Survive! Gwanggong!

After returning home, Seon-woo took off his outerwear and was about to head into the bathroom for his usual forced cold-water rubdown when a sudden thought crossed his mind—had Eun-jae and Seung-hyeon gotten home by now?

He found himself wondering what had happened. More than that, he was curious why Seung-hyeon had deliberately pretended not to notice anything and taken Eun-jae along.

Should he call them? As he debated it, a choice box subtly slid into view in front of him.

▶ Call Seo Eun-jae.

▶ Call Gwak Seung-hyeon.

The moment Seon-woo read the first option, he thought, Of course. Honestly, if he had to choose whom he really wanted to call, it was Seung-hyeon.

The system’s persistent attempts to forcefully tie him to Eun-jae were honestly starting to feel a bit much. Sure, Seung-hyeon could be a bit awkward to deal with, but it was a different flavor of discomfort—less intense, and easier to manage. Besides, the main reason Seon-woo found Seung-hyeon difficult was that, against his will, he always ended up treating him too casually, too dismissively. But thanks to the excuse of his supposed amnesia, even that worry had eased up significantly.

Regardless of Seon-woo’s feelings, the system remained unfazed. It constantly threw out connection points involving Seo Eun-jae without missing a beat. Under normal circumstances, an option like Call Gwak Seung-hyeon wouldn’t even have shown up.

However, this time was different. Seon-woo had recently made up the lie about having amnesia to Seung-hyeon, and if things went wrong, there was a risk Seung-hyeon might report it to the Chairman. On top of that, Seung-hyeon had even gone home with Seo Eun-jae today. That’s probably why the system had allowed the option to call him to appear.

Seon-woo briefly recalled the expression Eun-jae wore as he was dragged out of the gallery by Seung-hyeon earlier that day. A vague sense of guilt weighed on his chest, but even so, the option he chose was the second one.

He opened his contact list and called Gwak Seung-hyeon. After two or three rings, Seung-hyeon picked up.

— “Hello?”

The pitch at the end of his voice subtly lifted into a question. Just from that tone, Seon-woo could tell Seung-hyeon was surprised. Well, it made sense—Seon-woo himself hadn’t expected to be the one calling first, so of course Seung-hyeon would be caught off guard.

“Hello.”

Seon-woo replied in a somewhat mechanical tone. He simply repeated those two syllables and said nothing more, which probably left Seung-hyeon even more dumbfounded. He should’ve just gotten straight to the point, but hearing Seung-hyeon’s startled voice made it hard to think of anything to say. He had to be careful—even one wrong word could tank his Gwanggong Score.

— “Yes, Director. This is Gwak Seung-hyeon speaking.”

But even with Seon-woo’s awkward response, Seung-hyeon quickly regained his composure. As Seon-woo stayed silent after hearing that, a brief stillness hung over the call.

Finally, Seon-woo gathered his thoughts and opened his mouth.

“What were you thinking when you did that?”

— “Where would you like me to start?”

Even in the face of Seon-woo’s blunt, borderline accusatory opening, Seung-hyeon responded with perfect composure. As Seon-woo opened his mouth to answer, an utterly useless thought crossed his mind—that Gwak Seung-hyeon would’ve made a top-tier call center agent with numbers to prove it.

“Assistant Manager Seo Eun-jae—what were you thinking when you took him with you?”

— ……

He had expected an immediate reply, but to his surprise, Seung-hyeon said nothing. Through the receiver, it sounded like there was the faintest hint of breathing, almost imperceptible. Or maybe it was just a trick of the ear—because soon after, only silence remained. After a long enough pause, Seung-hyeon finally answered in a slow, deliberate voice.

— “I get the feeling… this sudden interest Director-nim is showing in Assistant Manager Seo… might just be a kind of side effect.”

At first blush, it sounded completely unrelated—like a random non sequitur that had nothing to do with the question. Trying to piece together what kind of connection might exist between that statement and the original question, Seon-woo opted to play it cold.

“You’re really saying all kinds of ridiculous things now, huh.”

A dry laugh slipped out of Seung-hyeon. It carried that same dismissive tone he usually had, but filtered through the phone, it felt oddly different. Seung-hyeon hadn’t said much, and it was Seon-woo doing the questioning—but for some reason, it felt like he was the one being interrogated. It was… strange.

Seung-hyeon continued, speaking slowly and kindly. His tone was polite, yet it carried a certain professional detachment.

— “Assistant Manager Seo is kind, hardworking, and a genuinely good person.”

“And why, all of a sudden, are you listing off compliments about Seo Eun-jae?”

— “All true, but he’s not the type you’d usually go for, Director-nim.”

Seung-hyeon’s random praise of Eun-jae’s character left Seon-woo dumbfounded, and he let that show. But Seung-hyeon just kept talking, completely ignoring the interruption and sticking to his point.

Not the type I’d usually go for—well, that was probably accurate. Considering the nature of a Gwanggong, someone like Seon-woo wouldn’t be drawn to anyone, really. So in that sense, it wasn’t wrong. The only thing Seung-hyeon had misunderstood was that Seon-woo’s interest in Eun-jae had only sparked because of the supposed memory loss. The truth was, even without losing his memory—even if he were still the original Gwanggong and not the current version of Gwak Seon-woo—his interest in Eun-jae would’ve been inevitable.

While Seon-woo sank deeper into that thought, Seung-hyeon kept speaking with calm ease.

— “It’s probably just a temporary side effect anyway…

— …I figured staying close like that wouldn’t be good for either of you. So I tried to cut it off as much as I could, on my end.”

Well, that makes sense.

Seon-woo almost nodded along instinctively but caught himself, replaying Seung-hyeon’s words in his head. Ever since being forcibly dropped into the Gwanggong’s life, Seon-woo had developed a tendency to second-guess all his actions. Maybe because of that, whenever he heard Seung-hyeon speak, he would instinctively assume the man was right before even thinking things through. Besides, Seung-hyeon had always had a way of making his words sound convincing, which only made it easier to accept.

And yet, even though it all sounded perfectly reasonable, there was something about it that left Seon-woo unsettled. It was probably the distinct impression that Gwak Seung-hyeon was deliberately trying to keep him and Eun-jae apart.

Once again, Seon-woo recalled the overarching premise from the original novel and the game—Gwak Seung-hyeon had been the Gwanggong’s rival in love.

Is he trying to keep me in check?

A part of him wanted to say, “There’s no need for that,” but he knew it was a pointless thought. Because once again, the words he had to speak were not his own—the system had already laid out his dialogue options.

▶ “And what gives you the right to make that judgment?”

▶ “Is that your excuse for always shielding Seo Eun-jae?”

▶ “Who said I was interested in him?”

This time, each of the three choices carried a distinctly different tone. The first was a sharp retort. The second, a typical possessive jab, suspicious of the relationship between Seung-hyeon and Seo Eun-jae. The third, a rare denial of interest in Eun-jae.

The third option likely stemmed from the narrative trope of “A Gwanggong who’s never cared about anyone suddenly finds these new feelings for Seo Eun-jae unfamiliar, so he denies them to protect his pride…” There was no other explanation for why a system so obsessed with pushing him toward Eun-jae would offer an option that flat-out rejected him.

After calmly analyzing all three, Seon-woo chose the third. Regardless of any underlying implications, it was the one most aligned with how he honestly felt at the moment.

“Who said I was interested in him?”

His voice came out sharper than intended—so much so that anyone listening would immediately assume it meant the exact opposite. It irritated him, but what could he do? With a sigh, Seon-woo heard Seung-hyeon’s voice come through the receiver.

— “Sure, sure.”

That tone—like he was soothing a stubborn child—left even Seon-woo at a loss for words. If the one on the other end were a true Gwanggong, he probably would’ve flown into a rage right about now.

— “I get it. You’ve lost your memory, you’re confused, and your heart’s softened up a bit. Totally understandable.”

Seung-hyeon continued, perfectly calm. Was that how he really seemed? Embarrassed by the idea, Seon-woo held the phone away from his ear and cleared his throat once or twice to collect himself. On the other end, Seung-hyeon wrapped things up smoothly.

— “I’ll do what I can to keep you from getting tangled in anything that might cause trouble.”

With him talking like that, there really wasn’t anything left for Seon-woo to say. He was about to reply with a half-hearted “Got it,” and hang up, when Seung-hyeon suddenly added something—as if it had just occurred to him.

— “If your memory ever comes back, and you feel like quitting all this crap… just let me know.”

Why did that line give him such a headache?

Was it because it sounded like they were partners in some underhanded scheme? Or was it the odd contrast between the content of the message and the calm, detached tone in which it was delivered? Maybe it was simply that coaxing, customer-service voice—like he was dealing with a picky client or an unreasonable child—that rubbed him the wrong way…

Whatever the reason, the swirling discomfort in his chest remained the same. Seon-woo didn’t bother responding. He simply pressed the end call button.