Bab 17: Racing Against the Clock: Cain’s Struggle in Becoming an Idol
After completing his run, Cain headed to Freshly Baked, the local bakery he frequented. He burst through the door, the bell above jingling loudly as he made his entrance. The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, momentarily distracting him from his thoughts.
Mimi was behind the counter, and looked up as Cain rushed in, her expression one of mild surprise. "Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked, noting the urgency in his demeanor as he paced near the counter.
"I've got something to do," Cain replied curtly, his impatience clear as he urged her to hurry up with his order.
Mimi wasn't convinced, and her scepticism was written all over her face. "You're not even studying. What could possibly be keeping you so busy? Are you up to no good again?"
"Shut up and just hurry with my food," Cain snapped, not in the mood for her questioning. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited.
Mimi huffed in annoyance but handed over his takeout with a practiced smile. "Here you go."
"Thanks," Cain mumbled before bolting out of the shop like a gust of wind.
"Wait! Your payment!" Mimi called after him, but Cain was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
She pouted, frustration clear on her face. "Muh~! I swear that guy is going to bankrupt us."
From the stairs leading to the upper floor, Mimi's father — a bald man with a white apron and a towel casually draped around his neck — came down, looking bemused. "Was that Cain again? You really should stop serving that idiot," he grumbled.
Mimi sighed, her expression softening. "He's going to die of hunger if I don't give him something to eat."
"He's already a grown man, and he's running an illegal business. He has the money," her father retorted, shaking his head in disapproval.
"Dad, you should really talk to him," Mimi insisted, her voice tinged with concern.
"Why should I?" her father shot back, clearly uninterested.
"Cain doesn't have his parents, and he's living alone. That's why his life is that way. He needs someone to guide him," Mimi explained, hoping to appeal to her father's sense of responsibility.
But the old man immediately shook his head and bolted back upstairs. "That's not my problem. Anyway, I think my pork is burning," he muttered, disappearing from view.
Mimi watched her retreating father with dismay, her shoulders slumping. "You're always like that . . . and we don't even serve pork here!" she called after him, though she knew it was futile.
With a sigh, she returned to her work, her thoughts lingering on Cain and his seemingly never-ending troubles he always got himself into.
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Meanwhile, Cain was nowhere to be found by his gang members, once again a no-show for the day. He had locked himself away in his room, the weight of being an idol in less than seven years pressing down on him like never before.
After finishing a quick shower, Cain ran a towel through his damp hair, oblivious to the horror that awaited him. When Fifi materialized beside him, her reaction was instant and visceral.
"W-what happened to your hair?!" she exclaimed, her tiny hands flying to her mouth in shock.
Cain's once-stylish hair, which usually had a rough but cool edge, now sat flat and lifeless on his head, resembling a disheveled coconut more than anything else.
Cain, however, was utterly unfazed. Without so much as a glance in the mirror, he casually tossed his wig onto his head, masking the disaster underneath.
"Probably because it got wet," he said nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural explanation in the world.
"No. No. NO!" Fifi protested, her voice rising with each word. "The problem isn't the water — it's that you don't know how to style it properly!"
Cain paused, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as if searching for answers among the cracks. "Yeah, that sums it up," he admitted with a shrug, his indifference almost comical.
Just as he was about to reach for a notebook, Fifi darted forward and yanked on his hair, her tiny hands surprisingly strong for someone her size.
"Ow! What?" Cain growled, turning to glare at her.
"This is a disaster," Fifi declared, her voice tinged with exasperation. "If you don't learn how to style your hair, you can't appear in public looking like that! Unless, of course, we go back to that salon and get it fixed."
Cain waved her off dismissively. "Relax. A little gel could fix this," he said, waving a hand like it was no big deal. "Now stop bothering me. I've got a lot of things to do."
Fifi could only watch in disbelief as Cain grabbed a notebook and pen, settling down at his desk with a serious expression.
"Is this really alright?" she mumbled, more to herself than to him.
Cain ignored her, flipping open the notebook and beginning to scribble furiously. His brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on getting his thoughts in order.
Fifi hovered over his shoulder, watching the chaotic scrawl take shape on the page.
"What are you doing?" she asked, trying to make sense of the messy writing. "Even your penmanship is trash. You need to work on it, along with your signature."
"Shut up and stop bothering me. I'm busy here," Cain snapped, not even bothering to look up.
"So what exactly are you doing?" Fifi pressed, her curiosity piqued despite herself.
"Can't you see? I'm trying to organize my thoughts and make a list of things I need to do first," Cain replied, his tone clipped as he continued to jot down notes.
Fifi was taken aback. It seemed the realization of the time limit had finally hit Cain, and he was now taking things seriously. There was an urgency in his actions, a determination that she hadn't seen before.
"Looks like he's finally stepping up," Fifi thought to herself, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Maybe, just maybe, Cain had what it took to rise to the challenge ahead despite this trash attitude.
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