Gangster to Idol

C.C. stood in front of the mirror in Daddy's Salon, adjusting the towel draped around his shoulders.

The faint hum of hairdryers, the clatter of scissors, and the casual chatter of clients filled the air, blending into the familiar background noise.

It was his routine—come here, work a full day, and make some money for whatever he needed next challenge.

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Today, it was all about the costume for the upcoming show, and C.C. was determined to not be stingy about it.

After all, they were nearing the last episode and it was crucial to give it their all.

He'd spent the last few hours styling hair, making sure every snip and curl was perfect. His hands moved deftly, the practice of hundreds of hours evident in every motion.

Despite his hidden talents, his sharp mind, and the looming rise to fame, this was still his other world.

After finishing with his last client, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, his tired eyes scanning the reflection in the mirror.

His short, dirty gray hair peeked out from underneath the black cap he had hurriedly thrown on. The mask covering the lower half of his face made it hard to breathe, but he couldn't risk being recognized.

C.C. was a rising name in RRR, and as much as he wanted to keep a low profile, his figure, his face—everything about him stood out now.

He took one last glance around the salon, noting the time. Lunchtime. The mall down the street had a few good places to eat, and C.C. didn't feel like turning into Cain—the fierce, tattooed gang leader who intimidated everyone around him—for just a quick meal.

He tugged his cap lower and adjusted his mask, hoping it would be enough to keep any wandering eyes at bay.

But as he walked toward the back exit, thinking he'd get away unnoticed by the rabid fans outside the salon, the door swung open with a burst of energy, and in strolled Felice.

Her entrance was anything but subtle.

Felice, with her flawless, fair skin and striking aura, looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine, not walking into some small salon.

She was tall, her figure impeccable, and though she wasn't dressed to draw attention, her mere presence did just that. Heads turned. Clients stopped mid-conversation to gawk at the striking figure who strode confidently into the room.

"C.C.!" Her voice cut through the noise like a sharp blade.

C.C., who had just been inches away from the back door, stopped in his tracks and turned toward her.

Felice's eyes found him instantly. She wasn't fooled by the hat or the mask. "Don't even think about sneaking away without me," she teased, a playful smirk on her lips.

C.C. groaned internally, pulling the brim of his cap lower as if it would help him escape the situation. "Felice," he muttered under his breath, though it was muffled by the mask, "It's my lunch break, if you want to style your hair with me, then come back later?"

Felice walked right up to him, ignoring the way people were staring. "Perfect. I'm here to drag you to lunch, obviously. Let's go?"

C.C. narrowed his eyes. "Huh? What?"

"Didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you. But why?" Cain's voice was low, laced with suspicion as his sharp eyes narrowed at Felice.

He didn't trust her sudden change in demeanor—it was too cheerful, too out of character.

Felice, the woman who always played her cards close to the chest, was now beaming at him like she had something up her sleeve.

And Cain could feel it deep under his skin—she was up to something. He just couldn't figure out what.

"Nothing much. I just want to," she replied with an unnerving smile, her eyes glinting mischievously as though the answer was too simple to be true.

Cain clenched his jaw. He had known Felice enough to recognize when something was off, and today, every instinct in him screamed that she was playing at something far deeper than a casual lunch.

But no matter how hard he searched her face, he couldn't place his finger on it.

Fifi wasn't around to offer her usual guidance today. The Idol-Idol Goddess had mentioned something about undergoing an upgrade, leaving him to fend for himself.

She'd told him she'd be "asleep" for the day and would return tomorrow, which meant Cain was on his own until then.

"Wouldn't it be bad if others spotted us? You're a judge of RRR, you know," he said, trying to get her to back off.

If anyone recognized them together, rumors would spread like wildfire, and the last thing he needed was to be dragged into some scandal.

Felice's grin widened, her head tilting playfully as she shrugged. "The day of my judging is long over in RRR. I can do whatever I want now." Her tone was light, but there was an underlying certainty that made Cain uneasy. "So . . . should we go?"

Cain let out a grunt, his annoyance barely concealed. He didn't like being cornered, and Felice knew exactly how to press his buttons. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Felice's lips curled into a smirk, her eyes glinting with amusement. "That's right. I always get what I want in the end." Her words were like a challenge, and Cain knew that fighting her on this would only drag the situation out longer.

His gaze shifted toward the ceiling, as if searching for patience. He sighed heavily, the weight of her insistence grinding at his resolve.

"I'm going to eat at the canteen," Cain said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He turned abruptly, heading toward the back door, hoping to slip away and avoid whatever Felice had in store.

But Felice was faster. Before Cain could take more than a few steps, she moved in front of him, blocking his escape with effortless grace. Her eyes, usually playful, now gleamed with determination.

"Oh no, you're not going to sit in some food court, hiding behind a cap like some undercover agent," she said, her voice firm but teasing. "We're going to have a proper meal. Don't worry its private, so it'll be fine."