Transmigrated as the Villainous Young Master With a System

In the dark, Eoin quietly closed his fist.

He pressed so hard that his nails left marks in his palm, little crescent shapes pressed into the skin, though he didn’t notice.

Cian lay beside him, warmth coming off him through the blanket. One small shift and Eoin would have been in his arms.

Asleep, Cian was easy, pliable, no sharp edges. But Eoin only looked at him quietly, his dark eyes lowered, whatever was moving behind them kept well out of sight.

The hotel air conditioning kept the room at the temperature of a warm hearth. The duvet was filled with something extraordinarily light and soft, the kind of thing that cost more than Eoin earned in a year.

He was still cold.

By morning, he was gone.

Cian discovered this while spitting toothpaste into the sink and said to the system, vaguely, ”Why didn’t he stay for breakfast?”

It had gone back and forth. Eoin had left immediately at first, then started waiting. Now he was back to leaving.

The system, which had switched off when the plot wrapped up, was no more enlightened than Cian. ”I genuinely don’t know.”

Cian waved a hand. ”Doesn’t matter.”

He went back to his usual routine, eating well, drifting around the city, playing the idle heir. The system stayed quiet. It didn’t surface again until more than two weeks later.

”Two things have happened. Which do you want first?”

Cian said, ”Doesn’t matter.”

”In the last fortnight, Eoin has been back to the hospital to visit Sinéad.”

Cian made a sound of acknowledgement. The original Eoin was always watching for an opening. That tracked.

”And Declan has found out about your investment. He apparently had a spectacular meltdown in the middle of a meeting in London, booked the next flight home, and is on his way.”

Cian opened a shopping app and tried to pay for something. Payment failed.

His cards were frozen.

He wasn’t worried. Dr. Keane had helped him set up an account abroad with enough cash to live on comfortably for years.

Sure enough, his phone rang that evening. He answered and Declan’s voice came through, barely controlled fury underneath every word. ”Cian. Get home. Now.”

Cian said yes in a tone that suggested he was only half listening.

He was at a chipper at the time, working through a bag of chips. He finished them at his own pace, had a sip of his drink, then got in the car and drove home.

Declan looked as though he wanted to take a swing at him the moment he came through the door. But Cian hadn’t been a slight, easily managed child for some time. He was over six foot now, and he had half a head on his father. Taking a swing at him would have required some effort.

Declan looked at him. Cian stood in the shadow by the wall, his eyes unreadable in the low light, with the air of someone who would not simply absorb whatever came at him.

There was a pause.

Declan dropped the idea and said stiffly, ”Hanging around with those wasters. Look at the state of you. Pack your bags. You’re going to Edinburgh.”

Cian, hands in his pockets, asked without much interest, ”When’s the flight?”

Declan, who had more or less given up on his son some time ago and would have sent him to the moon if logistics allowed, had the secretary check and book something for the following afternoon.

Cian received this calmly. He had been expecting it.

That night he packed everything up and, staying in character, rang Darragh to tell him he was being shipped out and to suggest a farewell drink in the morning.

He couldn’t manage actual tears, so he pinched his nose and produced a couple of convincing sniffs. ”Lads, it might be a while before I see you again.”

The system watched this performance and looked quietly pained. It was fairly grim.

Rory was still lying low after the Sinéad business, back at his family’s place with his father keeping a close eye on him. He couldn’t make it. Darragh said yes without hesitation and they settled on their usual bar by the Liffey.

In the original novel, Eoin was hospitalised at this point in the story. The young master, whatever his other flaws, wasn’t interested in causing a disaster, so Eoin wasn’t included in the farewell. It would just be the two of them.

Cian had no strong feelings about Rory either way, and was fairly neutral on Darragh, not close, not bothered. They had a couple of drinks at the bar and then walked along the quays.

Darragh said, ”You’re really not coming back for five years?”

Cian said, ”Really not.”

Darragh took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out over the water. ”Your dad’s a piece of work, I’ll say that much. By the way, I heard he froze the cards. Need anything to tide you over?”

Cian shook his head. ”I’m sorted for money. But there is something.”

Darragh raised an eyebrow. ”Ten years we’ve known each other. Just say it.”

Cian said, ”Keep an eye on Rory. Make sure he doesn’t go near Eoin.”

Darragh’s cigarette hand went still.

In the original story, Rory had eventually got what he wanted with Eoin. He was the type to lose interest the moment he had it, and then move on. But this time, he’d been blocked at every turn and was getting restless, and there was no telling what he’d try once Cian was gone.

Darragh stared at him for a moment. ”First time I’ve seen you actually wound up about someone.” He stubbed out the cigarette on the railing. ”Fine. He won’t get near him while you’re away.”

”Thanks.”

”Don’t thank me.” Darragh gave him a look. ”But if you care that much, why not leave him something before you go?”

”I did.”

The original Cian would never have done it openly, so Cian had arranged it through Dr. Keane instead, setting aside a portion of the hospital donation fund as a contingency. If Eoin’s Nana ever needed emergency money, it could be released as a charitable disbursement. If Eoin ever asked, Keane would call it a fund allocation. He wouldn’t connect it to Cian.

Eoin didn’t know Keane had anything to do with him. He would never suspect.

They talked for a little longer and then went their separate ways.

Cian collected his bags from the hotel, two large cases. He went through them carefully, item by item. The small kraft paper bag he’d found weeks ago was tucked into the inner compartment, wrapped in a layer of tissue to keep it safe.

The system looked at it again. ”What actually is that?”

Cian pushed the system aside, locked the case, and carried it downstairs.

He got into the secretary’s car and was driven to the airport. After clearing security and settling at the gate, he opened the novel page on the system screen.

There was one last thing to do before he left.

He took a breath and dialled the number.

The default ringtone went twice, and then Eoin picked up. His voice came through low and quiet. ”Cian?”

He was in the lab. Cian could hear it, the faint clink of glassware somewhere nearby, the scratch of a pen on paper in the background. The kind of sounds that faded into white noise after a while, comfortable and steady.

Cian held the phone and didn’t say anything for a moment.

Eoin said his name again, softer. There was movement on the line, the rustle of a coat being folded, a card being swiped, footsteps, and then the sound of outdoor air and somewhere in the distance, birds.

The silence was long enough that Eoin grew uncertain. He asked carefully, ”Is everything all right? Do you need me to come to the hotel?”

”No,” Cian said. He heard his own voice come out calm and even. ”You don’t need to come. You don’t need to see me again.”

Silence.

The background noise of the campus carried on around it, indifferent.

After a moment Eoin said quietly, ”What do you mean?”

Cian said, ”I’m leaving the country this afternoon. Five years, probably. The contract’s done.”

He paused, and then because the script called for it, let a note of lightness into his voice, the careless drawl of a man who had never taken anything seriously. ”Congratulations, Mr. Brennan. You’re free.”

That was the line. The original Cian had meant it as a parting cut, one last reminder of the balance of power. Cian said it and meant something else entirely.

Eoin was free. He actually was.

Silence again, longer this time.

Then Eoin’s voice came back, clear and slightly muffled, as if he were holding the phone a fraction too close. ”What time’s your flight? I could come to the airport.”

”I’m already through security.”

That wasn’t in the original script. Cian thought for a second and added anyway, ”Goodbye.”

He hung up.

The next time they would see each other, it would be in a psychiatric hospital, and Cian would be the one inside.

The phone screen went dark and threw his reflection back at him. The line of his brow, the bridge of his nose, the angle of his jaw, all caught in the black glass, his eyes in shadow.

The gate announcement came on overhead. The Edinburgh flight was boarding.

Cian looked up, pocketed his phone, picked up his boarding pass, and walked to the gate.

The flight was long. Cian sat against the window and watched the screen show their progress, out over the Irish Sea, across to Scotland, and then the long arc north and east. Below, where the cloud broke, the sea was very dark and very wide, running unbroken to the horizon.

The system nudged him. ”Aren’t you pleased, Host? We can go anywhere now.”

It was a new system, easily excited, and it immediately spread a cascade of travel guides across Cian’s vision, dozens of them, flicking through destinations with great enthusiasm. ”Look at this, northern lights in Iceland, and this, the fjords in Norway, and this one has hot springs, and this”

Cian pushed it aside. ”We’re on a plane. Can you even get a signal up here?”

The system stopped. ”Oh.”

Cian said, ”Switch off.”

The system opened its mouth to explain that its connection was of a completely different order to ordinary wireless signals and would in no way interfere with the aircraft’s instruments.

Cian had already put a magazine over his face.