Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

The solution came to Tristan a moment later.

'If Gospel's influence spreads through public opinions, I have to skew it to my side to fix this, and do it right now. Things won't get better if I just wait for things to subside on their own.'

This was much easier said than done, though. Tristan couldn't write a speech compelling enough to counter Gospel's influence, and he doubted anyone could.

'I should focus on my own strengths. Say… I'm not as good with words, but unlike Gospel, I can actually show my face to people. There are still so many of them who adore me, and plenty of others who will just feel sympathetic toward another human. Toward someone who acts like their friend. Then I can use my own skills to sway them on my side.'

Tristan hummed thoughtfully under his breath, then called Derek.

It was evening—his off-hours, technically, but the man picked the call quickly.

"Mr. Gemello. Did you need something? Dr. Megglin still can't give any definite answer about what Mr. Mayar is sick with, if you wanted to ask about that."

"No… I know about that. Derek, I think it's time to release a public statement on the matter of show business at the moment, and I want you to help me compose it. This scandal won't just quieten on its own like the others, and we all need some good public opinions for a change."

From what Tristan knew, Derek so-far was giving a mostly noncommittal response, following the strategy of "not feeding the trolls". It obviously wasn't working.

Derek paused for a moment.

"This might just make matters worse for you. The first time you spoke against him, Gospel released this piece of his, and you became one of the primary targets. And now Mr. Mayar is sick…"

"It's a risk, but a necessary one," Tristan said gravely. "I want to ask Nelson's help, too—as much as he can reply."

"Help? He can barely wake up for long enough to say 'hello', Mr. Gemello!"

"He can wake up for long enough to listen to my idea. Just hear this…"

***

Next day, Tristan repeated the same plan, with some minor changes and fixes from Derek to Nelson.

Despite all the best care, the mysterious illness clearly took a heavy toll on him. His cheeks looked sallow and there were heavy bags under his eyes despite all the time Nelson spent asleep. His hair hung limply down on his forehead.

The sight made anger boil in Tristan's gut, inspiring him to shoot Gospel between his eyes when they will finally meet face to face.

He still smiled at Tristan and Derek when they woke Nelson up. Tristan brought fresh flowers for his nightstand vase, and Derek left a bag of candy near it.

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"Hi, Nel," Tristan said, sitting in a chair next to the bed. "I know it sucks here, mostly because things just suck in general, but I have an idea about how to make them at least a bit better."

Nel's weak smile became wider.

"Of course you would, Tris…"

"That idea needs some help from you, though," Tristan added.

"Anything," Nelson replied immediately. His weary eyes began fluttering closed. "Anything I can… So not much. Heh."

Tristan's lips pressed together. He hurriedly took a plastic cup of water from the nightstand and brought it to Nelson's lips.

"Hey, hey, don't fall asleep yet. Drink first, or they will have to put another needle into you to make sure you don't dehydrate."

Thankfully, Nelson downed half the cup before the last vestiges of strength left him. When Tristan put the cup back on the nightstand, the young man was in a deep, coma-like sleep again.

Next to them, Derek sighed sadly.

"He's a good friend. I still wish he'd be able to stay awake long enough to hear our plan, Mr. Gemello, but then, I also wish he wasn't sick in the first place."

Tristan nodded.

"Let's go to the Head Physician's office? We still need to make them agree to let us do camera shootings here."

"We will probably need Mr. Mayar's signature for that, too, Mr. Gemello. It will require waking him up again…"

Tristan shook his head.

"I don't want to put him under any more stress. Just—I've seen that signature often enough, if you get what I mean. And he agreed—he won't protest that it wasn't his later."

Derek clicked his tongue with disapproval, but nodded.

The last thing the Head Physician needed was for someone—anyone—to make videos in his hospital, even if the shooting crew was going to be minimal and all the shooting will be contained in a single room.

However, he couldn't resist Tristan's charm and a large enough donation to the hospital.

Later this evening—everything was incredibly rushed, but the situation really demanded it in Tristan's eyes—Tristan was in Nelson's room again.

This time, Derek was back at his office. Instead, Tristan came with a cameraman.

The cameraman was an experienced man who had shot videos of Tristan for public promotions and music videos before. He quickly set up his camera and quickly set up for an angle that showed the hospital room in the best way.

Nelson was asleep through the entire process, unaware that there were people near him at all.

For this moment, Tristan dressed meticulously, casually. He had to really dig into his clothing closet for the things he wore back when he was still buying second-hand.

Tristan wasn't sure if he kept them for sentimental purposes, or because he thought he might need a disguise later.

They fit him better now that his body filled in with muscle. His black shirt strained over Tristan's pecks when he stretched his shoulders. It was a good sight, but not one that felt intentional.

Tristan's entire outfit was as unintentional as it got. Just normal everyday clothing—a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers—that anyone could wear. They had some scuffles on it from wear, but not enough to look ratty.

Tristan also wore no make-up, except for a bit of shadows he used to paint faint fake bags under his eyes.

The resulting image, when put together, was of someone who was too tired to think about how he looked on camera—but who still looked great. Because he just was that handsome through his very bones.

Tristan sat in the chair near Nelson's bed, propping his elbows on his knees to show this exhaustion through the posture.

The cameraman gave Tristan a thumbs-up.

"Are we starting, Mr. Gemello?"

"Yes."

Tristan looked the camera in the eye. A red light was blinking at him, showing that it was recording.

"Hello, everybody. My name is Tristan Gemello, and I'm in the hospital room of my friend, Nelson Mayar. I'm sure you had already heard at least some of the nasty things told about us over the Internet… Not to mention the death threats…"

Tristan shook his head, letting vulnerability, sorrow and pure hurt seep through this simple motion.

If Gospel's impossible skill was writing speeches, then Tristan's was speaking things without words at all!

His words were spoken beautifully and enthralled people to listen just to his voice, but it was how Tristan moved and acted in this moment that really carried the message.

Tristan talked on for a little while longer. The speech was mostly written by Derek's PR specialist, who wrote half the posts in Tristan's online media.

It was a well-written speech. Tristan told how the stress of knowing that untold thousand people in the world were hating him got to Nelson and put him into hospital; that Tristan himself was holding on, but worried for his friend, with whom they got through so much.

"I just want to ask all of you who still consider yourselves our fans. In these dark times, we need your support more than ever. Please, send us your well wishes and love. Especially to Nelson, who needs it more than me."

Tristan waited for a few more seconds after finishing his speech before snapping his fingers.

"Cut! And also…"

After a brief look around, Tristan found a towel hanging near a small sink in a corner. He took it and passed it to the cameraman.

The cameraman's eyes were wet with tears, and thick rivulets of them were running down his cheeks. He began crying in the first thirty seconds of the shooting, and it took not a minor part of Tristan's impossible acting skill to not react to this.

"Wipe your face, please."

"I apologize, Mr. Gemello," the cameraman said with a sniff. "It's just—your speech, it's… I have it all on the camera. A perfect shot, if I may say."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

A quick look at the results of the shooting on the camera's tiny digital screen confirmed the cameraman's words.

This was a speech no one could stay unmoved by. Hell, Tristan could just post it without sound, and people would still want to cry watching his act.

'I hope it works. I really hope it works…'