He Was Definitely Smiling.
Snip—snip—
Snap—snap—
"As expected from a doctor—you're pretty good with scissors too."
"I might accidentally snip your ear off, so keep your mouth shut."
"Ah... Understood."
The second floor wasn't just a pharmacy—it housed everything from health food specialty shops to this total beauty care shop where he was currently getting his hair cut like some salon regular.
'None of this equipment was my doing... Salon owner, nail artist... I hope you all had insurance.'
Sending a silent apology to those voices beyond my reach, my scissors sliced through the air like a paper airplane, unrelenting.
'Man, it's been ages since I cut someone else's hair.'
Back at the orphanage where I grew up, kids were always hacking away at each other's heads. Those skills I'd picked up hadn't rusted much. My hands had always been steady, no matter the job.
"All done. If we're working together at the Beauty Tower from now on, let's keep it neat. We're all the face of the Beauty Tower, after all."
"I'm not the Beauty Tower's guard—I'm yours, Director—"
"I've been thinking about the contract. I'd prefer you guard the Beauty Tower itself, not just me personally. It's the same thing, right? Without the Beauty Tower, I wouldn't exist anyway."
"Hm... If that's what you want, Director, then so be it."
Of course it is. My ideal utopia is one where money rolls in endlessly—pay off that damned Ling Office debt, and build a system that generates passive income without me lifting a finger.
"Rinse it off then, and head to the first floor. Cache is there—we can do proper introductions."
I washed Walter's hair, toweled it dry, and gave him a once-over.
"By the way... no other clothes in that subspace pouch of yours?"
"I have spare armor, but is there a problem with mine?"
"Why? This one's dripping filth like a sewer rag! We haven't signed the contract yet, but you're the Beauty Tower's face now. You think our patients—er, visitors—want treatment from a grimy staffer?"
"I see... I hadn't considered that. I'll change into my cleanest set."
A fierce wildcat turning into an obedient pup. There's a certain thrill in taming them.
As I blow-dried his hair, Walter spoke up again.
"That damn lump on my left cheek... I never bothered with my looks because of it. No matter how clean I kept my body or hair, people's stares were worse than if I'd bathed in sewage."
Here comes the melodrama again. Gotta shut it down. I'm not an emotional laborer.
"Forget the past. I was just explaining the tidy appearance expected of a Beauty Tower member."
Once dried and styled, Walter looked nothing like the gloomy figure from yesterday.
"Hm... Short hair feels a bit off."
"It's a popular style. The comma cut."
"Comma cut?"
"Just sit tight. Gotta snap a photo."
After photographing Walter, I brought him down to the first floor and introduced him to Cache.
"Oh my god! You're really that adventurer? I wouldn't have recognized you!"
Unlike his prickly demeanor yesterday, Walter looked sheepish, almost shy.
"Cache, has Manager Lee come by?"
"Yeah, probably in the staff lounge? She hasn't been here."
"Mind showing Walter the ropes? He's on guard duty, but he should know our products and prices too. I'll go find her."
"Sure thing! Take care!"
Leaving Walter with Cache, I headed back to the basement lounge and opened the door.
'Knew you'd be here.'
TV sounds led me to the sofa, where the dragon brat lounged, watching dragon-taming shows.
Swoosh—
'Oh? Look at this guy.'
The moment he spotted me entering, he flipped around to face the sofa back.
"Dragon, want some snacks?"
"No."
"These are good."
"I said no."
The glutton incarnate refusing snacks? He was clearly sulking.
One reason I disliked kids and animals: their emotional volatility.
"You've been quiet since the surgery. Something wrong?"
"Nope."
All one-word answers. Time is money—no time for coaxing.
Best cut to the chase.
"Is it because you don't have a name?"
"......"
His white ears twitched. I'd always called him "dragon" or "Dragon," never by name. He'd said he had none, and never seemed bothered, so I'd let it slide.
'So that's it.'
Problem identified—now solve it.
I spoke in the calm, gentle tone of a psychiatrist to a patient.
"You said you lived with your mom in the egg? Did she ever call you by a name?"
"No... Dragons name themselves. She said dragons don't rely on anyone. But I still... don't know what to call myself."
His fluffy paws rubbed against the sofa back—he'd clearly been pondering it.
"Want me to name you?"
"Lemme hear it. Wh-what're you thinking?"
Sulky tone, but perked ears and wagging tail betrayed his interest.
'Naming a kid? Piece of cake.'
I'm the type to finish what I start properly. And my naming sense? Top-tier.
I'd named all our aesthetic products myself—they'd become synonymous with high-end beauty.
'Hmm... Yeah, that works.'
Recalling old times, I settled on the perfect name.
"Res."
"Huh? Res?"
"Yeah, what do you think of Res?"
His white cheeks flushed at the carefully chosen name. No direct praise, but that twitching lip corner said it all.
"Hmph, dunno? What's it mean?"
"It means 'world' or 'universe'."
"World... universe?"
His moonlit eyes widened.
"My favorite word. A wish for you to become a great dragon who embraces and cares for this vast world with an open heart."
He mumbled "Res" a few times, then broke into a grin.
"Res, Res... It's good! No, awesome! Super cool!"
Mania-level mood swing—he loved it.
'Res. Perfect fit.'
Ancient Latin rēs: "world," "universe." But I loved it for the hidden layer: "money," "property," "assets."
'Golden-egg-laying goose and money copier Res—you're mine now. I'll cherish you forever. Slave registry says so anyway.'
Self-satisfied, my mood lifted. Res bounced with wagging tail and wings; I took his paw and headed out.
What I saw next was astonishing.
"No way—that lump was just a tumor? You look completely different!"
"C'mon, be real! He's a whole new person!"
"That really the mercenary? He dungeon-dived a lot—which floors? Heard he went below three."
"Oh, that scar on his cheek... Such a handsome face ruined like that. Must've been awful."
A crowd swarmed Walter at Cache's stall—yesterday's "demon," "monster," or "PoDoSongi" now drew fascination.
'People... Korea or isekai, all the same.'
Walter's left cheek still bore scars from tumor removal and healing magic. The only change was the tumor's absence.
Yet no curses or spit today. They approached him, sympathizing over soon-to-vanish scars.
"Um, folks... Walter's new staff, so please don't—"
Cache, who'd witnessed yesterday's abuse, tried intervening—uncomfortable or worried for him.
But before she finished, I pulled her arm back and whispered.
"Leave it. He needs time to adjust."
For better or worse, facing surgery's results was Walter's alone.
And right now, the undeniable truth: Walter was smiling.
Clop—clop—clack!
As I mused he might just be thrilled at natural conversations—despite their rudeness—a carriage and knight procession thundered toward the Beauty Tower.
"Director, looks like nobles from the carriage style."
"Nobles?"
"Yeah, they dungeon-dive to boost family honor—'dungeon clearing.' Probably staying at an inn tonight, heading out early tomorrow."
Nobles... I'd lived like one once. Now? Isekai debtor.
Many thoughts, but no deep dive. Cache said locals were snooty, lording over freemen and serfs.
"Huh? Coming here, Director?"
"...Seems so?"
The procession I assumed would pass veered toward us.
But Cache's shift was ending soon. One solution.
"Cache, overtime tonight?"
"I-I have plans with a friend—"
"Double pay."
"—but nope, all clear! Absolutely!"