Gangster to Idol

Cain grunted in response, his mood souring further. He didn't care about fans or the show right now.

All he wanted was to get through breakfast in peace, but with the girls practically screaming at the TV, that was looking less and less likely.

As the episode continued to play on the screen, the volume of their voices only seemed to grow.

Cain sighed, taking another sip of his now-cold coffee. He wasn't interested in watching the show — but the girls' voices carried on, echoing in his head like a persistent, annoying buzz.

No matter how hard he tried to tune them out, it was impossible to escape the reality of RRR.

The girls were practically fan-girling at maximum volume, and he couldn't help but feel like he was trapped in an idol-themed nightmare.

Mimi's eyes narrowed at the screen, her fingers tightening around the cloth she had been using to wipe the tables.

C.C. had just received his score from the judges, and while two of them gave him almost perfect marks for his performance, Jaxton slammed down a shockingly low score.

"What the hell?" Mimi's brow furrowed even further as she leaned closer to the TV. "Why? The other judge practically gave him a perfect score in dancing, and this guy just — half? C.C. had danced amazingly more than the others, so why the low score? Who is he?"

Sheryl and the other girls exchanged knowing looks, all too familiar with the pattern of a soon to be idol fan.

"Looks like someone's found their bias," one of the girls teased with a smirk.

Mimi scowled, folding her arms defensively. "It's not like that. C.C. saved us. I just . .

. I feel like I owe him and wanted to defend him."

Sheryl nodded, her face suddenly serious. "Mimi's right. That Jaxton guy doesn't seem to like C.C. at all. Could a judge be any more biased?"

"Yeah, he did dance good than the others."

"C.C. really did dance well," another girl chimed in.

"Maybe the judge has a grudge against him," Sheryl mused, leaning back in her chair. "There are all kinds of reasons why a judge might score someone low. Some don't like your face, some feel threatened by your talent, and some . . . well, some are just jealous."

The other girls nodded in agreement, casting suspicious glances at the TV screen.

"Could he really be jealous of C.C.?" Mimi asked.

"It's not impossible," Sheryl said, fiercely defending C.C. "I mean, Jaxton might be a renowned choreographer, but did you see his face? It's like the surface of the moon with all those pimples."

The girls stifled their laughter.

"He's got to be jealous!" one girl said, nodding emphatically.

"But there were others who looked even more handsome than C.C., and he gave them full points," another countered.

"Maybe it's because C.C. is an independent trainee?" Sheryl suggested. "No agency backing him. No connections."

"Maybe . . ." the others mumbled.

"Poor guy," the girls' unison.

Suddenly, Cain stood up from his corner, and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.

The girls, who had been completely absorbed in their gossip, were startled into silence, their eyes following him.

It was like they only saw him now.

"Where are you going, Cain?" Mimi asked.

"Work," he replied curtly, already making his way to the door.

Mimi's expression shifted. "Then are you finally going to pay your tab here?"

"Next time," Cain said with a casual wave over his hand, not bothering to look back.

"Muh! You have work now but you can't still pay your debt?"

"Just put it on my tab. I'll pay it off eventually."

Cain then walked out, and he could still hear their whispers behind him.

"Who's that?" one of the girls asked.

"He's kind of scary."

"Where did he came from? He just sprouted out of nowhere. That surprised me."

"My childhood friend," Mimi replied, her voice casual but edged with irritation. It bothered her that her friends saw Cain as scary.

. . . Okay, maybe he was, but still . . .

"You're friends with a guy like him? He looks scary!" Sheryl said, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "He looks like those gangster that harassed us that night."

"Did you see his tattoos?" another added, her voice full of suspicion. "Is he, like, a gangster too?"

Mimi's face darkened, a rare flash of irritation crossing her features. "Cain might look scary, but he's a good guy," she shot back, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Her friends exchanged awkward glances, choosing to remain silent. They knew better than to push Mimi when she was in this mood.

As Cain stepped outside, Fifi appeared beside him, floating lazily in the air. "What a nice childhood friend you've got, Cain. She's not embarrassed by you at all, standing up for you like that."

Cain didn't respond, his expression unreadable as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and continued walking down the street.

The morning sun was just beginning to peek through the buildings, casting long shadows across the pavement.

"You should cheer up, Cain," Fifi said with a small pat on his head. "You've still got fans rooting for you, and you should take it as an inspiration to work harder."

Cain remained silent, his mind far away from RRR, the judges, or the fanfare surrounding the competition. He was thinking about his costume and the music and song he was going to perform next

Though as he walked away, a part of him couldn't shake the warmth of Mimi's quiet defense.

It did make Cain feel better knowing some of the girls were defending him. There was a strange comfort in realizing that, despite everything, someone was still in his corner, rooting for him. It fueled his resolve to keep pushing forward, even if he'd never admit it to Fifi.
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Not anytime soon, anyway.

Cain headed straight to Daddy's Salon, intent on earning a few extra bucks to boost his $400 budget.

The competition rules stated that they didn't have to stick to their set budget, and nothing said outside work was against the game.

If anything, it leveled the playing field. He was sure the trainees backed by big productions had nearly unlimited resources, so why not even things out his own way?

But when Cain arrived at Daddy's Salon, something was off. The usual hum of conversation was replaced by an unusual tension hanging in the air, and he could tell right away — something was happening.