Kevin
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The alarm had been screaming for nearly forty minutes before Orihime Inoue finally heard it.
She lay sideways across her bed, one leg tangled in the blanket and one arm hanging over the edge. Morning sunlight filled the bedroom, illuminating the enormous spread of orange hair covering her pillow, blanket and half the mattress. The alarm continued beeping from somewhere beneath it.
Orihime’s eyes opened.
“What time is it?”
She lifted her head and found the clock buried under several strands. The glowing numbers came into focus.
For one perfectly silent second, she stared at them.
Then she bolted upright.
“AAAAH! SCHOOL!”
Her hair launched into the air with her. Long orange strands wrapped around her shoulders, caught beneath her knees and swept a book off the bedside table. Orihime stumbled out of bed, dragging half her blanket behind her before realizing that her hair had become tangled in it.
The next ten minutes were less a morning routine and more a natural disaster.
She brushed her teeth while buttoning her blouse. She dragged a brush through the right side of her hair while stuffing toast into her mouth with the other hand. She found one sock beneath the bed and the other hanging inexplicably from her desk chair.
“Brush, breakfast, shoes…” she muttered around the toast.
There was no time to brush every section properly. Her hair was simply too long. Orihime attacked the largest tangles, smoothed the front and hoped nobody would inspect the back.
She raced from her apartment with her schoolbag bouncing against her hip. Her hair streamed behind her like an orange banner, mostly straight but interrupted by several messy sections and loose strands.
“Good enough!”
It was not good enough.
Orihime slipped into her classroom moments before the lesson began and dropped into her seat beside Ichigo. He glanced at her, then at the uneven strands sticking out behind her shoulders.
“You fight your pillow this morning?”
Orihime lowered her voice. “I think the pillow won.”
At the front of the classroom, their teacher stopped arranging his papers.
Orihime felt his attention settle on her before she saw him looking. She slowly turned toward the board, hoping that sitting very straight would somehow make her hair appear tidier.
“Inoue.”
Her shoulders rose.
The teacher approached her desk. A grooming notice on the wall behind him declared that students must maintain neat, conventional hairstyles.
“You’ve already been warned about arriving untidy.”
“I-I was running late, sir.”
“I can see that.”
To Orihime’s horror, he opened a small classroom grooming kit and removed a comb. He began working it through the obvious flyaways while she sat bright red and perfectly still. Several classmates watched with poorly concealed amusement. Ichigo looked as though he wanted to object but could not decide whether that would make the situation better or worse.
“Last warning,” the teacher said.
He smoothed one final section and stepped back.
“Next time, I’ll deal with it myself.”
Orihime sank lower in her seat.
After class, she escaped into the corridor with Tatsuki. Neither noticed the small lion plush partially hidden inside Ichigo’s open bag.
Kon had heard everything.
He watched Orihime walk away, her long orange hair swaying almost to her waist. His cloth eyebrows pulled together with intense concentration.
“So that’s the problem,” he thought.
The teacher had complained about untidy hair. Orihime had too much hair to brush when she was late. Therefore, the solution was obvious.
“Too much hair.”
Kon folded his plush arms.
“Obviously.”
That afternoon, Ichigo, Rukia and Orihime stopped briefly at Urahara’s shop. The counter was crowded with bottles, sweets and several packets of experimental Soul Candy.
Urahara placed a blue packet away from the others.
“Nobody touch the blue packet.”
From inside Ichigo’s bag, Kon peeked over the edge. The forbidden packet sat directly beside him.
“He practically invited me.”
While everyone was distracted, Kon wriggled out, opened the packet and knocked one blue pill toward Orihime’s drink.
It landed with a quiet plop.
Orihime noticed nothing. A moment later, she lifted the glass and took a sip.
“Huh…”
Her eyelids suddenly felt heavy.
“I suddenly feel…”
The room tilted. Her eyes closed, and everything went black.
When they opened again, someone else was looking through them.
Kon stared down at Orihime’s hands. He flexed her fingers, turned them over and grinned. A translucent image of his lion-plush form seemed to hover behind her for an instant, reflecting the spirit now occupying her body.
Then he turned too quickly.
Orihime’s enormous hair swung around and struck him across the face.
“FWAP!”
Kon spluttered beneath a curtain of orange strands. He dragged the hair aside, gathered an armful and stared at it in disbelief.
“How does she live with this?!”
The teacher’s warning returned to him.
Kon’s expression became determined.
“I know exactly what she needs.”
He marched through Karakura carrying most of Orihime’s hair over one shoulder like a heavy rope. Controlling her body was easy. Controlling several feet of hair attached to it was not. He stepped on the ends twice and nearly walked into a vending machine.
Rukia spotted him from across the street.
“Inoue?”
Kon attempted to walk normally.
Rukia studied him. “Why are you walking like Kurosaki after falling down stairs?”
“I’m getting a haircut.”
Rukia touched the uneven ends of her own short, layered black hair. “A haircut?”
“Yes. A practical one.”
She considered this. “I suppose mine could use a trim.”
The neighborhood barbershop was modern, bright and filled with mirrors. Hairstyle posters covered the walls, and rows of bottles stood beneath the workstations.
The barber stared as Kon entered beneath Orihime’s avalanche of orange hair.
“That’s quite a lot of hair.”
Kon grinned. “Not for long.”
Rukia turned sharply. “What does that mean?”
Before Kon could explain, Rukia was invited into the first chair. She settled beneath a black cape while the barber examined her familiar neck-length layers and long diagonal fringe.
“What are we doing?”
“Something cleaner,” Rukia said. “Neater.”
The barber combed her hair straight down. “Blunt bob?”
Rukia studied herself in the mirror. “Chin length. And bangs.”
Kon watched eagerly as the scissors removed the longer sections behind her ears. Black clippings fell across the cape while the barber established a precise line around her jaw and nape. Finally, Rukia’s diagonal fringe was combed forward and cut into straight bangs.
When the cape came away, she turned her head from side to side. Her hair had become an immaculate chin-length bob with a perfectly blunt fringe.
“Hm.”
Then she smiled faintly.
“Practical without looking ridiculous.”
Kon repeated the important word.
“Practical…”
Rukia’s satisfaction disappeared. “Why did you say it like that?”
Kon climbed into the next chair. Orihime’s hair spread across the cape, over the armrests and nearly to the floor.
The barber lifted the ends. “Just trimming?”
“No.”
He presented photographs of anonymous women with shoulder-length cuts and bobs.
“Shorter,” Kon said.
The barber showed him pixies and close crops.
“Shorter.”
Rukia lowered her magazine. “Inoue…”
Finally, the barber produced a reference sheet showing an adult brunette model from three angles. She wore an ultra-short mushroom cut with a compact rounded top, tiny bangs and closely buzzed sides and back.
Kon pointed directly at it.
“That one.”
Rukia’s mouth fell open. “That one?!”
The barber looked from the photograph to the immense orange hair surrounding his chair.
“You’re certain?”
“Completely.”
Rukia stepped closer. “Perhaps we should discuss what ‘practical’ means.”
“It means no tangles.”
“It does not have to mean no hair.”
Kon ignored her.
The barber gathered Orihime’s hair into a thick low ponytail. Even tied, it extended far down the cape. He positioned large shears just below the shoulders.
Rukia watched the blades close.
“CRRUNCH.”
The heavy ponytail separated. The barber lifted it away, leaving Orihime’s remaining hair hanging unevenly around her shoulders.
Rukia stared at the severed length.
“There’s really no putting that back.”
Kon examined the rough shoulder-length result. It already felt dramatically lighter.
The barber hesitated. “We could stop here.”
“No.”
The scissors continued around the back. Long orange sections slid down the cape as the cutting line rose toward the jaw. Within minutes, Orihime wore a rough chin-length bob.
Rukia pointed urgently at the mirror.
“That looks completely normal.”
“Exactly the problem.”
The barber combed the entire front of the bob forward. Orange hair descended like a curtain, covering Orihime’s eyes and most of her face.
“Let’s set the fringe,” he said.
Rukia leaned closer. “She can’t even see.”
From beneath the hair, Kon smiled.
“That makes this easier.”
The barber held the comb high across Orihime’s forehead. The scissors moved across the dense curtain.
“SNIP. SNIP. SNIP.”
Long pieces of fringe fell onto the cape. When the barber lifted the comb, Orihime’s eyes reappeared beneath a line of tiny blunt micro-bangs positioned high on her forehead. The sides and back still formed a chin-length bob, making the tiny fringe look even more severe.
Rukia touched her own sensible bangs.
“Those are very short.”
Kon admired them.
“Good. Now the rest.”
The barber began cutting around Orihime’s ears. Several-inch locks dropped away as the line climbed higher. The bob gradually disappeared, replaced by a rough, rounded cap.
Rukia watched orange hair accumulate around the chair.
“You’re still going?”
“We haven’t even used the clippers.”
Rukia’s eyes widened.
The barber clipped the remaining top hair out of the way and exposed Orihime’s nape. The clippers switched on with a low electric hum.
Kon sat forward with interest.
The blades touched the base of the neck and travelled upward, leaving a clean strip of orange stubble behind. More passes followed across the back. The thick lower sections fell onto the cape until the entire nape was closely buzzed beneath the longer cap.
The clippers moved above the right ear, then around the back and finally over the left side. Each pass exposed more skin beneath a fine layer of orange fuzz.
“Inoue,” Rukia said, “I think we’ve reached practical.”
“Not yet.”
The barber released the top hair and carefully shaped it into an extremely short rounded mushroom cap. He refined its lower edge into a smooth line high above the exposed ears while preserving the tiny bangs already cut across the forehead.
Rukia stared at the finished silhouette.
“You look like an orange acorn.”
Kon grinned at the mirror.
When the cape was removed, he rubbed one palm over the buzzed side.
“No tangles. No brushing. Perfect.”
Rukia stood beside him with her immaculate bob and looked between their reflections.
“I feel increasingly responsible for this.”
Later, Kon returned Orihime’s body to her apartment and positioned her directly in front of the bedroom mirror.
“She’s going to love this.”
He released control.
For Orihime, the darkness following her sip at Urahara’s shop ended without warning.
Her eyes opened.
She stared at her reflection, confused.
“Why am I home?”
Her hand moved automatically behind her head.
There was nothing there.
Orihime froze. Slowly, she raised her eyes toward the mirror.
Her scream shook the room.
“AAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Both hands flew to the tiny orange cap. She rubbed the buzzed right side, then the left. She twisted around with a hand mirror and discovered that the back and nape had been shaved just as closely.
“Where is my hair?!”
Her fingers caught the micro-bangs and tried to pull them downward. They barely moved.
Orihime’s face went pale.
“I remember Urahara’s shop…then nothing.”
She searched the room for clues, checked the floor and even looked beneath the bed as though several feet of orange hair might be hiding there.
“What happened to me?”
She tried brushing the mushroom cap. It became extraordinarily smooth and round.
Orihime stared at the result.
“Worse.”
She wet it and attempted to sweep it sideways. The tiny hair stuck awkwardly against her scalp. She tried clips, but there was not enough length to hold them. One slid free and struck the table with a quiet tink.
A headband failed because the micro-bangs remained visible beneath it.
Finally, Orihime found a large black beanie and pulled it low over her head. Only a few tiny orange strands showed.
She exhaled.
“Nobody ever needs to know.”
The following morning, she entered class wearing the beanie.
Ichigo stared immediately. “Why are you wearing a hat?”
“Fashion.”
“You’re sweating.”
“Fashion is difficult.”
The teacher entered. His eyes found her before he reached his desk.
“Inoue.”
Orihime became perfectly still.
He held out one hand. “Hats are prohibited during class.”
“Sir, I really think today could be an exception.”
“Remove it.”
Orihime gripped both edges of the beanie. Every student seemed to be watching. She swallowed and reluctantly pulled it upward.
The mushroom cut sprang into view.
Someone nearly dropped a pencil. Another student leaned sideways for a better look.
“Whoa…”
Ichigo’s eyes widened. “Inoue?!”
Orihime burned red.
The teacher examined the closely buzzed sides and tiny fringe.
“You’ve shaved the sides and back.”
“I know!”
She immediately shrank.
“Sorry.”
“And those bangs are considerably outside regulation.”
Orihime stared at him. “But yesterday you said my hair needed to be neater!”
“I said neat,” the teacher replied. “Not whatever this is.”
He opened the school’s absurd disciplinary grooming kit. Inside sat a set of electric clippers.
Orihime’s face drained of colour.
“No.”
Minutes later, she sat beneath a cape in the classroom grooming chair while everyone watched.
“Couldn’t I wear the hat until it grows out?”
“No.”
“A very large hat?”
Ichigo covered his face.
The clippers touched the centre of her micro-bangs.
“BZZZZZZ.”
They travelled backward, erasing the tiny fringe and carving a clean channel through the mushroom cap toward the crown. Orange pieces tumbled down both sides of Orihime’s face.
Her eyes became enormous.
“He actually did it.”
The clippers lifted. Orihime touched the new strip and found stubble almost immediately.
“Maybe don’t touch it,” Ichigo whispered.
“Why?”
“Because then it becomes real.”
Orihime’s expression collapsed.
“Too late.”
Another pass removed half the cap. A final strip remained across one side of the crown before the teacher ran the clippers through it as well.
The last longer section folded forward and fell.
After several cleanup passes, the clippers switched off.
Orihime stared into the mirror at a uniform orange buzzcut. No bangs remained. No mushroom cap. Nothing interrupted the short, even stubble from her forehead to her nape.
She slowly rubbed both palms over her head.
“That is regulation,” the teacher announced.
Orihime continued staring at herself.
“Yesterday morning my hair reached my waist.”
She paused.
“I’d like yesterday back.”
After school, she walked beside Ichigo, repeatedly rubbing one hand over her new buzzcut.
“You know,” Ichigo began.
Orihime looked at him with a tiny spark of hope.
“You definitely don’t have messy hair anymore.”
She stopped walking.
Ichigo stopped two steps later.
“I heard it after I said it.”
“Good.”
They met Rukia, Chad and Uryū farther down the road. Orihime stared at Rukia’s immaculate bob, touched her own buzzcut and stared again.
“You still have yours.”
Rukia protectively touched her hair. “I stopped when the barber said ‘bob.’”
“That was apparently an option.”
Then Kon appeared in his plush body.
He took one look at Orihime and beamed.
“Whoa! They made my haircut even shorter!”
Silence descended over the group.
Orihime’s eyes narrowed.
“Your haircut?”
Kon froze.
Rukia closed her eyes. Ichigo slowly turned toward him.
“I can explain,” Kon said.
Orihime smiled far too pleasantly.
“Please do.”
A moment later, Kon was sprinting down the street with Orihime charging after him.
“KOOOOOOON!”
“I was solving the problem!”
Ichigo, Chad, Uryū and Rukia watched them disappear around the corner.
Rukia touched her bob protectively.
“I’m suddenly very fond of this haircut.”
