Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

"Well… He seems less trustworthy to me, for sure. His wife left him—why would she leave him if he was a good person? He didn't even get custody of their child!"

"I remember him saying in an interview that women shouldn't have been given the right to vote."

"I bet he was cheating on his wife."

"Maybe the police are under-funded because all those funds go somewhere, you know? The Assistant Chief's car looks new. Is it new?"

"I'm sure it is!"

In several more minutes, the gossipers poured an entire barrel of dirt over the Assistant Chief. There was so much that Tristan could barely keep track of what was just a non-confirmed rumor, and what was outright made up for the sake of it.

"Thank you, thank you, ladies," he butted in, finally stemming in the flow. "I see you don't like the guy at all, and for plenty of reasons."

"Mhm." Gossiper One nodded. She curled a lock of her hair and looked at Tristan playfully. "Why are you so curious about some stuffy old men, anyway, Tristan? You won't invite him for a dance."

There was a dance floor to the side of the hall, with a small orchestra and a set of speakers playing classical pieces while couples slowly waltzed around.

"Unlike us!" Gossiper Two chirped with a smile. "Isn't that why you called us over in the end?"

"We like chatting with you, but surely our gossip has tired you already?" Gossiper Three said in a sultry voice.

Tristan let out an almost unperceivable sigh.

'If I don't repay them with either a dance or an answer to why I'm so curious, they will start spreading rumors about ME next time.'

"I'm not tired at all—chatting with you was a pleasure, ladies." Actual truth, to Tristan's own surprise. The gossipers were shallow ponds, but clear. "But if you want to dance… One dance, alright? My legs are feeling tired today."

"One for each, Tristan!"

"Yes, yes. You can't just leave the two of us rejected."

"That applies to taking us home, by the way." Gossiper Three winked.

Tristan didn't cough, blush, or even stare. He very pointedly did nothing of the sort. It took a lot of effort, but he held the title of the Drama King not for nothing.

But inwardly, he wondered if he was missing out on an extremely rare opportunity in his life.

Then he mentally slapped himself.

'Business! You are here for an important business! Finish that first, Tristan, then think with your dick!'

"One dance each, then. You three are masterful negotiators," Tristan said with a laugh, and offered them an arm with a flourish. "Which one will go first?"

***

He danced with each of the girls—they all were decent, but not amazing, dancers—and finally excused himself.

After mingling around for a little longer, Tristan saw that the Chief of Police and Assistant Chief were away from other guests, talking quietly to each other.

A good opportunity to approach.

And since Tristan was in his Pop-star identity, he didn't have to be subtle.

"Greetings, officers," he said with a friendly, if a bit cheeky, smile. "How are you finding the event? Enjoying your time while protecting our peace, I hope?"

"Hm? And who will you be, mister?" Assistant Chief asked.

Both police officers were unsurprised that Tristan recognized them. They were wearing dress uniforms, and stood out next to the men in suits like a pair of geese in a flock of ducks.

"Tristan Gemello. If you heard about me, I'd be surprised… about your musical tastes." Tristan grinned jokingly and offered his hand to shake.

A handshake was a common gesture and also a social ritual which could be used to measure a person.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gemello. I'm George Fovesco, and my Assistant Chief is Frank Robertson."

The Chief of Police's handshake was firm and dry. All signs of self-assurance without a need to prove himself to people at every turn.

"I didn't expect someone like you to have an interest in police officers."

The Assistant Chief's handshake was just as firm, but the man held it for a moment too long, staring at Tristan with too much interest before finally letting go.

"Oh, it's for professional reasons." Tristan grinned. "I write songs for people who want to live fast and live cool, and couldn't help but wonder… What would the police think if I wrote a song about being gloriously, as a kite, high?"

The Chief of Police frowned.

"Our country has freedom of speech, but I truly wish things like these were outlawed. The children should be taught how to live adult lives properly, not how to die young from an overdose!"

Tristan could tell that he was genuine in that outrage. Next to him, the Assistant Chief huffed—after a slightest glance at his superior.

Tristan saw the emotion that flickered in the man's eyes at that moment.

Exasperation.

Was it because of how traditional the Chief of Police sounded, because he didn't recognize Tristan's words for the provocation they were, or because he thought the Chief of Police was too idealistic?

"Alright, then I won't write that song, officers," Tristan said with an easy smile. "There are plenty of other topics. Maybe I will write a song about the police instead. Can the police be fast and cool? Or are you more like donut-cops?"

Like that, Tristan moved the conversation to other topics, baiting the pair more and more and deepening his understanding with every question.

The Assistant Chief clearly was the more cynical of the two. Disillusioned. Dishonest? Very possible, but without a guarantee. But he and the Chief of Police were definitely dear friends.

A plan began forming in Tristan's head.

He excused himself from the conversation and moved toward the snacks table, about to get himself some fuel and think it through (and also think whether he wanted to take the Gossipers on their invitation)—when he saw a pair of guests enter the hall.

A very particular pair of guests.

'Why are they here? Why now?'

His own parents!