The bell above the door of “Sister’s Edge” chimed as it always did—bright, sharp, impossible to ignore.

You barely glanced up from your client. “If you’re here to complain about your trim again, Miya, I swear—”

“I look amazing every time,” your younger brother shot back, grinning.

Across town, everyone knew Umemiya Hajime as the fearless heart of Bofurin. To you, he was just your annoying little brother who liked to lean on your counter and smirk while you worked.

And today, he’d brought company.

Behind him stood Sugishita Kyotaro, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the shop like he expected someone to challenge him. He froze when he actually looked at you.

You finished clipping, spun your client around with a practiced flick, and offered a mirror. “There. Tell the girls I saved your life.”

When the client left beaming, you finally faced them fully.

“So,” you said, folding your arms. “Bofurin’s most intense bodyguard… finally decided to see where your alliance perks come from?”

Sugishita opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Umemiya barked out a laugh. “She’s top of her school, you know. Whole campus on the east side? Untouchable. Runs it like a fortress. Protects every girl from creeps before they even think about trying something.”

You shot him a look. “It’s called standards. Try having some.”

Sugishita’s ears burned.

He’d heard the stories. The infamous all-girls academy across town. The “feminist stronghold.” The president who’d personally dragged harassers off campus by their collars. He just hadn’t expected—

You.

Calm. Confident. Sleeves rolled up. Scissors glinting like weapons in your steady hands.

“Your posture,” you said suddenly, stepping closer.

Sugishita stiffened.

“It’s awful.”

Umemiya burst out laughing again. “See? I told you.”

You circled Sugishita like you were assessing a fighter. “And your hair… you fight gangs looking like that?”

He instinctively reached up, embarrassed. His hair was uneven, too long at the back, flattened from constant helmet wear and wind.

Your expression softened.

“Sit.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“In the chair.” You pointed. “Free. Consider it thanks. Bofurin’s been good to our alliance. And I take care of the people who take care of my brother.”

Umemiya leaned on the counter smugly. “You’re gonna look so good, man.”

Sugishita sat like he was about to be executed.

When your fingers brushed his hair, his whole world tilted.

You were focused, close enough that he could smell the faint citrus of your shampoo. Your touch was firm but careful. Confident. Not afraid.

“You don’t have to slouch,” you murmured. “You’re tall. Own it.”

He swallowed.

“I—”

“Chin up.”

He obeyed instantly.

You worked quickly, scissors snipping, comb gliding, adjusting the sides, trimming the back. You styled it with clean layers that framed his face instead of hiding it.

When you finally spun him toward the mirror, Sugishita didn’t recognize himself.

His posture straightened without thinking. His eyes looked sharper. Intentional.

You grinned. “See? There’s a good-looking delinquent under all that brooding.”

His face went red.

Umemiya slapped the counter. “I’m never hearing the end of this.”

Sugishita stood slowly. “Thank you.”

It came out low. Sincere.

You shrugged like it was nothing. “Come back anytime. I fix hair. And attitudes.”

He almost smiled.

As Umemiya dragged him toward the door, Sugishita glanced back at you one more time—confident in your shop, scissors resting against your shoulder like a weapon you knew how to wield.

His world hadn’t just flipped.

It had found a new axis.

And it was you.