Chapter 21 – My Insignificant Life
Thirty years ago, in a secluded warrior's village—
Elias, his hair so long it brushed the ground, stepped dazedly into a small barbershop.
He swept his gaze from left to right across the familiar interior… and frowned.
Something wasn't quite right.
The decorations, the smell, even the hum in the air—different.
Of course, it had been fifty years since his last visit.
He tried to recall the barber's name, that man who'd once dared to lecture him about "hair aesthetics."
"…Oscar?" Elias murmured.
"Oscar, are you here?"
From a back room, a man with a magnificent afro hairstyle appeared—only to drop his scissors the moment his eyes met Elias's.
Elias blinked, expression flat.
"…Oscar. So you're still alive."
The man swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he forced a smile.
"Lord Elias… your sense of time is as terrifyingly vague as the legends say."
Then he lowered his head politely.
"Forgive the confusion. I am Conrad, Oscar's son. I simply share his fondness for… extravagant hair."
"Ten years ago," he added quietly, "while you were in seclusion in the valley outside the village, my father passed away."
Elias was silent for several seconds, as if processing the words.
"…So, the genius barber is gone. That's my carelessness."
He exhaled softly and looked at Conrad again—then noticed something off.
"Fifty years ago, when I went into seclusion, you hadn't even been born," Elias said slowly. "So how do you know what I look like?"
Conrad relaxed slightly and smiled, pointing toward the far wall.
"Because of that, my lord."
Elias followed his gesture.
Hanging on the wall was a portrait: the flamboyant Oscar trimming the hair of a deadpan Elias.
Elias stared at it, momentarily at a loss for words.
He remembered now—Oscar had once tried to convince him to get the same wild hairstyle.
He had, of course, refused immediately.
"So that fool only cut my hair once," Elias muttered, "and that became the proudest moment of his life?"
"Of course it did!" Conrad said passionately.
"You were the hero who slew the Black Dragon that threatened our village! Without you, none of us would be here!"
Elias frowned slightly, scratching the back of his head.
As far as he remembered, he had merely been passing through—looking for a quiet place to research magic.
It just so happened that the Black Dragon's nest was in his chosen valley.
So he destroyed it.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
But Conrad's gaze lingered on the portrait, and tears shimmered faintly in his eyes.
"Father used to say that when Lord Elias finally emerged from seclusion, your hair would surely reach the ground."
"He wanted to wait for that day—to hold his scissors once more, and give you the perfect haircut."
"But… human lives are far too short. Father never got the chance."
Elias wanted to say something—anything—but the words refused to form.
The usual cold detachment rose up again, choking every sentiment before it could surface.
"It's all right!" Conrad said suddenly, his voice bright and determined.
"Now that you've returned, I will fulfill my father's final wish!"
And so, under Conrad's guidance, Elias sat down in the old wooden chair.
His hair pooled around him like a dark river.
For the first time in fifty years, he looked into the mirror—
and inhaled sharply.
The reflection that stared back was almost unrecognizable.
A relic of time itself.
Hiss...
Terrifying.
Even after fifty years—
he's still so handsome.
From morning until deep into the night, the steady snip of scissors echoed beside Elias's ears.
Each cut was crisp, precise—every stray strand severed with flawless accuracy.
Elias couldn't help but wonder:
was this really the work of human hands?
Even his own Micro-Slash Magic couldn't achieve this level of precision.
It was clear—Conrad had perfectly inherited his father's craft… and perhaps even surpassed it.
But what truly unsettled him was what came after.
When the haircut was finished, Conrad suddenly produced a small vial of potion and poured it over Elias's freshly trimmed hair.
"Wait," Elias said sharply, his senses flaring. "There's mana in that mixture."
"As expected of Lord Elias," Conrad said in awe. "You noticed instantly! This is my special concoction—its effect is to keep hair immune from dirt and dust."
That piqued Elias's curiosity.
"Oh? A barber who dabbles in magic?"
"You flatter me, my lord," Conrad said modestly.
"I only love studying hair. Magic is merely… the tool to serve that passion."
"I see," Elias murmured. "And that's enough to make you feel fulfilled?"
Conrad nodded with unshakable conviction.
"I can't imagine who I'd be if I ever stopped loving hair."
"And besides," he added with a small laugh, "I can't stand the idea of being unable to design a hairstyle for the bald."
"So long ago, I began researching the magic of human hair."
"My dream… is that one day, everyone can experience the beauty of hair."
Elias shook his head, lips curling in faint amusement.
"Conrad, humans are far more complex than you realize. Even something as small as studying hair takes centuries of effort."
"For all life, creation is infinitely harder than destruction."
He paused, tone cool but not unkind.
"Unfortunately, you're merely human. You lack a demon's lifespan, or a sage's gift—"
"But I'll try," Conrad interrupted, his eyes blazing like the fire of a forge.
"Even if it costs me this insignificant life of mine."
Elias's expression softened. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
"Very well."
He stood, brushing a lock of freshly shorn hair behind his ear. A faint, pleasant scent drifted through the air.
"In the end, magic is a world of imagination—endless, unpredictable."
"When next I visit this village, I hope you'll have fulfilled your wish."
"Farewell, Conrad."
–––
Thirty years later.
A small dessert shop in the warrior's village.
Frieren stared blankly at her favorite Mercury Pudding, the spoon untouched.
Across from her, Elias set down his coffee and raised an eyebrow.
"Frieren, this is strange. Usually, your plate's spotless within two minutes of it arriving."
Resting his chin on one hand, he gave a teasing smile.
"Come on, tell your caring big brother what's wrong."
"Pfft!" Frieren nearly spat out her drink.
"A 'caring big brother'? You're over three thousand years old, you old fossil."
…Fossil?
Where did she even learn that word?
Before he could ask, Frieren lowered her gaze again, idly wobbling the pudding with her spoon, her expression distant.
"I was just thinking… someone who spends their entire life researching human hair, willing to die for it even—"
"Is something like that really worth it?"
"It isn't," Elias said flatly.
"Unfortunately," he added, sipping his coffee, "the world's full of lunatics like that."
Frieren smiled faintly, mischief flickering in her eyes.
"Then by that logic… you're one of those lunatics too, aren't you?"
"…What?" Elias froze.
"You've spent three thousand years chasing that spell," she said knowingly, smirking across the table.
Elias stared at her.
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"Frieren…"
"Have you been reading my journals?"
Frieren blinked innocently.
«(･ω･)»