Chapter 21: What a strange man.

After greeting Eoin, Aoife quietly said, "Okay." She picked up the box and added, "I’ll take these over first."

Eoin nodded politely. "It’s getting dark, so be careful carrying things."

As he spoke, his eyes moved across Aoife’s desk and suddenly stopped.

Aoife followed his gaze but saw nothing unusual. "Eoin?"

Eoin pressed his lips together.

On the desk sat a Belleek vase. The lilies inside had died a long time ago, their yellow leaves hanging weakly over the edge.

Eoin looked away and kept his eyes on his computer. He asked calmly, "Aren’t you taking the vase with you?"

"Oh, that?" Aoife glanced at it. "No. It’s too old, and there’s limescale at the bottom that won’t come off. Since we’re moving offices, I bought a new one. I’ll just throw this away."

"..."

A heavy, bitter feeling filled his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Eoin struggled to stay calm.

After a long silence, he clenched his fist until his nails pressed into his palm. Then he forced a smile. "You don’t like it anymore?"

Aoife smiled. "I liked it when I first got it, but I’ve had it for so long that I’m tired of it."

She bent down, pulled out the dead lilies, and dropped them into the bin. "Besides, it wasn’t expensive. Maybe ten or twenty euro. I won’t miss it."

Eoin remained silent.

Behind his computer screen, he lowered his eyes. His fingers trembled slightly inside his sleeves.

Replace it... without a second thought?

A small, bitter smile appeared on his lips. Of course.

To Aoife, ten or twenty euro was barely the price of a bubble tea. Something that could be replaced whenever she wanted and thrown away when she no longer needed it.

And to Young Mr. Fitzgerald, Eoin had probably been no different from one of the expensive things he owned.

There were plenty of people like him.

Easy to replace.

When Cian became tired of someone in Dublin, he could find another person as soon as he landed somewhere abroad.

Cian was a playboy. That was simply the kind of person he was, and Eoin had always known it.

Under their agreement, Cian had never caused him trouble. Instead, he had protected him again and again, and Eoin had always been grateful for that.

What he couldn’t understand was how Cian could cut him off so quickly, so cleanly, so coldly. There had been no warning. Just the day before, they had still been close, wearing matching scarves, with Cian pulling him into his arms and resting his chin against Eoin’s forehead as though he were protecting the person he loved most.

Then, one day later, Cian had left the country. No one knew where he had gone, and his phone number had changed. He had erased himself from Eoin’s life completely.

It was as if Eoin were a worthless pet, something that could be bought without a second thought and abandoned just as easily.

Eoin lowered his eyes. His computer screen had gone dark, and in the black reflection, he could see his own pale, tired face.

There was nothing special about him.

Nothing that could make someone like Cian Fitzgerald stay.

He thought: Maybe it isn’t just an assumption. Maybe I really was nothing more than a worthless pet.

While Eoin was lost in thought, Aoife swiped her student card, picked up her box, and walked out of the room. She waved through the glass door. "See you tomorrow, Eoin."

Eoin looked up. "...See you tomorrow."

At the end of the corridor, Aoife suddenly turned around. Through the glass door, she saw Eoin sitting alone in the lab. The light from his computer fell across his face, casting shadows over his eyelashes. The reflection in his eyes looked cold and distant.

He looked bitterly lonely.

At exactly ten o’clock that night, Eoin shut down his computer.

With Christmas and the New Year approaching, most of the students had already gone home. The lab was almost empty, only a few lights remained on, and the corridor was so quiet that it felt like something from a horror film.

Eoin walked through the science building and left Trinity through the back gate. A small café stood by the road. He entered and took a seat beside the window. Someone was already waiting for him.

It was Sinéad.

She had recently had her hair permed, and soft waves fell around her shoulders. She twisted a strand around her finger before pushing the menu toward him. "What do you want to drink?"

"Nothing. Just water," Eoin said.

Sinéad sighed. "Mr. Brennan, the teaching assistant. Look at you. You’re all scruffy and plain. Who would believe you were once with Young Mr. Fitzgerald?"

She pointed toward his ear. "That earring you’re wearing? You could probably sell it and buy this whole café."

"I’m not planning to," Eoin said calmly.

"Who would’ve thought I’d be the one to walk away clean while you were the one left behind?" Sinéad said with a shrug.

"Let’s get to the point," Eoin said.

"Wait. Let me get something to drink first."

She called the waiter and ordered two drinks. Then she lowered her voice. "Like you asked, I contacted Cormac Lynch. He’s definitely interested in the information about Rory Doyle."

Cormac Lynch was another trust fund heir. Among Dublin’s wealthy young heirs, there were different groups. Cian led one, while Cormac led another. The two groups had competed with each other in business for years.

"It’s your decision. If the price is right, sell it," Eoin said.

Rory had plenty of scandals. He enjoyed wild parties and had even been involved with underage girls, but he always managed to pay his way out of trouble.

"Cormac also said he’s interested in Cian’s secrets. If you have anything on him, he’ll pay double," Sinéad added.

"I have nothing on Cian," Eoin said flatly. During the few months they had been together, Cian had been completely clean. He never behaved like an irresponsible rich kid when it came to business. With Eoin, he had acted more like a real boyfriend.

Sinéad muttered, "Sometimes I really can’t understand you..."

She picked up her bag and prepared to leave. "Oh, and Eoin, I heard something from Cormac. Rory recently came back to Dublin. He was at a bar with his new girlfriend, got drunk, and started shouting that he was going to come after you."

Eoin stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth.

"But there’s something else," Sinéad continued. "Darragh Byrne went to the Doyle family home and met Rory’s grandfather. I don’t know what they talked about or whether it was related to you, but the old man took Rory away. So you’re safe. For now."

Eoin nodded.

They exchanged the rest of their information and were about to leave when Eoin suddenly called Sinéad back and handed her a piece of paper. "Look into this for me."

A string of numbers was written on it.

Sinéad looked at it. "A bank account?"

"A while ago, my granny became very sick and needed money for surgery. The next day, I received a donation. A charity fund said I qualified and transferred the money directly into my account," Eoin explained.

Sinéad laughed. "I thought someone was taking money from your account. Getting money is a good thing, isn’t it? Maybe you were just lucky. Why check?"

Eoin smiled faintly. "In my whole life, I’ve never been that lucky."

Eoin had never believed in free things. During his first twenty years, one bad thing had followed another. His parents had died one after the other, and several of his relatives had also become seriously ill. Fate had never been kind to him.

Now that graduation was close, he was still short of money, but he had things he could sell, and his life had become much easier. So why had this money suddenly appeared?

Eoin added, "This fund has never paid anyone before. I’m the first person. There’s no information about it, so I wanted you to look into it."

Sinéad unfolded the paper. "No previous payments. No listed donors... I’ll ask Cormac to check."

She sent the number to Cormac on her phone and told Eoin to sit. "Wait here. Registered charities have records. He’ll find something."

Eoin nodded and quietly drank his water. There was a strange feeling in his stomach, vague but impossible to ignore.

The truth was, fate had been kind to him once. Someone had given him exactly what he needed and asked for nothing in return.

Half an hour later, Sinéad’s phone buzzed. She looked at the message. "Looks like you really are lucky. The person who created the fund isn’t someone we know. He’s not from our circle."

Eoin let out a small breath. He wasn’t sure whether he felt disappointed or relieved. "Who is it?"

Sinéad looked at her phone. "A psychiatrist who runs a psychiatric hospital. Dr. Fintan Keane... Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?"

Eoin’s hand loosened. The glass slipped from his fingers and crashed onto the floor.

Dr. Fintan Keane.

Eoin silently repeated the name.

He didn’t know how Dr. Keane and Cian knew each other, but he remembered seeing Cian in Dr. Keane’s office, and he remembered the way Dr. Keane had held Cian’s medical file, as if he knew him very well.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. Dr. Keane was Cian’s doctor, and now he was also secretly funding Cian’s former lover.

But why...

Why send the money after leaving?

Why help his sick granny after abandoning him?

Why disappear without saying anything?

Why be so cold?

Why...

Why be so kind while hurting him so badly?

Eoin’s breathing became faster and his thoughts were a mess. He bent down to pick up the broken glass, but one of the sharp pieces cut his finger.

"What are you doing?" Sinéad cried. She pushed her chair back and stood. "Is there a waiter? We need a brush and pan."

"It’s fine." Eoin steadied his shaking hand. The sharp pain in his finger helped clear his mind. He forced a smile. "Sorry. I zoned out."

Sinéad sighed. "You’re something else. Anyway, let’s go."

They left the café through separate doors. The bells rang to welcome the New Year, and Eoin stepped onto the wet street. Snow fell softly around him as he disappeared into the cold night.

Time passed quickly. Cian spent three years completing his credits, and for the next two years, he travelled at a relaxed pace while studying for a second degree.

He chose literature. There was no practical reason for it, just a love of learning.

A silver haired professor stood at the front of the lecture hall, speaking passionately about everything from Homer to Camus. Cian sat below, casually turning the pages of his book, sometimes taking notes and sometimes falling asleep.

Life abroad was a little boring. Cian travelled from south to north, visiting places from Ethiopia to Reykjavik. When he wasn’t travelling, he stayed in his small flat. His cooking improved quickly, and before long, he became the classmate everyone wanted to eat with.

The System often hacked into online forums to keep Cian updated on Dublin. Rory caused trouble again and was beaten by his father. Darragh Byrne officially took over his family and became head of the Byrne family. Cian’s father, Declan Fitzgerald, suddenly lost his balance and fell during a shareholders’ meeting. And then there was Eoin.

Eoin had graduated and joined a company that competed with the Fitzgerald family, working under Cormac Lynch. People said he was excellent at his job, and his sharp and graceful way of handling business had earned Cormac’s respect. Within a few years, Eoin had risen to a very high position.

His yearly salary could now cover many years of medical bills, and he no longer needed Cian’s secret help. Dr. Keane stopped the payments too. The Glenmore Fund made one final transfer, then went silent and disappeared.

Less than half a month later, Declan Fitzgerald died suddenly of a brain haemorrhage. Cian’s uncle took over the Fitzgerald family business, and Cian flew back to Ireland for the funeral.

Cian used those two weeks to say goodbye to his friends at university and collected a backpack full of farewell cards. At the farewell party, Cian cooked for everyone himself, and his friends, hugging his cooking pot, got drunk and cried.

"Waaah! We’ll never get to eat your Irish stew again!"

"Please don’t go back to Ireland! We’ll miss your colcannon!"

Cian didn’t know what to say, and his friends didn’t want to let him go. "Waaah, Fitz! Wait for me. I’ll come to Ireland and find you."

Cian grabbed his pot back, fed up with the drunk crowd. "You can find me at the psychiatric hospital."

December 21st, a clear day.

That day, Declan Fitzgerald, chairman of the Fitzgerald Group, suffered a sudden brain haemorrhage and died despite attempts to save him.

Fergal Fitzgerald quickly called a shareholders’ meeting and took over the company.

That afternoon, he sent Cian a message offering condolences and asking him to come home for the funeral.

The two exchanged fake words of sympathy, and neither was truly sad about Declan. After a few empty lines, Cian bought a ticket home right away and landed at Dublin Airport that night.

He pulled his suitcase out of the airport. It was the end of the year, and Dublin was covered in heavy snow, a wide white blanket. The north wind, full of snowflakes, cut at his face like a knife.

On his first day in charge, Fergal replaced all the long time staff, even the driver. When Cian got into the car, he saw a stranger at the wheel.

The driver pulled into traffic. Soon they left the M50. Cian watched the navigation for a while. "Where are you taking me?"

This wasn’t the way to the Fitzgerald family home.

The driver was good at reading people. He had seen that Young Mr. Fitzgerald wasn’t going to take over the family business, so he laughed easily. "The chairman’s coffin is at the house, and visitors are paying their respects. Your uncle is looking after the guests, and it’s noisy there. He thought it might disturb your rest, so he told me to take you to a hotel."

Cian’s face showed nothing. "Fine."

He knew very well that with Declan gone, nobody was really there to mourn him. The visitors were all old business contacts, and the funeral was a perfect chance to network. Fergal wasn’t going to leave any of those chances to his nephew.

Cian didn’t care either way. He was going to the psychiatric hospital. He didn’t care about any of this.

Then the car rattled into a run down part of the inner city, full of old tenement style streets and tangled wires. The driver braked in front of a small guesthouse. "Young Mr. Fitzgerald, this is it."

Cian raised an eyebrow.

This area had a bad reputation for being dirty and rough. Years ago, there were plans to knock it down, but as land prices shot up, it became a stronghold for local gangs, with all sorts of people mixed together.

The guesthouse was shabby, probably left over from the last century, with a neon sign over the door. The reception desk was barely tidy, and a night here probably cost around a hundred euro.

He frowned slightly. People said Fergal was famously stingy and petty. Cian had never met him before and wasn’t sure, but now he could see it was true. His brother’s body was barely cold, and Cian, Declan’s only son, had been dumped here, not even in a proper chain hotel. It was pathetic.

System: "Shall we go somewhere else?"

Cian had money and could afford better.

"No need." Cian picked up his bag and went in. "We’ll put up with it for a couple of days."

He took the key and stepped into the room. A musty smell hit him. He frowned and opened the window. His eyes drifted over the street, and he froze for a moment.

There was a man holding a long black umbrella.

He wore a grey trench coat, and he was tall and slim. He stood quietly in the street, as elegant as a medieval nobleman holding a black umbrella. The street was busy, splashing melted snow, and under the noisy neon lights this man stood perfectly still. He looked like a modern painting dropped into an old landscape, or a rock song mixed with classical piano, completely out of place.

Cian noticed that the hem of his coat was already wet, and he wondered how long the man had been standing there.

He closed the window and thought: What a strange man.