Ji Hoon sat in the chair in front of the mirror he had brought from the bathroom. He looked at his reflection—and Ione's from behind him, scissors and brush in hand.
Ione took a breath before speaking. "Are you sure you want me to do it, Young Master? I… I haven't done this before."
"It's not a problem. Just shorten it enough for me," he replied.
"As you wish." She got closer and began working.
The quiet of Ji Hoon's room was almost unnerving. Only the faint sound of snip, snip, snip filled the air as Ione carefully trimmed the back of his hair.
Ji Hoon sat on the sturdy chair while she stood behind him, her hands steady despite the scissors trembling ever so slightly in her grip. His silver hair slid down like silk with each careful cut, pooling softly on the floor.
For Ji Hoon—whose spouse was the kitchen and who had barely time to date—this was the closest he had ever been to a female in either of his lives.
Her breath was warm against his neck, sending odd shivers down his spine. Ji Hoon tried to ignore the way his ears heated every time her fingers brushed lightly against his skin as she positioned a strand just right.
'Why does this feel so… close?' he wondered, staring straight ahead at the mirror. 'It's just a haircut. A perfectly normal haircut. Totally nothing weird about this. So why is my heart beating like a war drum?'
"Done with the back," Ione said softly, her tone professional but tinged with nervousness. "Now… I'll trim the front, Young Master."
Ji Hoon nodded. "Sure." He started to turn his chair, but the moment he did, she stepped closer.
Way closer.
She had to, of course—there was no other way to reach his bangs properly—but suddenly, Ji Hoon found himself staring directly into her golden fox-like eyes. They were only inches apart, her soft red hair brushing his cheek as her ears twitched wildly.
"…Please don't move," she whispered, her voice almost breaking.
Ji Hoon swallowed, his throat oddly dry. "R-Right. Not moving."
Her gloved hand gently tilted his chin up so she could see better. Ji Hoon froze completely, hyper-aware of the feather-light touch, the scent of wildflowers clinging faintly to her hair, and the steady rhythm of her quickened breathing.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just them—the soft snip of scissors and the storm of unspoken feelings between them.
'Oh god, why is the room getting hotter? Ji Hoon thought wildly. 'If someone walks in right now, I don't know what I'll say…'
Ione's own thoughts were spiraling. 'H-He's so close… I can see every detail of his face. His eyes… his lips… they're… What am I even thinking?! Focus, Ione!'
Her face burned, and in her flustered state, her tail twitched violently. Unfortunately, said tail was a hazard all on its own.
As she finished the last delicate snip, she tried to step back quickly to escape the overwhelming heat of the moment—but her tail betrayed her, tangling around her ankle.
"Ah—!"
"Ione?!" Ji Hoon shot up instinctively as she stumbled.
She pitched forward, and Ji Hoon lunged to catch her. Except instead of saving her gracefully, his foot caught on the leg of the chair.
The next thing they knew—WHUMP!
They crashed onto the bed in a tangled heap, Ji Hoon on his back with Ione sprawled over him. Her palms landed flat against his chest, his hands gripping her waist where he'd tried to steady her.
Time froze.
Ji Hoon's brain short-circuited. 'She's on top of me!'
Ione's entire body went stiff, her face so red it nearly matched her hair. Her ears flattened in sheer panic while her tails puffed up like startled fireworks.
"I-I-I—Young Master, I didn't—this isn't—!"
Ji Hoon, equally red, stammered back, "I KNOW IT'S NOT—JUST—DON'T MOVE!"
But of course, the more they tried to move, the more tangled they became. Her long red hair ended up wrapping around his cuffs like a fluffy rope, and her frantic attempt to pull away only made her lean closer, their foreheads almost touching.
Both of them froze again, breathing ragged.
In the deafening silence, Ji Hoon realized just how soft her trembling hands felt against him, how wide and frightened her golden eyes were, and how utterly adorable she looked despite the disaster.
I am… so doomed, he thought.
"…Young Master…" she whispered, voice barely audible.
Ji Hoon's heart skipped. "…Y-Yeah?"
Before either of them could say more—
SLAM!
The door burst open, and in came Beatrice, with a tray in hand and her mouth wide at the sight before her.
"YOUNG MASTER—WAIT, WHAT AM I SEEING?!" Beatrice's voice shattered the moment like a hammer.
Ji Hoon's head whipped toward the doorway, pure dread in his eyes, as he stood—apparently only then did Ione's hair untangle from his cuff. Nice timing.
"BEATRICE, IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!"
Beatrice stared at them—him pinned beneath a flushed, teary-eyed Ione on his bed, their faces dangerously close, his hands still at her waist.
Her jaw dropped. Then, with a dramatic gasp, she shrieked,
"Oh. The. Stars. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT?!"
Ione let out a strangled squeak, diving into her tails like a turtle retreating into its shell.
"I-I-I wasn't—!!"
Ji Hoon roared, "IT'S A HAIRCUT! JUST A HAIRCUT!"
Beatrice planted her fists on her hips, smirking like a cat who'd found a bowl of cream.
"Oh, I bet it was. A very intimate haircut."
"GET OUT!" Ji Hoon yelled, his face redder than a chili pepper.
As Beatrice retreated cackling, Ji Hoon groaned and flopped back onto the bed, glaring at the ceiling. "…I really need to remind myself to lock that door sometimes."
* * * * *
That Night...
Alister stepped out of his estate in the dead of night, the chill of the evening biting at his skin, with his guard following. The lantern in his hand cast long, jittering shadows across the cobblestone streets, illuminating a path that led farther from the bustling city lights and into the notorious district no respectable merchant dared enter.
The slum was alive in a way that sent shivers down his spine. Foul smoke curled from firepits, mingling with the stench of refuse and wet stone. Figures slouched in alleyways, eyes gleaming with suspicion and opportunism.
The distant clamor of drunken laughter and the occasional shout made it clear that law and order were whispers here. He was sure unless he got a very serious reason, he would never return here again. Until now that is.
Alister's boots echoed off the uneven cobblestones as he strode through the slum streets, his personal guard flanking him like shadows. The air reeked of smoke and decay, but he ignored it, eyes fixed on the building ahead.
The tavern smelled of stale beer and sweat, a perfect place for someone like him to negotiate quietly. As he pushed the door open, the room went still.
Every pair of eyes turned toward him and his guard. The only sound was the creak of the floorboards under his boots. He didn't acknowledge anyone. His focus was on a single figure hunched in the shadows of the back room.
The man looked up, scarred and wiry, with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Lord Alister," he said, bowing just enough to show respect without lowering his arrogance. "How is the… beast girl we sold you last time? I heard from the streets you lost her… in a bet."
Alister stopped dead, his chest tightening. "How did—" His voice caught, rage and disbelief mixing, but he cut it off sharply.
"I want you to do me a job," he said, his tone low and dangerous, forcing the words out like a whip.
The scarred man's grin widened. "Always happy to oblige, my lord. Tell me what you need. I'm listening."
Alister's eyes narrowed, cold and precise. "Two people. I want them… roughed up. Enough to remind them of their place. Not dead. Not yet. Just… enough to send a message."
The man tilted his head, considering. "Hmm… tricky. Patrols are heavier than usual with the ICC starting tomorrow. Lots of outsiders arriving, so the streets are packed, guards are on edge… but after the first round? That's when the streets will open up. After that? I can get the job done."
Alister's jaw clenched. He reached into his cloak and produced a leather pouch. Coins spilled onto the table with a metallic jingle, drawing an almost childish gleam of excitement from the scarred man. He leaned forward, counting quickly, his grin stretching wider.
"This… this is more than enough. Trust me, my lord. They'll regret ever crossing you."
Alister leaned back slightly, his mind sharp and cold. 'I told you, Cassian… you'll see what happens when you cross a de Clein.'
The man chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. "Consider it done. After the first ICC round ends tomorrow, they won't know what hit them. I'll make sure of it."
Alister's fists tightened at his sides, every muscle taut with anticipation and fury. He didn't speak. There was no need. The plan was in motion, and the men he had hired were eager to execute it.