Gangster to Idol

"If you have issues with women, what are you going to do about fan meetings? About going outside and being swarmed by fans? About meeting and working with women? In your line of work, you'll be interacting with a lot of women! This can't keep happening!"

"You're exaggerating. It's nothing. I can handle it," Cain insisted, trying to brush off her concerns.

But Fifi wasn't having it. "How long has this been going on?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you had this . . . this ailment?" Fifi pressed, her voice firm.

Cain hesitated, his eyes flickering with a hint of something deeper — something he'd buried for a long time, but decided not to dwell on it.

Fifi's expression softened as she floated closer, her voice gentle yet firm. "Judging by your reaction, it's been a long time, hasn't it? And you haven't even considered going to a professional to get it fixed?"

Cain's fists clenched, his jaw tightening as the memories flooded back — memories he'd buried deep, hoping they'd never resurface.

But Fifi was right. As much as he hated to admit it, this problem wasn't something he could just ignore. If he didn't confront it head-on, it could shatter everything he was striving for in this cutthroat world.

The path to the top was already steep, but with this issue hanging over him like a shadow, it could become impossible. And that was a risk he couldn't afford to take.

However, facing it meant confronting a past he wasn't ready to deal with — a past that had left scars far deeper than he wanted to acknowledge.

For now, Cain pushed those thoughts aside, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll deal with it. I just don't like women."

Fifi crossed her arms, her brow arched in curiosity. "So, you're into guys, then?" Her tone was casual, as if she was merely suggesting. It was fine too. It could boost his popularity among fans who loved BL.

"Of course not!" Cain shot back, vehemently shaking his head. "Just because I don't like women doesn't mean I'm into guys."

"Then what is it?" Fifi hovered closer, her gaze piercing as she flicked his head. "What's your deal? I'm a woman, but I can touch you without you breaking into a puking mess."

"Shut up! It's because I don't see you as a woman — you're a devil!" Cain grumbled, rubbing the spot where she flicked him.

"What did you say?!" Fifi snapped, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. But their argument was cut short when a notification popped up on Cain's screen.

"Huh? What now?" Cain muttered under his breath, opening the email with a scowl and relief.

Lately, his inbox had been flooded with messages, mostly love letters or death threats. It seemed like it was either one or the other these days. Of course, he had separate accounts and numbers for his idol and gangster identities, even going as far as buying another phone.

As much as he didn't want to read another 'I love you' or 'I will kill you,' Cain welcomed the distraction to escape Fifi's relentless questioning.

While Cain focused on the email, Fifi floated to the side, observing him with a serious expression. There had to be some trauma behind his reaction, something buried deep.

She could easily search it up using her goddess powers, but she didn't want to violate his privacy. It felt wrong, like committing a heinous crime. She wanted Cain to open up to her on his own terms, without any divine interference.

Fifi sighed, seeing through his bravado. "You better cure this. Because one day, you won't be able to just brush it off. And when that day comes, you need to be ready."

Cain ignored her and focused on reading his email. "Huh? What's this? This one's different."

Fifi grew curious and floated over to peek at the screen. "What's that?"

"I don't know. Some guy is asking me to work for him."

"Huh?"

[Dear Mr. C.C.,

I hope this letter finds you well. We've recently come across your latest video, and we would like to offer you a prestigious position as a hairstylist at our exclusive DADDY SALON in Zone A, District 1.

Sincerely,

Big Daddy]

"Is this a joke? Who in their right mind calls themselves 'Daddy'?" Cain shuddered at just mentioning the name.

"That doesn't look fake," Fifi replied, studying the email. "It has all the details — branding, logo, everything. Wait, let me pull it up."

After a few seconds, Fifi's eyes widened in surprise. "OH!"

"What? What is it?" Cain asked, trying to see what she was looking at, but her screen was too small for him to read.

"DADDY SALON is a super-exclusive place! They've got a VIP client list full of celebrities, politicians, actresses, influencers — even top idols!"

"Really?" Cain was still skeptical. "Is this for real?"

"It is! They only hire professional stylists that studied for years in prestigious schools . . ." Fifi trailed off and stared at Cain, a realization dawning on her. "Then why would they need you?"

Cain shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe they liked how I was styling my hair in the videos?"

"Must be."

"Not interested." Cain deleted the email together with the invitation without a second thought.

"Aagh! What are you doing?!" Fifi screamed, darting around in a panic. "Restore it now! NOW!"

"Huh? Why?"

"You idiot! Don't you get it?"

"Get what?"

"They have clients ranging from celebrities, actresses, models, to idols! This is your chance to slip into the idol world by making connections with them!"

Cain's face brightened. "Oh, you might have a point . . ." But his enthusiasm quickly faded. "But touching hair and . .

."

The mere thought of running his fingers through a woman's hair made Cain's stomach churn. He held back a gag, his hand trembling at the idea.

"Just request to style men and say you don't know how to style women," Fifi suggested, exasperation in her voice. "You really need to fix that up."

"But still . . . working in a hair salon . . ."

"Don't you want to enter the idol world quickly?" Fifi pressed.

Cain bit his lip, taking a deep breath as he weighed his options. After a moment of hesitation, he clicked on the deleted invitation and restored it, printing it out.

"Fine. Let's see where this takes me."

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