Chapter 4: Operation Haruki 2.0 Begins
Haruki Arai had a lot of regrets in life.
Letting Rinako drag him to a local hair salon on a Sunday morning had now joined that list… right between "writing that cursed love letter" and "agreeing to jog."
"Trust me, this place is the spot," Rinako said, bouncing on her heels as they stood outside a tiny salon called Snip Happens.
Haruki eyed the neon scissors sign warily. "This feels like the kind of place where someone dies in a horror movie."
"Nah. Worst case, you come out looking like an anime side character. You already have the trauma backstory."
He groaned. "Please don't say that like it's a good thing."
Inside, the salon smelled like shampoo and lavender. A chill ran down Haruki's spine as a tall, intimidating stylist looked him over like a makeover challenge on a reality show.
Rinako, of course, handed over full creative control.
"Clean him up. Make him handsome, but keep some of that tragic poet energy."
Haruki blinked. "What does that mean?!"
Forty-five minutes later, Haruki stared at the mirror in stunned silence.
His shaggy bangs were gone. The overgrown mess was replaced by a simple, neat cut that actually framed his face. His glasses had been adjusted to sit straight. And for the first time in forever, he could see both his eyes clearly — soft, brown, uncertain.
"…I look like a functioning human," he whispered.
"Correction," Rinako said proudly. "You look like a cute functioning human."
He nearly fell out of the chair.
"Don't say stuff like that. People might believe you."
She smirked. "Good. Let 'em."
On the way back, Haruki kept catching his reflection in store windows. It felt weird — like walking next to someone else. Someone who hadn't given up.
"I still feel like me, though," he muttered.
"You are you," Rinako said. "Just version 2.0. New skin, same soul."
"…Sounds like a horror reboot."
She laughed. "Hey, every reboot deserves a chance."
When they reached his apartment, she handed him a small bag.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Homework. No sad hoodies tomorrow. There's a shirt in there that doesn't scream 'I've stopped trying.' Also, snacks. Because change is hard."
He opened it — a soft, navy-blue sweater and a tiny pack of strawberry pocky.
"…This is oddly wholesome."
"I'm oddly wholesome," she said with a mock bow.
He paused at the door. "Why are you… doing all this?"
Rinako didn't answer right away. Her smile softened — not the bubbly one she always wore, but something quieter.
"Because someone did it for me once," she said. "And because you looked like you needed it."
Haruki stood there, sweater in hand, heart doing weird, fluttery things.
"…Thanks."
"For the sweater or the trauma therapy?"
"…Yes."
She grinned. "Tomorrow, we tackle posture. I'm bringing chopsticks and tape."
"I'm scared."
"You should be."
As she skipped away, Haruki stood there for a moment longer.
Maybe he was a work-in-progress.
But for the first time, he didn't hate the process.
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