Second Life, I’m Dying Soon Chapter 21

Chapter 21


Contrary to the rumors of debauchery, Cecil Adrian carried himself with more poise than anyone in the gathering. Though he laughed at times, there was nothing vulgar about him—he was far removed from any crude temptations.

The group of men around him all held identical glasses, their tulip-shaped rims cradling a golden-hued liquid that swayed gently with every movement. It was an exquisite cognac, a rare delicacy found only within the imperial palace. Their faces glowed with intoxicated delight, savoring each sip as though reluctant to part with the precious drink too soon.

Cecil poured their refills whenever their glasses ran low, a task one might expect a servant to handle. 

Yet his demeanor remained unfailingly refined. It was less an act of servitude and more akin to bestowing a favor upon them.

“I agree with you to some extent. Commoners should be allowed entry into the cabinet.”

Cecil remarked, swirling his half-filled glass lightly. The subtle scent of vanilla brushed past his nose. 

Tristan nodded in agreement.

“A society built solely upon the nobility will inevitably decline. The capital is already brimming with talented bourgeois figures, each making a name for themselves. If we were to incorporate them into governance, the empire would undoubtedly prosper.”

“But doing so would diminish the nobility’s influence.”

“Conflict with vested interests is an inevitable process.”

“Not the kind of thing one expects to hear from a noble, your father would be rather displeased if he heard you say that.”

With an air of ease, he brought his glass to his lips and downed the remaining liquor in one smooth motion. Tristan, without needing to be asked, picked up the bottle and refilled Cecil’s drink to the brim.

“To be honest… I never expected to have this kind of conversation with you, Lord Cecil.”

“Nor did I.”

“It’s almost uncanny how much we see eye to eye.”

Well, that’s because I can see right through you.

Instead of replying, Cecil merely curved his eyes in a knowing smile.

In his previous life, their ideological clashes had been so severe they were practically at each other’s throats. But now, he aligned his words entirely with Tristan’s, matching his views down to the finest details.

With their tastes and opinions harmonizing so perfectly, Tristan was beginning to act as if he had found a kindred spirit—almost a soulmate.

It was a cunning method, but necessary.

Cecil downed another sip. The liquor, deceptively sweet like honey, burned as it slid down his throat, searing through his insides like a swallowed flame.

Tristan had always had a particular weakness for cognac. He used to savor every drop whenever the emperor granted it as a reward.

The stolen cognac was serving its purpose well. A man as reserved as Tristan Dyke had let his guard down at the mere sight of the bottle, willing to share a table with Cecil for the sake of a drink.

One glass turned into two, and as they continued drinking, their conversation stretched on. They discussed politics, economics, and art, exchanging thoughts across a broad range of topics as the night deepened.

Before long, others began to excuse themselves from the gathering, slipping away one by one, until only Cecil and Tristan remained. With no other ears around, Cecil steered the discussion toward more weighty matters—such as which faction should hold greater influence within the imperial court.

Of course, just because no one was listening didn’t mean no one was watching.

Hidden in the shadows, Alexis silently observed the two, his keen gaze fixed upon their conversation.

The red silk drapes hanging from ceiling to floor were as thin as a dragonfly’s wings, doing little to obscure the view. They served only to section off the space—not to provide secrecy.

“Why is our gentleman here all alone in such a secluded place?”

Right on cue, a slender arm draped over Alexis’s shoulder. A courtesan, unaware of just who she was attempting to seduce, climbed onto his lap, exuding a strong scent of perfume.

“I have a hobby of watching.”

Alexis chuckled faintly, wrapping an arm around the courtesan’s narrow waist. Rather than pushing her away harshly, he decided to play along with the mood.

“Who are you watching? Ah… those gentlemen?”

The courtesan craned her long neck to follow Alexis’s gaze, then let out a high-pitched laugh.

“When that person first arrived, it was utter chaos. Every man in the room clutched his belongings between his legs in sheer wariness.”

“Wary?”

“They were afraid he might take them.”

The courtesan let out a crude chuckle, seemingly amused by the memory. She leaned against Alexis’s broad shoulders and continued.

“It’s always the ones who don’t know their place that make a fuss. As if a noble like him would lower himself to indulge like we do. A few fools tried testing the waters but ended up humiliated. It was hilarious.”

“But he seems to be getting along quite well with that man over there. Tristan Dyke, was it?”

“Who knows? It seems he has a few people he fancies. Lord Dyke is just one of them. From the way he keeps him by his side and pours him drink after drink, perhaps he’s chosen him to warm his bed tonight.”

The courtesan teasingly ran her fingers over Alexis’s chest. A nobleman as handsome as him—she would have gladly spread her legs without charge.

“What do you think? Shall we spend a passionate night together as well?”

“Apologies, but I prefer watching.”

“Ah, that happens to be my specialty. I can cater to any taste. What do you want to see? Who do you want to watch? Women together? That can be arranged, too.”

Alexis let out a wry laugh and slipped a gold coin into her hand—far too generous a reward for mere idle chatter.

“Run along now. I’d like to be alone.”

The courtesan, pleased by the unexpected tip, curled her red lips into a smile.

Leaving a fleeting kiss on Alexis’s cheek, she slipped off his lap. Though she had disappeared, the thick scent of her perfume lingered. Alexis crossed his legs and folded his arms, his gaze returning to the scene before him.

‘A man he fancies, huh?’

His cold eyes landed on the man beside Cecil. Tristan Dyke was undeniably striking. Tall and lean, his features were sharp enough to be considered handsome. Perhaps he was exactly the type Cecil preferred.

What on earth were they talking about so endlessly?

The conversation flowed effortlessly—Cecil would ask a question, and Tristan would answer. Cecil listened intently, responding with warm, gentle smiles. A smile soft enough to win anyone over.

To Alexis, it was an unfamiliar sight. This version of Cecil, appearing more mature than his years, kept pricking at his nerves.

It was all an act, undoubtedly. But why did it feel so natural?

How many faces did Cecil Adrian have? He was impossible to decipher.

Alexis’s keen blue eyes remained fixed on him. His arms folded tighter across his chest, his unwavering stare attempting to dissect Cecil’s true self. The original purpose of observing—evaluating a candidate for the senior advisor position—had long been forgotten.

By now, the large bottle of cognac had been drained. Even Cecil, who had maintained his poise throughout, began to look drowsy.

“Are you all right? You seem quite intoxicated.”

“……”

Cecil, head resting against the armrest, remained silent. Seeing that he had dozed off, Tristan hesitated before shifting closer.

“Cecil? Cecil?”

He called his name twice, but Cecil didn’t stir. Gently, Tristan shook his shoulder. His hand, barely supporting him, slipped away, and Cecil’s head tipped to the side.

Startled, Tristan caught him just in time.

His face was surprisingly small—fitting neatly into the palm of his hand. His skin and hair were incredibly soft, and for a moment, Tristan was at a loss, blinking in astonishment at the sensation against his hand.

‘Wow, are all royals like this?’

He had no frame of reference. After holding Cecil’s face for a long moment, Tristan carefully placed it back in its original position, reminded once again of how precious his presence was.

Now came the tricky part.

With his hands on his waist, Tristan let out a troubled sigh. Cecil seemed to have come alone without an attendant, but how was he supposed to escort him back to the palace in this state? He himself had drunk more than usual, and his mind wasn’t working as clearly as he’d like.

He would likely have to ask Count Alfonso to lend them a guest room.

As he continued to ponder and then reached out to Cecil as if he had made up his mind, a low voice stopped his action just before Tristan’s hands could dig between Cecil’s armpits.

“You dare lay hands on a member of the royal family?”

Tristan snapped upright in alarm. Turning toward the source of the voice, he saw a man standing before him, towering over him by a full hand’s span. He was staring down at Tristan with near-contempt.

“You misunderstand! I had no ill intentions. I simply meant to help him—he’s intoxicated, and I was only trying to support him….”

“And why, exactly, would that be your responsibility?”

Tristan faltered at the sharp question. Had he made a mistake? No, he had only been doing what was proper.

After gathering his thoughts, Tristan’s gaze sharpened.

“Then who are you to interfere, sir?”

“Interfere, is it?”

The man let out a scoff and raked a hand through his hair. As his large palm swept through, the wig slipped away, revealing brilliant platinum-blond hair, gleaming like sunlight.

Alexis tossed the discarded wig aside with little care.

“I am someone with every right to do so.”