Quietly Hiding that I am a Man chapter 179- Fake Farewell

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Jerome and Jean were swarmed by ghosts as they entered the village.

The specters, with faces full of wonder, seemed curious about the pair who looked so different from them.

Jean, led by Jerome deeper into the village, couldn’t hide his astonishment.

“It’s amazing. This place feels like a real human village.”

In the bleak and endless expanse of the underworld, this was the only place that radiated warmth.

As eerie whispers echoed among the ghosts, an old man without a face, leaning on a cane, approached them slowly.

Wooong. Wooong.

Jean recoiled in fear, taking a step back at the sight of the grotesque figure that looked like it had been burned beyond recognition.

Sensing Jean’s unease, Jerome grabbed his wrist, leaning in to whisper.

“Don’t be afraid. That old man is the guardian of the underworld.”

“The guardian of the underworld?”

“Yes. He protects the souls here from the dark dragons that roam this region. Just wait for a moment—I’ll try to speak to him.”

Jerome pushed Jean gently behind him and began speaking in a strange language.

The old man tilted his head repeatedly, as though struggling to understand, before his face split into multiple segments like a blooming flower.

Jean turned pale, terrified by the grotesque visage that seemed anything but friendly.

Jerome, however, laughed heartily.

“He says he likes my eyes. Since I’ve got two, maybe I should give him one?”

“…Let me ask you one thing. Are you sure he’s the guardian of the underworld and not some deranged lunatic?”

Jean, trembling, pressed for confirmation. Jerome gave a disappointed look.

“Darling, you shouldn’t judge someone by their appearance. Sure, he wants one of my eyes, but you can tell just by looking—he’s not some monster.”

“…”

“Probably not?”

Jerome added uncertainly, his confidence wavering.

Jean massaged his temples as though he’d given up being surprised.

Jerome nodded as he carefully listened to the old man’s grumbling words.

“Ah, I misunderstood. Today’s the day the souls are reborn, so it’s a bad time. Our presence could have a negative effect on them.”

“And how, exactly, did you misunderstand that? So, what now?”

“He says he’ll give us a place to stay for the night, but we shouldn’t leave the house.”

The old man pointed to a small hut on the hill.

As he hobbled away with his cane, Jean let out a relieved sigh.

The ghosts, large and small, formed a line behind the old man and followed him.

Watching their procession with a dazed expression, Jean slowly began walking toward the hut.

“It’s really cold here, though. Not just physically—this chill feels like it’s freezing my heart.”

The underworld was noticeably colder than the human realm, though it was a strange kind of cold that seemed to pierce through one’s soul.

Jean exhaled warm breath onto his frozen hands to thaw them.

Spotting Jean’s reddened fingers, Jerome spoke as they approached the hut.

“Go inside first. I’ll look around for some firewood.”

Jean hesitated for a moment before grabbing Jerome’s sleeve abruptly.

He seemed more startled by his own action than Jerome was.

Jerome, with a teasing smile, asked,

“What’s wrong? Don’t want me to go?”

“…”

“Ah, I see. You’re scared I’ll disappear without saying anything again.”

Jean bit his lip in silence—a quiet admission.

Jerome sighed and led him into the hut.

Oddly enough, the inside felt even colder than the outside.

Jerome wrapped a worn blanket over his shoulders and stretched out his arms.

“Then let’s just stay cold for a bit. Come here.”

After a brief hesitation, Jean approached him and nestled by his side.

Together, they stared out the window.

Golden lights floated in the air, resembling lanterns, illuminating the night sky like a tapestry of stars.

Jean’s lips parted slightly in awe.

Resting his chin on Jean’s shoulder, Jerome murmured,

“The souls are ascending.”

“Yeah.”

“I envy them. To be reborn.”

Jean turned his head naturally at Jerome’s wistful words.

“Do you want to be reborn?”

“Hmm, no. I can’t be reborn anyway.”

“…Why not?”

“Only pure souls who have never harmed anyone can be reborn.”

“…”

“And you, Jean? Do you want to be reborn?”

Jean sniffled as he considered the question.

Back in his previous life, there were times when he’d wished for something like this—to escape the burdens of reality and start anew in a fictional world.

He thought he could do better if given another chance, but the truth turned out differently.

Even as Jean, he made countless mistakes and felt despair.

After some thought, he shook his head.

“I’ve always disliked myself, whether I was good at something or not. I think I always wanted to be something entirely different from who I was,” Jean said, his voice steady.

“…”

“But now I know—I can’t be any better than I am now, nor can I become someone entirely different. This is my best. So, I don’t want to be reborn.”

Smiling faintly, Jean seemed at peace, as though he’d finally found the answer to a question that had haunted him since being thrust into this world.

Resting his head on Jerome’s shoulder, Jean whispered.

“But what about you? Are you really okay with me forgetting you completely?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you going through with the memory-erasing spell?”

“Because I want to give you a future.”

Jean fell silent at the unexpected answer.

Jerome buried his face against Jean’s back, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“You matter more to me now than my love for you.”

“…”

“That’s why I’m doing this.”

Jean turned his head to look at Jerome, their gazes meeting in the dim light.

Their lips found each other naturally, the kiss deepening until Jean, out of breath, pulled back.

But Jerome caught his chin, tilting it back to kiss him again.

Jean shivered as Jerome’s hand slid lower, a tremble running through his body.

“Jerome,” Jean called, his voice trembling.

Jerome’s breath was hot against his neck as his hand wandered, sending electric sensations through Jean’s skin.

Realizing what was about to happen, Jean grabbed Jerome’s wrist with both hands.

“Jerome!”

Jerome stopped and looked up at him.

In the dark, his piercing gaze made Jean falter before he spoke calmly.

“Listen. If the memory-erasing spell is cast, I won’t remember you. Even if we create more memories now, they’ll only hurt you—you’ll be the only one left with them.”

“I don’t care.”

“Think it over. You know this isn’t for me. It’ll hurt you.”

“Hurt me, then. Don’t let me go.”

Jerome’s lips brushed Jean’s ear, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“That’s your privilege. To hurt me, to make me yearn for you until I die. Stay with me as the imperfect person you are. That’s the only thing you can do for me.”

“…….”

“Don’t try to leave a good impression on me—because you never can. Stay as the wretched person who makes me yearn for you my whole life until I die. That’s the only thing you can do for me.”

At the sticky touch kneading the inside of his thigh, Jean gasped for breath.

An intense emotion he had never experienced before surged under his skin.

A heat so overwhelming that it felt as if his insides were melting clouded his mind.

Jerome, who had stripped Jean naked in the blink of an eye, wrapped him in a blanket and carried him to the bed.

In an instant, their bodies overlapped, skin pressing together, producing damp, sloshing sounds.

“Ah… ngh…”

Jean groaned, writhing in pain as if his body were being torn in two.

His gaze fell on a torch hanging on the wall.

In its flickering flames, insects flung themselves into the fire.

Jerome’s hand gripped Jean’s hips with an almost bruising force, brimming with unexplainable anger.

Jean tilted his head back, exhaling ragged breaths, and shut his eyes.

‘Am I throwing myself into the fire, too?’

The sudden thought left his heart aching.

For the first time, he found himself pitying the insects, drawn helplessly to their demise.

---

If the purpose of intimacy was to seek pleasure, then what Jean and Jerome shared over the past few weeks had little to do with pleasure.

It was more like an escape from reality.

They spent their days and nights together, blurring the distinction between the two—melding their bodies, eating simple meals, wandering through desolate plains.

When the monotony grew unbearable, they would find their way back to each other again.

Even in moments filled with laughter and playful banter, there was always an inevitable silence.

A silence neither of them could explain.

Jean repeatedly delayed the memory-erasing spell he was supposed to cast, and Jerome never pressed him about it.

‘How long have I been asleep…?’

On a night no different from any other, Jean woke from a nightmare, his body sore and aching.

Jerome, who should have been at his side, was nowhere to be seen.

Jean sat up slowly, his expression dazed before stumbling out of bed.

No matter where he looked, Jerome was gone.

“Jerome.”

His heart, calm moments ago, now raced uncontrollably.

The thought that Jerome might have left him behind took hold, and without hesitation, Jean dashed out of the cabin barefoot.

Rain poured relentlessly, soaking him to the skin.

He shivered in the cold, his eyes darting around in desperation.

His face was etched with fear.

“Jerome!”

Jean kept moving forward aimlessly until a sharp pain made him stop.

He cried out, stumbling as blood seeped from his foot, where a jagged tree root had torn into the flesh.

Tears welled up as the searing pain brought him to his knees.

Jean clenched his fists, sobbing softly.

“Hic…hic…”

“Jean?”

His head shot up at the sound of his name.

Jerome stood there, his face a mixture of surprise and concern.

He dropped the animal carcass slung over his shoulder and hurried over to Jean.

Jean leaned against Jerome’s chest as if seeking refuge, then spoke in a trembling voice, his words seemingly out of nowhere.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“…”

“What am I supposed to do? Tell me…”

This world was a fake—a place Jean had fled to because he couldn’t bear to face the real one.

He knew he couldn’t stay forever in this desolate underworld, a place only the dead were allowed to traverse.

He understood that, but accepting it felt like an insurmountable task.

Accepting it meant letting Jerome go.

Jean stood there, drenched to the bone, trembling uncontrollably.

Seeing him like that, Jerome removed his robe and wrapped it around Jean’s shoulders.

Then, in a steady voice, he said…

“It’s simple.”

“…”

“Just forget me.”

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