Chapter 23
The Déjà Vu hair loss drug hit the market. Its usage was ridiculously simple too. Just spread the gel-form medication evenly over your entire scalp, and you were done. Side effects were negligible enough to ignore, and the results were instantaneous. And the moment that fact came to light...
The empire lost its mind.
"When the hell is this hair loss drug launching, Tower Master?!"
"We're prepping the production lines right now!"
"The mail and magic comms systems are on the verge of crashing from all the letters and emails pouring in from hair loss association members across the empire!"
"Hahaha! I know! Just hold on a bit! We've still got some procedures to clear—stability tests and all that. But don't worry! Worst case, we'll start production by the end of this month!"
"End of the month? Aren't stability approvals notorious for dragging through administrative red tape?"
"You know Duke Wilhelm's handling that department?"
"Yes."
"Guy's got progressive circular baldness."
Exactly one month after the announcement. Thanks to lightning-fast processing from the empire's most notoriously lazy bureaucracy—faster than light itself—the hair loss drug got the green light for production. Every potion division in the Magic Tower started churning them out like mad, noses bleeding from the overtime.
And of course.
"We have a limited stock of 500 hair loss drugs in our store today!"
"Outta my way, you punk! You still got a few strands left!"
"It's a wig, you bastard! I'm balder than you! Move!"
"I went bald in my late teens—that's me! Get lost! That's mine!"
It was a massive hit. Amid popularity bordering on a social phenomenon, the hair loss drugs flew off the shelves. Association members teared up as they flaunted their glossy, flowing locks to everyone around, drawing even more balding folks into stores with their vivid testimonials. Heck, even...
"Oh my god! This new hair growth... it's so shiny and silky!"
"I just got a bob cut at the salon the other day and hated it! This is perfect!"
The drug started selling like hotcakes to people without a hint of hair loss too. Folks doomed to months of bad hair days from one botched cut. Women obsessed with fashion but plagued by poor hair texture. Celebrities and socialites who needed to look perfect for the public—they all turned into buyers, setting the entire empire abuzz.
Demand exploded, supply couldn't keep up. The Nine Magic Towers rushed to expand production lines, Yurtel's alchemy guild scrambled, and even Kaien's dark elves got swamped. But no one complained about the frenzy.
"How many zeros is that?"
The fatigue and hardship melted away the moment they saw their end-of-month payouts.
Obviously.
"Look at that grin splitting your face!"
Yurtel's tax revenue skyrocketed too. The count's smile reached his ears, Cornac the guild master beamed ear-to-ear, Mirien couldn't stop smiling, and the count wore a pleased grin he couldn't hide. Me? I was the only one not laughing.
"Come on, Kalanis. Spill it. How'd you suddenly figure out the hair loss formula? Did it just drop from the sky?"
"Yes, Your Grace. It dropped from the sky."
"How? Give me the straight story! Everyone in high society is buzzing about it! No warning, and boom—you've got the synthesis equation from somewhere!"
"You know the Great Sage of Yurtel?"
"That fortune-teller popping up on TV lately?"
"Yes. I consulted him. He peered into the future and showed me the synthesis formula I'd develop."
"...He saw the formula you were gonna invent in the future and told you?"
"It's true. Hard to believe, I know. But his power is real. I guarantee it. If you've got worries or secrets you can't share, go see him. He's the real deal."
Kalanis the Tower Master didn't pay me a standard tip.
"I'll give you royalties from the sales! But that's not all. I'll give you something better than money!"
After saying that and leaving, he turned into a fervent Great Sage evangelist, testifying passionately to high society and all his powerful contacts.
Nobles. Self-made tycoons. Mages. Spiritists, army generals, knight order captains. Celebrities and top nobles too. They all learned about me. No publicity more solid or potent than that.
As the saying goes, word travels a thousand miles without feet.
"Great Sage! Aiden!"
"...Count, please."
"My office phone's about to catch fire! Keep doing those secret weekend consultations!"
"I want weekends off."
"Please! You know who these people calling me are—the ones dying for a session? If they get pissed, Yurtel shakes! Yurtel thrives, your business thrives! Stable Sun's Tear supply! You'll live longer!"
"..."
"Have some mercy! Please! Weekend secret sessions! Oh, what about after work on weekdays?!"
What could I do? I barely got evenings off during the week. But weekends? Stuck doing consultations anyway.
And that reluctant high-society secret consultation service on weekends...
"Your heart aches. You smile for the crowds, but inside, it's festering. That's the entertainer's fate. Set aside your hectic life for a bit. You've never once looked inward your whole life."
"Sniff... Yes! Yes!"
"Stress and overwork have caused a brain tumor. Remove it soon—no major issues. Use it as an excuse to rest. Let go of fame and popularity. Take it easy. Time to please yourself, not others."
"Thank you! Thank you, Great Sage! Sniff!"
The hits I'd known before? Child's play. This was massive.
How massive?
The empire's elite chattered nonstop about me. Weekend slots became underground bribes.
Mirien was piling on the complaints.
"Do you think I come here every evening wielding my powers with ease? That I have time to spare? I carve out busy moments for this!"
The sensual, sexy woman threw a childish tantrum. But what could I do?
"I've been swamped too, Mirien."
"You didn't sleep with me last night either! I had to carry you from the sofa to bed! Where's my head pat?!"
"I was exhausted. Cut me some slack."
"Are you taking your recovery and tonic potions?"
"Yes. Downing the ones you gave me."
"Hurry and take them so we can spend time together! I can't sleep without your head pats!"
I grumbled while watching Mirien elegantly eat the pasta I'd made. How did this paranoid turn into such a handful? Cook for me. Hug me. Wash me. Pet my hair. Put me to sleep. I'd slipped up—called her like a pet cat at home. This felt more like raising a daughter.
But it wasn't bad.
"Got it. Sorry, Mirien. After dinner and your hot spring soak, I'll brush your hair. Then in bed, I'll pet you till you sleep. Forgive me?"
Knowing her painful past made watching her heal feel good. A being who'd never whined to anyone her whole life—opening up only to me. It made me proud, so I pampered her today too.
She emerged in a bathrobe; we soaked in the open-air bath together, I washed her hair. Dried it, brushed it lovingly. Then to bed. Holding her tight, stroking her hair...
"Sing."
"What song?"
"The one from last time. Hurry. Nice melody."
"I suck at singing that one."
"That's why I like it. Sing."
I sang songs I knew till she slept. Subculture tunes mostly, but Mirien liked them.
"Nice. What's it from?"
"From a game where the rep pawned the house deed for a loan. About a kingdom ruled by a plump queen who drinks bread like water."
"What weird game. Still nice. Keep... singing..."
After lullabying her so long, I knew her deep sleep breaths. Tucked her in, headed to the living room.
"I'm beat."
But fulfilling times. Needed wealth to guzzle Sun's Tear like water forever? Done. My account dwarfed average folks'. Tycoon levels. Interest alone beat most commoners' salaries. Keep this up, I'd live worry-free forever.
Couldn't see my future, but ties to elites, Yurtel's unshakeable status, fortune shop's solidity—future looked bright.
"Wonder how Tower Master Kalanis is doing."
With big shots among clients now, staying on empire news was key. That's why I squeezed in newspaper time before bed.
Sipped hot tea, unfolded the paper—and froze.
"...Huh?"
One article grabbed me. Too prominent on page one to skip.
And it wasn't friendly.
"...Figures. Knew something like this was coming."
Success breeds envy and jealousy. Grand Prophetess Iris—I'd heard of her. The woman blessed with foreseeing miracles, like the empire's drought. Frequent TV guest, famous to any citizen. Socialites and celebs flocked to her.
Or used to. Most clients jumped ship to me.
And she wasn't watching her business tank.
Just like Kaien's grand sorceresses—identical playbook. But way more aggressive, weaponizing the press. She started hammering me.