Quietly Hiding that I am a Man EPILOGUE

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Jean’s gaze shifted to the broken pocket watch resting above the fireplace.

Fragments of buried memories surfaced one by one.

His breaths grew uneven, and his head throbbed painfully.

Tears fell unchecked as his mind replayed everything—being thrown into this world, fabricating miracles to survive, and, above all, one vivid memory.

‘Come here. Let me finish reading you that fairy tale from before.’

The tale of the Hero, Maya, and Mephisto had a predictable arc: Mephisto brought ruin, the Hero and Maya united to save the world. But the version Jean remembered was slightly different.

In this version, corrupted by malice, the Hero became unrecognizable to everyone except Maya.

“I know who you are,” Maya declared, “no matter what you look like.”

This tale featured a despairing Hero consumed by darkness and Maya, who dove into the underworld to save him.

The grotesque illustrations frightened the children huddled around Jean, but he continued reading with a gentle smile.

The story ended with the Hero choosing to let Maya go, fearing his tainted soul might corrupt the one he loved.

“To love someone so much that you let them go… Maybe that’s more noble than clinging to them,” Jean had once thought.

Murmuring Jerome’s name, Jean stood, now resolute.

He slipped the broken pocket watch into his pocket and stepped outside.

For the first time in a long while, his face radiated life.

“I need to find Jerome.”

✽ ✽ ✽

When Jean appeared early in the morning, Parin seemed a little taken aback but willingly lent him a horse.

Mounted, Jean headed straight east toward the harbor without hesitation.

Jerome had said he was returning to the capital, so if their paths didn’t completely miss, there was a chance they might meet at the harbor.

The problem was that Sacre was an overwhelmingly vast land, and even reaching the eastern harbor would take at least half a day.

‘No, Jerome hasn’t been gone long. If I’m quick, I can catch up to him.’

His heart raced with urgency.

If he missed Jerome now, who knew when they’d meet again?

Biting down on his lower lip, Jean spurred the horse forward.

Memories of his conversation with Jerome in the cabin surfaced.

‘If you met her again, what would you say?’

‘Who?’

‘Your late wife.’

Whenever Jean awoke, Jerome was always there by his side.

Jerome, who had seriously pondered Jean’s sudden question, reached out and gently smoothed the tousled hair atop his head.

‘Back then, I was too overwhelmed to propose properly.’

‘Propose?’

Jerome’s voice when speaking about Jean sounded like it belonged to someone else.

To Jean, Jerome often felt like an old, muted piano, but when Jerome reminisced about the past, that muffled sound disappeared.

Perhaps that’s why Jean had started to wonder about the things Jean had left behind for him.

‘Yes, so if I saw her again…’

What on earth had Jean left Jerome that rendered him so helpless, to the point that even the loss of his family didn’t seem to faze him?

Jerome’s laughter echoed in Jean’s ears.

‘I’d propose properly this time.’

By the time Jean reached the harbor after half a day’s relentless riding, the sun was already setting, painting the sky with shades of amber.

He dismounted and scoured the crowd for Jerome.

Jostled by passersby, Jean’s face grew increasingly frantic as he turned his head in every direction.

“Jerome.”

His voice was drowned out by the noise of the bustling crowd, dispersing into thin air.

Stumbling forward, Jean pushed through the throng, shouting again with veins strained in his neck.

“Jerome!”

No matter how loud he called, there was no sign of Jerome.

Fear crept in—the thought that Jerome might have already left Sacre made his vision blur with tears.

Sure enough, when Jean asked a merchant who frequented the harbor if he’d seen anyone resembling Jerome, the answer was immediate: a man fitting his description had just boarded a ship and departed.

As realization dawned that he’d missed Jerome, strength drained from Jean’s body.

There were no miracles after all.

Defeated, Jean turned to head home, his steps heavy.

The crimson sunset bathed the once-green plains in red.

Clutching the horse’s reins, Jean trudged along, tears welling in his eyes.

He bit his lip to stifle the sobs, but large droplets rolled down his cheeks anyway.

“Ugh…”

His sudden tears startled the horse, which let out a soft whinny and nudged its face against him.

Even as he stroked the horse’s muzzle, Jean couldn’t stop crying.

Why hadn’t he remembered Jerome sooner?

All he felt was a relentless self-reproach.

Eventually, Jean stopped in his tracks, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook.

Tears slipped through the gaps between his fingers.

“Ugh… Sob…”

He had finally remembered Jerome.

He had finally mustered the courage to tell Jerome he loved him.

As Jean crouched down and wept, a shadow fell over him.

Sensing someone belatedly, Jean raised his head abruptly.

Jerome knelt before him, meeting his gaze as he quietly took in Jean’s tear-streaked face.

With a faint smile, Jerome asked in a teasing tone,

“Why are you crying here all alone?”

The fiery sunset that had stained the surroundings faded away, replaced by a white moon glowing against the dark night sky.

Under the moon’s radiant light, flowers began to bloom across the plains, filling the air with a sweet fragrance.

Purple petals danced in the gentle breeze.

Though the flowers were unfamiliar in appearance, Jean, who had once staged a false miracle to gain Duke Charlotte’s favor, recognized them instantly.

These blooms, which only opened under the moonlight, were purple evening primroses.

Momentarily dumbfounded by Jerome’s sudden appearance, Jean stammered, his voice trembling.

“W-Why are you here?”

“I forgot my underwear.”

“…What?”

“Kidding. I just wanted to give you what I couldn’t before leaving. But… I’m glad I came back.”

Jerome gently wiped the tears from Jean’s cheeks, pinching his nose playfully as if telling him to blow it.

Jean swatted Jerome’s hand away but cautiously asked,

“Mephisto…?”

“Completely vanquished.”

“Are you okay? Your body—”

“I’m fine. Healthy. No more hallucinations or voices. I can use my powers without any strain. All thanks to you.”

Joy spread across Jean’s face at Jerome’s words, a sight that made Jerome’s faint smile disappear.

After a pause, Jerome spoke evenly.

“I used to be the kind of man who would close a book if the first line didn’t grab me or leave a play halfway through if the beginning was dull. I always thought I could predict the ending.”

“…And?”

“But you… You were different. You’d stick with a boring book or a bad play until the very end, insisting that the moment you give up, you’d miss the good parts forever.”

Jerome brushed the dust from Jean’s trousers and steadied him when he stumbled.

For the first time since their reunion, their eyes met, aligning perfectly.

Jerome’s hand tenderly caressed Jean’s swollen eyes as he whispered,

“I love that about you.”

“…”

“And… I want to see the world through your eyes for the rest of my life.”

Jerome took Jean’s left hand and slipped a ring onto his finger.

Jean’s eyes widened in surprise as church bells chimed in the distance.

A faint smile graced Jean’s lips, and Jerome leaned in to kiss his tear-streaked cheek.

Blushing, Jerome buried his face in Jean’s shoulder.

“Jean, do you believe in miracles?”

The memory of his despair at the absence of miracles flashed through his mind.

After all the loss he had endured, he finally understood: miracles weren’t sudden events but every fleeting moment of life.

The sweet apple in the morning, a brief nap at noon, laundry drying in the sun—and meeting Jerome in this vast world.

Wrapping his arms around Jerome’s neck, Jean whispered with a heavy heart,

“Yes, I do.”

The purple evening primroses swayed at their feet as melting snow seeped into the frozen earth.

Standing on tiptoe, Jean held Jerome close, their laughter mingling as their lips met.

Holding Jean’s hand tightly, Jerome led him through the field of flowers.

From Jean’s pocket, a broken pocket watch tumbled out, its long-stopped hands ticking forward once more.

It was the eternal miracle of love—unchanging through time.

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