Chapter 12: Forced After a Few Drinks.

Cian woke in the late morning. He glanced to the side and saw the bedding folded neatly aside. Eoin had already gone.

Eoin, the top student, had a morning meeting. His daily routine ran like clockwork, nothing like Cian, the idle heir.

The system reminded him, "It’s nearly noon. You have an appointment with the doctor this afternoon."

That was Dr. Keane from Glenmore Psychiatric Hospital.

Cian gave a thumbs up, got up to wash, and took the chance to look up Dr. Keane on his phone.

He opened Glenmore’s official website, clicked on "Our Doctors," and browsed each practising physician’s past achievements and areas of expertise.

There was only one Dr. Keane at Glenmore, Fintan Keane, who was the hospital’s director and president. His specialities included anxiety, delusions, schizophrenia, and bipolar disorder.

Cian’s gaze lingered on Fintan Keane’s photo. After memorising the details, he considered how to start probing.

The original Cian was a long term patient of Dr. Keane, but the last appointment had been half a year ago. They didn’t seem to chat much, so they probably weren’t friends, just an ordinary doctor and patient. With the system backing him up, Cian wasn’t worried about being exposed.

He got into the car and set the satnav. Glenmore was out in the countryside. He drove for about forty minutes and pulled into the hospital car park.

The director’s consulting room was on the third floor. Cian took the lift straight up, found the door, pushed it open, and came face to face with a refined man.

Fintan Keane was in his early thirties, well kept, with an air of scholarly elegance. When he saw Cian he adjusted his glasses. "Cian, Mr. Fitzgerald, please have a seat."

Cian sat down opposite, and Keane scanned his face, then smiled. "You’re much improved compared with before."

Cian answered, "I suppose so. I’ve been feeling more at ease lately. Maybe I’ve let go of a few things."

He didn’t know the original’s situation, but when a psychiatrist praised your condition, it was probably safe to put it down to "letting go."

Keane said, "As usual, let’s start with a psychological test to see how you’ve been lately."

He took out a pen and paper and pushed them across to Cian. The sheet was printed with questions to assess mental state.

Before Cian had said anything, he picked up the pen, and the system in his head was already going wild.

"Wait, Host, are you really doing this? Are you really going to do it?!"

Cian pressed his temple. "Keep it down, you’re giving me a headache. Why wouldn’t I?"

"It might ruin your character," the system fretted. "You’re a mentally healthy person. If the original host really had a mental illness, you’d never match his answers by filling this in at random. I’ve checked this Keane. He’s a professional psychiatrist who trained abroad and holds a doctorate in psychology. He has extensive clinical experience. If he spots something wrong, what do we do?"

Cian bit off the pen cap and began writing. "Relax, he won’t notice a thing."

The system said, "But"

Cian pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh."

The system paused for two seconds, then typed three exclamation marks. "!!!"

The fluorescent blue box flashed frantically. "How can you gesture at me? Keane is still watching. It’ll give away that you have a system!"

Cian’s gesture had been completely unguarded, and Keane had seen all of it.

Cian said, "Don’t worry, look at Keane."

The system turned its attention and saw Keane adjusting his glasses, entirely unbothered by a patient talking to thin air. He studied Cian thoughtfully, now and then bowing his head to type something into the computer.

Twenty minutes later Cian put down the pen and handed back the paper.

Keane took it and went over it from top to bottom.

The system was on tenterhooks.

Though it had no body, it felt as if its heart were in its throat, desperate for something to cling to. Yet Cian sprawled in his chair like a king, idly fiddling with a spider plant on the desk, pinching its leaves and tapping the pot, without a sign of nerves.

The system was speechless.

Just as it was close to suffocating, Keane finished reading. He gave a faint smile. "As I expected, you’re improving steadily. Some issues remain, but it’s a significant improvement."

Cian’s expression didn’t flicker. "Is that so? I feel the same."

Keane nodded. "Then keep taking your current medication. I’ll adjust your prescription and lower the dose."

He nodded several times, genuinely pleased with the patient’s progress. Cian watched him and suddenly asked, "Doctor, is a full recovery possible?"

Keane sighed softly. "Mr. Fitzgerald, some things you have to let go of yourself. Those who’ve passed are gone. Your mam, if she were here, wouldn’t want to see you like this."

His words were fragmentary, but Cian seemed to grasp the meaning. Under the system’s bewildered gaze, he nodded. "You’re right. But if moving on were that simple, I wouldn’t have suffered for so long."

Keane asked a few more questions and Cian answered each one without a flaw. They talked back and forth, Keane nodding now and then, showing no suspicion.

As their conversation drew to a close, the screech of a coach braking came through the window. The hospital stood in a secluded spot with hardly any traffic, so the noise stood out sharply.

Cian sipped his tea. "What’s that? Are they bringing patients in by coach?"

Keane looked out of the window and smiled. "It’s a group of student volunteers from a university. They come to lend a hand for the day and take some photos for publicity. They come once or twice a year."

After a few more pleasantries, Keane handed Cian the prescription and told him to collect the medication. The afternoon’s consultation was over.

Cian rode the lift down and crossed paths with the volunteers coming up the stairs. The leader was waving a little flag that read "Trinity Volunteer Group." Cian gave it an uninterested glance and headed to the pharmacy.

In the crowd, Eoin stopped.

The volunteer day was organised by Trinity. It meant a day at a psychiatric hospital in the remote countryside, touring the facility, sweeping floors, and taking publicity photos, all for a two hundred euro stipend. It was well paid and easy, and Eoin had only got a place through Niall’s connections.

But he had never expected to run into Cian here.

And such a Cian at that.

The young Fitzgerald was known for his arrogance and flamboyance, always with a smile on his lips. But just now, as he passed, his expression had been cold and tight, without a trace of a smile.

Cian’s bone structure was actually very sharp and defined. When he smiled it softened his features, but now, with that cold look, his brow was full of weariness, and he gave off an air of distance that kept people away.

A fellow student noticed Eoin’s gaze and asked curiously, "Eoin, do you know him?"

Cian was tall and good looking, and even his silhouette drew attention.

Eoin said, "He’s my friend."

He couldn’t work out why Cian would be here.

The young Fitzgerald was wealthy and privileged, with luxury cars and expensive watches. He shouldn’t have any mental troubles.

After a moment’s thought, Eoin told the leader, "A friend of mine is here. I’ll step away for a bit."

The volunteer day wasn’t strictly regulated, and as long as you were there for the photos it was fine. The leader waved a hand to let him go. Eoin took a few steps forward and followed Cian downstairs.

He stood in the shadow of a corner and watched Cian go into the pharmacy.

After a while Cian came out with his medication, tossed the prescription into the bin without a second glance, and walked off.

Eoin hesitated briefly, then stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of the bin, making out the words on the prescription.

"Three boxes of Lamotrigine dispersible tablets, one bottle of Lithium Carbonate tablets, two boxes of Oxcarbazepine tablets."

All three were medications for bipolar disorder.

He bent down, picked up the prescription, smoothed it flat, studied it for a while, and tucked it into his breast pocket.

On the other side, Cian had just walked out of the hospital gates when he suddenly slapped his forehead. "How did I forget the investment?"

He had originally come to the hospital to discuss an investment, but after the consultation he’d forgotten the main reason he was there.

Cian turned back, and the system materialised silently in front of him, its glowing blue screen nudging him. "Host, what was that with the questionnaire just now? You seemed completely unfazed."

It was hard for an ordinary person to fake a mental illness, let alone complete a professional questionnaire without a flaw. Yet Cian had breezed through it without a second thought.

Cian chuckled. "Because I’ve been through it too."

The system exclaimed in disbelief. "What?!"

"!!!"

It raised its voice. "What?!"

Cian’s expression stayed calm, unmoved by the bombshell he’d just dropped. "In secondary school. It was mild, nothing serious, and it’s gone now."

He smiled at the system. "Didn’t you say I’m similar to the original host, including name, appearance, family background, childhood experiences, and so on? So it’s no surprise I’ve been through the same things."

The system was stunned. "What?"

Cian was a minor character in the original book, with little screen time and no backstory, so the system knew nothing of his background.

Cian said casually, "It’s nothing much. My dad was abusive. He got my mam pregnant before they were married, then had her committed, and later he mistreated me and tried to send me to an orphanage. In the end he found out he had a low sperm count and I was his only heir, so he took me back and raised me himself."

The system faltered. Even though it was an electronic life, it felt as though it were holding its breath like a human.

It asked cautiously, "Did your father hit you?"

Cian sneered. "When you brought my body over, didn’t you see the marks on my back? They’re from when I was a kid."

The system was startled and its voice came out hoarse. "It seems there were."

Thanks to his family, Cian, like the original host, had suffered from bipolar disorder, especially badly in secondary school, to the point where he couldn’t study. That was when he’d learned to drink, fight, and ride motorbikes. Later, once he was financially independent and had distanced himself from his family, with medication and therapy, he had recovered.

"So that’s how it was? Was the original host like this too?" The system sounded a little sad and murmured to itself, "Then his irritable temper and his strange habits are understandable."

Cian scoffed. "Rubbish. I went through the same thing, so why aren’t I irritable?"

He irritably unwrapped a lollipop, licked it, and added, "Just because your father’s a scumbag and you were abused as a child, does that justify treating innocent people the same way? What’s the difference between that and being a scumbag?"

The lollipop was in his mouth but it tasted of nothing. He couldn’t bring himself to eat it, so he simply threw it away. "Forget it. Let’s go and talk to Keane about the investment first."

He turned back, and by now the lobby was full of volunteers. Eoin blended in and didn’t stand out. The two passed each other. Cian didn’t notice Eoin, but Eoin saw him.

Cian took the lift upstairs, and Eoin noted the floor and the time and quietly followed.

He saw Cian go up to the third floor and step into the director’s office, so he strolled casually past and peeked through the glass window.

Keane was sitting at the consulting desk holding a dark green patient file. Most hospitals had gone digital by now, but Dr. Keane still kept to the habit of handwritten records. The file’s edges were worn and the pages inside had yellowed and faded, clearly used for a long time.

Cian sat opposite him, holding a lollipop like a cigarette. His playboy persona had vanished completely, and he leaned back in the chair, cold and indifferent.

Keane adjusted his glasses. "You want to invest in me?" He smiled helplessly. "There’s no need for that, Cian. I’m not short of funds."

"Either way, I’ve nothing else to spend it on," Cian cut in. "Use it to help patients, expand the hospital, upgrade the facilities, set up a relief fund, whatever you like. If I keep it, I’ll only blow it on cars and watches."

He had to stick to the original’s persona, and serious investing was out of the question. If an investment succeeded, what would become of the later study abroad plot?

Keane hesitated and let out a small sigh. "All right. I’ll hold on to it for you for now."

Cian said, "I’ll get a trustworthy solicitor to sort out the details of the contract. I’ll come back to you once it’s settled."

With that he straightened his clothes and stood to leave.

Eoin slipped into the next office, and Cian happened to come out of the room. The third floor was mostly administrative offices with no doctors or patients, and it was eerily quiet. Shortly afterwards two office workers came from the other direction and passed right by Cian.

They put down their reports and glanced back at him. The taller girl whispered, "Who’s that fella? A relative? He’s very good looking."

The shorter, round faced girl shook her head. "Good looking and loaded, but he’s not a relative. He’s a patient."

She gestured and added, "He’s actually connected to our director. Rumour has it the director’s his uncle. They say the director’s chosen field of focus has something to do with his illness."

In a psychiatric hospital, the patients are, well, mentally ill.

The taller girl looked shocked. The man was film star handsome, with a calm, natural bearing that outshone any model. He didn’t seem troubled at all. She was about to ask more, but the shorter girl tapped her on the head and teased, "Stop prying into patients’ privacy. Go and tidy the files."

As they spoke they gradually walked away.

Eoin stepped out of the shadows. The crumpled prescription in his pocket pressed against his skin through the thin fabric, its sharp edges uncomfortable.

Cian was really a patient?

The young master had always lived in luxury, lounging about like a pampered cat. However Eoin looked at it, he couldn’t connect him with bipolar disorder.

At that moment his phone vibrated. The team leader asked, "Eoin, where are you? We’re getting ready for the group activity."

Postgraduates didn’t usually take part in this sort of thing, but Eoin was an exception because of his money troubles. Everyone on the team called him "senior."

Eoin smoothed the prescription through the fabric and typed, "Coming."

*

Cian went back to the hotel, locked the medication in the cabinet, and didn’t touch it again.

The system was a little worried. "Don’t you need to take some?"

Cian was exasperated. "I’ve told you, I’m not ill now. I just had a brief episode in secondary school."

Mental illness had levels too. Cian was naturally open minded, with no insurmountable obstacles. He’d had a mild episode in secondary school, but it hadn’t been severe enough to need medication. After becoming financially independent, he had gradually recovered.

The system said, "But"

"No buts." Cian pressed his forehead in frustration. "Do I look mentally ill to you?"

The system answered cautiously, "Yes."

Cian said nothing.

He pushed the system away in irritation. "Stop yapping and hurry up and see what’s next. I remember there’s a plot point tonight."

"Oh, oh, let me see," the system fumbled. "There is one, a whole Chapter of it."

The whole Chapter was packed with major plot points. Cian opened the novel. "What’s the Chapter called?"

"The Chapter is titled ’Forced After a Few Drinks.’"

Cian spat out a mouthful of hot tea, pfft, in disbelief. "What the hell?!"