Chapter 21 – New Hair New Me

I finally manage to calm down in my room.

"Okay, it's over now, nothing happened, time to stop thinking about it," I mutter to the ceiling. Abe maintains his signature stoic expression, which I'm choosing to interpret as agreement rather than judgment.

My phone buzzes, saving me from my spiral into madness. It's a message from Luna on Quickgram.

Luna: I just finished this, and I thought you might like it! It's about a programmer who gets transported to a fantasy world, and has to code magic spells! ?

The attached image shows a manga cover with surprisingly decent art. I smile despite myself, grateful for the distraction.

Adam: That sounds amazing actually. Sending it to my reading list now. I just looked it up, have you seen the anime adaptation?

Luna: There's an anime?! ?

And just like that, we're off. The conversation flows easily, jumping from manga to anime to that one game we both played last year that had terrible reviews but was secretly amazing. Luna sends me screenshots of her character builds, I send her memes about programming bugs, and the whole thing is so normal and comfortable that the morning's traumatic yoga incident fades into the background like a bad dream.

Well, mostly fades. It's still there, lurking in the corners of my mind like a horror movie monster, but at least I can function now.

We keep messaging back and forth until my mom calls me down for dinner, and I realize with surprise that nearly two hours have passed.

I take a deep breath, give Abe one last look for moral support, and head downstairs.

The smell of home cooking hits me immediately. It's comforting and warm, the kind of smell that makes you forget about weird yoga incidents and… nope, not thinking about it.

Mom's in the kitchen, pulling a meatloaf out of the oven, and I feel... self-conscious. Which is stupid. It's my mom. Nothing happened. Everything is fine.

"Hey baby, we're eating meatloaf today!" She sees me and says cheerfully, her voice warm and bright like sunshine personified.

And just like that, the anxiety evaporates. Her warm, comforting voice dispels all my doubts and worries like she's some kind of maternal exorcist. This is just Mom. The same person who packed my lunches with little encouraging notes when I was in middle school. The same person who stays up late when I'm sick, checking my temperature every hour. The same person who cried at my eighth-grade graduation even though I told her it wasn't a big deal.

"Sounds great, Mom!" I say, sliding into my usual seat.

We sit at the table, and I wait until everyone's settled before dropping my bomb. "So, uh, I got a part-time job. I'm going to be working at the Midnight Café."

The effect is immediate and dramatic.

Selene's fork stops mid-air, a piece of meatloaf dangling precariously. Bianca's hand is suspended in the air, reaching for the mashed potatoes, her teal eyes wide with shock.

"Who are you, and what have you done to Adam?!" Selene finally says, her pink eyes scanning me like I'm an imposter.

Bianca is much more direct. "What the... I swear you'd hate that, talking to people? Are you sick?" She leans towards me and places a hand on my forehead before I can protest. Her hand is small and incredibly smooth, like she moisturizes religiously. Which, knowing Bianca, she probably does. Can't maintain that perfect goth aesthetic without a skincare routine.

"Your temperature seems normal," she says suspiciously. "But clearly something's wrong with you."

"I'm fine," I say, gently pushing her hand away. "I just... thought it would be good to get some work experience."

"Girls, behave," Mom interjects, though she's smiling. "I think it's wonderful that you're taking this initiative, Adam. I'm proud of you."

Selene hasn't stopped staring at me. "Wait. Wait wait wait. Midnight Café! That's where you had your date! And that's the super chic place we brought you to that one time, with the high tea set!"

"It wasn't a date—"

"Oh my God, we'll need to come visit you at work sometime!" She's practically bouncing in her seat now, her previous shock replaced by excitement. "Maybe you can get us a discount?"

"Please no," I groan, already imagining the mortification of my sisters showing up at the café while I'm trying to work.

"We're absolutely coming," Bianca says with a smirk. "I want to see you in whatever fancy uniform they make you wear. Please tell me it's a butler outfit."

"It's not a butler outfit." It is a butler outfit, I don’t know why I lied.

"You don't know that yet. You haven't even started."

"Oh, wait, a date?" Mom inquires, her green eyes sparkling with interest.

And there it is. The inevitable follow-up question.

"It wasn't a date," I repeat, probably for the millionth time. "Luna and I just went to the café to hang out. We talked about anime and manga and programming. That's it. Very friend-like behavior. Maximum platonic energy."

I keep it simple and wholesome, and give Mom a heavily edited summary of my afternoon with Luna.

Mom's face lights up with that particular smile that mothers get when they think their children are doing something adorable. "That sounds wonderful, honey! I'm so happy you're getting along with her. I hope you'll make even more friends!"

"One friend is plenty," I mutter, but I'm smiling too.

The conversation continues, flowing easily between topics. Selene tells us about cheerleading practice and how one of the new girls did a backflip and landed flat on her face. Bianca complains about her art teacher who apparently doesn't understand her vision for her latest project. Mom talks about a book her book club is reading, some romance novel that she's clearly enjoying way more than she probably should.

The conversation is comfortable, warm. This is what I love about my family, these moments where we're just together, sharing stories, making each other laugh. No pressure, no expectations.

Even after we finish eating, we linger at the table, talking about nothing and everything. Selene shows us a video on her phone of a cat trying to fit into a box that's way too small for it. Bianca pulls up some art she's been working on: a dark, gothic piece featuring a woman with flowers growing out of her rib cage.

"That's simultaneously beautiful and deeply unsettling," I tell her.

"That's the goal," she says proudly.

Eventually, we all drift off to our respective evening routines. I head back to the washroom, do my nighttime skincare routine (cleanser, retinoid, moisturizer—the holy trinity), and collapse into bed.

My phone buzzes one more time, Luna sending me a goodnight message with way too many emojis, and I smile before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning, I wake up, and I'm going through my morning skincare routine (cleanser applied, waiting for it to dry before the next step), when I actually look at myself in the mirror. Really look.

My hair is a disaster. It's been a disaster. It's always been a disaster. But now that I'm going to be working at an upscale café where the owner dresses like he stepped out of a period drama, my current "I just rolled out of bed and this is what happened" look isn't going to cut it.

I need a haircut.

As if on cue, I feel that familiar itch I get when my system updates.

Ding! Quest Log updated.

Get a Haircut

Description: First impressions matter, no matter what you’re trying to accomplish. A polished appearance will not only help you present yourself professionally, but it’ll build up your confidence as well!

Quest Objectives:

Quest Rewards:

Minor Shop Voucher [Appearance]? I tap on it for more details.

Minor Shop Voucher [Appearance]: Allows you to redeem one 10-point-cost appearance adjusting option from the System Shop at no cost.

Wait… I can get an extra inch… for FREE?

Ahem, anyways. Haircut. Today. This is happening.

I do a quick search on my phone for salons in the area. Most of them are in the plaza near school, the same upscale area where the Midnight Café is located. One place catches my eye: Noir. It's got excellent reviews, professional-looking photos, and charges around $120 for a cut.

That's... more than I've ever spent on my hair in my entire life combined.

But the reviews are good. Really good. Five stars across the board, with people gushing about how amazing their stylists are and how they left feeling like completely different people.

Fuck it. I'm doing this. If I'm going to work at the Midnight Café, I need to look presentable. This is an investment in my future. That's what I tell myself as I get dressed and head downstairs.

"I'm going out!" I call to whoever's listening.

"Where?" Mom's voice drifts from somewhere in the house.

"Getting a haircut!"

"Ooh, exciting! Have fun, sweetheart!"

The walk to the plaza is pleasant enough. It's a Sunday morning, so the streets aren't too crowded yet. The weather is perfect, sunny but not too hot, with a light breeze that actually feels nice instead of like nature's blow-dryer.

The salon comes into view, and I stop to stare at it for a moment. "Noir" is written in elegant script across the front window, and through the glass, I can see an interior that screams expensive taste.

The salon's exterior is sleek and modern, all black accents and floor-to-ceiling windows that let you see inside. Through the glass, I can see the interior is just as upscale: soft lighting, black furniture, and a minimalist aesthetic that screams "we're expensive and we want you to know it."

I take a deep breath and push through the door.

The interior is... wow. It's a trendy hair salon, but "trendy" doesn't quite capture it. The lighting is soft and ambient, creating this warm, intimate atmosphere. Everything is black: black furniture, black accents, black everything, but somehow it doesn't feel dark or oppressive. It feels sophisticated. Classy.

There's a lounge area near the entrance, configured with black leather sofas and sleek wooden tables. A bookshelf sits against one wall, offering a selection of high-end magazines and what look like actual hardcover books. The kind of reading material you'd find in a CEO's office, not a hair salon.

I can't see any chairs or other clients from where I'm standing, which makes the space feel even more exclusive. Like this is a private club and I somehow managed to sneak past the bouncer.

And behind the receptionist desk is... wow.

She's beautiful. Like, objectively, mathematically, scientifically beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you forget words temporarily.

Her nametag reads "Camilla Rivera" in elegant script. She has long, straight, silky black hair that falls past her shoulders. Her skin is flawless, I'm talking not a single visible pore. She's wearing an all-black uniform that's professional but somehow also manages to accentuate her figure in a way that seems almost deliberately calculated.

Her breasts are massive. Like, impossibly large. The kind of proportions that make you wonder about the structural integrity of her spine. They strain against her uniform in a way that seems to defy physics, and I have to physically force my eyes back up to her face.

Her face is equally stunning. Beautiful red eyes that seem to sparkle with amusement, like she knows exactly what everyone's thinking when they first see her. Thin, perfectly shaped eyebrows. Small lips that curve into a knowing smile. She's tall too: I'd guess 5'9", which makes her even more imposing.

"Hello!" she chirps cheerfully, her voice bright and cheerful, like sunshine in audio form. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Uh... no, this is my first time here," I manage to say, trying very hard to maintain eye contact and not look at her chest. I'm maintaining eye contact. I'm being respectful. I'm not staring at her massive… focus, Adam.

"Oh, that's alright!" She stands up, coming around the desk, and I realize I was right about her height. She absolutely towers over me. "Please follow me. I'm free to give you a quick cut."

She leads me through the salon into a private room. The aesthetic continues here, dark colors, soft lighting, minimalistic design. There's a black chair facing an oval mirror, and the entire setup looks like it belongs in a luxury spa.

"Please, sit down," she says, gesturing to the chair with a smile.

I sit, feeling the expensive leather beneath me.

She stands behind me, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Do you have an idea of how you want your hair done today?"

"Uh... not really?" I admit. "I was hoping you could recommend something? I just want something proper and classy. Keeping a medium length."

Her eyes light up. "Oooo, it's up to me? This'll be fun!" She bounces slightly, and her breasts do this hypnotic sway that makes my breath catch for a moment. "Leave it to me!"

She walks up closer, studying my hair with the critical eye of an artist examining a canvas. Her fingers run through my hair, assessing the texture, and I try very hard to keep my breathing normal.

Then she starts cutting, and I'm immediately impressed by how confident and skilled her movements are. She works quickly but precisely, snipping here and there with the kind of efficiency that comes from years of practice.

At one point, she leans in close to get a better angle on the left side, and her breasts press against the back of my head for just a moment.

I freeze.

She doesn't seem to notice, just continues working like this is completely normal. Which it probably is, for her. She's tall, I'm short, this is just geometry being inconvenient.

She smells good. Mature and sweet, her scent is sophisticated, expensive-smelling.

"So," she says as she works, her voice friendly and conversational, "do you have a date? Why are you trying to pretty yourself up?"

"Oh, uh, no. I just got a new job. Trying to look more presentable."

"Oh! That's great!" She gives me this bright, genuine smile in the mirror. "You’ll do well! Promise!"

"Thanks. It's at the Midnight Café, actually. In this same plaza."

"Oh, I love that place! Mr. Vale is such a sweetheart. You're lucky to be working for him."

We continue talking as she works: casual conversation about school, about work, about her experiences in the beauty industry. She tells me about some of her regular clients, carefully not naming names but sharing funny anecdotes. There's the businessman who always falls asleep in the chair and snores. The teenager who insisted on a haircut based on an anime character and was shocked when it didn't look exactly the same. The elderly woman who comes in once a week just to chat because she's lonely.

Camilla is… nice. Genuinely nice. Not just professionally nice, but genuinely warm and friendly. She asks questions, listens to the answers, makes jokes that shows she was listening.

As she works, she casually gives me little touches on my shoulder and neck, adjusting my posture or turning my head slightly. Each touch is light and professional, but there's something almost flirtatious about it. The way her fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary, the way she leans in close when she's working on the front of my hair.

I begin to question her intent, is she actually interested, or is this just how stylists are? Then, I realize what's actually happening. She's naturally friendly, sure, but she's also being teasing and flirty to earn a higher tip. It's smart. Professional. Mature.

I laugh internally, admiring her technique. She's good at this. Really good. And honestly? It's working. I'm absolutely planning to leave a generous tip.

I find myself relaxing, actually enjoying the conversation. This is what the system wants me to get out of my job, probably. It wants me to learn from people. Camilla's mastered the art of making strangers feel comfortable, of creating a pleasant experience out of what could be just a transaction.

"Okay," she says finally, stepping back. "I think we're done. Want to see?"

She angles the chair to give me a full view in the mirror, and—

Holy shit.

Is that me?

The haircut is incredible. She's given me a medium-length layered cut with a loose middle part, styled in deliberate waves that frame my face. The front is swept back neatly but naturally, revealing my forehead in an intentional, almost elegant way. Strands of hair brush past my brow, framing my face in a way that actually makes me look... nice?

Ding! Your Appearance has increased by 2.

I stare at my reflection in genuine shock. I'm not going to win any beauty contests or anything, but I look almost... average. Actually average.

Most of my acne has been fading thanks to the skincare routine, and now with my hair actually styled properly, it's much easier to overlook the roundness of my face. The haircut draws attention to my other features, notably, my eyes. I have intense, beautiful gray eyes that I’ve never paid attention to.

"Is it alright?" Camilla asks, and there's genuine concern in her voice, like she actually cares about my reaction.

"Wow, it's... it's amazing. Thank you so much!" And I mean it. I can't stop staring at myself in the mirror, turning my head slightly to see different angles. Who is this person? What happened to the disaster that walked in here forty-five minutes ago?

Camilla beams with pride. "I'm so glad you like it!" She goes on to explain how to maintain the style, what products to use, how to blow-dry it properly, the importance of not over-washing.

"You're doing pretty well keeping your hair healthy," she notes. "But you'll need some styling cream to maintain this look. Here…" She pulls out a small jar from a cabinet. "Complimentary sample from our salon. Should last you a couple weeks."

"Thank you so much!" I take the jar carefully, like it's a precious artifact.

When it comes time to pay, I don't hesitate. I leave her a very generous tip: $80 on top of the $120 cut. The total comes to $200, which is absolutely insane for a haircut, but you know what?

Worth it.

Totally worth it.

"Thank you so much!" Camilla says, her eyes widening at the tip amount. "You're too kind! Good luck with your new job!"

Ding! You've completed the quest: Get a Haircut

Rewards:

I leave the salon feeling like I'm walking on air. Two hundred dollars. I just spent two hundred dollars on a haircut. My freelancing earnings are taking a serious hit between the high tea with Luna and now this, but as I catch my reflection in a shop window…

I didn't know I could look this good.

It's not even about looking attractive, though there's certainly an improvement there. It's about looking put-together. Professional. Like someone who has their life at least marginally figured out. Like someone who could work at a high-end café and not look completely out of place.

I take a quick glance at my status menu, then head home quickly, already planning my next move. I need to take a shower, style my hair properly with the sample cream Camilla gave me, and really see the full effect.

Adam Gray

Age: 18 | Height: 5'2"

Dick Size: 3.5 inches (flaccid), 5 inches (erect)

Current Occupation: Student, Part-Timer at Midnight Café

Inventory

Minor Shop Voucher [Appearance]

Evolution Points: 8

Attributes

Active Skills

Passive Skills

Perks