Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

In the bakery's basement was a spacious room, furnished with a couch on one side of it, and several cupboards on the other. The walls were painted hospital-green, but someone taped on them a bunch of assorted 80-x rock band posters and calendars with girls in bikinis.

The place had been built as a bomb shelter before the building above became a bakery and now served as a secure safehouse and stash for all things illegal.

The bakery owner was paid for his silence and for allowing gangsters in, unlike many others who had to pay the gangsters' protection fees themselves.

Leon Clavon was sitting on the couch, with his massive figure taking most of it. Two bodyguards of his stood quietly in a corner, tensing when Tristan entered the room.

When the rest of his group followed, the place quickly became cramped.

Leon didn't stand up to greet people, instead lounging on the couch with an air of the king of the local jungle. However, his eyes flickered around the group.

"Hayes. Was your hunt successful? Is there anyone left standing outside?"

Tristan shook his head and took off his backpack.

"No, Mr. Clavon. Almost everybody from Pierce's team, including the man himself, died in the ambush from Cuatro Angulos elite forces—the same ones we heard about. But…"

He opened the backpack and dramatically turned it upside down. The bags of white powder spilled out in a pile—each of them containing several thousand dollars' worth of illegal drugs.

Leon's bodyguards sucked in shocked breaths while Leon himself leaned forward, his eyes wide and shining with greed.

"We got it all, Mr. Clavon."
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"Excellent!"

Leon stood up and looked at the people standing behind Tristan.

Each of these fighters was tired and wounded, but under that look they tried to straighten up.

"Leave the drugs here and get your rest. The doctor was warned to expect patients today. But before you go…"

Leon gestured at one of his bodyguards, who picked up a suitcase from the ground.

"Hayes, give these people their share. Divide the leftovers as you wish."

Tristan nodded, taking the suitcase from the bodyguard and opening it.

Inside were a dozen plastic bags, inside of each was a thick wad of cash. Thanks to his observation skill, Tristan could tell without counting that there was $5000 in each wad.

The reward promised for the success of the operation itself—$5000 for grunts and $10000 for Tristan and Pierce because they were leading the groups.

Besides that, everybody was promised the same amount some time later, after the drugs were sold. It was left unspoken that there were also possible promotions in sight.

Right now, Tristan just gave everybody their five thousand (the unconscious man's share was put into his pocket).

As for the rest, he hesitated.

Since four people died, one of them being Pierce, there was $25000 left. Tristan couldn't split it between six survivors without opening the cash bags.

He could take it for himself, but this was a sure way to get on everybody's wrong foot.

Tristan also could split it between his team, or between everybody but himself.

(He had a flickering thought that maybe this money could be given to the families of the dead, but what kind of thug had a functional family? Please. If they had one, they wouldn't be doing organized crime.)

Finally, Tristan gave everybody one more wad of cash each, equalizing everybody's share to $10000.

"You risked your lives together with me," he said, smirking carelessly. "You deserve some money for it, at least."

This generous gesture was met with bright eyes and wide smiles.

"Boss, chief, I'd say you deserve it more—but I ain't gonna refuse money, ha-ha-ha!"

"Heh, with that, I might actually afford cigars worth smoking."

"Shit, if only every risky job paid that well!"

At that moment, there was nothing but blazing adoration in the way these people looked at Tristan. Like they would follow him into Hell itself, sure that he will bring them out safely.

[Ding!]

[You have earned the unwavering loyalty of 4 skilled people. Reward: your PP increased by 600!]

[Ding!]

[You have earned a moderate amount of respect and infamy in the criminal world. Reward: your PP increased by 1500!]

'I guess this means that more people are bound to hear about me in the future,' Tristan thought, glancing at the notification.

After the money was given out, Tristan's people left the room, eager to have rest and medical attention.

When they were left alone, Leon approached Tristan, towering over him for a head. The gang boss towered over Tristan with a narrow-eyed look.

Tristan met that gaze squarely, mentally bracing himself for whatever was about to happen. Even if that was an attack.

"What happened to Pierce?" Leon asked. "I know him. For all his cowardice, he's the best knife fighter I've ever seen. In close quarters, he's an utter menace."

Tristan shrugged, putting his acting skills into acting believable.

"From what he said over the radio before going silent, he was hit by a flashbang, and when I found him, he had a bullet hole in his head." Tristan paused and smirked ruefully. "A knife to a gunfight, I guess."

Leon snorted and gave Tristan a pat on the shoulder before stepping back.

"And isn't that just true? I suppose I will have to find a replacement. Pierce's secretary can do the legal part of his job, but the rest… Well. I had some replacements in mind."

He looked away from Tristan, and he knew he had to step up.

Of course, even with all his skills, Hayes was still just a "talented newbie" in Leon's eyes. This time, Tristan had to push himself.

He leaned forward, and his eyes lit up with stunning and beautiful determination.

"Mr. Clavon, you don't have to think about it. I can do everything Pierce did—I was the one sent to do half his tasks! You saw what I can do as a leader. Please, don't waste my talents on more grunt work!"