Survive! Gwanggong!

Gwak Seon-woo couldn’t sleep a wink all night, consumed with thoughts of what Gwak Seung-hyeon had said. As a result, he should have been dragging his feet by morning, the dark circles under his eyes sinking all the way down to his jaw.

That would’ve been the expected development in a normal situation—but the body of a sturdy Gwanggong remained perfectly fine, even after such a late night. Suddenly, Seon-woo found himself wondering: if a Gwanggong lost sleep and ended up with dark circles, would that lower their Gwanggong Score… or not?

Considering how picky the system tended to be, it felt entirely possible it would say something like, “A Gwanggong does not suffer from sleeplessness,” and slash the score right away. Then again, maybe it would acknowledge that even a tired, dark-circled face had a kind of charm and count it as appropriately Gwanggong-esque. No—perhaps the system would even spin it like, “He lost sleep contemplating how to eliminate the impurity coveting Seo Eun-jae,” and reward Gwanggong points instead…

‘What does any of this even matter…’

Lost in pointless speculation, Seon-woo let out a sigh and rested his forehead against the arm he had propped on the desk. If anyone else had done that, it might’ve looked like the exhausted gesture of a weary office worker, but thanks to the Gwanggong’s perfectly sculpted body, it appeared surprisingly striking.

Either way, there was no point in agonizing over it any longer. On second thought, it wasn’t even something worth worrying about. Gwak Seung-hyeon had offered to help cover the Seo Eun-jae matter to protect his cousin—who was suffering from amnesia—from trouble. So what?

‘So what? What the hell do you mean, ‘so what’…’

To keep his mind off Seo Eun-jae—and off Gwak Seung-hyeon—Seon-woo buried himself in work all morning. He felt like he was finally adapting to working in a Gwanggong’s body. Maybe it was thanks to the absurdly high stamina this body came with… or maybe it was just the blood of a lifelong office worker in him that naturally accepted the workload.

Even as lunchtime approached, not once did he think about needing a meal or indulge in such a luxurious notion. He didn’t even consider calling his secretary to bring him a quick snack.

Not that he hadn’t tried.

But whenever he pressed the call button to ask for food, the system would force him to say something like, “I’ll be skipping lunch today.” Then the secretary would solemnly reply, “I’ll bring you some coffee, at least,” and return with an Americano devoid of even a single drop of syrup. After going through the experience of drinking nothing but coffee on an empty stomach, Seon-woo had since resigned himself to just skipping lunch altogether.

And right when the clock struck lunchtime, someone knocked on his office door.

“Come in.”

Was it the secretary again, with yet another bitter Americano? Seon-woo thought little of it, but what he saw instead was Eun-jae’s face.

“Excuse me.”

Eun-jae greeted him politely, glanced around nervously, and stepped in, quietly closing the door behind him. Seon-woo hadn’t planned on kicking him out, but he was curious why he had come.

“Sorry for showing up out of the blue. I was going to just text you, but…”

Trailing off, Eun-jae suddenly stuck out his tongue and let out a long sigh. Seon-woo’s social instincts pinged—this was the moment where he was supposed to ask what had happened.

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t even get me started…”

At Seon-woo’s question, Eun-jae immediately launched into a stream of complaints, as if he’d been waiting for the chance.

“Today of all days, the Team Leader suddenly started giving me all these weird tasks, and then when I tried to send a quick text, he showed up out of nowhere like some kind of ghost and started giving me the stink-eye… I got chewed out for doing something I don’t normally do. Honestly, I barely managed to sneak away and come here.”

Hearing that, Seon-woo started wondering if this was what Seung-hyeon had meant when he said he’d do what he could on his end. Was this the result of that? His brain kicked into logical overdrive trying to piece it together.

As Seon-woo replied flatly with a mechanical, “I see,” Eun-jae hastily blurted out an apology.

“I’m sorry. You probably didn’t want to hear about the Team Leader… Oh no, wait! I’m really sorry—please pretend I didn’t just say that.”

In the middle of apologizing, Eun-jae must’ve realized he’d just said something he definitely shouldn’t have. He stammered, trying to walk it back, then let out a heavy sigh. The look on his face practically screamed, “Please kill me.”

He wasn’t usually the type to make verbal blunders like this—was it because he was nervous around a high-ranking executive? Though, come to think of it, he hadn’t really shown signs of being shy until now. Still, who knew what he was actually thinking. Seon-woo almost let himself smile without meaning to, but quickly reeled it back in and looked away to mask it.

“It’s fine.”

“…Huh?”

“I mean it doesn’t really matter.”

“Oh…”

“It’s not like you said anything you weren’t supposed to, so there’s no need to apologize.”

Watching Eun-jae’s dazed response, Seon-woo nearly cracked a smile again. But since he had to maintain his Gwanggong façade, he kept his expression cold and composed. Still, curiosity got the better of him, so he casually followed up with another question.

“Did Team Leader Gwak Seung-hyeon say that himself?”

“Say what?”

“That I wouldn’t want to hear it.”

“Oh…”

There it is again. That ‘oh…’ sound, all day today. Eun-jae looked hesitant, but when Seon-woo gave him a pointed look urging him to answer, he reluctantly nodded.

“Um… yeah.”

He still looked a bit guilty, but Seon-woo brushed it off. It was a little surprising that Seung-hyeon had said something like that out loud, but given that the two seemed to share more personal conversations than he’d expected, it wasn’t entirely out of left field.

“So, what brings you here today?”

Deflecting smoothly, Seon-woo tossed the question back. Eun-jae seemed to snap out of his spiral and lifted his head. Seon-woo thought that was much better than the tortured expression he’d been wearing just moments ago, the one that made it look like he was ready to bite his own tongue in regret.

“Are you free this evening?”

“I don’t really have anything scheduled.”

Rather than ask what this was about, Seon-woo just gave a straightforward answer. Brightening up at that, Eun-jae continued more confidently.

“If you don’t mind, would you have dinner with me? This time, I’ll treat you for real.”

“Hm.”

“I still owe you 20 meals, remember.”

It really seemed like Eun-jae intended to make good on his promise to buy him dinner twenty times. Seon-woo had grumbled endlessly about how burdensome it was getting entangled with Eun-jae, but if it was just a dinner invitation—he was more than happy to accept. Even so, he raised an eyebrow as if considering it, though it was purely for the sake of preserving his Gwanggong Score.

Despite being the one offering to buy the meal, Eun-jae looked at him with a pitiful expression, like he desperately wanted him to say yes. It was a little ridiculous, seeing a grown man gazing at him with eyes like the Puss in Boots from Shrek, but there was no reason to keep him waiting. Without a hint of hesitation, Seon-woo gave a small nod.

“Sure, let’s do that.”

“Great! Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

Seon-woo paused for a moment, trying to think of what a Gwanggong-worthy menu would be. But suggesting something like fine dining seemed too much like trying to bleed Seo Eun-jae’s wallet dry. A few seconds later, he came up with the perfect answer and responded with ease.

“Let’s go with something you want to eat with me. I’ll leave it up to you.”

Eun-jae nodded solemnly, as if this had just become a life-or-death mission. He already seemed excited just thinking about what dish to choose. Even if he skipped lunch, getting dinner made up for it. That was good enough.

But just as Eun-jae turned to leave, he suddenly stopped at the door.

“Oh, right. I asked your secretary, and she said you’re skipping lunch today.”

“…Yeah, well.”

Seon-woo responded with a touch of regret, and Eun-jae walked back toward him. Then, he pulled something out from his coat.

“…What’s this?”

Of course he knew what it was, but he asked anyway, pretending not to. Eun-jae glanced at him with an unreadable mix of embarrassment and awkwardness before finally replying.

“I figured someone like you probably doesn’t eat convenience store kimbap… but still, skipping meals isn’t good for your health.”

“……”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you something nicer. If I’d known you hadn’t eaten, I would’ve gone out and gotten something—even if it took a while. But I just thought I’d give you what I bought for myself.”

“…That really wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just head back to the convenience store and grab another one for me.”

“……”

Eun-jae quickly turned away, perhaps to save Seon-woo the trouble of finding a response. “Then I’ll really see you later!” he called out, disappearing from the office with surprising speed. And just like that, Seon-woo was left alone with a single roll of convenience store kimbap.

Thankfully, since it wasn’t Seung-hyeon who brought it, there was no need to repeat the Subway sandwich disaster—where he’d had to toss the food straight into the trash in front of the person who gave it to him. Still, he couldn’t possibly eat this… could he?

Just in case, Seon-woo reached toward the kimbap and hovered his hand over it.

No change to the Gwanggong Score.

He unwrapped the packaging.

Still no penalty.

He picked up a piece and popped it in his mouth.

Even then, the Gwanggong Score remained untouched…

▶ “So this… is the taste of the common folk?”

▶ (He silently pictures Seo Eun-jae’s face.)

Without a hint of hesitation, Seon-woo ignored the first option and deliberately chose the second—he really did bring Seo Eun-jae’s face to mind. It was strange. Convenience store kimbap, which he normally wouldn’t even bother eating unless absolutely necessary, suddenly tasted… delicious. Hunger truly was the best seasoning.

‘What I said about him being a burden… I take it back.’

Rewriting all his previously negative thoughts about Eun-jae, Seon-woo finished off the roll of kimbap. If there were a “favorability score,” Eun-jae’s would’ve easily gone up by 8 points. Honestly, even if Eun-jae suggested kimbap for dinner, Seon-woo felt like he’d gladly go along with it.

With that thought, he glanced over at the clock. For now, he’d pushed all thoughts of Gwak Seung-hyeon to a corner of his mind.

But in hindsight… maybe he shouldn’t have.