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Now that the situation was under his control again, Tristan began rapidly thinking about his future options.

He was already planning to take over King Lion Gang with the resources and allies he would amass in Los Angeles. If one of the three other underbosses will be at his side by then, and one other was revealed as a traitor in an opportune moment and left without support, it will be Tristan and Martinez against Delgado and Leon Clavon.

The chances of Leon Clavon surrendering peacefully would increase drastically, and taking over would be much easier.

"Alright. I can\'t tell you where Hayes is, because I don\'t know. But I will tell him about what you told me and tell him to meet you. Can you hide somewhere near this building?"

"From local security—yes. I can hide on the lower levels of the nearest parking garage, but I don\'t know how long I have until Whitman\'s people find me. They are close behind me, I know it… I hope Hayes hurries!"

Tristan narrowed his eyes.

"If you want his help, you better do something about this attitude when you meet him. Now get out before I get kicked out of this contest because of you! And take your gun, too. I will deal with that guy you knocked out."

"My attitude? This youngster has to think about his attitude! And you—" Martinez bit down on his tongue hard enough to wince. "I\'m too old to go through shit like this… I suppose, at the very least, Hayes has shown himself capable. And you didn\'t call the security on me, so I will trust you on this. If he gets me out of this mess…"

Martinez was still muttering to himself when he pulled the gun from under the couch and left the room.

When the door closed behind him, Tristan let out a breath of relief and went to the prone attendant. It looked like he got bruised in the fall, but at least not on the head.

Tristan shook his shoulder and saw the man\'s eyelids fluttering.

"My God, are you alright, man?" Tristan asked with perfectly played worry and confusion. Subconsciously, he was copying Nelson\'s mannerisms in this moment, adding more kindness and sincerity into his gaze. "You just fainted on the spot like this! Do you have low blood pressure?"

The attendant groaned and opened his dazed eyes.

"What… Ah! There was a man—Where is he?"

He tried to get up, but Tristan had to catch him when the man almost fell again.

"A man? What are you talking about? There was no one but me."

"But I saw… Did I dream this up? Ugh, my head is splitting… Ah, I\'m sorry, Mr. Gemello, I didn\'t mean to distract you…"

"Don\'t apologize for being sick! Hey, I can call an ambulance for you—"

"No need, I just… I\'m going to call my boss. Ugh…"

Nevertheless, Tristan gave the unlucky man a cup of water (not laced with anything this time). If the drug Martinez made him inhale was what Tristan thought it was, the man would have to stay in bed at least for a day after this.

But the doze was clearly small, or he\'d be unconscious longer.

After drinking water, the attendant pulled out his phone and called his boss. While he did that, Tristan stepped aside and tried to focus on the song again.

However, the situation was immensely distracting. Half the time he would think about lyric verses, and then he\'d think about what he could do with Martinez, or wonder what was Whitman\'s agenda in all this…

The door opened, but this time, it was just a pair of other staff members. One of them went for the sick attendant, while the other approached Tristan.

"We are very sorry that you were hindered by one of our people, but the time for coming up with a song is up. Please, follow me to the stage."

\'Already?!\'

The merciless clock showed that, indeed, 30 minutes have already passed.

And Tristan only had the barest bones of a song ready!

He clenched his fist, but kept his face and posture relaxed.

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"Alright, let\'s go."

\'I will have to improvise… But others will have to do the same. We all had only 30 minutes, after all.\'

When Tristan stepped on the stage with a guitar slung over his shoulders, he found a row of chairs placed at one side of it, facing both the middle of the dimly lit stage and the audience.

Tristan was invited to sit there, where other finalists were gathering, too.

All of them looked like Tristan felt—barely ready, if ready at all, but hiding it to the best of their efforts. Except for Angelo again, who was still a rock.

When everybody took their places, the spotlights turned on, lighting the line of finalists and the host who stepped onto the stage from the opposite side.

"And soon it will be time for the moment of truth. One by one, these men and women will play their Christmas songs, but to whom Santa Claus will gift the victory? Ahem, excuse me, this was a terrible pun."

The host grinned, and the audience laughed a little.

"This time, there\'s no select order. Whoever is bravest and boldest, and thinks he\'s ready to perform, can step onto the stage! Your instruments are already being brought close. Now, who will be the one who impresses us first?"

There was a tense pause as everybody glanced at each other without moving from their spots.

Tristan wanted to spend some more time while others played to prepare, but now he began to stand up.

Angelo was faster.

"I might as well perform the first," he said.

"Amazing composure even in this nerve-wracking moment! Welcome Angelo Omen onto the stage, ladies and gentlemen!"

Tristan narrowed his eyes.

Was Angelo going to keep his promise?