Chapter 8 - Getting a Haircut
A little past noon, Dahlia visited Irma’s salon.
When she knocked and entered, a woman had just finished her haircut and was leaving.
“Thanks for yesterday, Irma. Here, enjoy this for dinner.”
Dahlia placed a large package of ham and sausages on the table in the waiting area.
"Thanks, Dahlia. I’ll take it. But it's a lot. Why don’t you stay and have dinner with us?"
"I’d love to, but I have some work to finish, so let’s have dinner together another time."
As Dahlia finished speaking, her eyes caught the large mirror in front of her.
A woman with heavy, dark brown hair that was just loosely gathered, a tired face with no makeup, and black-framed glasses, was looking at her with a gloomy expression.
"Irma, do you have any more appointments today?"
"No, that was the last one."
"Can I ask you to do my hair?"
"Of course. How do you want it?"
"Chop it off completely. And... return it to its original color."
Dahlia’s natural hair was a deep red.
It was said to be the same color as her mother’s, though she had no way to confirm that.
Hair like a beautiful sunrise, or like a charming crimson clover—the maid who took care of her when she was a child had praised her hair with such a description.
As a child, she had wanted her father’s sandy-colored hair. Her eyes were the same green as his, so she wished her hair could match too.
"It’s grown longer than I thought. How short do you want it?"
"Just short enough so I can still tie it up when I work."
When she let down her hair, it fell to the middle of her back.
After sitting down in a chair, Irma carefully brushed it out.
"With your natural curls, I’d suggest just above your shoulders. How about here?"
"That’s fine. I’ll leave the rest to you."
Irma nodded, draped a white cape over Dalia, and began cutting her hair with practiced ease.
The rhythmic snip of scissors echoed repeatedly.
"You’ve been growing your hair out since you got engaged, right?"
"Yes, it was Orlando-san’s preference. He liked long hair in subdued colors. Once it got longer, dyeing it at home became such a hassle though."
"Your natural hair color suits your complexion better, though."
"But red tends to look flashy."
"Calling your natural hair flashy? That’s just unfair, in my opinion."
Without stopping her scissors, Irma pursed her lips slightly.
Locks of Dahlia’s hair fell one by one onto the polished wooden floor.
"In my experience, when women come to me wanting to tone down their looks after getting engaged or married, it’s almost always because of their fiancé or husband’s request."
"Is it usually because of work or family expectations?"
"That's what they say, but I think there’s more to it."
Irma paused for a moment and met Dahlia’s gaze in the mirror.
Her earrings, adorned with reddish-brown stones, gleamed in the light—the same color as Marcella’s eyes.
"Men who want their women to look plain often lack confidence in themselves."
"Really?"
"If you look beautiful, someone else might steal you away or try to woo you—that's what they're afraid of, no? And if you’re flashy, you’ll naturally draw attention. Honestly, if they’re so afraid, they should focus on holding onto their partners and improving themselves."
"I see. That makes sense."
Dahlia nodded.
But she felt it didn’t apply to her at all.
Tobias had never worried about anyone stealing Dahlia away.
In fact, it was Dahlia losing her man, but she didn't even feel regret anymore, so it was okay.
Once the haircut was done, they moved to the wash station at the back of the salon.
Using water and fire magic stones, Irma prepared warm water and a solution to strip the hair dye.
Dahlia’s hair was soaked, washed twice with liquid soap, then conditioned thoroughly.
After applying a fragrant hair oil, Irma used a dryer powered by wind and fire magic stones to dry Dahlia’s hair, leaving it soft and swaying just above her shoulders.
With a name just like the tool in her previous life, the magical tool known as "dryer" was something Dahlia's father had developed when she was a child.
Technically, it was a collaboration between her and her father.
When she was just starting to study magical tools as a child, she created a small device that could produce warm air using wind and fire magic stones.
She tried to secretly make it to surprise her father, but not having learned the proper techniques, she didn’t fully understand how to calculate the output.
The result of her haphazard work was a compact yet impressive flamethrower.
She accidentally scorched the wall of the workshop and vividly remembered her usually gentle father coming down on her like a thunderstorm.
After getting a thorough scolding, Dahlia, on the verge of tears, desperately explained the mechanism and what she was trying to achieve.
Afterward, her father understood and got excited with her, and the two stayed up all night. By morning, they had perfected a dryer ideal for drying hair.
She also recalled how her father was later scolded by the maid, who had just returned from vacation, for letting a child stay up all night—a fond memory now.
"It looks great on you."
"Thanks. I feel lighter and refreshed."
In the mirror, a woman with red hair smiled back. After two years, the vibrant red color felt a bit unfamiliar.
"There aren’t any customers now. Want some coffee?"
Nodding at Irma’s offer, they moved to the house from the salon.
"Want me to help with unpacking your things?"
"No need. I didn’t have much to begin with."
Accepting the coffee from Irma, Dahlia added a little more sugar than usual.
"Marcella filled me in yesterday. I know it’s cliché, but you’re better off without him."
"You’re right. I’m glad we broke up."
Dahlia replied firmly.
"By the way, Orlando-san came to the tower today."
"He came to apologize and make amends, right? Or maybe to ask for another chance?"
"No, he wanted the engagement bracelet back—for his new fiancée."
"What the—"
Irma choked, spilling her coffee all over the table.
"I-is he stupid?!"
As Irma coughed in anger, Dahlia quickly rubbed her back.
"Sorry! I should’ve waited until you finished drinking to tell you."
"No, it’s fine. But what on earth was that man thinking?!"
"He said he couldn’t afford to buy a new engagement bracelet for his fiancée."
"You didn’t give it back, did you?"
"I did. I gave him the earrings too."
"You should’ve sold them. You could’ve gotten good money for them."
True, money was essential.
With no family, no plans for marriage, and a job as a magical toolmaker that required expensive materials and research costs, Dahlia needed to save money.
But at the time, all she had wanted was to cut ties with Tobias immediately.
"All I could think was that I wanted to cut ties with him. Even if it was wasteful."
"Well, I think I understand how you feel... You're a magical toolmaker, so just work hard and you'll be fine."
Irma refilled her coffee and sat down.
She added sugar to her cup and stirred it as she asked Dahlia...
"Say, should I spread the word about Tobias? It could be a good little revenge. My clients would help circulate it."
"No, don’t. That would only spread the fact that I was engaged to him. Being pitied would be exhausting. I’m treating this engagement as my 'dark past.'"
"Dark past, huh? Hehe, that’s a good one."
Apparently, that phrase from her past life translated well here too.
Irma chuckled and poured Dahlia a second cup of coffee.
"I'm sure you’ll find someone better, Dahlia."
"I’m fine staying single for now... I’m enjoying my job right now. Maybe I’ll dedicate myself to magical tools, take on an apprentice when I’m old and gray, and train them to surpass me and become a great magical toolmaker."
"As your friend, I should discourage that... but honestly, it sounds pretty cool."
The two chatted and laughed until the sun was about to set.
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