Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

The wide stage was dark except for several spotlights, all of which converged on a lone figure of Tristan walking down it.

He reached the center of the stage, where a microphone and a guitar on a stand were waiting for him. The guitar was slung over his chest; then Tristan leaned toward the microphone.

"People of Los Angeles and people who came from other cities just to see me today…" he began in a conspiratorially loud voice, only to suddenly back off from the microphone and almost shout, "Thank all of you for being here! Let's discard pretenses and show the world what kind of animals we all are!"

The fans almost screamed in delight.

Tristan screamed in delight too, but only inwardly.

It was incredible how many people actually came. 20 thousand people—well, there were fewer, likely around 15 thousand—but still a huge amount. It only looked small on paper.

In reality, the sheer pressure of their eyes on him felt like a thick cocoon.

Then Tristan stopped thinking and began playing.

For the next hour, there was nothing but him, music, and adoration of people listening to him. Tristan felt like he was watching himself from the side, but at the same time was intensely present in his body at every given moment.

There were thousands of purple strings reaching toward Tristan from the people in the audience. With each song he played, more and more of them appeared, connecting him with his fans. Purple was the color of one-sided adoration—the color of love and loyalty.

Tristan was in the middle of a purple web, which only he could see.

It was all over in the blink of an eye. An entire century—when Tristan finished playing his last guitar accord, he was in a new era.

[Secret task complete: impress people who came to watch you perform today. Reward: your CP increased by 10000!]

He smiled widely at the audience and bowed wordlessly. Despite all his toughness and endurance, he was sweaty and breathing hard after singing for an hour straight.

Thankfully, Derek was waiting backstage with a bottle of sponsor-brand water, which Tristan gratefully gulped down.

Even with Tristan backstage, the fans were roaring behind, still agitated.

"This went well, Mr. Gemello," Derek said with a broad smile.

"That's an understatement of the century!" Nelson charged in, pulling Tristan into a careful—to not mess with the guitar—hug. "Man, you set the stage on fire!"

Derek cleared his throat.

"Yes, that's one way to put it. If you feel up to it, Mr. Gemello, you should come out for an encore. The people will love it."

Tristan laughed and pushed Nel away.

"I was just thinking that. About the encore, I mean. So, wait a bit for the celebrations, yeah, Nel?"

Tristan went back and played several of his favorite songs for an encore. This time, he was more focused on his surroundings than on the music. He noticed when the fans began to tire and closed the performance for good this time.

"Goodbye, Los Angeles, and don't miss me. I will see you again soon!"

Very soon, actually—the concert wasn't fully over.

"Mr. Gemello, are you ready to meet the fans up close? We can take a break first," Derek said when Tristan re-entered backstage.

Derek was referring to the autograph signing, which was a part of the concert and its schedule, although people had to buy separate tickets to get to it. From the data about sold tickets, there were going to be a couple hundred of the die-hard fans who paid for them.

It was great for Tristan's young career that he already had die-hard fans.

"I'm good—just give me more water," he said. "Let's not keep them waiting… the sooner I'm done, the sooner I can rest properly."

Derek nodded.

"If you say so."

Nelson grinned at Tristan from the side, but didn't pull him into a hug this time.

"Have a good time! I'm gonna stay here, give you all the shine… Watch how it's done for the time when it will be my turn!"

"Which will happen soon enough, Mr. Mayar," Derek said with a warm smile. "You are almost there."

Tristan snapped a finger-gun at Nelson and winked.

"Gotcha. I will show you the best example."

After that conversation and watering himself a little more, Tristan went to the VIP lodge. Derek trailed after him, and on the exit from the backstage, four bodyguards—not gangsters this time—surrounded them. They were going to keep the fans at a respectful distance.

The lodge was separated from the main part of the audience hall by being on a raised platform and was surrounded by chest-high walls from three sides. There was still plenty of space to see inside, or to take photos. Everything was already prepared for the signing: a table, paper and a rainbow of markers.

Tristan saw flashes of professional cameras as he walked, as well as smartphones of people who just did amateur recordings of him. He cheekily grinned at them all as he walked.

The fans were already organized into a queue, and nobody was trying to do anything crazy while Tristan sat down at the table and addressed the first person in the line.

Blushing like a tomato, she wordlessly offered Tristan a print of today's concert poster—one of the many merchandise items released as a part of the album marketing campaign (and to earn more money).

Tristan grinned at the flustered girl and put a special flourish into signing his name on the poster. He chose a purple marker for it—like the bright thread of the relationship between them.

"I hope you had a good time at the concert," he said in goodbye and waved to the next person to approach.

In twenty minutes, Tristan began regretting that he hadn't taken a break beforehand. There were a lot of signatures to write, and his hand was getting tired.

But even in a tired state, he noticed that something was amiss with the next fan who approached his table.