Chapter 23: Bailing him out.

Cian chuckled. While Rory stared at him in shock, he suddenly raised his hand and landed an uppercut right on his chin. The punch was hard and solid, and Rory stumbled to his knees.

"You!"

"The first time I saw you, I thought, how can someone deserve a punch so much?" Cian looked down at him, grabbed him by the tie and hauled him up, then drove two heavy punches into his stomach.

"Rory, why don’t you take a good look at what kind of person you are? You dare slander Eoin in front of me? Do you even have the right?"

Cian had been a troublemaker in school, but he’d never mastered swearing. He was nowhere near as good at it as Rory, and he could never say words like the ones Rory used.

Luckily, he was a regular at the gym, and his abs and chest were still well built. He looked slim in clothes but had a strong body underneath. Fighting came naturally to him.

Eoin was stunned inside the cubicle. He pressed against the edge of the door, as if frozen in place.

Eoin had imagined many ways Cian might react, but never that he’d punch Rory.

Rory was just as stunned. After taking a few heavy hits, he dodged awkwardly, swearing, "Have you lost your mind, Cian?"

According to the novel, Cian wasn’t supposed to act this way. But the plot was nearly over, and Rory was just an extra with no clear ending, so Cian thought, why not? What could go wrong? He decided to follow his gut.

He punched Rory in the chin again. "Say it again. Say it!"

Rory had come to Cian to vent his madness, but he hadn’t expected Cian to be even crazier. He spat out saliva, his face twisted with rage. "Cian, you’ve really lost it. What kind of drug did that b*tch Eoin give you..."

Before he could finish, Cian punched him again. Rory’s eye turned black at once, and blood streamed from his nose. He looked completely wrecked.

Cian pinned him down. "Rory, I’m warning you, watch your mouth. You’ve got the nerve to talk to me like this? Eoin is dirty? How much filthier are you than him? Do you even have the right?"

Cian couldn’t help cursing. "You worthless piece of trash."

In the original story, Eoin had been tormented so badly, yet he never did anything shameful. When it came to revenge, he went only after the original hero and never touched the hero’s friends or family. Even at his lowest, he only hurt himself, never other people. Later, when his health got worse and illness took hold, he gave away most of his wealth to help poor children. Cian admitted that in the same situation, he couldn’t have done the same.

How dare Rory slander someone like Eoin?

Inside the cubicle, Eoin silently curled his fingers.

This was a truly new feeling. Eoin came from a poor family, but he was good looking. Since childhood, rumours and gossip had never stopped. Some said he was for sale, some said his mother was for sale, and on and on.

It wasn’t that no one had ever stood up for him. Aoife and Niall would complain and get angry whenever they saw such posts on the forum. But at most they’d write a couple of replies to set things straight. Those replies never made a splash and were quickly buried under the rumours and slander.

Little by little, Eoin learned not to look and not to listen. He stopped going to those forums and stopped paying attention to the gossip, and so he stopped caring.

But now, as Cian threw punch after punch, Eoin stood in the cubicle and suddenly remembered his childhood.

Back then, he and another girl in his class were both very good looking. Some boys in the class had picked up words like "brothel" and "madam," and they teased the two of them, calling them the school’s "rent boy" and "rent girl."

The girl cried, and the next day her parents came to the school. Her father grabbed the ringleader and beat him up, while her mother went straight to the staff room. The teacher was furious when she heard the story and punished the boys with a ruler.

After that, nobody teased the girl again, because she had people behind her.

But Eoin didn’t.

He was called those names for two school terms, and no one stood up for him. His father had died young, and his granny was old, spending her days doing sewing and cleaning work just to get by. Eoin couldn’t trouble her with such small problems.

And now, because of Rory’s thoughtless, meaningless words, words that even Eoin himself didn’t pay much attention to, Cian had stepped in.

Eoin shut his eyes. His eyelids turned red, and his chest felt heavy and sore.

In this tight, cramped space, Eoin seemed to go back to that afternoon many years ago, hiding behind the classroom door and peeking through a crack. The girl’s father threw punch after punch, each one landing with a heavy thud. Eoin couldn’t quite remember how he’d felt then. Maybe envy, bitterness, jealousy, all mixed together and turning into huge confusion and helplessness.

But now, someone was throwing punches for him.

Cian had learned his skills in his troublemaking days. His punches were smooth and exact, his elbows driving from the muscles of his back, his shoulder blades tight, his suit clinging to his body and showing its sleek shape. He moved as smoothly as a hero in an old Dublin crime film. Watching him, Eoin suddenly remembered the shape of that body. He remembered every winter night five years ago when those arms held him tight, the rise and fall of the muscles, and the burning warmth of the skin.

He... he really wanted to hold Cian.

But now Cian wasn’t his anymore.

Outside the door, Rory shouted, "Cian!"

His body was worn out from years of indulgence, but he was still a grown man. Pushed to the edge, he lunged forward, eyes bloodshot, going straight for Cian’s throat. Eoin watched through the gap, frowning, and moved closer without meaning to.

Cian clicked his tongue. While abroad, he had kept up his diet and fitness, and he was far stronger than Rory.

With a quick twist, Rory grimaced in pain, and a thought flashed through his mind. "Damn it, Cian, even now you’re still protecting Eoin? You’d even hit me for him? Do you still have a soft spot for him?"

Cian and Eoin both froze at the same moment, one outside the cubicle and one inside.

Eoin silently gripped his clothes. The hem of his expensive suit wrinkled, as if he wanted to tear it apart.

Cian had been holding Rory’s shoulder. When he heard this, his grip loosened slightly, and it left an opening.

Rory struggled hard and broke free. He stumbled back and stared at Cian as if he’d seen a ghost. "You really have gone soft for him, haven’t you?"

Among all the trust fund heirs in Dublin, Cian and Rory were the most notorious. Both were carefree, rich playboys. No matter how beautiful the boys or girls were, they were just for fun. Who had ever truly fallen in love?

Cian looked at him quietly and said nothing.

Silence.

Rory wiped his nose, and his hand came away smeared with bright red blood. Cian’s punch had landed right on his nose and nearly broken it. Blood ran down his upper lip, drop by drop.

Rory looked at Cian with his bloody hand and laughed. "Cian, do you know who Eoin is now? He’s won Cormac’s favour, built a listed company himself, and he’s about to crush my family. Even your uncle Fergal has to call him ’Mr. Brennan’ now, all respectful. After what you did to him back then, forcing him to sign that agreement, how do you think he’ll pay you back? Huh? Guess!"

"Hahahahaha," Rory laughed more and more wildly. "A soft spot? Cian, what a soft spot. I can’t wait to watch you crash and burn!"

Cian looked at him with disgust and said calmly, "You guessed wrong. I never hold on to feelings for anyone."

It wasn’t that he was stubborn. There were only a few Chapters left in the plot, and Rory was a gossip who liked dragging others into things.

Now that Eoin worked under Cormac, if a rumour like "Cian still has feelings for him" got out, it wouldn’t be good for Eoin’s reputation. Cian didn’t want to make things complicated.

At that moment, the cubicle door thudded and the panel shook slightly, as if someone had lost control and bumped into it. Unluckily, Rory was beaten half to death, and Cian was busy dragging him out like a dead dog, so no one noticed the noise.

Cian dragged Rory out of the toilets and tossed him far away. He looked at his watch. The dinner still had about an hour to go. So he picked a quiet corner and started playing a matching tiles game.

The System perched on his shoulder, circled around to see the screen, and said, full of scorn, "Host, can’t you play something more sophisticated?"

As an electronic system, it could see the best solution to the game instantly.

Cian replied, "Don’t be picky. When I’m in the psychiatric hospital, being able to play a simple game like this will be a treat."

Normally that would be fine. But on the days Eoin came to visit, he might have to lie in bed in restraints, hands and feet tied tight, unable to move.

The System comforted him. "Don’t worry. I’ll project a movie in your mind when the time comes. I promise no one will notice."

While the other guests were busy networking, Cian, who thought of himself as a man living on borrowed time, was enjoying himself. But just as he was about to break his record after a couple of rounds, a sudden commotion broke out at the entrance.

The guests in the foyer were thrown into chaos, the chatter grew louder, and Fergal quickly stepped forward, apparently talking to someone.

The System left Cian, flew to the front, then came back to his side with a "crying" face on its screen.

Cian paused. The game timed out, and the screen showed "game over."

He closed it, put away his phone, and asked, "What happened?"

Tears streamed down the System’s screen. It was frantic. "Argh! I knew it! I knew it! The last scene couldn’t possibly go smoothly!"

Cian’s heart skipped. He sensed something was wrong. "What exactly happened?"

The System said, "You beat up Rory, that idiot, and he called the Gardaí! Arghhhhh!"

These trust fund kids loved a fight and were often involved in illegal things, but they usually settled everything privately with money. Going to the Gardaí was a first for them.

He’s really desperate now, Cian thought. Backed into a corner.

Soon the crowd made way by itself, and a pair of handcuffs appeared in front of him. The garda looked stern.

"Cian Fitzgerald, is that right? Someone reported you for a fight. Come with us."

The System was on the verge of collapse. "What the hell? How did we end up with this plot twist?"

Cian glanced at the screen. The original text read: "Eoin called for people, and in front of everyone they restrained Cian. Cian struggled on his own, but his arms were twisted behind his back, his shoulders were pressed down hard, and he was dragged away like a dead dog."

The original text was well written and very vivid. But now, with handcuffs right in front of him, he couldn’t recreate it.

After all, he couldn’t exactly say, "Officer, please drag me away like a dead dog."

He raised his hand, thought it over calmly, and answered in his head. "It’s okay, don’t panic. My average score is 65, right? I have 5 points to lose. A small plot point like this will cost me 2 points at most. I’ll still have 3 left."

The System muttered gloomily, "...That’s true, but I have a bad feeling about this."

No matter how powerful Eoin was, he couldn’t pull someone out of the Gardaí’s hands. Cian was taken to the car, where he saw Rory, bruised and bloody.

Rory’s eyes were swollen, his nose was broken, his chin was bleeding, and he’d taken a couple of kicks to the stomach that had turned purple. He looked pretty horrible.

But it only looked scary. Cian had held back, and Rory’s injuries were all on the surface, not even serious enough to count as minor injuries. Even if they went for a medical check, Cian wouldn’t go to prison. At most it would be a fight, a public order offence.

After taking their statements, the rules said Cian had to be held in a cell. But the garda saw that he looked respectable, not like a repeat offender, and was wearing a high end tailored suit. He asked, "Do you want to be bailed out?"

Bail meant he wouldn’t have to stay in the cell, but someone had to pay the bail money, and a guarantor had to sign and take responsibility.

For the trust fund kids of Dublin, that amount was pocket change. But after Declan’s death, Fergal had joined with other shareholders to buy back shares, and the money hadn’t been transferred yet. Fergal would be delighted to see Cian’s reputation ruined, so the board would push him out of the company, and he wouldn’t sign as a guarantor.

That left Darragh Byrne and Dr. Keane. But Darragh wasn’t in Dublin. He’d gone back to his family’s place to take over the family business. As for Dr. Keane, Cian didn’t want to involve him and reveal their uncle and nephew bond. If Eoin found out Dr. Keane was his relative, he could have Cian moved to another psychiatric hospital, and then Cian wouldn’t know who to cry to.

After thinking it through, he really couldn’t find a guarantor anywhere in Dublin.

Cian sighed and slumped back in his chair. "Keep me in."

The garda paused. It was the first time he’d heard such a request. "Really not going to be bailed out?"

Cian smiled. "There’s no one to bail me out."

He gave a small, self mocking laugh and thought, Even in two different worlds, I can’t find anyone to bail me out.

Cian was used to being alone and had no close friends to speak of. In school he’d struggled with his mental health, and his classmates avoided him. Once, he climbed a wall to skip class and ran into some thugs robbing someone in an alley. He got into a scuffle and ended up in a cell once, and back then, no one bailed him out either.

But Cian was easygoing and didn’t let it bother him. If the first time was awkward, now it was just routine.

Bail paperwork was a hassle, but holding him was simple. The garda quickly did the forms and printed them out.

He handed Cian the ink pad. "Check that everything’s correct, then press your thumb here."

Cian looked down. The charge line read: "Charged with assault and public disorder."

It wasn’t on purpose. Rory just had a big mouth. But there was no use explaining, so he simply accepted it.

Still in handcuffs, he moved awkwardly, raised his thumb to the ink pad, and got ready to press it onto the form.

But in an instant, the file was pulled away.

"Wait, hold on."

New information seemed to have come in. The garda checked the computer and signalled for Cian to stop. "Looks like someone’s here to get you."

Cian paused. "Who’s picking me up?"

The garda typed on the keyboard, then unlocked the handcuffs. "You’ll find out when you go out. My system shows he’s paid the bail and signed. You’re free to go."

Cian had been calm about being held, but now that someone had bailed him out, he was stunned. He didn’t stand up until the garda tapped the table.

In this situation, who could possibly bail him out?

Fergal? Fergal was at some fancy event, completely drunk, with no time to care about his worthless nephew.

Darragh? Even less likely. He couldn’t even have got here in time.

Dr. Keane? Dr. Keane was at a hospital out of town, and no one had told him.

Cian frowned.

Who else could it be?

He followed the garda down the corridor to the main entrance. From far away, he saw a figure sitting on the bench in the lobby.

The man wore a sharp suit, and he was handsome and refined, with a dignified posture. He was flipping through some papers, a few strands of hair falling by his eyebrows. Maybe he was annoyed, because he pushed his glasses up his nose and tucked the strands back. The harsh light in the lobby shone on his pale skin, which looked as smooth as if it were coated in white glaze.

Just by sitting there, he gave off an air of quiet class that lifted the shabby lobby to a higher level. The rusty iron bench behind him looked like a display case in a museum, and he himself was like an antique piece of Belleek china in a glass cabinet.

Cian held his breath.

...Eoin.