After the experience of the past two months, these thugs barely fazed him. The gun wasn't even pointed directly at Tristan.
"No fucking way!"
"No chance."
Tristan and the glittery guy spoke in unison, their words overlapping each other.
Tristan chuckled at how unanimous they were.
"You think that's funny? This isn't a toy, little boys!" the gun-wielding thug said, waving his weapon around. "Stay still and quiet! Hey, Rob, think we should tie them up before they call people in or something?"
"Nah, just hold them at gunpoint for now."
The glittery guy grit his teeth, but was frozen by a gun pointing at his head.
Tristan waited, wondering what these two would do next. He had to be cautious with his identity, but soon enough, someone from the staff was about to enter the room.
The thugs' plan was poorly thought-through.
One of them approached Tristan, and thug's hand reached for the handle of his guitar.
"You won't need that anymore, so give me your guitar!"
He made two mistakes at once—pissed Tristan off and gave him an opportunity to act.
Tristan stepped aside, putting the thug between himself and the second one—and suddenly HE was the one pointing a gun at the grabby thug!
The man gasped in shock. In reflex, he reached for his own gun—and gasped again when he felt only an empty pocket.
The second thug moved to point his weapon on Tristan, but it was too late to stop him! Although Tristan was at gunpoint now, he only smirked.
"Are you going to shoot me? What if your hand twitches and you hit your friend by accident? Scram, before I make more holes in you than in flutes!"
"You! H-how did you steal my gun?!"
Tristan was just that good. He aimed the gun at the closest thug's head.
His eyes were blazing with determination to win, even if it meant walking over corpses. A willingness to kill that normal civilians didn't have.
The thugs stood frozen by that stony gaze. The strikingly handsome young man in front of them looked like a hardened killer at this moment.
"Nooo, I know how that works. We would've gotten detained, and I have to perform after the next person! You were amazing out there, by the way. That acting—you could've been working in Hollywood, I swear."
"I'm striving toward that, too."
The glittery man laughed (somewhat hysterically), then took a dozen deep breaths and calmed down.
"So, what's your name?"
"Tristan Gemello. But just Tristan is fine."
"I'm Nelson Mayar, but everybody just calls me Nel. Have to say, I thought you were kind of an asshole at first. But it looks like you were a cool asshole all that time."
Tristan snorted.
"For someone so determined to compete, you are terribly nice towards your competition. Even 'assholes'."
Nel shrugged.
"I don't like to discriminate. People are so unequal to each other all the time, and I feel like I should change that at least a little, you know? Although I don't think even I have the patience for people who hurt me personally. Am not Jesus. Not even a saint. Just another sinner like all of us."
Tristan tilted his head. The way Nel said that showed that it all sounded very personal to the man. Like he had been judged and discriminated against too many times for something, in the eyes of God or the people, and was sick of it.
Tristan could relate.
"If someone looks down upon you because of who you are, just show them the middle finger. And then break their knees." Tristan smiled, showing that he was joking about the latter (he wasn't).
Nel laughed.
"One doesn't stop another!"
The music from the outside quietened. The host began talking again, announcing the next performer, and Tristan's ear caught a familiar name.
"I have to go. See you later, Nel."
He waved.
"Sure thing. Watch my performance—it's gonna be lit!"
Tristan nodded and rapidly left the room, heading toward the audience hall.
On his way there, he opened the status panel.
'I suddenly got 150 Pop-star Points to spare... Where will they benefit me the most?'