Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

An hour later.

The hospital room was sterile blue and white. It was an expensive place to rest in, but a private one. The nurses were paid enough to not spread gossip—or at least they were supposed to be.

Tristan still eyed the one that came to adjust Nelson's health monitors until she left.

His friend was lying in the hospital bed, still unconscious. There was an oxygen tube attached to his nose, and several electrodes connecting him to the machines nearby.

Tristan was leaning against a nearby wall. He felt even worse than before—definitely sick now. Just standing for prolonged periods of time was exhausting. However, he couldn't afford for this to be seen right now.

There were two other people in the room: Derek, who traveled to the hospital as soon as Tristan told him what happened and where Nelson was going to be, and the doctor who treated him.

"I must say, this is a strange case," Dr. Megglin said. "You are truly sure that Mr. Mayar didn't have a history of diabetes or heart-related diseases in his past or running in his family?"

Derek's lips, so often smiling, were pressed thin. His bee-like yellow and black tie clashed terribly with the mood and the surroundings.

"Mr. Mayar went through medical examinations in the past, and was given a clean bill of health each time. He's—until now, he had been a perfectly healthy young man. Not even any allergies."

He would know—managing medical documents was one of his responsibilities. And Derek insisted that artists under his watch passed general health checkups twice a year, usually before a tour.

Tristan knew that all, because he was yet to pass his own checkup.

'But if there will be no tour, there will be no checkup… yet, at least.'

Dr. Megglin sighed.

"Please, I'm not trying to offend you. I'm just making sure, because… Well, if there was a history of either in Mr. Mayar's past, it would've made things much clearer. But I have good news, too. Right now, Mr. Mayar's state seems to be stable. We still have life support on standby, just in case."

"You can't tell anything AT ALL about this sickness?" Tristan asked. "You did a blood sugar test, didn't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Gemello. Mr. Mayar's blood sugar was perfectly alright, as far as a quick test could tell. But nothing is conclusive yet."

Tristan frowned.

He knew this much, and he still wanted to pester the doctor with more questions and demands. Run a full blood test, make scans…

Derek rubbed his face with his hands.

"So there's nothing for us to do but wait."

Dr. Megglin nodded.

"Yes. The visiting hours are posted on the hospital's website and in the lobby. There's also a list of items allowed to be brought in. Don't worry about paparazzis, this wing's security is very strict. Besides you two and his personal assistant, no other visitors were listed in Mr. Mayar's 'trusted persons' field, so not even family members will be allowed."

Derek nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Megglin—this is just why this place was so well-recommended to me. Mr. Gemello, perhaps we shouldn't distract the doctor from his work for now…"

Tristan let out a long, tense breath, then nodded.

"Sure."

As long as he didn't make any feats of skillful work, Tristan could pretend to feel fine. If he looked less self-assured than usual and his aura was dimmer than the brightest he could keep it—well, this could've been from Tristan's mood. Or from his desire to stay unnoticed on the streets.

Tristan and Derek walked in tense silence until the end of the quiet hallways of the expensive private wing.

"Troubles just never end, do they?" Derek shook his head. "There are so many places from which they could've come, but health, of all things? And right after this disgusting hatred-monger posted such a volatile article about you two."

Tristan blinked. His thoughts felt more sluggish than usual—but he still realized that Derek wasn't talking about any previous articles from the Gospel that Tristan had seen.

"There was a new one? It's somehow worse than all the others?"

"Oh, you didn't see it yet, Gemello?" Derek looked sheepish. "You didn't lose anything, believe me. It's only more vitriol."

"No, I think I must know. With Nelson sick, I must fight this online war for both of us," Tristan said.

Derek shook his head.

"This war only brought you two too much stress already. I won't be surprised if this stress pushed Mr. Mayar toward his current state. But if you insist…"

"I do."

"Then let's talk in the car. I drove my own here, but I can drive you back to your house. Lenny can drive your car back."

Tristan nodded at the car arrangements. "Sure."

They walked to the underground parking lot where Derek parked and went in his car. It was a simple, practical sedan, but with enough functionality and power behind the humble exterior to drive smoothly in both heat and rain. The seats were made from a very nice to the touch fabric.

Derek sat in the driver's seat and closed the door, but didn't start the engine. Instead, he tapped nervously at the wheel.

"The article wasn't aimed only at you or Mr. Mayar, but that didn't make things better. Gospel had dug out the worst examples of celebrities of all ages, their so-called 'parasocial relationships' with the fans and the terrible things that sometimes happened as the result. He made examples from your and Mr. Mayar's past scandals, too."

Tristan listened with a frown.

"This is not very different from things he did before. Including digging up what's old history by now."

"I suppose one needs to read it to understand, Mr. Gemello. It's the way it was written—I'm not good enough with words to explain, but the hatred in it was infectious. Even I… Mr. Gemello, I will admit—I love show business and my job. I wanted to become a star myself in the past, but I found my calling in helping others become them. However…"

Tristan tilted his head in a silent suggestion to continue when Derek trailed off.

"Yes? Is there something wrong? Derek, I know that showbiz is a pit of snakes. I'm a snake myself. But you are a rare good person."

Derek smiled.

"Thank you for your words—and I think you are being too harsh on yourself here. But yes—a pit of snakes. People can be very cutthroat sometimes, and very vicious oftentimes. I try my best to remember that most of these people just repeat other bad examples in their lives, but my patience isn't eternal, either."

Tristan smirked.

"Yeah? I thought it was. I thought that was why you were assigned to me in the first place."

When Tristan saw how Derek tensed for a moment, he grinned widely.

'I was only joking—but the joke is true! Ha-ha, well, I didn't have any complaints back when I met Derek, and I sure don't have them now.'

"Either way, Mr. Gemello, what I wanted to say is that this article made me think vividly about all the worst examples of celebrity behavior I've witnessed in my life. For a moment, just for a moment, I thought that maybe the good parts of show business weren't worth the bad parts."

Derek paused.

"And there are so many people out there who are on the fence about show business already, or don't care either way. So many of them were swayed harder than me! It's already starting in the comments."

"I see…" Tristan frowned. "I really will have to read it."

His mind was whirling already and mostly failing to produce anything. His mind was sick, like him.

'I already thought that Ass-Angel might've made me and Nel ill somehow. Maybe this is how. Or maybe I'm just putting events together because they happened at the same time. What kind of investigation is this? Shit, I'm one step behind and I HATE it. And this man…'

Tristan rubbed his tired eyes.

"Mr. Gemello, please put on your seatbelt. Try not to worry about Nelson and get some good rest yourself, before I will need to visit two people in the hospital…"

Tristan nodded at Derek.

"Yeah, yeah… Sure."

As soon as the seatbelt was on and Derek started the car, Tristan gathered his mental strength and opened his phone. It took no time at all to find the article Derek had been talking about.

It was every bit as vitriolic as Derek described, and somehow more. The more Tristan read, the more he felt like a complete asshole for being in showbiz in the first place.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

He was just there for attention, anyway. Attention, love of the public… if he only wanted to make art, he could've posted it anonymously. He could've been a recluse, like Angelo.

Even his criminal career seemed to be more honest and moral than his pop-star one. At least as a criminal, Tristan didn't lie about being a piece of shit.

'Wait, what am I even thinking about?!'