Gangster to Idol

Fifi nodded slowly, her own mischievous smile widening. "Good. Jackson thinks he could get away with it, but he's about to learn that messing with me was the worst mistake he could've made."

Cain raised an eyebrow. "Why you? He didn't steal from you. He stole from me."

Fifi crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with exasperation. "The comb belongs to me, remember?"

Cain's lips twitched as if he wanted to argue, but he caught himself, letting the silence hang between them. There was no point in pushing back — especially not with Fifi.

=== ⭐ ===

Later that night, Jackson was walking back to his apartment, the city streets mostly empty, save for the occasional flickering streetlight casting long, eerie shadows.

The cool night air nipped at his skin as he hurried along the sidewalk, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness.

As he rounded a corner, his path was suddenly blocked by a tall, imposing figure.

Jackson stopped dead in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat as he took in the sight before him. It was a man — broad-shouldered and towering over Jackson — who stood with a confident, almost lazy posture, as if he owned the very ground he was standing on.

The man's presence exuded an aura of danger, making Jackson's blood run cold.

"Yo!" The stranger grinned, flashing a row of teeth that looked more like they belonged to a predator than a person. The voice was deep and gravelly, carrying an edge of menace that sent a shiver down Jackson's spine.

It was Cain, though Jackson didn't recognize him. Gone was the carefully curated image of the polished idol-in-training, replaced by the raw, unfiltered version of Cain — the gang leader who ruled District 4 with an iron fist.

His dirty gray hair, which had been neatly styled during the day, now fell in rough, jagged strands over his forehead, casting shadows over his piercing eyes. But what truly made Jackson's breath hitch were the tattoos.

Cain's arms were covered in them, the ink forming intricate patterns and symbols that snaked up his muscles and onto his neck.

The dim light highlighted the dark lines, giving them an almost sinister life of their own. The tattoos were the kind you'd expect to see on someone who had spent years surviving in the underbelly of the city, each one telling a story of violence, power, and a life lived on the edge.

Jackson's eyes widened in fear, his mind racing. He knew instantly that this man was trouble. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs felt like lead. The easy grin on Cain's face did nothing to reassure him; in fact, it only made Jackson more certain that he was dealing with someone who enjoyed instilling fear in others.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Cain chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. He stepped closer, his boots making a heavy thud with each step, as if emphasizing the threat in the air.

Jackson took an involuntary step back, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest.

This was not the kind of encounter Jackson had ever imagined on his quiet walk home.

"You know how this works, right?" Cain said with a chuckle. "Don't even think about screaming, or you'll regret it."

Jackson spun around, ready to make a run for it, but his heart sank when he saw more gangsters lurking in the shadows behind him. As he turned back, more were closing in from the front, their menacing grins making it clear he was trapped. The few people nearby quickly looked away, pretending not to see anything, determined not to get involved.

Thanks to Fifi, Cain knew exactly where Jackson lived, and he had already called in his gang near the area to intercept him. Cain had arrived first, taking a shortcut and catching a cab to cut him off.

"W-wait. I didn't do anything to you," Jackson stammered, his face paling with fear. "I don't even know you."

Joker flashed a mischievous grin and was suddenly right beside Jackson, tapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, come on, man. You know guys like us don't need a reason to mess with someone like you."

Bones chimed in with a theatrical laugh. "Ohohoho, just hand over your bag and everything you've got, and we'll be on our way."

Jackson's initial fear gave way to a desperate attempt at bravery. "Y-you won't get away with this," he stammered. "There are CCTV cameras all over this area. I'll report you to the police."

Joker's grin widened as he exchanged a glance with Cain, who gave a slight nod. "Don't worry," Joker said smugly. "We took care of the cameras beforehand. We're not that dumb, you know. As for you going to the police . .

."

He didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he signaled to the others, and they all swarmed Jackson. But instead of beating him up, they just laughed and started stripping him of his clothes, leaving him in nothing but his socks. They filmed the whole thing on their phones, howling with laughter.

"Just try anything, and this video will go viral," Joker teased, waving Jackson's pants in the air. "Everyone's gonna see your little twinkie!"

The gang erupted into more laughter, tossing Jackson's clothes around like it was some twisted game of catch.

"Ohohoho, this would've been a lot easier for you if you'd just handed over your stuff instead of talking nonsense," Bones said with a chuckle, grabbing Jackson's bag and gave it to Cain.

Cain rummaged through it. He quickly found what he was looking for — the [Celestial Comb]. "Let's go."

Cain took one last glance at the disheveled Jackson, who was left standing in the street, desperately covering his private parts while the gang continued to laugh and wave his clothes around like victory flags.

"Alright, boys! We've got the loot—let's hit the bar!" Joker shouted.

The gang started to leave, still laughing and high-fiving as they scattered Jackson's clothes behind them like confetti. Jackson was left alone, mortified, as passersby giggled and pointed, some even snapping pictures on their phones.

As the gang disappeared into the night, Jackson slowly began to pick up the pieces — literally.