When Iguchi Hikaru spotted me at the beauty school info session, she couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re here solo, Tono-kun? Where’s Hasumi-san? I was looking forward to walking around with her.”
Plenty of students had attended the info session in their uniforms, but Iguchi wore her own clothes head to toe. She’d tied her hair up in a soft dumpling-style bun that exposed the nape of her slender neck. It was kind of cool to see her sport a different look than usual.
“Ichika came down with a fever this morning,” I explained.
“Oh. That’s too bad. Seems like a cold’s going around recently.” Iguchi was part of our class’s in-crowd, but she and Ichika appeared to be getting close lately.
Each passing day got colder, and the changing of the seasons seemed to make it easier to fall ill. Ichika and I had been naked the previous night, so maybe she’d had gotten a chill. She tried to attend the info session with me, but she was dazed with fever. I made her rest and headed out on the subway on my own.
“You were just going to tag along with Hasumi-san, weren’t you? Why’d you come all the way out here by yourself?”
There was no way I could spill the truth, that I honestly hadn’t planned to come after Ichika got sick, but she’d basically forced me out the door. “This is the school Ichika was most hopeful about,” I told Iguchi. “I said I’d check it out and tell her about it later.”
“Of course you did. Must be nice having such a committed boyfriend.”
After registering, Iguchi and I opened the campus map, looked inside, and somehow I ended up touring the premises together. I was secretly grateful to have someone else there as I’d been a little anxious about doing this alone.
“Which course was Hasumi-san most interested in?”
“The…hair and makeup one, I guess?”
“Why don’t we check that out first, then?”
Each department was holding its own trial events. Some popular ones—like the event run by the nail artistry department—were full, so we’d need to wait until the next time slot opened.
“Is there anything you want to see, Iguchi?”
“I’m interested in that hair and makeup course as well. And the sister school focused on fashion design will have an info session next week—I’m thinking about going there too.”
Iguchi was a perfectionist when it came to appearance, and she’d created the flattering dresses the boys wore at the cross-dressing café. A career in fashion design seemed right up her alley; she’d probably been born to work as some kind of style professional.
When we opened the door to the hair and makeup department, the first thing we saw was a row of mannequin heads. To tell the truth, it was a bit unsettling to see so many heads with the same features and hairstyle lined up next to each other, but the sight would probably be mundane to any student attending this school.
An instructor was running the info session, with current students acting as assistants. They split the guests into small group and Iguchi and I wound up in the same one.
“Welcome to the hair and makeup info session,” the instructor began. “We want you to see what an actual class in this department is like, so some first-year students will teach you to cut hair on a mannequin. Don’t let them phone it in—if you enroll here, you’ll be taking part in this kind of activity!”
That speech certainly placed pressure on the students. Some laughed wryly, but the atmosphere didn’t seem negative. Most of the first-years were still in their late teens, much closer in age to me and Iguchi than their teachers.
“I’m in charge of this group,” one told us. She was very tall, with long hair that accentuated her height. “I’m Miyake, but you can call me Mike.”
Several assistants were helping each group, and “Mike” would apparently lead ours. She began by explaining how to hold the scissors. This lesson was technically on cutting hair, but few attendees even knew how to section it adequately. Mike-san ended up arranging most of the mannequins’ hair before demonstrating how to cut it. Still, watching her do so was a valuable experience for all us observers.
Most of the group members got flustered attempting to cut the mannequins’ hair. When Mike-san passed me the scissors, I tried to imitate haircuts I’d seen before. I had plenty of experience playing with Ichika’s hair, but now I was so nervous that my palms were clammy.
When Mike-san noticed I was holding my breath, she tried to get me to relax. “You’re Tono-kun, right? Where do you go to high school again?” She gazed at me with a big-sisterly expression, her long hair swaying around the small of her back.
I told her the name of the high school Iguchi and I attended.
Mike-san practically howled with delight. “That’s the school that held the cross-dressing café, right?”
“You knew about that?”
“That café caught our attention. There are alumni from your high school enrolled here, after all. You outdid yourselves!”
“I’m…happy to hear that.” Iguchi’s face reddened at Mike-san’s high praise.
Seeing Iguchi’s reaction, Mike-san widened her catlike eyes in surprise. “Wait. Don’t tell me that was your class’s café?”
When we confirmed it was, even our group’s other assistants reacted. They listened to us chat with Mike-san as they instructed the other visitors.
“Who was in charge of hair and makeup?” Mike-san asked.
“Th-that was…me,” Iguchi stuttered.
It was Iguchi’s turn to cut hair now, but Mike-san seemed more interested in discussing the cross-dressing café than demonstrating what to do. “Did you make the outfits from scratch? Designing clothes for the male figure is pretty challenging, huh?”
“Yeah… That’s what got me interested in fashion design.”
“That school next door is really good as well. We hold a joint festival with them, and students from both schools stage a fashion show together. If you’re interested, I highly recommend checking them out.”
Iguchi gripped the scissors, shoulders tense. Her previously perfect dumpling-style bun was loosening. She’d arranged her hair by pulling out and feathering some of the ends for volume, but the style was starting to look untidy.
Mike-san seemed to have noticed. “Your hair’s coming undone. Want me to fix it?”
“Yes, please, if it’s okay.”
After Iguchi’s turn ended, Mike-san had her sit in a chair. She removed the bobby pins holding the bun in place, returning the style to the ponytail Iguchi had started from. “Your hair’s beautiful,” Mike-san remarked. “Did you just dye it?”
“This is my natural color.”
“Really?! What a lovely shade! I’m so jealous.”
Iguchi’s face twisted into an expression I’d never seen her make before at the compliment. “I’ve been told I need to dye it black so many times.”
“People might tell you that while you’re still in high school, but once you’re an adult, everyone will be so envious. Colored hair eventually ends up damaged—enjoying that shade without dyeing it is such a luxury.”
I noticed Iguchi repeatedly clench and relax her jaw as Mike-san talked. At first, I wondered why she was acting so awkwardly. Then I realized she wasn’t used to having her hair praised.
“Everyone goes nuts dyeing their hair once they start classes here,” Mike-san continued. “You should keep yours as-is, though. It’s a trait that makes you unique, so you should cherish it.”
I remembered that Iguchi got some grief during the hair and uniform inspection after summer break. Still, I’d never realized she was so self-conscious about her hair color. She never let that show at school.
When she was done cooing over Iguchi’s hair, Mike-san finally got back on track. She pulled Iguchi’s hair elastic out. “Most people gather their hair loosely if they want a messy bun, but it’s better to wrap it tightly around the base to start.”
She separated Iguchi’s hair into two sections, intertwining them like she was making donut twists. Then she wove the twisted hair tightly around the elastic at the base of the bun, ensuring there were no gaps at all. That inevitably made the bun appear smaller, like the hairstyle ancient warriors were often depicted with.
At some point, the instructor had come over and stood watching Mike-san’s work, but Mike-san was so caught up in styling Iguchi’s hair that she didn’t notice the audience forming.
“You should slide the bobby pins in perpendicular to the scalp,” she continued. “Lift the bun and fasten them directly to the elastic at the base…just like this. See? Even with only two bobby pins, it won’t lose its shape.”
The unused bobby pins sat on the table. I’d practiced similar styles on Ichika, but I’d always relied on lots of pins to pull them off. Iguchi seemed impressed too; I heard her murmur “That’s amazing!” under her breath.
“If the base is stable, the bun won’t fall apart, even if you pull hair out for texture. Try it yourself next time,” Mike-san added, teasing the bun to give it volume. The finished style was much more stable than the bun Iguchi had made herself.
Some other assistants who’d also finished their teaching duties had joined the instructor to watch Mike-san. When she realized how many eyes were on her, she let out an exaggerated squeal of surprise that sent the classroom into fits of giggles.
The hair and makeup trial lesson wrapped up, and Iguchi and I visited some other departments. I’m sure we attended an orientation as well, yet my head was so full of thoughts of Mike-san that everything went in one ear and out the other.