Author: Shinya Kato

“Dad, is this haircut okay?” the barber asked, adjusting the chair.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” the man said, glancing at the boy’s hair.
The boy shook his head. “It’s still too long. Make it a buzz cut.”
The barber paused. “A buzz cut?”
“Yes,” the boy said calmly. “The sensors on my head need light. Long hair interferes with calibration.”

The man hesitated. “Maybe not. Your mum would get upset.”
“I don’t think you need a buzz cut,” the barber added gently.
The boy stared at his reflection. “Some kids have buzz cuts. They run faster. Everyone thinks they’re cool.”
“Hair doesn’t make you fast,” the barber said.
The boy didn’t answer.
Outside, banners fluttered: Future Youth Sports Day – Observation Zone 7.

A black cat sat beneath the banners, half in shadow.
Her eyes were brown and strangely translucent, catching the light as if something fragile might live inside them. People passing by glanced at her, then looked away, uneasy without knowing why.
The cat watched the children warming up.
Then she slipped between the parked vans and was gone.

“Sports day’s coming up,” the barber said later, fastening the cape. “Excited?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“People think I’m fast,” the boy said. “But I’m slow.”
“You don’t look slow.”
“That’s the problem.”
He watched other children warming up. They moved smoothly, effortlessly. Almost too smoothly.
“My system’s still adjusting,” the boy said. “It corrects my movement after I start running. Not before.”
The barber frowned slightly. “So… it helps you?”
“It fixes me,” the boy said. “But everyone thinks it’s natural.”
A small drone hovered above the field, blinking softly.
The barber resumed cutting, careful, methodical. Hair fell to the floor in quiet clumps.
“Does it hurt?” the barber asked.
“No,” the boy said. “I just don’t like it.”
“Like what?”
“Being measured.”
The clippers stopped. For a moment, no one spoke.
The boy looked at the mirror again. His hair was shorter now, lighter. The sensors beneath his skin adjusted silently.

Outside, children ran. Some fast. Some slow. All of them were recorded. Somewhere beyond the field, a black cat paused, watching, before disappearing again.
Sports day wasn’t really about running, he realised. It was about observation.
The barber brushed stray hair from the boy’s neck. His hands were gentle.
The drones watched. The systems logged. The algorithms predicted.
But none of them noticed what the boy felt in that moment—
the quiet wish to run, just once, without being corrected.