Tristan leaned forward in his seat, watching the performance like a hawk.
Valerian's hands were flying over the keyboard of the electric piano, almost as if the man was controlled by an invisible puppet master. Valerian himself was hunched over the piano, glaring at something invisible.
It was a song of pure passion, movement, and pride. It sounded like a military march, if one was twice as fast and with several sharp series of notes that sounded way too rock for a march.
With the speed at which Valerian's fingers moved, it was almost impossible to tell that the notes in the melody didn't always come at the same time when Valerian pressed the keys. Sometimes they were just a fraction of a second slower or faster.
Tristan himself wouldn't have noticed if he didn't scrutinize every second of Valerian's performance whenever the camera showed him from up close.
Even then, he wasn't 100% sure his hunch was correct. There weren't enough close-up shots of the camera!
The song ended, and Valerian bowed to the audience. The juries applauded together with everybody else and began animatedly discussing the performance.
"This was a very interesting mixing of genres and instruments."
"Yes, a very unusual participant. And on the stage, you can really see the passion he put into this music live."
"A new take on classics! Too bad there was no way to put an actual piano on this stage..."
Tristan didn't listen to the rest of the conversation, or to the host announcing the next contestant.
He stood up and walked out of the waiting room and toward the backstage, his guitar hanging on his back.
However, instead of going directly to the area where large instruments and other equipment were stored between performances, Tristan found a narrow hallway branching out next to it and hid behind the corner.
Silent and almost unnoticeable—unless someone came up from behind—Tristan waited for a dozen minutes until he saw Valerian walk past, going toward the dressing room.
Tristan continued on his way until he reached the room where the equipment was stored. Like he expected, Valerian's electric piano was still there, standing to the side, amid other instruments, decorations, and stage equipment.
From this room, he could clearly hear the voice of the host announcing the next participant.
"Really?" Tristan asked, gradually moving toward the exit.
The glittery man laughed.
"Yeah, because that person is me!"
Tristan relaxed a little. The man didn't suspect him of anything, clearly.
"I was just hanging around," Tristan said. "And just leaving. You have a very striking costume, by the way."
The man grinned.
"Thanks! I designed it myself and—"
He was cut off by the opened door. A pair of people entered, and from a single look at them, Tristan knew they had no business whatsoever being here.
For one, despite having beiges of stage workers, they looked and moved nothing like them. Also, Tristan spotted faint outlines of guns under their jackets.
'It looks like I was not the only one tempted to trim the competition by messing with equipment. Or with the competitors themselves,' Tristan thought dryly.
They paused at the entrance, then looked at the musicians and tsked.
"You aren't from the staff. Leave this place, go wait in... waiting room."
The glittery man blinked.
"What? The staff literally pointed me to wait here until my turn—"
He froze when one of the men pointed a gun at the two guitarists. It had a silencer on it, and Tristan knew that with the music blaring outside, no one would hear a shot.
"We told you to get the fuck out. Both of you! Clear? Get the fuck out and forget about winning this competition. Otherwise, you will find yourself with broken fingers afterward! Or perhaps we won't even wait to do it!"