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The barber hums as he combs back the strands of Satori’s hair away from his face. Under the barbershop lights, his hair slides past the barber’s comb, shining and reflecting wisps of light. One might wonder why someone would have such nice hair shaved off, but with a week left before Satori’s flight to Paris, there isn’t much time left.
He squirms in his seat, chuckling to himself. “Ah, I can’t wait!”
The barber, an old man with no hair left on his own scalp, glances at him and tilts his head. He is unfazed by his squirming, and simply stops and repositions his comb. “Any particular reason for the shave? You don’t look like you’ve done anything shameful.”
“Ah, nah, it’s nothing like that. I’m going to culinary school!” Satori grins and squirms a little more as he says it. Just announcing it to someone is enough to send his emotions bubbling over. “I’m flying to France a week from now, and I’m gonna study there! I’ll be making some of the best chocolates in the world. Can’t have my hair getting in the way of that, y’know?”
The old man smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening.. “Ah, that’s quite the dream. Congratulations,” he says.
“Thanks! I didn’t know if I wanted to go at first, honestly, or if I wanted to keep playing volleyball ‘cause I love it, but now I really, really want to go. And I’m gonna miss my hair, but that’s okay, I’ve already made some good memories with it.”
“Volleyball, huh? That sounds like fun. Did you win a lot of matches?”
“Yeah! We went to Nationals a bunch of times. I got a lot of good blocks in, helped my team score a ton of points with them. Met some really crazy players, too! And I met my best friend. He’s my teammate, and he’s the biggest volleyball nut I’ve ever met.” Satori stops squirming, and presses his hands together. A smile spreads across his face, more serene than his typical manic grin. “He’s the real star of the team. One day he’s gonna go pro and you’ll see him on TV.”
“Is that so,” the old man says; he puts the comb aside and fishes for his electric clipper from his tray. “It sounds like you had a wonderful time.”
“Oh, it was paradise. I can’t even describe it!”
“Are you sure about this, Satori? If you decide to grow it back, it will take a long time.”
Wakatoshi doesn’t mean to doubt his resolve when he says it; he only worries for his best friend. And with the way his fingers comb through Satori’s hair, perhaps there’s a little selfishness to his question.
“Yeah, I’m absolutely sure.” He tilts his head back, letting Wakatoshi play with his hair more. His fingers move through it with a slow rhythm, moving from scalp to tips, scalp to tips, again and again.
They’re seated together on the floor in Satori’s dorm room, with Satori’s back facing Wakatoshi. There is less than a month left before the end of their last year of high school. It’s a familiar scenario for both of them; Satori invites Wakatoshi to his dorm after classes, then they read manga or watch some video clips for a bit, but soon Satori will sprawl on his bed or on the floor and Wakatoshi will sit close by and then they’ll talk about anything and everything.
“It will be practical for you,” Wakatoshi says. “Perhaps I’m taken aback because I’ve never seen you with anything other than your current hair. I’m not sure what to feel about the change.”
“Aww, Wakatoshi-kun, it’s just hair! I’ll still be me. We won’t magically stop being best friends just because I look different!” He pauses and sits up straighter; Wakatoshi stops combing through his hair.
Satori turns to look back at him, eyes wide. “You’ll still be friends with me, right?”
Wakatoshi pauses to smile at him. It’s a small smile, the one that only Satori knows exists. “Of course. You’ll still be you. As you said, it’s just hair.”
And just like that, he starts combing through his fingers through his hair once more.
Satori can’t help himself as he sighs in relief and slumps back into Wakatoshi’s chest. “And you’ll still be my friend, too, even when you go pro and get super famous. I’ll stay in touch! I’ll call you every day and watch all your matches and tell everyone that you’re my best friend.”
“I’d like that.”
With each buzz of the electric clipper close to his scalp, a tuft of red hair falls to the barbershop floor. Satori smiles to himself at the sight and begins to hum a tune, barely audible over the buzz of the clipper, making it up to the rhythm of the barber’s shaving. He watches the locks of hair fall off his head and onto his feet, reminding him of the embers of a bonfire falling to the ground, glowing bright red at first, then cooling and fading to black. Somehow, even the embers of his hair do look a little duller lying on the floor.
It’s impressive, really, how quickly the locks of Satori’s hair fall, after years growing it out and keeping it trim and styling it upright. He spent countless mornings in the bathroom getting the gel right, until the strands stood out slightly upward in one big mass, or until Semi banged on the door in frustration. All of that effort disappears with one swift movement of the electric clipper.
The time spent styling was intentional. For years, Satori’s hair served as a warning, a bright red flame greeting his opponents across the net. Try to score against us, it said, and I’ll be there waiting to turn the tables on you. The bright licks of red told of that message as much as his taunts, as much as his hands splayed over the net. It formed part of his image as the Guess Monster.
But the Guess Monster died in a volleyball court in Sendai Gymnasium on the day of the Spring Interhigh Finals. After years of terrifying opponents and sending their spikes back to their side of the court, after throwing back every insult and taunt that had created him in the first place, he is defeated 一 by another pair of monsters, even. Now, in the Guess Monster’s place, there is only Tendou Satori: an eighteen-year-old guy who likes sweets and shounen manga. He doesn’t need to taunt or be taunted anymore. All he wants to go to culinary school and make chocolates to his heart’s content.
Those flames of red have no place crammed under a hair net or a chef’s hat. They’d only get in the way. And so the flames, like the myth of the Guess Monster himself, die out, and fall apart as embers.
It’s not such a bad thing, Satori thinks. He always thought the last embers of a bonfire were pretty in their own way; on the last night of a training camp well done, they’d gather round a bonfire and eat and sing and shout, until the flames faded out and the embers were left glittering on the ground. Some things just end, and they are what they are for it. It doesn’t make them any less memorable.
“What do you think?” The barber asks, putting his trimmer down. With a swift motion, he removes Satori’s cape, then gives him a hand mirror to examine the shave more closely. It isn’t a complete shave, as requested. His hair is cropped close, following the shape of his head, and a layer of red remains on his scalp.
Satori gasps. The reflection in the mirror gasps back. He smiles, and the reflection smiles; he laughs, and the reflection laughs, the sound ringing through the barbershop walls. The sight of his reflection is adorable 一 less fiery, rounder, friendlier, like a kid seeing a shiny new toy.
But this kid is different from the one all those years ago, who stood at the sidelines in his bowl cut while the other kids called him a monster and kicked him off their teams. This kid smiles more freely and laughs out loud, freeing himself from the taunts that haunted him as he does. If that reflection could wink at Satori on its own accord, it would. This is it, it wanted to say. This is where it all starts from here.
It’s a shame that he’ll have to keep his hair under a net or a chef’s hat most of the time, but then again, maybe that would only enhance his look. He’d look amazing with a chef’s hat on his head, even more so than with a flame of hair. Satori hasn’t tried it on yet, but he just knows it. And his intuition is pretty damn good.
He smiles at the mirror one more time. The reflection’s smile tells Satori only good things.
The barber chuckles, too, as he pulls out a brush and sweeps the loose hair around Satori’s neck and shoulders. “You like it?”
Satori runs a hand through the close-cropped hair; it’s fuzzy, but soft and light. He nearly jumps out of his chair as he says, “I love it!”
Right after the haircut, everything feels lighter 一 literally. Satori steps out of the barbershop and is immediately hit by a breeze; it passes right over his head, providing him with a gust of cool air. He chuckles at the sensation, and runs his hand over the fuzz of his scalp again. Still as light as ever.
Wakatoshi is waiting for him outside, just as expected; Satori texted him just a few moments ago. Satori doesn’t miss the subtle way his jaw unclenches at the sight of him, or the glitter in his eyes, or the corners of his lips tugging upward as his face as his whole face softens ever so slightly.
Satori runs over to him, feeling the breeze rush over his scalp, and tackles him into a hug. “Wakatoshi-kun! You really waited for me outside!”
“Of course I did, you told me to,” is all he says, but he wraps his own arms around his frame and returns the hug. Satori gives him a lingering squeeze, then pulls back.
“So? What do you think?”
“You look good.”
His words are plain, but once again Satori catches the glitter in his eyes, and his smile growing just a tiny bit wider. Wakatoshi lifts a hand and runs it through the close shave on Satori’s head; his hand feels rough, but warm.
“It’s soft,” he says, and runs his hand through it again.
Satori laughs, and his body relaxes as Wakatoshi keeps running his hand through his scalp like that a few more times. Satori closes his eyes and lets himself relish in the touch. Things come to an end, from his volleyball days to his old hairdo, but whatever bond he and Wakatoshi have thankfully stays the same.