Saturday morning arrived cold and gray, with frost coating the windows of Aiko's attic room. She had barely slept, her mind racing with excitement and anxiety about what lay ahead. At 6:30 AM, she crept down the ladder from her room, moving with the silent precision she'd perfected over years of trying to avoid her aunt's attention.
The house was mercifully quiet. Uncle Kenji was away on another business trip, and Aunt Mariko had finished off most of a bottle of wine the night before while ranting about the neighbors' "pretentious" holiday decorations. Her cousins wouldn't wake up for hours—weekends were their time to sleep until noon.
Aiko slipped out the back door, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. The streets were empty except for a few early joggers and the occasional delivery truck. She walked quickly toward Maple Street, her hands stuffed deep in her coat pockets, rehearsing everything she wanted to say to Mrs. Sato.
When she arrived at the salon at exactly 7 AM, she was surprised to see lights already on inside. Through the window, she could make out Mrs. Sato's familiar figure moving around the shop, but there was someone else there too—a tall, slender girl with perfectly styled hair who was organizing supplies with efficient, practiced movements.
Aiko knocked softly on the door, and Mrs. Sato looked up with a smile, gesturing for her to come in.
"Punctual," Mrs. Sato said approvingly as Aiko entered. "That's a good sign. Aiko, I'd like you to meet my granddaughter, Hana."
The girl turned around, and Aiko's first impression was of someone who belonged in a completely different world. Hana was probably sixteen or seventeen, with glossy black hair that fell in perfect waves past her shoulders. Her clothes were obviously expensive—a designer sweater, perfectly fitted jeans, boots that probably cost more than Aiko's family spent on food in a month. Everything about her spoke of confidence, privilege, and belonging.
"So you're the girl who wants to learn hairstyling," Hana said, her voice neutral but her eyes assessing. She looked Aiko up and down, taking in the secondhand coat, the worn shoes, the carefully hidden signs of neglect. "Grandmother told me about you."
"Nice to meet you," Aiko said quietly, suddenly feeling even more out of place than usual.
"Hana comes in early on Saturdays to help me prepare for the day," Mrs. Sato explained. "She's been working here since she was twelve, learning the business from the ground up. She'll be graduating high school next year and plans to take over the salon eventually."
Pride radiated from Mrs. Sato's voice, and Aiko could see why. Hana moved through the salon like she owned it, her hands sure and confident as she arranged tools and checked supply levels. This was clearly someone who had grown up in the world of beauty and transformation, who had never known what it felt like to be unwanted or forgotten.
"Grandmother says you want to work here in exchange for learning," Hana continued, her tone becoming cooler. "What exactly do you think you can offer us?"
The question hit Aiko like a slap. "I... I can clean, organize, help with whatever you need. I'm a hard worker."
"Are you?" Hana's eyebrows rose skeptically. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who can barely take care of herself, let alone help with other people's hair."
"Hana," Mrs. Sato's voice carried a warning.
"No, Grandmother, I think we need to be honest here." Hana crossed her arms, facing Aiko directly. "This is a professional salon. Our clients trust us with their appearance, their confidence, their special occasions. Do you really think someone like you belongs in that environment?"
The words stung because they echoed Aiko's own deepest fears. What was she thinking, trying to enter a world where appearance mattered so much when she could barely manage her own basic hygiene? How could she help others feel beautiful when she felt so fundamentally broken herself?
But then she remembered the boy at the park, the way he had looked past her surface problems to see something worth caring for. He hadn't seen her neglected state as a disqualification—he had seen it as an opportunity to help.
"I know I don't look like much," Aiko said, her voice gaining strength. "But someone once saw potential in me when I couldn't see it myself. He taught me that taking care of hair isn't just about technique—it's about seeing the person underneath and helping them feel worthy of care."
Hana's expression shifted slightly, surprise flickering across her features. She had clearly expected Aiko to crumble under criticism, not respond with quiet determination.
"That's a nice sentiment," Hana said, her tone softening just a fraction. "But this business requires more than good intentions. It requires skill, knowledge, years of training. What makes you think you can just walk in here and learn what I've been studying my whole life?"
"I don't think it will be easy," Aiko replied. "I know I have everything to learn. But I'm willing to work harder than anyone to earn the right to be here."
Mrs. Sato had been watching this exchange with keen interest, her head tilted slightly as she observed both girls. Now she stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Hana's shoulder.
"Remember when you first wanted to learn, dear?" she said quietly. "You were so eager, so determined to prove yourself worthy of this craft. Aiko reminds me of you at that age."
"I was born into this family," Hana protested. "This salon is my inheritance, my birthright. It's completely different."
"Is it?" Mrs. Sato asked mildly. "Passion for beauty and transformation can come from anywhere, Hana. Sometimes the people who need it most are the ones who have the most to give."
Hana looked between her grandmother and Aiko, clearly wrestling with conflicting emotions. Finally, she sighed.
"Fine," she said, though her tone suggested the decision was anything but final. "But I have conditions. If you're going to work here, you follow my rules. You don't touch anything expensive. You don't interact with clients unless I specifically tell you to. And if you mess up even once, if you do anything to damage our reputation, you're gone. Understood?"
"Understood," Aiko said, relief flooding through her.
"Good." Hana turned back to her organizing, clearly considering the matter closed. "You can start by sweeping the floor and cleaning the mirrors. The supplies are in the back closet."
As Aiko hurried to find the cleaning supplies, she could hear Mrs. Sato speaking quietly to her granddaughter.
"Give her a chance, Hana. I think she might surprise you."
"I'm not worried about her surprising me," Hana replied, her voice low but audible. "I'm worried about her disappointing you. Or worse, embarrassing us in front of clients."
Aiko found the cleaning supplies and began sweeping, trying to ignore the conversation. She understood Hana's concerns—they made perfect sense from someone who had grown up in this world, who had something to protect. But understanding didn't make the girl's hostility any easier to bear.
As she worked, Aiko made a silent promise to herself. She would prove Hana wrong. She would work so hard, learn so much, contribute so meaningfully to this salon that even Hana would have to admit she belonged here.
She was going to earn her place in this world of transformation and beauty, no matter how long it took or how many obstacles stood in her way.
The real challenge was just beginning.