......But There Isn't a Single One?
The day after Yurdell, the second son of the Radius baron's family, got his hair cut short, and the day after that—over those two days, my hospital was swarming with people.
"Why's it taking so damn long here? The facilities are nice, but the wait times are ridiculous!"
"Don't you have anything besides the Paige cut?"
It was the biggest boom since opening in this isekai world. But most of these folks weren't patients—they were straight-up customers. People here for haircuts.
For the young lords, I'd whipped up all sorts of styles: wolf cuts, shaggy cuts, comma hair, you name it. But overwhelmingly, the young lords wanted the Paige cut.
"Can you do dyeing magic too? The other magic tower said it'd last max two days."
"No dyeing magic, but we can do it with actual dye. Depending on your hair condition, but on healthy hair, it'll hold for two or three months. You'll need touch-ups for the roots as they grow out, though."
"T-Two or three months?"
"Unlike dyeing magic, it won't fade until you cut your hair."
"No way! What colors can you do?"
"Let's start with pricing. Basic dye job is 10 gold."
Unlike the young lords, most of the young ladies were hooked on dyeing. It was just past 2 p.m., and already five ladies were mid-dye. That's 50 gold from them alone.
'Five million won just from dyeing... Is money supposed to come this easy?'
The cash was pouring in. No clue how long the Young Nobles Association hype would last, but at this rate, I wouldn't sweat the payments to the Ling Office.
'Gotta head there first thing Monday and pay off as much as I can.'
Weekend, so the office was closed. Waking up two days later, I grabbed the subspace pouch Walter had gifted me as a bonus and headed solo to the Ling Office right at opening time, my mind buzzing with plans.
"Pay off half a year's worth upfront to cut the monthly payments, register Walter as staff, and free Res from slavery too. Being on payroll won't change how much I work 'em anyway."
My steps felt light as air on the way there. Walter's neurofibromatosis treatment fee, plus the weekend haul from primping those Young Nobles Association aristocrat brats' hair—my subspace pouch was stuffed.
"No way! A 20% early repayment fee? We didn't even take out a loan—this is just prepaying the installments!"
But my rose garden mood turned to lava the second Rachel at window 3 opened her mouth.
"Dungeon Zone Special Law's always been like that. Don't like it? Sue us. Want a public defender? Head to the left corner—"
"Forget it. Just process the new staff registration and slave emancipation."
Charging a fee for prepaying something that wasn't even a loan? Shadier than loan sharks. Every time I come here, nothing goes smooth. Rachel's face alone makes my teeth grind these days.
I paid the fees for Walter and Res's registrations and was about to bolt when—
"Hold up. Your magic tower's address is 46-01894-925, right?"
"It's not a magic tower... but yeah, what's now?"
Even with my curt reply, Rachel didn't blink. She handed over a rolled-up parchment.
"What's this?"
"Donation notice from the Black Moon Society."
"Black Moon Society? The hell's that?"
"Do I have to spell this out too?"
"Pardon?"
Rachel muttered irritably before continuing. "The Black Moon Society's the nonprofit arm of the Black Moon Church—the sole religion across the West Continent—for emergency relief and such. Even hicks from the East Continent know the Church... Don't wanna donate? Just say so. It's not mandatory anyway."
Every word from her twisted my guts. But stooping to her level would make me no better. So I kept it polite.
"How much for the Black Moon Society donation?"
"Varies by status. For a free citizen running a business like a gold magic tower lord? Just 1 gold, 1 silver, 1 copper. Symbolic gesture—"
"Just curious. Thanks for your time."
And I've got a petty streak. No need to look back—I could picture Rachel's twisted scowl.
"They nickel-and-dime us on every tax imaginable, then hit us with 'donations'? I should be the one getting donated to. Tsk."
Comforted by that small jab at the Ling Office drone, I headed back to the hospital.
"Maaineer~!"
"Welcome back, Director."
"No issues?"
"Nope. Young Nobles Association folks came by today too, but I told 'em like you said: external commitments, no beauty treatments today."
Money's great, but three straight days of scissor work? No way I could keep it up. My fingers were already throbbing from all the clippers and shears over the weekend.
"Where's Walter?"
"Sir Walter's prepping lunch in the staff lounge. Said he'd call when it's ready."
"Cool, I'll head in first. Cache, stash the goods and eat. Don't skip lunch."
"Finishing up quick!"
Isekai or not, I don't overwork staff. They're key components in my hospital machine. Gotta oil and maintain 'em steady to squeeze out full performance.
"Food! Food! Food time's the best!"
On the way to the staff lounge, Res—perched on my shoulder—yanked my collar, humming excitedly.
"Oh yeah. Res, gimme your collar real quick."
"Collar? Why?"
"Just hand it over."
"Here... Ack! What! Why toss it!"
First thing in the lounge, I chucked the slave collar Res handed me into the trash.
"Turns out it's crawling with nasty germs."
"Waaahaaang!"
"...Res?"
"Hic. M-My first gift ever!"
Seeing Res bawl snot and tears over that slave collar? Didn't peg 'em for sentimental. Time for a fix.
"This week, we'll tour deep into the dungeon zone. I'll buy you something way better."
"...Hic. R-Really?"
"Promise. Go wash up in the bathroom. Lunchtime."
"Hii— Got it!"
Kids are simple. Res scampered off bickering-style to the bathroom. I bumped into Walter emerging from the staff cafeteria, apron on.
"Uh... You're early."
"It... suits you?"
Walter cleared his throat awkwardly, embarrassed, and set dishes on the table.
"Steak?"
"Yeah, deer from last month. Drained and stored in the subspace pouch—easy to cook."
Walter, with his lone-wolf history, picked up induction cooking quick once shown. I was just about to call Cache when—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Lady approaching! Open the gates!"
"Lady approaching!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"...Bell. Just ring the bell."
Lunchtime summons? Irritation surged, flashing me back to intern and resident days. Short sigh, eyes open—the intercom showed armored knights in formation outside the modern hospital doors.
"You're resting, Director. I'll handle it."
"Nah, I'll go. Looks like Young Nobles Association types. Business—er, operating hours are over. You and Res eat first."
Am I a doctor or a merchant? Dragging my weary self to the first floor, I unlocked the auto-door. No Cache—probably bathroom.
Out front: ornate carriage, knights arrayed. Front and center: a dapper old knight with a styled beard, and a demure girl looking middle-school age.
'Smells like money. Big money.'
Just standing there, she radiated class beyond today's haircut-and-dye young lords and ladies.
"I'm Miner, director of the Beauty Tower."
"I'm Melanie, daughter of the Windsor marquis house. Have operating hours ended?"
Windsor marquis house—goosebumps. Cache had mentioned them as one of the great houses.
'Today's Young Nobles Association haircut crowd was just barons and counts at best. A marquis—and not just any, but Windsor!'
Leagues above the Association's small-fry. Time to switch gears.
"Business closed for the day."
"Oh..."
"But! For a noble lady like yourself, exceptions apply. Please, come in. This way."
"Thank you."
A count's brat? I'd shut the door. But marquis class? I escorted her, her maid, and one old knight to the second-floor Total Beauty Care shop.
"Time-wise, long jobs like dyeing won't work today—would run till late night. But everything else is fine."
"Pardon? Are you the beauty specialist doctor?"
Her micro-expression screamed confusion. Mine? Shame.
"Sorry. Day job's plastic surgeon. Ahem. So, Lady, what's troubling you?"
"Um... Could everyone else step out? I want to speak with the doctor alone."
Her knight and maid exited the shop. The 14- or 15-year-old girl sighed, far too heavy for her age.
"To explain... I have a debutante in two months."
"Pardon my ignorance—what's a debutante? As you see, I'm from the East Continent; still learning West Continent customs."
"A debutante's the event where Initiium's 14-year-old ladies and lords debut into high society."
High society debut... Now the money scent wafted like spring breeze on flowers. Like a fancy ball.
"Congratulations. Sounds delightful."
"No... It won't be. That's why I came to you."
Sky-blue eyes clear as unclouded heavens, flawless skin, perfect nose. Born in Korea, she'd debut in a K-pop group no sweat. Even full micro-expression scan showed no flaws. So why the sadness?
"...You'll understand seeing it yourself."
Swoosh—she brushed back her light-brown bangs. And I got it.
'......But there isn't a single one?'