The Miracle Hair Drug
Kang Tae-ho sank deep into the living room sofa. The TV screen blared an overseas news special report.
He flicked through the channels. He had no interest in gloomy news from foreign lands. Another channel was in the middle of a domestic home shopping broadcast. An overexcited host spat foam while holding up a bag of imported whole-bean coffee.
"Everyone! This is the finest Colombian beans that risked life and limb crossing the ocean! Limited stock—only 1,000 bags! 300,000 won per bag!"
A ridiculous chuckle escaped him. 300,000 won for a bag of coffee. No wonder import prices were insane. Ocean or air transport wasn't impossible, but it was a deadly gamble. One wrong move, and you'd meet a massive sea monster or a flock of pterodactyls—straight to watery grave city.
To ship safely, you needed naval warships or top guild aces as escorts. Transportation costs bigger than the cargo itself. That all got slapped onto the price tag, creating these mad numbers.
"Sigh."
With a deep sigh, he peeled a tangerine and popped it in his mouth. The sweet juice washed away the bitter taste. Then, the smartphone buried in his pocket buzzed. The screen showed [Association President Park Jin-cheol].
"What."
-Tae-ho. Get over to the Association right now.
"No. Too annoying."
-We've got something that'll make even your grumpy ass light up. Come and grab lunch.
"Not going."
-If you don't, I'll storm your penthouse. I'll call your mom ahead and ask her to slow-cook some prime hanwoo I like.
A firm, underhanded threat. When the old man pulled out all the stops like that, it meant something big was up. If he barged through the front door, Mom and Dad would lay out a feast fit for a king, causing a huge fuss. Better to move himself than watch that tiring spectacle.
"Ugh, you're such a pain. Fine, I'm going."
He hit end call. Tied the drawstring on his gray training pants tight. Pulled the hood up haphazardly and flung open the balcony door. Layered a thick mana barrier and leaped into the air. Shot straight toward the Hunter Association HQ in Gangnam.
Top floor of the Association, president's private office. He skipped knocking and shoved the door open.
"Old man. You called?"
Deep in the spacious office, a heavy leather chair swivelled around from gazing out the window.
"Oh, Tae-ho. Come sit."
The old man greeted him with a friendly grin. In that instant, Tae-ho's brain short-circuited. He froze mid-step, staring at the old man's face. Something was off. Terribly off.
The usual mid-50s guy, forehead gleaming from stress-induced baldness. Now, that empty dome sprouted thick, glossy black hair like obsidian, dense as a lion's mane. So much it covered half his forehead. Tae-ho narrowed his eyes.
"...Who the hell are you. What'd you do to our old man."
"Hahaha! Surprised? It's me, you punk."
The old man stood, laughing heartily as he approached. Tae-ho plopped onto the opposite sofa. His short legs dangled, toes swinging in the air. He couldn't tear his gaze from the old man's scalp, furrowing his brow hard.
"What'd you do to your head. Glue on some animal fur or what?"
"A wig? Extensions? Don't insult me. This is 100% pure, homegrown from my follicles. Don't believe me? Yank it yourself."
The old man shoved his lush bangs toward him.
"Gross, why would I. Back off. What'd you eat to make your hair explode like that."
"This is why I called you."
The old man cleared his throat and slid a thick binder across the table. Bold red stamp on the cover.
Project: Ouroboros
Hair Follicle Cell Explosive Regeneration Serum - Results Report
He skimmed the report. Pages of chemical formulas and clinical data. A familiar term caught his eye in the ingredients list.
"Imugi bone marrow extract?"
He looked up at the old man.
"Yep. That 3km disaster-class sea serpent you bled out killing on the northern frontline last year. Its bones."
"You made hair growth serum from that beast's bones?"
"Our Association's research team ground them nonstop for a year."
The old man leaned back deep into the sofa, explaining in a heavy voice.
"That imugi you split spine-to-tail. The outer shell and long bones went to frontline tank armor plating. Wouldn't even scratch from most anti-tank missiles. Prime building material. But the issue was the marrow and spinal cord left inside."
The old man swept back his voluminous bangs. Overflowing midlife confidence dripped from the gesture.
"Team analyzed the marrow—its tenacious vitality and cell division rate were off the charts. Diluted and refined it thousands-fold for human DNA compatibility, and boom: miracle substance that explosively revives dead follicles."
Tae-ho couldn't even muster a hollow laugh at the absurdity.
One year ago. Northern frontline, storm raging wild. The agony of ribs shattering when the imugi's tail slammed him into a cliff. Mouth full of foul blood, terror of death. That horrific disaster he'd pulverized his own bones to slice apart, reborn as a neighborhood uncles' baldness cure.
"The beast I crushed my bones grabbing... World turns real pragmatically, huh."
"Exactly. Thanks to you, humanity's age-old plague is cured!"
The old man slammed the table, roaring with laughter. The secretary pouring tea glanced lingeringly at his scalp.
"Sell this overseas, rake in cash. Bald chaebols and politicians lining up."
"Can't export, sadly."
The old man tsked, sipping tea.
"Wanna, but routes are trashed. Sending one container ship needs full naval fleet plus A-rank hunter escorts. Cargo value doesn't cover it."
"Expensive drug. Shipping's pocket change."
"Buyers are the problem."
The old man propped his chin, adding dryly.
"South America, Africa weaklings already monster chow, extinct. US, Europe powerhouses scraping budgets blocking gates, rebuilding cities. Nations half-wrecked, streets overflowing refugees—who's gonna drop billions on import baldness fix?"
True. Korea survived intact thanks to his solo defense. Rest of the world still flailing in reconstruction hell. No bandwidth for outsiders.
"So dumping it all domestic?"
"Trade's tough anyway. Flood the miracle serum here, boost national morale. Monster byproducts you haul keep energy overflowing."
The old man grinned slyly.
"R&D funded by selling the imugi hide. Cheap generic rollout to pharmacies—whole country'll flip. Hitting prime time news tomorrow 9AM."
"Side effects? Wake up with snake scales or something?"
"Clinicals perfect. Look at my head. No scales—back to 20s swish."
The old man shook his head proudly. Tae-ho found the sight nauseating. Hopped off the sofa.
"Do what you want. Monster bone shampoo or cosmetics—none of my business."
No grudge or anger. If anything, the quintessentially Korean ending drew a chuckle. That scaly abomination saving lives—no, hair. Monstrous destroyer absorbed so lightly into daily life. Kinda fun.
"Leaving already? Lunch!"
"Lost appetite. I'm out."
Loose wave goodbye, out the office. All down the hall, old man's humming trailed. A ridiculously peaceful, absurd afternoon.
Next morning. Deep in the living room sofa again. Sky-blue pajamas frilled to the knees, flopping around. Mom dressed him, hated the frills but no energy to fight.
9AM. TV paused reruns, flashed red breaking news ticker.
The anchor's voice trembled faintly. Straining composure, but white-knuckled grip on script visible. Up close, his M-shaped baldness was advanced.
Stock footage flashed: a year ago, him shoving mana down the imugi's throat, bursting it from inside. Gory battle cut to white-coated researchers cheering with beakers.
Corner panel: middle-aged doc, glasses shaking, raving excitedly.
"This deserves ten Nobel Prizes in Medicine! Hunter Kang Tae-ho's legendary strike saves humanity from another disaster!"
"Our puppy want some apple?"
Mom brought a plate of rabbit-shaped apple slices. He opened wide, chewed the piece she poked in.
Crisp texture, sweet juice filled his mouth. The TV frenzy clashed so hard with this serene living room, he burst out laughing.
BAM!
The front door nearly splintered. Dad burst in from early soccer, sweat-soaked uniform, clutching his smartphone.
"Tae-ho!! My son!! Korea's light!!!"
Dad charged the living room, hoisted his 140cm featherweight body skyward.
"Ugh, sweat stink. Dad, put me down. Can't breathe."
"You see the news?! Our boy saved even this old man's lost youth!"
Dad set him down gently, rubbed his bald pate with both hands, cheering victory.
"Tomorrow 5AM, tent at the pharmacy line! Soccer dads group chat's exploding! From tomorrow, we worship you as living Buddha!"
Door opened. Weekend late-sleeper Kang Hae-eun shuffled out, bedhead, saw the scene.
"What morning racket..."
"Hae-eun! Your bro's savior of nation's baldies!"
"What bullshit. Pfft!"
Hae-eun alternated between TV ticker and Dad's mad dance, collapsed rolling on floor. Tears streaming, gasping laughs.
"Insane, for real! Bro's form is nuts! Slicing monsters to transplant Dad's hair! Lmao!"
"No lip. You line up with Dad tomorrow too. Might limit one per person!"
Dad already hunting tent and sleeping bag, grim resolve. Mom chuckled, lightly smacked his back.
"Aigoo, such a drama king. Leave our tired Tae-ho alone."
Left alone in the living room. Back on sofa, toes dangling. Forked a rabbit apple into his mouth.
Then, pocket alerts pinged nonstop.
Total chaos. Full-on madhouse party. He chucked the phone into the sofa corner.
But this ruckus—sweet apple scent over battlefield blood—suited him fine. Whether his spilled blood smoothed Gangnam madams' wrinkles or filled Dad's dome, none of his concern.
Dazzling morning sun poured through the window. Whatever the world, as long as this annoying, noisy penthouse life held—this was enough.