attack on @elmaxlys and Hairdresser-kun !! this was such a joy to write. I almost never explore postcanon stuff, but I had fun with the bit of world building. it got a little longer than i anticipated bc i kept thinking of other people to visit his new salon lol
After his first independent salon had failed, the CCG’s offer (facilitated by his buddy Naoto) had seemed like a lifeline. Good pay, good benefits, a government job… He had grabbed onto it as a drowning man to the scraps of his boat. His first day, however, had revealed the truth: in this job, he nearly always had to fear for his life.
On his first day, he had not actually interacted with any clients at all. He had spent 8 hours in the office of an HR manager reading his contract information and signing forms, including a very extensive NDA. He was not to mention his name, age, place of living (which was to be supplied by the CCG - hooray for no more rent!), or basically any even vaguely personal information. That was fine with him, he didn’t care for talking about himself anyway.
He also had to sign several highly detailed legal waivers regarding his safety. He could not sue the CCG if he was injured by a client. In the event he was injured, the CCG would pay for his treatment, as long as it was not too severe. If he was lethally injured, the CCG had the right to “pull the plug.” How might a hairdresser become lethally injured by a client? Bites, disembowelment, complete consumption, skinning, blunt force trauma, sharp force trauma… the list went on. Anything was possible when working with imprisoned ghouls, afterall. No one told him why this position had opened up all of a sudden, and he tried not to think about it.
What he really looked forward to was working with the academy children. While they wore uniforms and had highly regulated days of schooling, the rules were pretty lax on their hair. They could come in and ask for pretty much anything, save unnatural colours. He was looking forward to making their dreams come true, helping them express what little individuality they could – and they wouldn’t bite (probably). He tried to take this same attitude into his first day at Cochlea. If he was humane to the ghouls and showed them respect where no one else did, maybe he could go back to Soba every night in one piece.
He actually ended up working for the CCG for quite a while. There were a few incidents with certain clients, but he had survived only slightly scarred – mentally and physically. And the pay and benefits really were great. He even grew to like some of his imprisoned clients. He thought it was a bit cruel what the CCG did here, keeping whatever ghouls they could capture alive cooped up under such sadistic conditions. Since stronger ghouls tended to require lethal force more often, the majority of inmates were younger, weaker ghouls. Was it in case they could provide information, like the higher-ups told him? Or just to make an example for other ghouls? He had heard rumours that “escapes” had actually been planned and staged so that word could get out. He wondered if word had gotten out about him…
That’s what he was worried about now.
It had now been several years since he had taken that job for the CCG and he was happy to say he no longer worked for them. He had submitted his resignation to the temporary head of the crumbling body when things started getting really crazy, government officials being executed and the like, but he wasn’t sure it counted because that guy was also now dead. But the CCG and Cochlea didn’t really exist anymore, so he supposed he could no longer work for them anyway. For some reason, his bank account kept getting his monthly paycheck, and he suspected it would until whatever account it came from ran out; maybe he had curried favour with whoever had been left at the end…
It had taken one failed business, many years working under stressful conditions in a dangerous prison, and the destruction of Tokyo… But in the beautiful, partially reconstructed remains of the new city, in a new world where ghouls and humans were maybe starting to work together… He could finally open his own salon!
The man who was unsure whether the NDA on his name still applied looked out through the glass doors of his new salon and smiled as he flipped the sign to “OPEN.” Outside, the street was still partially cluttered by rubble. His salon was in a part of the city that was still pretty far down on the rebuild priority list, but he had gotten a good deal because of that. It was actually the only building still standing on the street, like it had been saved just for him. The salon took up the first floor and he lived on the floor above. It was small, but it would do the job. There was even a subway station not too far away, meaning clients could travel to him (transportation systems had been some of the first infrastructure to be repaired, of course). Inside, there was a small waiting area with a few chairs and potted plants, a single mirror station with a chair – although there was room for at least two more, if he ever rented out to other hairdressers – with a wash station at the back, and a reception desk that was mostly for show. He had brought Soba down in his cage and set him up on the desk with a little placard that said “Receptionist.” His receptionist was currently shredding some newspapers.
He flitted around his salon chair, adjusting the layout of combs and scissors, anxiously waiting for that first client. He had hiked all around the city, putting up posters declaring the grand opening, advertising discounted haircuts and walk-in availability. He had attached slips with the location to each poster, and when he had revisited them, many had been ripped off.
Who would be his first customer?
An office worker in need of a refresh?
Part of the rebuild team, treating themselves to a shampoo and style?
A young student, in with their parents before the schools officially reopened?
… A ghoul, who had heard about his CCG employment and had an axe to grind?
… A previous inmate, here for revenge?
The salon had been open for an hour now. Soba was munching on a snack, slacking off of receptionist duties in the lull. The hairdresser leaned into the mirror and squinted, snipping at his spiked bangs until they were probably less even than before. An old nervous habit.
The bell attached to the door rang.
A tall man in a white suit. Shaggy blond hair pinned back off his forehead. Shiny eyes and a wide mouth.
Naki had been one of his favourite clients back in Cochlea. A member of the old ghoul organization called the White Suits, he had been the leader, Yamori’s, most devoted follower. A physically strong ghoul somewhat lacking in brains, he had been chatty and good-natured, never intentionally trying to scare the hairdresser (unlike some of his other… clients). Naki’s stories of his boss and “big brother” Yamori had always entertained him. Best of all, Naki never seemed to resent his place in Cochlea or the hairdresser’s employment there. Would that change, after everything that had gone down in the world?
Silhouetted by the midmorning sun through the doors, Naki put his hands on his hips when he met the hairdresser’s eyes in the mirror.
“Oyyyyy, good day my main man!!!” his familiar drawl greeted. “You finally got that saloon you always wanted! Congrats!” He came further into the shop, stopping short at the reception desk. “OMG is this the famous little dude?? I finally get to meet him?? Hello, little Mr. Secretary, you’re so cute I could just eat you up!”
The hairdresser flinched.
Naki amended, “Not literally, though! I would get sick.” He surveyed the salon. “Wow, this is much fancier than that setup you had back in the prison! I can’t wait to get all pamperated!”
“Hi, Naki, it’s good to see you again,” the hairdresser greeted. He breathed a long sigh of relief. He really meant it; it was good to see Naki had survived the fall of the city. And to have him as his first customer just seemed… right.
“Hang on, dude, I brought the fam as well, they’ll just be a minute.” Naki peered back over his shoulder. “The critter’s been a menace lately, we gotta leash him up to take him anywhere these days,” he lamented.
The fam? Critter? Leash?? The hairdresser wondered what he was getting himself into here. “So, do you just want the usual, Naki?”
“Yeah, man, you know I’m a sucker for a good shampoo. There’s blood all up in this bitch, I swear, I can never get it out! You always do such a good job. It’s all gettin’ a little long, too, Yamori wouldn’ta been happy at all. Oh, there they are!”
A short, stout woman with orange hair piled high on her head stepped through the door Naki held open. She tugged something behind her and a small child, harnessed into an honest-to-God dog leash, scrambled in, barely avoiding being clapped on the behind by the closing door. The woman hoisted the child into her arms, settling him onto her hip where he gazed at the hairdresser, clearly sniffing. When he grinned, he had three teeth poking out of fresh gums.
Naki gestured toward them. “Here’s the ol’ ball and chain! Er, I mean, the love of my life!” he added in response to a glare.
“Miza,” she said, stepping forward and offering her unoccupied hand – after wiping it on her pants. “Naki has told me so much about you. You made his time in prison bearable. Congratulations on the salon! We’ve told everyone we know about it, all the old crew from Cochlea should be in soon to see and congratulate you, too. We’re all so proud!”
It was the opposite of everything he’d feared. The exact, utter opposite, and the hairdresser found himself sniffling back tears.
Miza held the child towards him. “This is our son. Our first, anyway,” she said, patting her belly. “He’s growing up so fast-”
“Looks just like Yamori, doesn’t he!” Naki interrupted. “Like big bro reborn…” He had a wistful, dreamy look on his face that the hairdresser was very familiar with.
“Yes, dear,” Miza chuckled. “Anyway, he needs his first haircut, and we want you to do it!”
“Just be careful,” Naki added, “he does bite sometimes…”
Oh, God…. the hair dresser thought, but he nodded and guided the happy little family further into the salon.
His next customers were a pair of investigators. Ayumu and Hachikawa had frequently requested his services at the CCG office. Ayumu had a lot of hair that required extensive maintenance. He had never cut Hachi’s hair, but the man was a packaged deal with Ayumu and was always there to glare over his shoulder and make sure the younger woman was comfortable. She was self-conscious of her freckles and usually wore her hair in long bangs to cover her face. However, as a hairdresser, he kind of needed to see what he was working with. He had done his best over the years to ease her anxiety, avoiding eye contact, getting her talking about her interests, and only trimming the very minimum of split ends so that she could keep her desired hairstyle. He had never shampooed her, of course, since that would involve sweeping the hair back off her face – which, if it had ever happened, would have ensured that Hachi gave the hairdresser a deformity to match his own.
“Hello,” he greeted as they entered. Ayumu squealed over Soba-kun and Hachikawa shook his outstretched hand.
“Nice to see you’ve finally got your salon,” the investigator congratulated gruffly. “I had wondered what happened to you when the CCG fell.”
The hairdresser thanked him. “I wondered about you as well. Are you still… investigators?” He cringed a little at his awkwardness.
“Sort of!” Ayumu answered, coming to stand next to Hachi. “We work for the human-ghoul coalition now.”
“Cool!” he replied. He had heard about the new group that was working to unite the two species. He had even considered offering his services. “What sort of things do you get up to now?”
They went off from there, the hairdresser giving Ayumu her usual trim as her and Hachi took turns talking about their latest work. He learned a lot about the state of human-ghoul affairs. Ayumu kicked her feet as he worked, crouching so he could snip the ends of her bangs. Hachi stood on her other side, staring intently at him but not glowering nearly so hard as he used to. And, when he turned Ayumu around to face the mirror again, she had shyly asked if he could wash her hair for her.
“We passed a man outside who said your shampoos are to die for,” she explained. “And you’ve always been so nice about… all this…” she gestured to her face and trailed off.
Hachi put a hand on her shoulder “Are you sure? What if he-”
“I’m sure!” she insisted, a smile evident in her voice. “I trust him.”
After they left, he ate his lunch at the reception desk with Soba, feeding bits of lettuce from his sandwich to the hamster. He spent the time after that sweeping up hair from the floor, sanitizing tools, and reorganizing the washing station until a man he had thought was dead walked through his door.
Was that… the rank S ghoul Shachi??!! It took all the hairdresser’s willpower to not duck behind the reception desk. Shachi’s bulk took up the whole doorway, shampoo-commercial hair blowing in the spring wind. The bell rang like it was screaming.
I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m soooo dead, he despaired. “H-hello, welcome to my salon…” he greeted in a shaky voice.
Shachi took a step closer. The hairdresser took a small step backwards, his body between the ghoul and Soba-kun’s cage.
“I heard you had gotten your own place. I am surprised you survived the fall of Tokyo.”
“Y-yeah… It was crazy for a while, w-wasn’t it… I thought you were… were dead…?” Oh no, why did I say that!
“A true warrior never dies…” Shachi replied sagely.
The ghoul took another step closer. There was no where for the hairdresser to go, his back against the reception desk.
“To the point of my visit…” The very air seemed to solidify and drop to the ground. The hairdresser mourned his newly opened salon.
“What products did you use on my hair? I can’t get it as shiny as you did.”
He blinked. Blinked again. “Oh! Yes, um, it was this specific line, here, come to the bench and I’ll show you… You can have a set of the whole range, on the house…”
Well… today was just full of surprises, wasn’t it!
Once Shachi left, bag of haircare products swinging from one ridiculously muscular arm, the hairdresser could breathe again. He took Soba-kun out of his cage and cuddled with him for a bit. It was getting close to the end of the day when two more customers walked in.
One, he recognized: Akira, a slim, polished blonde who had been one of the CCG’s top investigators before “defecting” (or at least, that’s what he had heard). She had intimidated him at first, with her severe aura and no-nonsense personality, but they got along surprisingly well. She was content to pass pleasantries back and forth during her sessions, and he could actually feel himself relax in her presence. Her companion was a young brunette girl, maybe in her mid teens.
He bowed toward Akira. “Welcome to my salon!”
She smiled, jaded eyes brightening. “Nice place. Right by the subway station; very convenient.”
He nodded. There was a beat of silence that the hairdresser and ex-investigator would have been happy to sit in, except the girl spoke up.
“Hi! I’m Hinami. I’m a friend of Akira’s. I’ve never had a proper haircut before… This place looks so fancy!”
Never had a proper haircut… A ghoul, then, he thought? A ghoul, friends with an investigator… Times really were changing.
“Oh,” Akira said, “I would’ve thought you two knew each other. Hinami spent some time in Cochlea.”
The hairdresser was appalled. They put this sweet young girl in Cochlea? “U-uh… No, I’m sorry, if we have met then I don’t remember.”
“No,” Hinami reassured. “I wasn’t there for long. I was associated with Eyepatch’s camp, so when they took me in they had me under major security, no privileges at all…”
“That’s… a shame. Not even a haircut? Cochlea was too cruel a place, for sure.” He worried for a moment that he sounded sarcastic, but Hinami’s eyes softened.
“... Yeah. I’m glad it’s gone now.”
Silence, for another moment.
“But I heard about you in there.” She paused. “Only good stuff, I promise! All the decent ghouls were impressed with how you treated them. And that you never relayed anything they told you to the CCG. You have a lot of admirers, Hairdresser-kun.”
He smiled. That made him happy to hear.
“It would have been your duty to relay any intelligence you gathered…” That was Akira, of course.
He had never signed anything saying that, he’d made sure. “Mmm,” he answered noncommittally.
“I doubt all the imprisoned ghouls treated you as respectfully as you treated them,” she continued.
“Hehe, yeah…” the hairdresser replied awkwardly. “Comes with the territory I guess… Anyway, what can I do for you ladies today? Do you want your highlights redone, Akira?”
Turned out she was only there to support Hinami. Hinami said she wanted a complete makeover, and he was happy to oblige. He gave her the full treatment, shampoo, cut, colour, blowout. Afterwards, she couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror and smiling. “Wow! Kaneki isn’t going to recognize me!”
The sun was setting by the time they left, so the hairdresser decided it was time to close shop for the day. His first day in his new salon, done… He breathed a happy sigh.
Just as he was about to head up the stairs to his little apartment with Soba-kun, there came the bell ringing over the door. Naoto, maybe?
… No. Not Naoto. Very much not Naoto. Not anyone he wanted in his salon at all, and definitely not at dusk.
Donato Porpora. His least favourite client. The one ghoul he had secretly hoped had been trapped in the remains of Cochlea forever. A man who had deliberately scared him, tormented him, bit him. And he was leering at him through the gloom of the closed-up shop.
He gulped. He couldn’t ignore him. The ghoul could definitely smell that he was here. Carefully, quietly, he set Soba-kun’s cage down at the top of the stairs. He descended and peaked around the corner.
“Hairdresser-kun.” Donato stood, robed and menacing. He was unmasked. “Long time no see.”
“I heard you had left the CCG. Granted, they don’t really exist anymore. Your services were always so… satisfactory back in Cochlea-” he paused to grimace. “I decided to come back to employ you once more.” He came closer, standing right in the hairdresser’s personal space. He stroked his scraggly beard and grinned, all sharp wolf teeth that the hairdresser was already imagining piercing his skin. “My beard needs a trim.”
Thankfully, Donato wanted nothing more than to continue his old game of raising the hairdresser’s blood pressure. He was no worse for the wear when Donato left – except maybe he wouldn’t sleep too well. Donato had even congratulated him on the salon before he went on his way.
Maybe the world really had changed for the better.
