Chapter 22: Care to guess

The man stood silently in the snowstorm, holding his umbrella steady. He didn’t speak or move, like a marble statue.

Cian closed the window. Strange.

On a snowy day like this, with the wind cutting like knives, anyone would freeze stiff after half an hour out there.

He muttered that the man might be crazy and stopped thinking about it. He sorted out his luggage and took a quick shower.

The shower in the small guesthouse had weak water pressure and was barely warm. Cian dried his hair in a hurry and glanced out the window. The man was gone.

The heavy snow had wiped out every trace of him, as if he had never been there.

The System didn’t feel the cold. It floated in mid-air, happily scrolling through the plot, its bright blue screen flickering as if it were cheering.

Cian: "Are you happy?"

System: "Host! Only two steps left! Just two!"

Since coming back to Ireland, Cian’s part had been small. Seven days later, Fergal would hold a memorial dinner for Declan. Cian had to attend, shed a few fake tears, then be dragged away by Eoin at the dinner, get his fingers broken, and be locked in a psychiatric hospital. That would end the plot.

Until then, Cian didn’t have to do much. He just had to zone out and go along with it like a puppet.

The System checked Cian’s score. His acting was rough and the details were a mess, but he had hit every key plot point and stumbled through his lines. He had scored 65.

Overall evaluation: "Your acting is all over the place, but you work hard and take it seriously, so you get an above average score."

Before, the System would have sighed over a score this low. But for Cian, it could only thank the heavens and every god out there.

This was the same Cian who had pulled so many crazy stunts, and he still got a 65?

Just get through the last two scenes and it was a sure win!

The System put fireworks on its screen, celebrating early.

Cian stopped it. "No, absolutely not. We’re almost there. Don’t jinx it."

He calmed the excited System and lay down on the small bed in the middle of the room. The bed creaked under his weight, and the metal springs scraped together like nails on a chalkboard.

The guesthouse was a dump. The bed was broken, the windows were broken, and the wind howled through the cracks like ghosts.

The System couldn’t help asking, "Host, do we really have to stay in this dump?"

Cian closed his eyes. "Just seven days. Put up with it. Don’t cause any trouble."

Within those seven days, Fergal sent invitations to all the well known people in Dublin and turned the event into a huge affair. Anyone who knew better thought it was a memorial. Anyone who didn’t thought it was a party.

On the seventh day after Declan’s coffin was placed in the living room, just before the dinner began, Fergal finally remembered he had a nephew. He sent Cian an invitation, along with a driver and a set of clothes.

The clothes were a formal suit with a double breasted waistcoat and sharp lapels. Cian felt the fabric. It was smooth and good quality.

He changed in front of the only full length mirror in the guesthouse. The mirror showed broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He looked pretty sharp.

Cian checked with the System. "In this last scene, I don’t have to do anything, right?"

The System flipped through the novel. "Right. You’re just a background character. Just cooperate and let Eoin drag you away."

Cian: "That’s easy."

The driver took him to the hotel. The lobby was packed. The men were perfectly dressed, with ties and styled hair, and the women wore elegant dresses. Cian pushed through the crowd and found a quiet corner to sit in.

He took a glass of juice from a passing waiter. He was sipping it when something in the corner caught his eye.

A familiar figure flashed past.

Cian frowned. "Rory Doyle?"

The System was surprised. "Isn’t that scumbag supposed to be back with his family after they called him home? What’s he doing here?"

Cian looked away. "Maybe I saw wrong."

It was far away and the crowd was thick. He could have been mistaken.

At exactly eight o’clock, Fergal arrived as promised. He was full of confidence, and he gave a long, boring speech from the top table, turning the memorial into a victory party. Then, after a wave of applause, he nodded to the crowd to thank them.

Cian clapped half heartedly and took a few orange segments from a waiter.

I wonder if they even serve oranges in the psychiatric hospital.

Just then, the secretary took a phone call, and Fergal raised his hand. The scattered applause stopped. He walked straight to the door, straightened his tie, and a waiter bowed and opened the door, as if a VIP had arrived.

Fergal was one of the biggest names in Dublin, and few people could make him get up to greet them. Many guests peered over, curious about who had come.

Cian, who was practically on his way to the psychiatric hospital, didn’t care. He kept drinking his juice and only glanced over lazily once the crowd in front had thinned out.

One look, and he froze.

The newcomer wore a formal gray suit, tailored at the waist so that it showed off a lovely waistline. His legs were long and slim in the draped trousers, with just a hint of ankle showing. Against the dark socks, it looked as smooth and shiny as white glaze on Belleek china.

Cian didn’t even need to see the face. One look at the wrist and he knew it was Eoin.

"..."

Cian felt a lump in his throat. He had expected Eoin to show up, but not so early.

In the novel, by this time Eoin had become very powerful, and even Fergal had to show him respect. At the end of the dinner, he would bring people in and take the young master of the Fitzgerald family away on the spot, and no one would dare say a word.

But the dinner had only just started.

Being dragged out later was better than being humiliated in front of everyone. Cian didn’t look up. He ran his finger absently around the rim of his glass and pretended not to know anything, as if that would stop Eoin from seeing him too.

Eoin was now the rising star of Dublin, and countless people were rushing to win his favour. In no time he was surrounded by a thick crowd, while Cian, the former young master, sat quietly in the corner, unnoticed.

Cian drank his juice. "He can’t see me, can he? Probably not."

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. The System buzzed in his ear, stammering, "H H H Host!"

"Eoin is coming over! Get ready to be hauled off!"

Cian was already annoyed, and the System’s chatter made it worse. He blocked his view with a fruit plate. "I said, if I’m dragged away, it’s me, not you. Why are you stammering?"

The System was nearly in tears. "...You don’t know. Eoin has become a bit scary."

Eoin’s face was as noble and beautiful as ever, but now it was blank, and his heavy gaze gave him a strange coldness. He parted the crowd with ease, took a glass of wine from a waiter, and walked straight toward Cian with steady steps, like a man with a purpose.

Fergal hurried after him, puzzled. "Mr. Brennan, Mr. Brennan, why are you heading to the corner of the room instead of the middle?"

Eoin stopped at a sofa five metres from Cian and sat down on the edge. Fergal was surprised, but he thought Eoin had picked the spot for some quiet, so he sat down too. The group dived into a talk about industry trends and ignored everyone else.

The System let out a sigh of relief. "He’s not here for you, Host."

Cian was resting his head on his hand, looking the other way, pretending to be deep in thought. When he heard this, he turned his neck slightly and stole a glance at Eoin. He didn’t dare look openly. Their eyes met for a moment, and he looked away fast, as if he’d been burned.

Cian: "Eoin... looks even more beautiful now?"

Eoin had always been very handsome, with clear, refined features and a scholarly look. But back then he was a student from a poor family, wearing worn, baggy clothes that hid some of his beauty.

Now Eoin carried himself with far more polish. His well fitted shirt hugged his slim body, his suit was perfectly pressed, and his hair was neatly combed. He wore silver framed glasses with a light prescription, and his eyes were hidden behind the lenses, so his feelings were hard to read. If the old Eoin was gently beautiful, the new Eoin was strikingly handsome. His suit gave him a cool, restrained charm, like a polished gem with an air of distance.

Cian said, "He really has got more beautiful. A pretty boy turned into a stunning man."

The System was frantic. "Pal, don’t you see what’s happening? Is this the time to talk about whether he’s good looking?"

Cian shook his head. "You don’t understand. Admiring beauty is one of life’s great joys."

He sighed. "It’s just a shame. A man this stunning will never look at me kindly again."

The System: "..."

It said, "Fine. When you’re in the psychiatric hospital, scream more pitifully. Maybe he’ll laugh at you."

Cian didn’t argue. He straightened his suit, stood up with his back to Eoin, and deliberately walked around the sofa toward the southwest corner of the hall.

The System: "...Where are you going?"

Cian: "Too close. He might see me. I’m going to the toilets to hide."

In the whole venue, the toilets were the best hiding place. Eoin couldn’t drag him out of a cubicle.

The System: "."

It asked, "Didn’t you just say admiring beauty is one of life’s great joys?"

Cian: "Admiring beauty is a joy. Being dragged out in public is not."

The original text described this scene with a vivid phrase: "like a dead dog." It said the young master struggled and cursed non stop, was held down, and was dragged out like a dead dog.

Cian wasn’t confident in his acting. He wasn’t sure he could play a "dead dog" well, so he decided to stay out of sight until the dinner was nearly over.

-

Eoin sat upright on the sofa, his eyes fixed on one spot at the edge of his vision until Cian’s figure disappeared. Only then did he look away.

He looked calm and composed, but his back was stiff, leaning slightly on the sofa in a perfectly poised position.

It wasn’t a comfortable posture, and it wasn’t easy to hold, but it looked good. The elite of Dublin often sat like this. When Sinéad was with Rory, she held this pose all the time.

Back then, Eoin had found it ridiculous. He never imagined that one day he’d sit the same way, just for a passing glance from one person.

"...We were just saying our second phase of testing went smoothly, and we can start the third phase soon. Once the drug is released, the share price... Mr. Brennan? Mr. Brennan?"

"Sorry," Eoin said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. With Cian gone, he no longer cared about his hair, and he pushed it all back to show his smooth forehead.

He had groomed his eyebrows carefully today, with the tails softly curved. He had trimmed his hair so that the side facing Cian sat at a perfect 45 degree angle, which showed off his clear, handsome features best. He didn’t understand fashion, so he kept his outfit simple and asked Sinéad for advice. She had picked a suit that showed off his waist. Even the watch on his wrist was chosen with care. It fit perfectly, and its dark face was plain and natural, never stealing attention.

When Sinéad finished dressing him, she had even gasped. "Eoin, now I see why Young Mr. Fitzgerald was so taken with you. You really are beautiful."

Eoin had laughed bitterly at the time. He had never been the one who captivated Cian. Between the two of them, Cian was always the one who stayed distant and calm. The Young Mr. Fitzgerald of the rumours, supposedly so lustful, was more restrained in bed than the most proper gentleman. He never went further than a light embrace.

And today, Cian hadn’t even glanced his way.

Eoin thought with a sneer, Young Mr. Fitzgerald really is as heartless as they say. When he likes someone, he showers them with affection. When he doesn’t, he throws them away like yesterday’s rubbish. A living person treated worse than a stray animal.

"...Mr. Brennan? Mr. Brennan?" Fergal came over. "Are you feeling all right today?"

In just a few minutes, Eoin had zoned out countless times.

Eoin stood up. "I got stuck in traffic on the way here, and I’ve been sitting too long. I feel a bit queasy. I’ll go to the toilets and splash some water on my face."

Fergal quickly pointed the way. "It’s in the southwest corner."

"Thank you," Eoin said.

He made his way through the crowd to the southwest corner, passing two walls of flowers, and stopped at the toilet entrance.

Through the thin door, he paused and rubbed his temples. A headache was starting.

His mind was a mess. Following Cian was a bad idea. It was clear that Young Mr. Fitzgerald had no interest in him, and trying to get close would only humiliate him and make him no different from all the other cheap, discarded toys.

And yet he had followed.

Eoin pressed his lips together. The more uneasy he felt, the colder and calmer his face became. If he ran into Cian, he could pretend it was a coincidence.

He took the handle and pulled the door open.

The room was empty.

The last cubicle was locked. Cian was inside.

Eoin hesitated for a moment, then acted as if nothing was wrong. He washed his hands carefully with soap, as calm as any other guest.

But then the lock on the cubicle behind him clicked open, and his whole body went stiff. He quickly stepped back, went into the nearest cubicle, and locked the door in one swift move.

This was beyond awkward.

Cian had no idea anyone was next door. He strolled out casually, washed his hands lazily, then pulled out his phone to play a game.

It was Tetris. Between the beeping sound effects, the blocks fell one after another, and Cian moved them around and cleared a big section in an instant.

System: "...Do we really have to play games here?"

Cian: "I’m just hiding."

The toilets had a light scent, so there was no bad smell. Cian played with both hands, completely at ease.

He stood there, fidgeting.

After ten minutes, Cian got tired of standing around and decided to go somewhere else. Just as he was about to leave, someone slipped in and locked the door behind them.

Cian paused with his phone halfway into his pocket.

The person was Rory Doyle.

Compared to his old confident, flashy self, he looked a mess. His hair was untidy, his eyes were bloodshot, and stubble was growing wild on his chin. His suit hung loose, wrinkled and frayed, as if he hadn’t ironed or cared for it in a long time.

The once famous playboy of Dublin had hit rock bottom.

He glared at Cian with a crazed, wild look, like a madman. Cian casually took a step back. "System, how did he end up like this?"

"Oh, after you left, Rory got into trouble. But every time I mentioned him, you didn’t seem interested, so I stopped bringing it up."

Cian: "What trouble?"

System: "I heard his shady parties were exposed, with solid proof. His family paid a fortune to hush it up, but they’ve pretty much written off his branch of the family..."

The Doyle family was big and powerful, unlike the Fitzgeralds, who had only Declan and Fergal, with Cian as Declan’s only heir. Competition inside the Doyle family was fierce. After a scandal this big, Rory was basically out of the race for the family inheritance. From now on he’d be lucky to have food and clothes. Everything else would be a struggle.

Cian frowned. "Was this in the novel?"

Before he could finish, Rory stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder, eyes bloodshot, teeth clenched. "Cian, Cian, you’ve got yourself quite the lover. Quite the lover! He’s ruined me..."

He babbled on, half out of his mind, then suddenly shouted, "You have to help me get back at him! Cian! You have to help me get back at him!"

Cian raised an eyebrow. "Get back at who?"

"Eoin! Eoin Brennan... Do you know what he did? Do you know what he did?!"

Cian: "Oh? What did he do?"

The System had already pulled up the details. It showed how Eoin contacted Sinéad, found the boys and girls Rory had hurt, set Sinéad up to get close to Cormac Lynch, and won Cormac’s trust. It was all laid out clearly.

Cian found it a bit funny. Every bit of it was Rory’s own doing. He was the one using those girls, he was the one throwing punches, he was the one holding those wild parties. When the scandal broke, it was all his own fault. And now he was crying and making a scene, as if someone had held a gun to his head and forced him to do it.

The veins bulged on Rory’s forehead. "Cian, you can’t really think Eoin is some pure, innocent flower. I’m telling you, his mind is twisted. Back then, when he talked Sinéad out of pressing charges, I thought he was so devoted to you, so loyal. But then he stabbed me in the back! Is this how he repays you, his lover?"

Cian didn’t answer. He calmly washed his hands.

Rory had just grabbed his hands, and it made his skin crawl.

Rory had no idea what Cian was thinking. He clung to him, hands shaking wildly. "Cian, we’ve been like brothers for years. Today he exposes my secrets. Who will he expose tomorrow? He gets close to you, lives off you, then turns around and sells out your friend. He’s a backstabbing snake..."

Rory was so furious that his words got nastier and nastier. Eoin, hidden in the cubicle, heard every word, but his face stayed blank. The harsh white light of the toilets lit his face, making it pale as paper, and even his soft features looked sharper.

Yes, he had done all this. And given the chance, he would do it again.

Rory was a real piece of filth. He didn’t just use people like Sinéad. He also preyed on young boys and girls who had only just started out in life, full of hope. Some of them woke from nightmares months after leaving him. Eoin had seen it all while sitting with them in the hospital. If the Doyle family hadn’t spent a fortune to settle things, he would have sent Rory to prison.

But...

Eoin rubbed his fingertips without realising it.

But what would Cian think?

The rumour was that the young master of the Fitzgerald family valued loyalty above all, especially to friends. And here was Eoin, staying by Cian’s side, using the research opportunities Cian had arranged for him, then turning around and going after Cian’s friend. It was no exaggeration to say Eoin had almost single handedly ruined Rory’s future.

So even when Rory poured out his ugly insults, Eoin couldn’t find one word to say back.

Would Cian agree with Rory and think he was an ungrateful person?

Rory was still lost in his own world, as if he’d found his only outlet, trying to pour out all his poison.

"Cian, you don’t know, do you? He’s quite capable. Not even five years after you went abroad, he’d latched onto Cormac Lynch. Ugh! Acting all distant and proud, like he’d die if I touched him, and then he jumped into Cormac’s bed. Now he’s thriving, that cheap, filthy b*tch..."

On the other side of the door, Eoin clenched his fist.

He didn’t care about the ugly words. Ever since he’d been with Cian, rumours and gossip had never stopped. Even now, posts on the Trinity forum were still around, saying how he’d schemed and played tricks to catch Young Mr. Fitzgerald.

Eoin never paid attention to those comments. But he couldn’t stand Rory spreading these baseless claims in front of Cian.

"Are you done? If you’re done, it’s my turn." Cian had finished washing his hands. He casually pulled out a paper towel and dried his fingers carefully.

"Rory, actually, the first time I met you, I wanted to do something. Care to guess?"

The topic changed too fast, and Rory was stunned. "What?"