"I'm the greatest barber who ever lived, and anyone who says otherwise is just jealous of my genius."
Hikaru Tenshi leaned over his client, scissors glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights of the small barber shop. He had practiced this line countless times, delivering it to mirrors, walls, and unfortunate strangers who would endure the brash arrogance of a man who believed himself untouchable. And today, as he poised the shears above a tuft of hair, he believed it more than ever.
The client, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a worried frown, shifted nervously in the chair. "Uh… maybe not too short, please?"
Hikaru scoffed, letting a strand of black hair fall across his sharp eyes. "Too short? My dear sir, perfection requires sacrifice." He twirled the scissors between his fingers like a practiced swordsman, letting the gleam of steel catch the light. In that moment, he imagined himself as a legendary warrior, not a mere barber, shaping the world one haircut at a time.
The shop smelled faintly of shampoo, gel, and the lingering tang of bleach. Mirrors lined every wall, reflecting his image endlessly, like a hall of accolades he had never quite earned. Behind him, his coworker leaned lazily against a counter, arms crossed. "One day," he muttered under his breath, "he's going to cut more than hair and regret it."
Hikaru ignored the warning. With a flourish, he sliced. A strand of hair escaped his intended path, curling dangerously close to the client's ear. "There," he declared, stepping back. "A masterpiece."
The client flinched. "I… I think you got a bit… too close."
Hikaru's grin widened. "Art is never comfortable. Comfort is the enemy of greatness!" He paused, eyes glinting with absurd pride. "You should be thanking me."
A lock of hair fell into a cup of tea on the counter. Hikaru noticed, shrugged theatrically. "Even genius makes messes. That's part of the charm." He spun on his heel to survey his work in the mirror. It looked… slightly uneven. He squinted, cocking his head. "No matter," he muttered. "A minor flaw in a masterpiece is simply the mark of humanity."
The ladder behind him creaked ominously. He leaned against it to reach the high shelf with a bottle of styling gel. One careless step, one misplaced hand… and suddenly the world tipped. His arms flailed, scissors spun in a deadly arc, and gravity had its final say.
There was a sharp thunk, a shower of hair, and then nothing.
For a brief moment, Hikaru felt weightless, as if the world had finally acknowledged his brilliance… and rejected it. He tasted the ironic tang of failure. Then darkness.
"And then… darkness. Or maybe just a really bad haircut. I guess we'll find out."