Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System Chapter 221 The long-awaited reunion

Smoke and heat were coming from the other side of the door. Even without opening it, Tristan knew that his father's bedroom was burning.

He knew little about aerodynamics unless it was related to bullets. But he was smart enough to realize that when he opens this door, the resulting airflow will make fires explode out.

'The chances of soone being alive on the other side are approaching zero. But I have to see.'

With that thought, Tristan brandished his fire extinguisher.

The door opened on the outside, but instead of even checking if it was locked, Tristan smashed it with the heavy fire extinguisher like it was a battering ram.

The location of the strike was carefully calculated. The door fra was wooden, although the door itself was tal-reinforced; Tristan's blow was powerful enough to make the bolts holding hinges in the fra pop out, leaving the door without support.

It fell forward—it was unlocked, it turned out—and the fires flew out, pushing it right back.

It was almost like a grenade—or a flood, but not of water. Tristan's senses went into bullet ti, and he ducked out of the way, at the sa ti aiming the fire extinguisher inside.

The flas flew past him, licking him close enough that he felt parts of his gas mask heating enough to leave traces later. Tristan grit his teeth, ignoring the pain, and blasted the fire extinguisher foam into the open doorway.

White foam poured out, imdiately creating more smoke, but also reducing the amount of fire. It was much more effective than a garden hose, although it was still akin to trying to gather a sea into buckets when considering the entire mansion.

Still, half a minute of pouring foam into the room at least removed enough fires to let Tristan see inside.

What was the living room of the master suite of rooms now was covered in coals, ashes, soot, white foam and remaining tongues of fire. It was boiling hot in here, and the black smoke made it almost impossible to make out much.

Tristan still could see that there was no one inside. No one living, definitely—he'd see the little fuzzy stars of their relationship threads even in that smoke.

He walked further and could make out a lack of bodies, too. The door to the bedroom was open, thankfully—and although the place was also on fire, Tristan didn't have to avoid a fire blast to look inside.

It was also empty.

His parents weren't here. For the best for them, but…

'The maid was sure they were inside. If not in this room, then where?'

He ran out of the room, thinking frantically about the possibilities. They were as nurous as the rooms in the mansion, but as soon as Tristan's imagination supplied them, Tristan's intelligence put a probability on each.

In the end, the second most probable place for his parents to hide was the basent.

'But this makes no sense. If they could get to the basent, they could get outside. The first floor is the one with the least fire!'

Despite this thought, Tristan was already running downstairs again.

The basent was actually a wine cellar. The entire wine collection was more for show than because Tristan's parents cared for wine all that much; as he recalled, his mother preferred sweet liquors, and his father drank only whiskey and tequila.

'The basent won't be on fire, but wine is very flammable. Shit, if the place gets hot enough, it might just explode. Or almost-explode,' Tristan thought as he ran down the main staircase.

The way toward the basent entrance was blocked by several small fires. Tristan blew them out with the fire extinguisher without slowing down.

He heard firetruck sirens from a distance. That truck took less ti to appear than Tristan expected, but it was still going to take firefighters a while to get to the place.

Tristan didn't pause.

Another staircase—and he was near the basent. The door to it was tal and heated by the flas on the outside.

Tristan winced, pulling it open, then shook his arm.

'Should've brought gloves with .'

At least it wasn't locked.

On the other side of the door was a spacious room, lit only by whatever light ca outside—the electricity was out in the entire house. The room's floors and walls were tiled with fake brick to make it look more imposing, and wooden barrels were lined on the shelves on the leftward wall. The air here was stuffy and heavy with smoke from upstairs, but also colder than there.

Tristan's parents were there, both of them, huddling in a corner farthest from the entrance. Without turning on heat vision—sothing which felt like a big mistake to do, considering the circumstances—Tristan could barely make out their silhouettes.

But he could see threads of relationships connecting him to them: black and red, with hints of several other colors.

At his appearance, Tristan's mother gasped, then coughed.

"Who are you?!" his father shouted.

Tristan forced himself not to jolt, and to keep his face outwardly calm. He forced himself to act like he was calm and not torn between warring emotions again.

His parents' voices sounded like they inhaled too much smoke already.

'Are they delirious with suffocation?' Tristan thought, walking toward them. 'Is this why they are here, instead of outside?'

This was high on his inner list of probabilities. However, there were other likely options.

Tristan still didn't answer the question when he ca up to his parents. He set the fire extinguisher aside and reached out to pull both of them up by their shoulders.

His mother was tall but thin. His father was wider and much heavier. Both barely cooperated with him—but Tristan's strength was so high that he lifted them both to their feet easily.

Now that their faces were much closer to each other, Tristan saw so recognition in his mother's eyes. She stared at him with smoke-reddened and tearful eyes.

"T-Tristan?"