AHEIAID Chapter 9: He’s Crying
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If you asked Joey whether a twenty-something single nerd pretending to be a delicate little white lotus was embarrassing...
Joey would tell you: Drop the "whether"—it's embarrassing. Incredibly, unbelievably embarrassing!
What’s with the wet puppy eyes pouting at the camera?
What’s with leaning against the door, hugging a stuffed bunny while waiting for the owner to come home?—Damn it, if he hadn’t buried his face in his knees back then, he could’ve turned into a boiling kettle from the sheer heat of his shame!
But to appear harmless, to gain the trust of these Ottomans and eventually return home, Joey endured the cringe, even as his toes curled so hard they could dig a hole in the floor. He plastered on a thick skin and kept up the act.
Later, Joey realized that "rock bottom" was just like cross-dressing.
At first, you're hesitant and conflicted—"Ugh, there’s no way I’d wear these girly clothes."
Then, after the first time… "Hmm? Actually, this is kinda fun?"
Joey was no different.
At first, pretending to be cute and naive made his skin crawl, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
But the more he acted… the more he… kind of enjoyed it?
He even doubled down when he didn’t see immediate results, pulling an all-nighter by the door wrapped in a blanket, sleeping on the floor for two days—just to successfully make himself sick.
As Joey lay in bed with a fever-flushed face, the system couldn't help but marvel at his dedication.
It used to think only women could be ruthless enough to turn on themselves. Who knew men had this talent too?
[Sigh, once upon a time, an innocent nerd asked me how to act like a delicate little white lotus. I didn't answer then, but now I just want to say—dude, maybe dial it back a little.]
"Shut up, quit with the sarcastic commentary..."
Joey curled under his blanket, shivering. His throat burned dry, his head spun from the fever, and his sneezes could probably launch snot two feet across the room.
He glared at the system, stubbornly making excuses: "What even is 'rock bottom'? Can you eat it? Can it help you survive?!"
"To these aliens, we’re just pets! We have to face reality—please them, conquer them! Then we can sit on their heads and poop on them!"
"If I have to be a dog, I’ll be the most pampered, the fiercest biter! Always remember our mission, our slogan—we are—"
System: [The great eunuch, Wei Zhongxian!]
Joey: "…I'm giving you one chance to rephrase that before I beat you into a mix of Kumamon and Doraemon."
System: [Heehee.]
Just as Joey, too sick to move, was locked in a mental deathmatch with the system—cursing at each other in a feverish haze—the system suddenly went "Huh?"
System: [Oh shit, Joey, your ‘dad’ is back.]
"Who? That damn poop scooper? Oh, crap!"
Joey jolted upright, quickly adjusting his appearance. He shut his eyes, pulled the blanket up, and only left half his face exposed—resting his head against his bunny plush, looking as pitiful as possible.
System: [Cute~]
Joey’s face burned hotter: […] Damn it, one day, I swear I’m gonna kill you!
Silently, the automatic door slid open. Steady, composed footsteps approached the bedside.
Joey braced himself.
The soft mattress dipped slightly as the man sat down. A large, gloveless hand—one that could easily cover Joey’s entire face—pressed against his forehead. Cool fingers, pale as ice, brushed from left to right, wiping away the sweat beading on his skin…
"&%…&$…"
The Ottoman language was elegant and musical, like a spirit whispering to the birds in the forest. Spoken by this man, it felt almost like a mystical chant.
The fevered human’s eyelashes quivered. Red-rimmed eyes fluttered open, looking at him weakly.
Garius gazed at this fragile creature, his pupils catching a glimmer of light.
The small being trembled as it nestled closer, curling up at his side. Damp, sweaty hair stuck to his forehead as he rested his head against Garius' leg, gazing up at him with unwavering attachment, murmuring softly in an ancient Earth language.
"Human..."
Galius repeated his words. His gold-green eyes, emotionless, studied the fragile being nestled in his lap. His fingers traced Joey’s damp forehead, slowly running through the roots of his black hair.
"You’re sick," he stated. "Why haven’t you taken medicine? Why haven’t you eaten?"
"…"
The two of them didn’t share a common language.
Joey couldn’t understand him.
And Garius couldn’t understand Joey.
Even though Joey had the system for translation, Garius did not.
So Joey didn’t bother speaking—just narrowed his eyes, making himself look even weaker.
Then, he stared at the god-like man before him, his eyes following the red teardrop-shaped gemstone dangling on his forehead, the sharp jawline even visible from a dead angle, the golden curls partly covering his right eye…
Then, pressing his cheek against the man’s thigh, he grumbled in a soft, pitiful voice:
"Damn it, stupid master… why the hell is he so handsome…"
Garius assumed he was simply being affectionate.
His fingers continued combing through Joey’s hair. His long, narrow eyes shifted elsewhere, sinking into thought.
His palm cradled the tiny human’s head.
So warm. So small.
If he squeezed just a little, it would shatter like a crushed berry… No, he wouldn’t even need to lift a finger—one day, this fragile little thing would simply vanish on its own.
Without a trace…
Garius frowned and gave an order to the man at the door.
"Amon."
"Yes, sir!"
"Bring medicine."
"Yes—uh? Medicine? Oh! Right away, sir!"
Amon hurried off, soon returning with an injection and a bowl of minced meat.
Garius pulled Joey into his arms, holding him the way one would cradle an Ottoman child. Wrapping an arm around Joey’s shoulders, he administered the fast-acting shot into his arm.
Perhaps due to his feverish state, Joey shivered at the sudden cold. He instinctively burrowed deeper into Garius’ embrace, his red-tipped nose sniffing feebly.
Garius’ face darkened.
He personally picked up the pink bowl and began feeding Joey—who, surprisingly, obediently ate.
But halfway through, Joey suddenly clutched at his chest, turned his head—and violently vomited everything onto the floor!
His pale, slender neck strained painfully, veins protruding as he retched. The sound alone was distressing.
…A sour stench filled the room. Amon and the attendants were near panic.
Joey was genuinely sick.
His fever left him feeling awful—his whole body was ice-cold, his fingers gripping tightly onto his stupidly handsome master’s clothes, his vision going black.
When you're sick, you become strangely vulnerable.
Joey thought about his struggles after college—how he searched for jobs and hit walls everywhere. How he spent nights typing away in a basement, barely scraping by on rent, surviving on cheap buns and chili sauce. How his first-ever paycheck of 1,500 let him afford a $45 buffet, where he ate while crying his eyes out… He thought about his parents, the fear of never going home…
He wasn't unafraid.
No matter how much he joked around with the system, it was all just to keep his nerves from breaking.
Since coming here, not a single day had passed without anxiety.
He was alone. Powerless. Lost. Unable to understand anything—not even the language. Like someone blindfolded and thrown into the dark, he had no idea how to find his way home…
His head and stomach ached unbearably. And sometimes, an adult’s breaking point was just a single moment.
Overwhelmed, Joey teared up, nearly crying out loud.
…Damn it. Men don’t cry… He cursed himself, pressing his face into Garius’ shoulder, gritting his teeth to hold it in.
"…"
It was crying.
Feeling his shoulder dampen, Garius hesitated—then, without a word, scooped Joey into his arms and strode out of the room.
And in that moment, he made a decision that would change both himself—and the world.
"Amon."
"Yes, sir?"
"Make an announcement."
"Yes—huh? About what, sir?"
"Announce to everyone. To the entire Ottoman Empire."
"That from this day forward—"
"I, Galius Heine, will raise this human."
"…"
…?
…Huh?
Oh, shit!!!
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