Gangster to Idol

"Morning, Jackson."

"You're late."

Jackson barely acknowledged the greeting, his mood darker than the storm clouds gathering outside.

"What's with you? Why so grumpy this early in the morning?"

"Shut up and leave me alone," Jackson snapped, storming off toward the locker room. The frustration gnawed at him, and he knew he couldn't afford any distractions. Today, he had to keep his head down and figure out how to reclaim what was his.

When Jackson returned, he froze in his tracks, his eyes locking onto the white comb in Cain's hand. The blood drained from his face.

"T-that comb . . . ," Jackson stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cain noticed the look of panic in Jackson's eyes and grinned, lifting the Celestial Comb with a slow, deliberate motion. "Oh, this?" he drawled, letting the light catch the comb. "Beautiful, isn't it? You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get it back."

"What's wrong?" Victor asked, noticing the tension between C.C. and Jackson. "Did you lose your comb?"

Cain shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes were fixed menacingly on Jackson. "Yeah, I misplaced it. Good thing there's no thief around here, or I might've had to resort to some . . . shady methods to get it back."

Jackson's face paled, his body trembling as memories of the previous night flooded back. He could still feel the fear from when those thugs had stolen his bag, and strip him naked.

Victor, oblivious to the underlying threat, frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about? There's no thief here."

Cain's lips curled into a sly smile. "Looks like it to me."

Jackson stood frozen, his mind in chaos. How did C.C. get the comb? He remembered clearly that the thugs had taken his bag with the comb inside. But now, it was in C.C.s hand.

"C-could it be . . ." Jackson's voice faltered, his face drained of color as the realization hit him. Did C.C. have connections with those gangsters from last night? Did he orchestrate the whole thing?

There's no other explanation than that.

Did C.C. paid those thugs to do those things to him? Jackson burned with anger at the thought.

"What's wrong, Jackson?" Victor asked, growing more concerned. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Is something the matter?"

Cain approached Jackson, his presence overwhelming. The intensity in Cain's eyes pinned Jackson in place, making it impossible for him to escape. Cain placed a firm hand on Jackson's shoulder and leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening whisper.

"Try a stunt like that again, and your naked pictures will be all over the internet."

Jackson's heart raced, and his color turned ashen. There was no doubt now — C.C. was connected to those gangsters. The thought terrified him.

Cain patted Jackson's shoulder and smiled, a chilling contrast to the threat he had just delivered. "You better head to the infirmary. You're not looking so good, man."

Jackson flinched, immediately stepping back, flustered. "I-I'm fine!" he stammered before scurrying away, fear driving his every step.

Cain watched Jackson retreat with a satisfied smirk. From the side, Fifi remarked, "I hope he learned his lesson."

"Oh, he did," Cain replied coolly. "Otherwise, it's public humiliation next time."

=== ⭐ ===

Another month passed, and Cain had grown accustomed to life in the salon, but his prospects of becoming an idol still seemed bleak.

He tried to forge connections with the idols who frequented the salon, but it was no use. These celebrities didn't even bat an eye at him and wouldn't let him style their hair. They were snobbish, always appearing too busy to give him the time of day. The ones who pretended to be nice would accept his card with a smile, only to toss it away later.

But Cain didn't give up. He participated in dance contests, auditioned for minor acting roles, and tried every possible avenue to break into the industry. Yet, no matter how hard he pushed, he never got picked.

"That's a given," Fifi said, her tone matter-of-fact.

"What do you mean?" Cain asked, frustrated.

"Without connections in the entertainment industry, do you really think you can just waltz in? They hold auditions and contests for publicity, but in reality, the winners are decided long before they even start."

Cain grumbled under his breath, finally acknowledging what he had suspected all along.

As he sat, deep in thought, his hands crossed over his chest, Victor tapped him on the shoulder.

"What's got you thinking so hard?" Victor asked.

"Getting into the idol world is a lot tougher than I imagined," Cain replied honestly.

Throughout his time at the salon, Victor had become his friend, and Cain found the stoic and serious guy to be surprisingly decent.

Victor chuckled, a knowing smile on his face. "Welcome to the real world."

The chime of the salon door interrupted their conversation, and Felice walked in, drawing everyone's attention.

Cain turned, instinctively wanting to bolt, but Victor grabbed him by the collar.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I-I'm just going to the restroom," Cain stammered, trying to make a quick escape.

"You've got a customer," Victor said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"She's not my customer."

"You've been her hairstylist for the past few days, so that pretty much makes you her official stylist."

"Stop kidding around. I'm really not in the mood. You take care of her hair if you're so eager."

"It's fine," Felice chimed in, flipping her hair with a confident smile. "I've got plenty of time. I'll wait for you." She settled into her usual chair, casually scrolling through her phone as if she owned the place.

Cain's eyelid twitched in irritation. This woman . . .

"Give it up, Cain. She's totally into you right now," Fifi giggled.

"You mean into torturing me."

Fifi shrugged. "Same thing."

"Aren't you going to the restroom?" Felice asked sweetly, her eyes locked on him.

Cain had no choice but to go since he had already committed to the restroom; there was no backing out now.

Maybe he could take a drag in the restroom to get off some nerves.