"If you have issues with women, what are you going to do about fan meetings? About going outside and being swarmed by fans? About meeting and working with women? In your line of work, you'll be interacting with a lot of women! This can't keep happening!"
"You're exaggerating. It's nothing. I can handle it," Cain insisted, trying to brush off her concerns.
But Fifi wasn't having it. "How long has this been going on?"
"Huh?"
"How long have you had this . . . this ailment?" Fifi pressed, her voice firm.
Cain hesitated, his eyes flickering with a hint of something deeper — something he'd buried for a long time, but decided not to dwell on it.
Fifi's expression softened as she floated closer, her voice gentle yet firm. "Judging by your reaction, it's been a long time, hasn't it? And you haven't even considered going to a professional to get it fixed?"
Cain's fists clenched, his jaw tightening as the memories flooded back — memories he'd buried deep, hoping they'd never resurface.
But Fifi was right. As much as he hated to admit it, this problem wasn't something he could just ignore. If he didn't confront it head-on, it could shatter everything he was striving for in this cutthroat world.
The path to the top was already steep, but with this issue hanging over him like a shadow, it could become impossible. And that was a risk he couldn't afford to take.
However, facing it meant confronting a past he wasn't ready to deal with — a past that had left scars far deeper than he wanted to acknowledge.
For now, Cain pushed those thoughts aside, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll deal with it. I just don't like women."
Fifi crossed her arms, her brow arched in curiosity. "So, you're into guys, then?" Her tone was casual, as if she was merely suggesting. It was fine too. It could boost his popularity among fans who loved BL.
"Of course not!" Cain shot back, vehemently shaking his head. "Just because I don't like women doesn't mean I'm into guys."
"Then what is it?" Fifi hovered closer, her gaze piercing as she flicked his head. "What's your deal? I'm a woman, but I can touch you without you breaking into a puking mess."
"Shut up! It's because I don't see you as a woman — you're a devil!" Cain grumbled, rubbing the spot where she flicked him.
"What did you say?!" Fifi snapped, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. But their argument was cut short when a notification popped up on Cain's screen.
"Huh? What now?" Cain muttered under his breath, opening the email with a scowl and relief.
"Really?" Cain was still skeptical. "Is this for real?"
"It is! They only hire professional stylists that studied for years in prestigious schools . . ." Fifi trailed off and stared at Cain, a realization dawning on her. "Then why would they need you?"
Cain shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe they liked how I was styling my hair in the videos?"
"Must be."
"Not interested." Cain deleted the email together with the invitation without a second thought.
"Aagh! What are you doing?!" Fifi screamed, darting around in a panic. "Restore it now! NOW!"
"Huh? Why?"
"You idiot! Don't you get it?"
"Get what?"
"They have clients ranging from celebrities, actresses, models, to idols! This is your chance to slip into the idol world by making connections with them!"
Cain's face brightened. "Oh, you might have a point . . ." But his enthusiasm quickly faded. "But touching hair and . .
."
The mere thought of running his fingers through a woman's hair made Cain's stomach churn. He held back a gag, his hand trembling at the idea.
"Just request to style men and say you don't know how to style women," Fifi suggested, exasperation in her voice. "You really need to fix that up."
"But still . . . working in a hair salon . . ."
"Don't you want to enter the idol world quickly?" Fifi pressed.
Cain bit his lip, taking a deep breath as he weighed his options. After a moment of hesitation, he clicked on the deleted invitation and restored it, printing it out.
"Fine. Let's see where this takes me."