I arrived at Shenggu Beauty Center’s headquarters. My hair had grown way too long. Sure, I knew I was handsome—but these locks were hiding my glorious face. That just wasn’t right. If you’re hot, you gotta show it off!

Alright, fine. Truth was, I just wanted a fresh look—a farewell to the old me, a rebirth. I trusted their stylists would nail it. Hahaha!

At the front desk, I learned they had private rooms and a main hall. The private rooms were for celebrities—stars getting makeovers incognito to avoid riots. Regular folks like me used the main hall for cuts, styling, perms. Private rooms cost extra, needed appointments, VIP cards… No thanks. The hall was perfect.

I wasn’t some idol. I didn’t even know if my family was rich—I didn’t trust Jack Ma or Pony Ma. After a lifetime of penny-pinching, the hall it was.

…Though if I were *truly* frugal, I wouldn’t be here at all.

Whatever. Best value for the price.

Sometimes spending money just makes sense. How else to boost GDP? How else to fuel the economy? Maybe my cash would save a job, a family, even a life!

That thought cemented my resolve. This was money well spent—a new image was worth every penny. And if the hall gave the same results as a private room? Why waste cash?

Wait—was I being contradictory? Guess that’s just the broke-ass mindset. Still, after checking my phone balance at the hotel earlier, I knew I could afford this.

The receptionist was a gorgeous woman in her early twenties. Shenggu followed the classic playbook: pretty girls up front. And yeah, she was stunning.

But honestly? I was numb to it. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen was Sakura no Ou High’s Principal Sakurano.

A close second was my homeroom teacher, the delinquent-turned-educator Tsurumi Misuzu. Objectively, their features were equally perfect—but Sakurano just *radiated* more beauty.

Then there was that traffic cop I’d met earlier, Reisei. Healthy, athletic vibes—totally different from Misuzu’s sharp elegance.

I preferred Reisei. Misuzu had screwed me over today, tanking her score in my mental rankings. Reisei’s shot up.

And my seven class committee girls? Future stunners, I’d bet my life on it. They were still buds waiting to bloom—but if they turned ugly later? Not my problem.

So yeah, this receptionist was pretty—above average—but my standards were sky-high. I was the president of the (Looks) Appreciation Club, after all.

She sat behind the desk, wearing a forced smile. Her eyes kept drifting downward. Classic zoned-out receptionist.

Their management was lax. Big corporations banned phones at front desks. But I knew that look—she was scrolling. I’d been there.

Her uniform had subtle, fashionable tweaks. Not your boring corporate suit. These were style wizards—I felt even better about trusting them.

I stood at the counter. Her name tag read "Melingda Liang." Asian face, but that name? Way too Westernized for Shangsha City—even in this melting pot. Her surname "Liang" screamed Chinese.

My detective brain kicked in: Either one parent was Chinese, or she’d picked this flashy name to seem cosmopolitan.

But her features were purely Asian. Skin smooth, pores tiny—no trace of Western roughness. Definitely full-blooded.

…Why was I overanalyzing this? Blame all those mystery novels.

Anyway—I’d been standing here for three minutes. Was I really that invisible? Time to snap her out of it.

I tapped the counter lightly.

*Thump.*

No reaction.

*Thump-thump-thump-thump!*

I knocked harder. Melingda Liang jolted upright, fumbling to hide her phone. The way she moved—definitely pausing a movie. Texting would’ve had her thumbs twitching. Only movies glued girls like that.

She finally spotted me, leapt up, and plastered on that professional smile. A crisp bow. Then:

"Welcome to Shenggu Beauty! I’m receptionist Melingda Liang. How may I assist you?"

*There* we go. Proper service at last.