Please to Kitsune-sama!

Chapter 176 : Kitsune-sama, Shampoo Time

The next day.

At the Servant Uniform Workshop in Akihabara, Inari sat in the back room while Eri brushed her hair. The sensation of the brush—purchased specifically for this purpose—was delightfully pleasant. What Inari could not quite understand, however, was why Eri, who was doing the brushing, looked so unreasonably happy.

“Haa… so that’s what happened, huh.”

“Mm.”

“But are you sure it’s fine? Telling me about that place, Toshima, I mean.”

“’Tis no matter. I was told I may share such things with those I trust.”

When Inari added, “And I do trust thee, Eri,” Eri clutched her chest with a pained little “Ugh.” To be hit with words like that so suddenly—especially knowing Inari meant them in complete sincerity—was more effective than any weapon.

“Art thou well?”

“Y-Yes, I’m fine. Um, what were we talking about again…? Ah, may I put your hair into a ponytail?”

“Go ahead.”

“Yay!”

Yes, this was Eri’s practice session for hair care and styling, with Inari serving as her model. For some reason, the Servant Uniform Workshop boasted salon-like facilities in its back room. Why? Well, the members, aiming for the highest-quality “maid-like” or “butler-like” presence, even received support to obtain barber or beautician licenses.

Eri herself already held a beautician’s license, and within work hours the maids regularly used these facilities to run training sessions on the level of vocational schools.

Naturally, one must continue honing their skills even after qualifying. That was why Eri had asked Inari to help as a practice model. The result? Other maids were genuinely envious.

“I feelst gazes upon me…”

Indeed, the maids peeking in were not lacking practice models—it was Inari’s hair they coveted.

“Well, urban legends, huh…? I don’t know a lot, but I think I’ve heard some before.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Yes. Um… what was it again… Ah, right. If the music at a crosswalk changes from the usual tune, you mustn’t cross. They say it leads to another place.”

“There are many such urban legends indeed…”

From Kisaragi Station to the Fourth-Dimension Hag, how many stories claimed to connect to otherworlds? Well, perhaps it was safe precisely because such tales remained only legends. Were they all true, humanity would vanish from the cities overnight.

“Oh, right! There’s also that one where if you step on the black part of a crosswalk instead of the white, you die. Though… maybe that one’s more of a weird playground rule than a true urban legend. …And, done!”

“Fumu. This feels rather fresh.”

Now in a ponytail—something she would never do herself—Inari nodded several times. Braids, side tails, twin tails, buns, updos—Eri tried them all. Even Inari’s fluffy fox ears were gently brushed with a small, soft brush.

“Well then, next I’ll wash your hair.”

“To have one’s hair washed by another, what a curious thing.”

At beauty salons, hair washing often meant lying on one’s back, so water would not enter the eyes or nose and one could relax. Eri’s hands, rhythmically scrubbing with practiced ease, drew an “Oohh…” from Inari. Afterward, her hair was dried with a blow dryer and neatly styled.

“Hmm. My hair seems more lustrous than before.”

“Right? That’s salon-grade stuff, the expensive kind.”

“Fumu…”

Nodding, Inari hopped off the chair and patted it with her hand.

“Now I find myself wishing to try it as well. Eri, or if thou art not free, mayhap another idle one, would let me attempt it, aye?”

“Yes!”

“Me!”

“Here!”

“No way! Today Inari is mine! Back, retreat, begone, my ladies!”

“Eri, that’s unfair!”

“For the sake of the moment about to arrive… I shall fight!”

“Now, now, fight not amongst yourselves—”

“We’re not fighting!”

Well, with such antics in the background, Inari began preparing to wash Eri’s hair instead. The moving salon chair was amusing, and since it was her first time, she adjusted it several times before draping gauze gently across Eri’s face, just as Eri had done for her.

“All right then… Let us begin… ah, not quite high enough.”

“Here, please use this. A stepping stool.”

“Ohh. My thanks, Shizuna.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Shizuna—one of the maids who had visited Inari’s home before—slid the stool into place before stepping back, returning to her role as spectator.

“Now then. First, rinse everything slowly with warm water… Is the heat all right?”

“Yes, it’s fine…”

“Take about this much shampoo into the hand… and then, scrub scrub, scrub scrub. Fufu, how is it? Am I doing well?”

“Ahh… I’m about to fall asleep… My ears feel so happy…”

“I am scrubbing thy head, but… could it be thy ears itch?”

According to the watching maids, their only thought as they observed Inari’s shampooing was: “So unfair.” But then, such was the Servant Uniform Workshop—envy was an everyday occurrence there.