Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

"Look, even the last moron would understand why, Tristan. And you always had some of the best grades in class, so I thought you were smart. But fine, I can explain."

"First, the doctors said that even with the best plastic surgery your parents paid for, your face will stay scarred forever. Your voice will also never fully recover after this car crash. And why would I need an ugly, rasping boyfriend?"

"That's right, I don't. Second, your singing career. It's over, Tristan, before it even properly began! Your voice is gone. You might as well drop out of the music school now. And a rising star like myself can't date just any bum without prospects, even if he has rich parents.

I'm sure you agree."

"Also, Tristan, your family connections and money let you get off from drunk driving charges with only a fine and a driving license suspension. Good thing that you were only seventeen, and the judge took pity on you, huh? But you still won't be able to drive me around in your dad's Lamborghini anymore! What's the point of dating you, then?"

The hand holding the phone dropped on the hospital bed sheets.

The phone dropped to the floor, and the loud beeping of machines hooked to the bed drowned out the woman's voice coming from the other side.

Tristan wanted to shout at his former girlfriend, to say that she was always a bitch, to call her names, but his torn throat couldn't produce a sound.

His face was covered in bandages and so numb after all the stitches that he couldn't even scowl.

All Tristan could do in his hospital bed was clench and unclench his fists. Only they and the machines that picked up his increased pulse showed the anger and anguish he felt.

At seventeen, Tristan's life had been just beginning—but now it was already over, even if his heart monitor was still beeping.

***

Three weeks later.

His parents weren't meeting Tristan when he entered his family mansion for the first time in a month.

The opulent main hall, decorated with garish statues of horses, was empty save for a single person standing on top of the stairs leading to the second floor.

Tristan's brother, Daniel.

Although Daniel was only a year older, he always acted like this made him twice more mature and smart than Tristan.

Even at home, Daniel was dressed like for a photo shoot. His face was so handsome, he could've gone to Hollywood right now, but he wanted to pursue a musical career instead—just like Daniel and Tristan's mother.

Daniel looked down at Tristan and cringed demonstratively.

"Oof, brother. You look like a complete wreck—maybe you should put bandages back before you gave anyone a heart attack. Either way, welcome home! I imagine you will spend a lot of time here from now on, since you can't go to music school anymore."

At this familiar face, and that voice which he didn't hear in weeks, memories flashed in front of Tristan's eyes.

Memories of the night before the fateful car crash.

***

A month before.

Tristan walked several steps from the doors of a rich mansion, the likes of which were standing side to side in this neighborhood. From the doors behind him, loud music was blaring together with other sounds of a party.

One of Tristan's rich classmates was hosting a party.

The thumping of the music made Tristan's surroundings shake slightly as well. Or that was all the alcohol speaking.

He turned toward his brother, who walked out next to him.

"I think I'm gonna go home, Dan. I've… Hic! I've had enough partying for today. Are you w'th me?"

Daniel shook his head and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Nah, I'm just out for a smoke. There's still some fun to be had!"

Daniel grinned at his younger brother, and Tristan grinned back. Although they had disagreements from time to time, especially when Tristan showed better results in music school and contests than Daniel, they were still brothers and friends.

At least, Tristan thought so back then.

"Then I'm gonna call a taxi," Tristan said, pulling out his phone.

However, Daniel's hand stopped him.

"A taxi? Come on, little brother, you came there in the car. You aren't going to leave it there and call a taxi to class tomorrow, too? It will be such a pain. Just drive back."

Tristan frowned.

"But Dan… I don't think I should drive right now."

"Come on! You barely drank some punch," Daniel playfully punched his shoulder. "Don't be a pussy. Drive the car back, and I will drive mine. It will be alright, and parents won't be asking us too many questions tomorrow."

Tristan huffed. The punch was spiked, but Daniel was right. Tristan was feeling pretty clear-headed, especially after breathing some fresh air!

Daniel lit a cigarette and took a drag.

"Want some?" He offered the cigarette pack to Tristan.

Tristan shook his head.

"No, Dan. It's bad for your voice, don't you know? You shouldn't smoke either!"

"My voice won't give up from one smoke. But sure, little brother. Heh. Go home and go to bed before a curfew, baby boy."

Tristan showed Daniel his tongue.

"I will, and you will wake up dying from a hangover tomorrow!"

Daniel grinned in return, but his eyes flashed with malice. However, back then, Tristan didn't pay any mind to it.

With slightly unsteady footsteps, Tristan walked past Daniel toward the place where he parked his car.

It was a stylish white Mercedes-Benz, a gift for his 16th birthday half a year ago. As he climbed into the driver's seat, Tristan's thoughts wandered to his girlfriend, Jane.

Her parents didn't let her go to the party. Now she was going to pout the entire next week about it… Although she had an adorable pout.

Tristan's thoughts were so far in the clouds that he forgot to put on his seatbelt.

He drove past the mansions to a highway. His family's mansion was some distance away from this spot.

The road was almost empty at that time, and Tristan was getting drowsy. So drowsy that he almost missed the point when he had to make a turn on the highway.

Startled awake, he jerked the driving wheel too quickly. The car's tires screeched as it lost control and spun toward a nearby lamppost.

Tristan screamed when the front of the car smashed into it, and his body was thrown out of the front seat. Sharp pieces of glass and metal cut into his face, neck, and arms with burning pain.

Then he fell onto the curb like a broken, bleeding doll. Tristan's consciousness went dark, and he wasn't aware of his pain anymore, or of the passing driver calling an ambulance.

***

Present day.

The knowing, smug smirk that appeared on Daniel's face was the last straw.

Ever since the incident, Tristan doubted. In the hospital, he had a lot of time to think. People weren't visiting him much.

Tristan was dumb enough to drive while drunk, but only because Daniel egged him on. Daniel always egged him on things, and something bad was bound to happen eventually.

For years Tristan dismissed Daniel's condescending, his quiet envy, and his insults. But no more.

And this was just what Daniel wanted from the start!

"DANIEL!" Tristan shouted in a voice raspier than that of a chain smoker.

Even that single word made his throat burn, but his rage burned brighter.

"What, brother?" Daniel mocked. "Speak more clearly, I can barely make out the letters!"

This was the last straw.

Tristan ran up the stairs, ignoring aches in his body, and threw a punch at Daniel's face.

Shocked, Daniel could only raise his hands up in reflex. Tristan's fist connected with Daniel's jaw.

However, although rage was fueling his actions, Tristan's body was still frail after injuries and the long hospital stay. His punch was much weaker than it looked, and the one most hurt from it was actually Tristan himself.

"What the hell?!" Daniel cried out, stumbling back.

Hurried footsteps were heard coming down a hallway. In that instant, Daniel's eyes flashed with cruel cunning.

He made another step back and fell on the floor, cradling his bruised jaw.

"Tristan! What is wrong with you?! I just came to greet you, and you punched me! If you feel bad about your injuries, that's no reason to punch people who are being nice to you!"

Tristan clenched his aching fist and stepped back, staring at Daniel in disbelief.

'You lying snake! Being nice? You just threw insults in my face! Is that what you really think about me? How long have you been pretending to be a loving brother?'

At this moment, Tristan's parents walked into the hallway.

Tristan's mother, Norah, gasped in shock, covering her mouth with her arm. His father, Harry, just frowned sternly.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, approaching the pair. "Tristan, you were just released from the hospital and you are already creating more trouble?"

"Father. This isn't what it looks like!" Tristan rasped out, before his throat gave out and he began coughing.

Norah winced.

He looked at his parents, hoping to find at least a shred of support, but finding only anger and disgust.

It was just like back in the hospital. His parents paid all the bills and sent him flowers, but only visited a few times. Whenever that happened, they couldn't even look into his face.

They were busy people, of course. Norah was a famous singer, and Harry helped his father manage a horse racing and betting empire.

But they both were home now, and yet…

"After we pay for your surgeries and your lawyer, you still act like that, Tristan?" Norah asked, shaking her head. "You were drinking and driving! Imagine how that looked in newspapers—people were gossiping about this for a week! Clearly, your classmates were a terrible influence on you."

Daniel stood up and put on an expression of fake remorse.

"As an older brother, I should've kept Tristan away from bad companies, but I clearly failed."

Harry patted his back.

"You tried your best, I'm sure, Danny. Tristan, go to your room! You are grounded for the next week… No, next month! Don't worry about your school lessons—you will be schooled at home from now on."

***

A month later.

Over and over, voices were echoing in Tristan's mind.

"What a pity. Tristan was even more talented in music than Daniel. He could've become a big name in show business, like myself."

"He could still get a degree in finance. It's more fitting for a man, anyway! Although if he keeps being as reckless as before, he will only ruin my legacy, anyway!"

"His voice… Oh, it's so terrible! Every time I hear it, it's like nails on a chalkboard!"

"It's good that Tristan spends most of his time in his room now. People would only cringe at his face if he stepped outside, anyway."

"Ugly…"

"Pitiful…"

"Foolish…"

Tristan had nowhere to run from these voices in the confines of his room.

The place itself was a collection of painful memories.

His personal sound recording system stood in the corner, gathering dust. Tristan wanted to break it several times, but always stayed his hand at the last moment.

An empty shelf on the wall—before, there stood rewards Tristan won on childhood singing and music contests. He smashed them all, adding himself more time for house arrest.

Next to that shelf was an electric guitar Tristan played before the car crash. He was doing physical therapy every day since leaving the hospital, but his fingers were still too stiff to play it as well as before.

The photograph of his class taken on a vacation. Tristan was sitting next to his girlfriend there, who grinned broadly into the camera.

Now this photograph was lying face-down.

Tristan stood from his bed and walked to his vanity. He opened shutters that covered the mirror on top of it and looked at his face.

Wide, ugly, red scars were covering what once was handsome. A pair of light blue eyes stared from between the scars. A grown-out fringe of black hair tried to cover at least some of the ugliness and failed.

Tristan closed the vanity mirror shut.

'Enough.'

The next day, he gathered what he could of his things into a school bag: clothes, documents, knickknacks, a small wad of cash that was just lying in his pocket.

His family became so used to Tristan's quiet seclusion that they lost all caution around him.

It was incredibly easy to just walk out and leave into the night.

Tristan didn't know where he was going, but he knew he won't return to this mansion.