Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

Four hours later.

As soon as Tristan turned off the stream, his co-host slumped in his chair.

"Ugh, I'm cooked," Nel groaned. With almost a painful expression on his face, he reached out to pick a bottle of water from the table.

He chugged it so greedily that he almost choked and ended up coughing and spilling some over his clothes.

Tristan watched it with a mild concern for a moment, before grabbing himself a soda to drink, too.

"Yeah, that was as exhausting as an entire concert, or as an hour of dance rehearsals. And we mostly were sitting in these chairs and talking. Even if it took four hours straight."

Tristan drank his soda more carefully than Nelson did , but also quickly. He could've gone for longer—he had the toughness for it—but he didn't want to.

"I don't think streams are my thing, Tris," Nelson said with a sigh. "It's not the same when your audience is away somewhere. Although it was fun to chat."

Tristan smirked.

"Good thing we aren't full-time streamers, then. Anyway, I'm hungry enough to eat our sound technician unless we go grab some food. You are with me, I hope?"

"Sure. Do you think Derek will show up? I'd like to see what he thinks about our stream."

Derek showed up. For someone who always dressed in suits (even if his choice of colors and accessories ranged from bold to garish), he enjoyed junk food as much as Tristan and Nelson.

Probably because of how busy he was most of the time.

"This was just perfectly done—the stream, I mean. As perfectly as something can be perfect, at least!" Derek said to both artists. "I was afraid that even with moderators in the chat, someone might say something provoking and create a second coming of that Gospel thing. And it almost happened, but you handled it nicely. That, and other awkward questions."

Nelson chuckled.

"Well, our hides got tougher after all this time! We aren't total newbies by now."

Tristan nodded in agreement. Inwardly, he was just happy that they were together at the streams.

The insults from sympathizers of Noidolists were incredibly irksome, but few. The only time Tristan almost lost his cool at them, Nelson distracted him sooner than Tristan could say something rash.

Worse were fans asking about their idols' love lives. They were annoying AND they also flustered Nelson to no end. Tristan wanted to roll his eyes just remembering it.

"Some people really need to learn how to live their own lives instead of poking their noses into the lives of others," Tristan said, then chuckled. "But yeah. After all this, it was like walking down a field of flowers."

Derek beamed at them.

"I'm so glad to hear it. You probably would like to hear some numbers, too," he pulled out his phone and read from notes on the screen, "At the peak of activity there were 40 thousand people watching you live, and you have gathered over 320 thousand dollars in donations. Which all went to charity, but at least you will get a tax reduction."

Nelson scowled.

"This tax reduction makes no sense. These aren't even our money—shouldn't whoever donates them get the reduction?"n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"I'm not making the rules, Mr. Mayar." Derek smiled apologetically. "I know that many people in your position would feel sore giving this amount of money away for charity without some benefit for themselves. Even with it, actually. Not you, but…"

Tristan nodded.

He wondered if HE was feeling sore about the money lost, but decided that he had enough. 320 thousand could be put to good use on both criminal and pop-star sides of his career, but he won't go bankrupt without.

The tax reduction was also nice.

"There's just one thing that concerns me about all this," Derek continued, now without the previous smile. "Regarding your position on the current ban on public concerts in Los Angeles…"

Tristan raised his eyebrows.

"Yes? I thought you agreed. This ban is not only taking away our freedoms, it's useless as a preventive measure against terrorism. If people want to blow something up, they will. If people want to gather and listen to music, I will gladly play the music."

Derek smiled sheepishly.

"Don't take me wrong, I don't disagree—and neither do most people online. But I'm afraid that the public support of you two on the matter might become too vocal. And too radical."

"What do you mean, Derek?" Nelson asked.

"Plainly speaking, if one of these people who loudly supports you starts a riot and throws rotten eggs on some government building… People might associate him and you, whether or not there's a connection. It won't be good for your reputation."

This was something Tristan had already thought about—and dismissed. He waved Derek off.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it. In the worst-case scenario, some public statements will mitigate the damage. Our reputation survived worse."

'But,' Tristan thought, 'I hope Ass-Angel sees this all and seethes in whatever hole he crawled into.'

***

Somewhere else.

A hand reached out and pressed the 'space' button on the keyboard hard enough to almost break it.

The man who was sometimes known as Michael grit his eyes, looked at Tristan's face, and seethed.

This man was too cocky, his face was too impossibly perfect, and his act was too smooth. He could've played a better angel than Michael himself, if he wanted to.

He and his peacock friend. With whom they certainly were up to no good back in their sinfully opulent mansions.

It all made Michael want to wring their necks.

At this moment, he spotted the waitress of the coffee shop watching him with concern.

Scowing, Michael closed his laptop and stood up. He threw enough money to pay for his coffee and bagel—but no tip—and marched out before anyone could report him for 'suspicious behavior'.

Michael felt attacked from all sides—literal and metaphorical—and he was going to do something about it.