Tristan watched the performances, mentally judging the contestants. They were all good, but not... amazing.
After his stunning performance, everybody in the waiting room was as curious about him as they were interested in the contest. A few people looked like they would want to approach and curry favor with him, but Tristan wasn't in the mood for that.
So he sat with a cold, unapproachable expression, the force of which intimidated people into staying well away. Especially after Tristan spent 2000 Criminal Points out of shitton he had earned into increasing his fearsomeness to 436.
Now that his aura was so terrifying when Tristan wanted it to be, it worked better than any "Do Not Enter!" sign could. No one dared to even sit within three meters of him.
There was only one exception.
The man's stage name was Angelo Omen, and he was a year or two younger than Tristan. With his long, ashen-blond hair and flowing white tunic as a stage costume, he really looked somewhat angelic.
He was also the only one not watching the contest at all—instead he was sitting on a couch, wearing noise-canceling earphones, and simply spacing out.
The guy was curious, but somewhat creepy. In the recording of his performance, he showed an incredible technical skill with a keyboard, but zero emotion. Angelo only won at all because the other contestants were notably worse, and probably because someone thought he was an interesting freak.
'What did he forget here in the first place?' Tristan thought idly.
Angelo's face gave not a slightest hint. The man showed less emotion than a robot, so much so that Tristan wondered if his face muscles were paralyzed.
"Up next, Mr. Angelo Omen," an attendant said, entering the waiting room. "Mr. Angelo Omen? Please, come with me."
When the guy didn't react, Tristan snapped his fingers and pointed at the attendant.
That caught Angelo's attention. Still silent, Angelo blinked and, without a word, went to the stage.
'What a weirdo. It's almost a pity that he has so little passion for the music he plays. The contest's host called him a young genius... Well, then he's sure a genius lost to the world of music! And without them, the best you can achieve is 'good'."
Angelo didn't take off his earphones even on stage, instead connecting him to his electric keyboard. Just like at his previous performance.
Then stagehands suddenly brought a second keyboard, which Angelo quickly connected to the first.
Tristan sat up in his seat, curious.
"Come on out, the sun is bright!"
"No, we must stay out of sight."
"Come to where grass is warm!"
"No, I will slip and I will fall."
The snail's debate was about whether to come outside of its shell. There was no chorus verse...
But there was a sudden finale, for which Angelo switched the keyboard's settings again, making it sound like a violin and trombone playing at once.
In the end, the snail was served as someone's fashionable dinner, and Tristan was clenching his fists on his knees.
The audience applauded Angelo all at once!
"What an incredible performance, and an astounding technique. Perhaps this could compete with the show given to us by Mr. Gemello," Isaiah commented to other judges.
"Yes! It will be a hard choice between the two. They can't be more different, but both have their own distinct and striking style!" Kira Montez replied.
"It looks like at the previous stages you weren't going all out at all, Mr. Omen," Selene addressed Angelo. "Before, you acted like you had no motivation at all, but this song showed that this cannot be true! What has changed your mind?"
Angelo looked at her, proving that he could hear in his headphones.
"I don't want to talk about this to the public. May I leave already?"
Selene's smile tensed, but the show's host was already there to fix the situation with a joke.
"The more genius a person is, the more eccentric they are, this is for sure! Now let's send off Angelo Omen with another round of applause and welcome our next competitor..."
Tristan wasn't listening anymore.
He was thinking.
'This man... really blindsided me! He... I can't read him. What's on his mind—and how do I make sure I still win?'