Ongers felt it now—a strange, almost hypnotic pull from the objects, wrapping around their minds like tendrils. Their muscles tensed, their breathing grew shallow, and their gazes drifted toward the impostors.

But Sosuke’s voice broke through the haze, sharp and fiery. “Don’t listen to them!” he shouted, his Road Saber clashing against his opponent’s weapon. “They’re trying to mess with your heads! You’re must endure!”

Gunpei uncrossed his arms, his posture straightening. “Let’s go, Red,” he called, a haunting tone steadying. “Show him who you are.”

Renn took a deep breath, his analytical mind fighting through the fog. “You can do this, Sosuke,” he said firmly. “We believe in you.”

Sosuke gritted his teeth, their renewed support reigniting the fire in his heart. He blocked another strike from his impostor, his stance solid. “You’re not beating me,” he growled. “Not now, not ever.”

The fake Go-On Red laughed, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his movements now. “We’ll see about that, ‘hero,’” he sneered, but the confidence in a haunting tone wavered ever so slightly.

The battle was far from over, but the real Go-Ongers were starting to remember who they were—and what they stood for. And that, Sosuke knew, was the key to winning this fight.