The shrill, obnoxious buzz of Ren's alarm clock pierced the thin walls of his partitioned room, dragging him from a remarkably deep, dreamless sleep. He groaned, swatting blindly at the nightstand until his hand connected with the plastic casing, silencing the noise.
He lay there for a moment, letting the heavy, damp air of the lower district apartment wash over him. Then, memory flooded back.
The dungeon. The excruciating paranoia. The silk. The system interface.
And the hair mask.
Ren sat up like a shot, instantly bringing a hand to his head.
His fingers didn't meet the familiar, slightly greasy, coarse texture of his usual messy mop. Instead, they sank into something impossibly thick, smooth, and shockingly heavy.
"What the..." Ren muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over his own discarded boots, and stumbled toward the cramped bathroom. He slapped the light switch. The flickering fluorescent bulb hummed to life, illuminating the cracked mirror.
Ren stared. And stared.
His hair, previously a choppy, unremarkable dark brown that barely touched his ears, had grown. Not just a little bit. It now cascaded past his jawline, the ends brushing against the collar of his sleep shirt. But the length wasn't even the most startling part. The texture was... perfect. It was a rich, impossibly glossy obsidian black that caught the harsh bathroom light and turned it into a soft sheen. It looked like the kind of hair you only saw on high-end holographic billboards advertising illegal vitality serums in the upper districts.
It looked exactly like Carmine's hair.
"No, no, no," Ren breathed, leaning closer to the mirror, his hands frantically gripping the edges of the sink. He ran his fingers through it again. There were no tangles. No split ends. It moved with a liquid, frictionless grace that felt entirely alien against his neck.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[DAILY QUEST COMPLETE: CROWNING GLORY]
[REWARD CLAIMED: 150 EXP, +1 CHARM, +50 GOLD.]
[CURRENT MALE STATS: STR 8 | AGI 9 | INT 12 | CHRM 15]
[THE SYSTEM COMMENDS THE HOST ON HIS IMPROVED AESTHETIC FOUNDATION.]
Ren squeezed his eyes shut, a headache already beginning to throb behind his temples. "I hate you," he whispered to the glowing blue text. "I hate you so much."
"Who are you talking to?"
Ren jumped, spinning around so fast he nearly slipped on the damp tile.
Sierra was standing in the doorway, clutching her worn physics textbook to her chest. She was already dressed for school in her faded uniform, her own hair pulled back into a messy, entirely normal ponytail. She was blinking at him, a mixture of sleepiness and profound confusion contorting her face.
Her eyes drifted from his panicked expression up to his head.
The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.
"Ren," Sierra said slowly, her voice dropping an octave. "What... did you do to your hair?"
Ren’s mind went blank. His usual repertoire of excuses—dungeon dampness, cheap soap, stress—were completely useless here. You didn't accidentally grow four inches of commercial-grade silk hair overnight because you were stressed.
"I, uh..." Ren swallowed hard, instinctively reaching up and trying to flatten the glossy strands against his skull. It didn't work. The hair simply bounced back, stubbornly voluminous. "I washed it."
Sierra raised an eyebrow, a gesture that was terrifyingly reminiscent of their mother. "You washed it. With what? Holy water? Yesterday it looked like a dead crow. Today you look like a shampoo model."
"I tried a new product," Ren bluffed, his voice surprisingly steady. He had survived a Minotaur Lord and an interrogation by a senior fit specialist. He wasn't going to let a high schooler break him. "One of the mages in my party yesterday. She, uh... she said monster grime can cause permanent follicle damage. So she gave me a sample of some high-end stuff. Alchemical cleanser or something."
Sierra narrowed her eyes, stepping into the bathroom and invading his personal space. She reached out and grabbed a lock of his hair before he could pull away.
"It's so soft," she murmured, genuine wonder replacing her suspicion for a split second. She rubbed the strands between her fingers, sniffing slightly. "And it smells like... vanilla and strawberries? Ren, did you seriously spend your cut of the raid money on luxury salon treatments?"
"No!" Ren said quickly, perhaps a little too defensively. "I told you, it was a free sample. And the money I transferred to the account is for your books. I didn't spend it on... on beauty routines."
Sierra let go of his hair, taking a step back and studying him with forensic intensity. She took in the preternaturally clear skin, the slightly longer eyelashes, and now the glossy, shoulder-grazing hair.
"You've been acting weird lately," Sierra noted, crossing her arms. "Leaving early. Coming back exhausted but not injured. And now you're glowing. Literally. If you're doing something illegal to get this money, Ren... if you're taking experimental stims —"
"Sierra, stop," Ren sighed, a genuine wave of exhaustion washing over him. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but it was a necessary poison. "I found a good scavenging route. That's it. It’s a subterranean mana vein. The exposure is just... affecting me a bit. It’s harmless. I promise."
Sierra stared at him for a long moment, her jaw set. She clearly didn't believe the entire story, but she also knew better than to push him when he used that specific, tired tone.
"Fine," she said finally, turning to leave. "But if you start glowing in the dark, I'm telling Dad. And Ren?"
He braced himself. "Yeah?"
"You're going to need a haircut," she smirked. "Or at least some hair ties. You look ridiculous."
She vanished down the hallway, leaving Ren alone in the bathroom with his reflection.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. A haircut. That was a brilliant idea. He could just chop it all off.
[SYSTEM WARNING]
[ANY ATTEMPT TO MANUALLY ALTER, CUT, OR DAMAGE THE HOST'S NEW HAIR WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE FAILURE PENALTY: RAPID, UNCONTROLLABLE SHEDDING FOR 72 HOURS.] Read this novel at novelping.com for the best experience.
Ren gripped the edges of the sink until his knuckles turned white.
"Of course," he hissed. "Because why would you ever make this easy for me?"
An hour later, Ren was walking down the bustling streets of the lower district, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched.
He had rummaged through the small closet and unearthed a faded, slightly moth-eaten grey beanie. He had shoved all of his new, glossy hair underneath it, pulling the woolen edge down low over his forehead. It looked suspiciously warm for a mild morning, but it was better than the alternative.
He was scheduled for another D-rank raid this morning. The system hadn't issued a new daily quest yet, which made Ren profoundly nervous. He felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
When he arrived at the massive, brutalist concrete structure of the Hunter Association branch, the grand lobby was already swarming with armed mercenaries and glowing holographic quest boards.
Ren navigated the crowd, keeping his head down, and made his way to the staging area assigned to his ticket. His party was already gathering near a heavy steel blast door.
There were three of them so far. A hulking Vanguard with a massive tower shield, a wiry rogue sharpening a pair of curved daggers, and the party leader—a grim-looking C-rank Mage named Kaelen, dressed in deep green robes that smelled faintly of sulfur and dried leaves.
"You the E-rank?" Kaelen asked, looking Ren up and down with obvious disdain.
"Yes, sir," Ren said softly, falling into line.
"Keep your head down, don't aggro anything unless I tell you to, and focus on carrying the mana stones," Kaelen ordered, his voice a low, raspy growl. "We're hitting a Sunken Mire gate. It's a humid, swamp-type dungeon. Visibility is low, and the air is thick with neurotoxic spores. The guild provided filtration masks, but you'll still sweat through your armor in ten minutes."
Kaelen paused, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Ren's head.
"Take the hat off, kid."
Ren froze. "Excuse me?"
"The hat," Kaelen repeated, pointing a gloved finger at Ren's grey beanie. "Take it off. It's eighty degrees in the mire, and the humidity is close to ninety percent. If you overheat and pass out, I'm not carrying your dead weight back to the portal."
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in Ren's chest. "I run cold, sir. I’ll be fine."
"I don't care how you run," Kaelen snapped, stepping closer, his imposing frame casting a shadow over Ren. "In my party, you dress for the environment, or you don't come. You want to pass out from heatstroke in a swamp full of acid-spitting slimes? Be my guest. But you won't do it on my ticket. Hat off. Now."
Ren looked at the Mage. He looked at the heavy steel blast door. And then he looked at the other two party members, who were watching the exchange with detached, morbid curiosity.
If he took the hat off, they would see it. They would see the impossible, glossy, shoulder-length hair. In a guild where hunters were grimy, scarred, and perpetually exhausted, he would look like he had just walked off a luxury holovision set. The questions would start. The suspicion. And if someone connected the dots...
He couldn't do it.
"I... I can't," Ren said, his voice barely a whisper, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
Kaelen’s expression hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated contempt.
"Suit yourself, E-rank," the Mage spat. He turned to the other two hunters. "We're going in four-man. The kid is out."
"Wait, sir, please—" Ren started, desperation clawing at his throat. He needed the credits. He needed the guild standing.
"I said you're out!" Kaelen roared, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the staging area. Several heads turned in their direction. "I don't have time to babysit a vain, stupid kid who cares more about his fashion choices than party survival. Get out of my staging area before I have you written up for insubordination."
Ren stood there, his face burning hot with humiliation, as the three hunters turned their backs on him and stepped through the heavy steel doors toward the gate.
He had been kicked out of a party. Not because he was weak. Not because he was E-rank. But because he was wearing a stupid grey beanie to hide the magical hair his parasitic system had forced him to grow.
Ren turned away from the staging area, his chest tight, his breathing shallow. He kept his head ducked low as he navigated the crowded lobby, desperate to escape the judging stares of the other hunters.
He pushed through the main doors and out into the bustling city streets, the morning sun feeling harsh and accusatory against his skin.
He had no party. He had no income for the day. And he was currently wearing a set of burgundy lace undergarments beneath his leather armor for absolutely no reason.
"Perfect," Ren muttered bitterly, kicking a stray piece of gravel into the gutter. "Just perfect."
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Ren groaned, not even bothering to stop walking as the familiar blue box expanded in his vision.
[THE SYSTEM NOTES THE HOST'S UNFORTUNATE REJECTION FROM THE COMBAT PARTY.]
[A TRUE SUCCUBUS DOES NOT REQUIRE THE VALIDATION OF INFERIOR CREATURES.]
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: A STROLL IN THE LIGHT]
Ren stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the holographic text.
[A succubus draws power from the attention and desire of others. Hiding your developing beauty beneath crude, oversized garments is a disservice to your potential.]
[TASK: Remove the oversized canvas jacket and the head covering (beanie). The host must walk from his current location to the central commercial district (a distance of approximately 2 miles) wearing only his base armor and trousers, allowing his hair and facial features to be fully visible to the public.] This story is hosted at g.com.
[REWARD: 100 EXP, +1 Charm, 150 Gold.]
[FAILURE PENALTY: -30% Charisma (Male Form), System lock on Transformation Skill for one week.]
Ren read the penalty three times, his blood turning to ice in his veins.
System lock on the Transformation Skill.
If he failed this quest, he wouldn't be able to turn into Carmine. He would be entirely, helplessly trapped in his weak, E-rank body for a full week. If a gate break happened, if a monster slipped through the perimeter... he would be dead.
The system wasn't just holding his stats hostage anymore. It was holding his only means of true defense.
"You've got to be kidding me," Ren whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at his heavy canvas jacket.
He was standing on one of the busiest streets in the district. Hundreds of people—hunters, merchants, commuters—were swarming past him. If he took off the jacket and the hat... everyone would see him. They would see the impossible hair. They would see the unnaturally perfect skin. They would see the E-rank loser looking like some bizarre, ethereal creature entirely out of place in the slums.
But he had no choice.
With shaking hands, Ren reached up and pulled the grey beanie from his head.
His hair, freed from the restrictive wool, cascaded down his neck and shoulders in a heavy, flawless wave of obsidian black. It immediately caught the morning sunlight, gleaming with a preternatural health that seemed to defy the grim reality of the city around him.
He swallowed hard, the scent of vanilla and strawberries suddenly overwhelming, and unzipped the heavy canvas jacket. He shrugged it off, folding it over his arm.
He was left standing in his cheap, padded leather armor and sturdy combat trousers. Without the bulky jacket to hide his frame, his E-rank gear looked pathetic, but the stark contrast only highlighted the unnatural, striking changes to his face and hair.
Ren took a deep breath, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He took a step forward.
Almost immediately, he felt the shift in the atmosphere.
A pair of scavengers carrying crates of low-grade mana stones paused in their tracks, their eyes locking onto Ren. They weren't looking at him with the usual disdain reserved for E-ranks; they were staring with a mixture of profound confusion and involuntary fascination.
Ren kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight.
Just walk, he told himself, the mantra repeating like a desperate prayer in his mind. Two miles. Just walk two miles, get the gold, keep the skill.
As he navigated the crowded sidewalk, the reactions multiplied. People turned their heads. Conversations faltered. A woman working a street food stall actually dropped her tongs, her eyes wide as she watched the heavy, glossy black hair sway gently against the scarred leather of Ren's armor.
He could hear the whispers.
"Is that... an illusion?" "Who is that kid?" "Did he use a high-tier cosmetic potion?"
Every stare felt like a physical blow. The humiliation was a living, breathing thing, wrapping around his throat and suffocating him. He was a hunter. He was supposed to be invisible, a background character in the gritty, violent reality of the guild. And now, he was a spectacle.
He passed a storefront with a large, reflective window and caught a glimpse of himself.
The boy in the reflection didn't look like Ren, the tired, burdened son of a warehouse worker. He looked like an aristocratic prince who had decided to play dress-up in peasant's armor. His skin was flawless, radiating a subtle, healthy glow. His eyelashes cast long, delicate shadows over eyes that seemed just a fraction too large, too expressive. And the hair... it framed his face perfectly, softening his jawline and drawing attention to the full curve of his lips.
He looked beautiful. And it made him want to vomit.
The two-mile walk felt like a marathon through hell. By the time the glittering, holographic billboards of the central commercial district finally came into view, Ren was sweating profusely, his nerves completely frayed.
He stepped over the district line, his boots hitting the pristine, polished pavement of the plaza.
A golden light flashed in his vision.
[QUEST COMPLETE: A STROLL IN THE LIGHT]
[REWARD CLAIMED: 100 EXP, +1 CHARM, 150 SYSTEM GOLD.]
[CURRENT MALE STATS: STR 8 | AGI 9 | INT 12 | CHRM 16]
Ren nearly collapsed against a nearby light pole, his chest heaving as he frantically pulled his canvas jacket back on and shoved the beanie over his hair.
He leaned against the cool metal of the pole, hiding his face in his hands.
He had survived the walk. He had kept his skill. But the system was escalating faster than he had anticipated. It was actively forcing him to blur the lines between his male identity and the succubus persona, stripping away his anonymity and replacing it with a terrifying, agonizing visibility.
"Hey. Ren."
Ren froze, his heart stopping completely.
He knew that voice.
He slowly lowered his hands, peering out from beneath the brim of his hastily applied beanie.
Standing ten feet away, holding a pair of shopping bags and staring at him with an expression of utter, profound bewilderment, was Bonnie.
"Bonnie," Ren choked out, his voice cracking. "What... what are you doing here?"