Aiko's first full week at the Instituto Superior de Belleza was a whirlwind of sensory overload and exciting discoveries. The Spanish approach to hairstyling was fundamentally different from everything she had learned in Japan—more passionate, more expressive, with an emphasis on movement and natural texture that required her to unlearn some of her most basic assumptions about the craft.
"In Spain, we do not fight with the hair," explained Maestro Ricardo Vega during her first practical class. "We dance with it. We seduce it. Le hacemos el amor con nuestras manos y nuestras herramientas hasta que nos da lo que queremos de manera voluntaria."
"Seduciéndolo y atrayéndolo, trabajando con nuestras manos y herramientas hasta que ceda voluntariamente a nuestros deseos."
The language was more poetic than any instruction Aiko had received at Stellar Academy, and she found herself both charmed and challenged by the cultural differences in teaching style. Around her, fellow international students were having similar adjustments—the German student, Klaus, looked particularly bewildered by the emotional vocabulary being used to describe technical procedures.
"Aiko, come forward," Maestro Vega called out, gesturing toward the demonstration area. "Show us this Japanese precision we have heard about. But today, we will teach you Spanish passion."
Working on a practice mannequin, Aiko began the sectioning technique she had mastered under Mrs. Sato's guidance—methodical, careful, respectful of the hair's natural growth patterns. But Maestro Vega immediately interrupted.
"No, no, no. You are treating the hair like a patient in hospital. This hair wants to move, wants to live! Feel the energy in each strand."
He guided her hands to work with looser sections, encouraging movements that felt almost reckless compared to her careful Japanese training. "See? The hair is not broken thing to be fixed. It is wild horse to be trained with gentle strength."
The metaphors were overwhelming, but gradually Aiko began to understand what he meant. Spanish styling emphasized the hair's natural movement and texture, working with rather than against its inherent characteristics. It was similar to the philosophy Mrs. Sato had taught her, but expressed with an intensity and sensuality that was uniquely Spanish.
During the lunch break, she found herself sitting with Miguel and several other students in the Instituto's courtyard garden. The autumn sun was warm on her face as she tried to process the morning's lessons while eating a bocadillo that Carmen had packed for her.
"How are you finding the adjustment?" asked Lucia, the Brazilian student who had quickly become the most popular person in their cohort. "I thought I understood passion from Brazil, but Spanish stylists are on another level entirely."
"It's like learning to speak a completely different language," Aiko admitted. "Not just Spanish, but the way they think about hair itself."
"Miguel, you grew up here," said Klaus in his careful English. "Is this emotional approach normal in Spanish education?"
Miguel laughed, running his hand through his own perfectly styled hair. "This is actually quite restrained for Spanish artistic instruction. You should see how flamenco dancers are taught, or bullfighters. Everything here is about expressing soul through technique."
"Do you think it works?" Aiko asked. "This approach?"
"Look around Madrid," Miguel said, gesturing broadly. "Spanish women have some of the most beautiful hair in the world, and it always looks effortless. There's something to be said for the philosophy."
The afternoon brought color theory classes that challenged everything Aiko thought she knew about working with different skin tones and hair textures. Professor Delgado demonstrated techniques for creating rich, warm tones that complemented Spanish complexions, but also showed how to adapt these approaches for international clients.
"Color is not just about chemistry," he explained while mixing a complex formula. "It is about understanding light, understanding skin, understanding the story that each person wants their hair to tell."
Aiko found herself furiously taking notes, not just about the technical aspects but about the philosophical approach that seemed to underlie every lesson. Spanish stylists didn't just create hairstyles—they created expressions of personality, culture, and individual story.
"Aiko-san," Professor Delgado called out, using the Japanese honorific with a warm smile. "Would you share with us how Japanese colorists approach this same challenge?"
Standing before the class, Aiko explained the Japanese emphasis on subtle enhancement rather than dramatic change, the cultural preference for natural-looking results that didn't draw attention to the artifice involved. As she spoke, she could see her fellow students listening with genuine interest.
"Very different philosophy," Professor Delgado observed. "In Spain, we are not afraid to be seen. We want the world to notice our beauty, our artistry. But Japanese approach has great wisdom too—beauty that appears effortless is often the most difficult to achieve."
After classes ended, Miguel walked with her toward the metro station, both of them carrying bags heavy with new supplies and reference materials.
"You seem more relaxed today," he observed as they navigated the crowded sidewalks. "Yesterday you looked like you were searching for something specific in every face you saw."
Aiko felt her cheeks warm. Had her search for Javier been that obvious? "I'm still adjusting to being in a new country. Everything feels significant when you're somewhere unfamiliar."
"That's true. But there was something more focused about the way you were looking at people. Like you were hoping to recognize someone."
The perceptiveness of his observation caught her off guard. Miguel was clearly more observant than she had credited him with being.
"Can I ask you something?" she said as they descended into the metro station. "Your father's business with cycling equipment—did he ever work with any Japanese companies? Or have any connections to cycling groups that traveled internationally?"
Miguel paused at the ticket barrier, studying her face with growing curiosity. "You're really looking for someone specific, aren't you? This isn't just about cultural adjustment."
"Maybe," Aiko admitted. "There was someone who helped me a long time ago, and I thought he might have been Spanish. Coming here to study was partly about hoping to find some kind of connection to that person."
"What kind of connection? Like a romantic thing?"
"Not exactly romantic. More like... he changed my life in a very important way, and I've always wanted to thank him properly. To understand what that encounter meant."
Miguel nodded thoughtfully as their train arrived. "My father might know something about Japanese cycling connections. His business dealings are pretty extensive. Would you like me to ask him?"
"Would you really do that?"
"Of course. Though I have to ask—if you do find this person, what then? What are you hoping will happen?"
It was a question Aiko had been avoiding asking herself directly. "I honestly don't know. Maybe just closure. Maybe understanding. Maybe nothing more than the chance to say thank you properly."
As the train carried them through the tunnels beneath Madrid, Aiko found herself grateful for Miguel's easy friendship and genuine desire to help. Whether or not he was connected to her search for Javier, he was proving to be exactly the kind of supportive presence she needed while navigating this challenging cultural immersion.
The Instituto was teaching her more than just Spanish hairstyling techniques—it was showing her new ways to think about beauty, artistry, and the expression of cultural identity through personal appearance. Each day brought revelations that would enhance her work regardless of what she discovered about her personal quest.
But as she looked out the train window at the Spanish landscape rushing past, Aiko couldn't shake the feeling that she was still searching for something essential, something that would make all the cultural learning complete.
The answer was somewhere in this country, waiting to be discovered. She just had to be patient enough to find it.