“Ow, ow, ow…….”
Eun-jae, who had missed his step, clutched his ankle and couldn’t seem to get up. When Seon-woo bent down and reached out his hand, Eun-jae took it right away, but it was obvious he was still struggling. While everyone else was clearly worried about him, Seon-woo alone watched the scene with a strange sense of detachment, as though it had nothing to do with him.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying enough attention…….”
When Seon-woo asked out of courtesy, Eun-jae replied awkwardly, bowing his head in apology. Seon-woo shook his head, saying it was fine. In truth, he was surprisingly calm. He wasn’t angry, but neither did he feel particularly concerned.
Eun-jae seemed to be trying to walk as normally as possible, but perhaps because he’d twisted his ankle, his pace gradually slowed. Since the only reason Seon-woo was even hiking with these people was because of Eun-jae, he adjusted his stride to match the other’s. The rest of the team also appeared to deliberately slow their pace, likely concerned about the injured Eun-jae.
But with everyone sticking together like this, the event wouldn’t progress. Luckily, Eun-jae looked apologetic enough that Seon-woo could comfortably make a suggestion.
“I’ll stay back with Seo Eun-jae, so you all go on ahead.”
Even after hearing that, the others hesitated, unsure whether it was really okay to leave them behind. Feeling frustrated, Seon-woo let out a sigh and swept his hair back. Startled, the group finally got the hint and slowly started to drift away.
Once the group resumed hiking at their original pace, the distance between them and the two left behind visibly grew. Eun-jae, clearly uneasy about the situation, kept apologizing to Seon-woo, who walked beside him.
“I’m really sorry. You didn’t have to stay back because of me…”
With the apologies coming non-stop, Seon-woo couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated. He didn’t understand why every little thing was getting under his skin today. He’d always considered himself fairly laid-back, and had, in fact, been mellow enough to survive the brutal life of a Gwanggong—yet here he was, oddly testy.
“I’m the one who said I’d do this from the start. You don’t need to keep apologizing.”
“Still…”
Even after hearing that, Eun-jae wouldn’t stop with the self-blame. Eventually, Seon-woo opened his mouth on impulse.
“If you don’t want me to leave you here, then shut up.”
Was it a mistake to speak that way to Seo Eun-jae, who received such blatant favoritism from the system? He regretted it for a second—but thankfully, no alerts popped up. Just as he was about to relax, he noticed that Eun-jae had completely stopped walking. Had he hurt himself again?
Objectively, compared to the kinds of things Seon-woo had said to others in the past, this wasn’t even that bad. But who knew how Eun-jae would take it? Seon-woo turned his head to check the other’s expression—and stopped in his tracks.
Seo Eun-jae was smiling.
It wasn’t an awkward smile meant to smooth over tension. Nor was it the kind of amused grin one gives after hearing a silly joke. He was genuinely… smiling, as if he’d just heard something deeply satisfying. But that smile vanished the moment Seon-woo, puzzled, opened his mouth to ask why he was laughing.
“Then from now on, I’ll keep my mouth shut and just walk.”
Eun-jae even mimed zipping his lips shut before actually going silent. The uneasy feeling Seon-woo had gotten from his expression a moment ago lingered, but in the end, he said nothing about it.
They kept walking for quite some time, yet the summit was nowhere in sight. If anything, the trail seemed to be getting more deserted. The others who had gone ahead had completely vanished from view—apparently not stopping to rest at all.
Seon-woo, keeping a steady if slow pace, suddenly realized that to Eun-jae’s right was a shallow cliffside. It wasn’t a sheer drop, but a single misstep could still send someone tumbling. With a bad feeling creeping up, Seon-woo opened his mouth to warn him.
“Watch your step on the—”
But he didn’t even get to finish. Eun-jae’s foot slipped, and just like that, he fell. Without so much as a scream, he disappeared over the edge, and Seon-woo rushed toward the spot.
Eun-jae was tumbling through the trees, more rolling than falling. It wasn’t a cliff high enough to be deadly, which was a relief—but that didn’t mean the situation was safe either. The place where he’d slipped wasn’t a sheer drop, but it also wasn’t an incline someone could easily climb back up.
“Seo Eun-jae? Are you alright?”
“Yeeaah.”
Seon-woo called out quickly, and Eun-jae’s strained voice answered back.
“I’m okay! It was softer than I expected, so I rolled down just fine!”
Hearing that, Seon-woo let out a laugh—half amused, half exasperated. Eun-jae was trying to sound nonchalant, but the situation wasn’t nearly as simple as he made it out to be. Most importantly, his ankle was still injured.
Rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration, Seon-woo looked around. There was still no one in sight, and when he checked his phone, it showed no signal. Should he go and find someone? But what if they couldn’t locate this exact spot later? No way anything serious would happen to the “Main Su” Eun-jae, but still…
While he was turning over all these thoughts in his mind, a choice screen popped up in front of him.
▶ “Wait there. I’m coming.” (Jump down to Seo Eun-jae.)
▶ (Jump down to Seo Eun-jae without saying anything.)
His deliberation suddenly felt pointless. He’d expected some kind of event, sure—but never imagined the system would create something this dangerously immersive just to give them alone time. Still, it wasn’t a situation where thinking things through would change anything. With a sigh, Seon-woo threw himself over the edge where Eun-jae had fallen.
“D-Director?”
As expected, the Gwanggong body was absurdly sturdy—Seon-woo reached Eun-jae’s side without so much as a scratch. Seeing him suddenly appear, Eun-jae widened his eyes in shock, then scrambled over and started brushing the dirt off Seon-woo’s clothes.
Seriously, this guy…
He really couldn’t figure him out. Of all things, the first thing Eun-jae did was dust the dirt off the Gwanggong’s clothes. Only after he had tidied up Seon-woo’s outfit to a reasonable degree did Eun-jae finally open his mouth.
“I’m sor—…”
But it was another apology.
If he let it go, they’d just spiral into another endless loop of apologies, so Seon-woo cut him off immediately.
“If you say that one more time, I’m going to get mad.”
It was true the system was unusually lenient toward Seo Eun-jae—but a Gwanggong was still a Gwanggong. A few stern words weren’t enough to drop his Gwanggong Score. Trusting in that, Seon-woo had spoken a bit more firmly this time, and once again, Eun-jae gave a small smile in response.
Seon-woo couldn’t hold back his curiosity and asked, “Why do you keep smiling like that?”
Eun-jae answered easily. “You just seem more honest today, Director.”
“……Sorry?”
“You usually look like someone who’s always holding everything back.”
Seon-woo stared at him, caught off guard. It was true that today, he hadn’t bothered to hide his irritation or frustration around Eun-jae. He hadn’t resisted the system’s direction either, making a conscious effort to just go with the flow. Apparently, that had shown through. Eun-jae continued in a natural tone.
“It’s weird, right? ‘Holding back’ feels like the most unfitting word in the world when it comes to you, Director…”
That would make sense for the original personality of a Gwanggong. Although—he did seem quite good at holding back hunger, and also pretty skilled at suppressing the desire to melt at a few kind words or a warm shower, but still…
As that thought crossed his mind, Seon-woo turned away, avoiding Eun-jae’s gaze. He simply didn’t feel like replying. Not that it mattered—Eun-jae brought up a new topic soon after.
“Doesn’t it seem like it’s going to rain?”
Unfortunately, it was not a welcome topic. When Seon-woo looked up at the sky after hearing Eun-jae’s comment, it really did seem darker than before. He’d assumed it was just getting late—but just as suspicion formed, a droplet landed on the bridge of his nose. It was starting to rain.
“What do we do? It’s coming down more now.”
Eun-jae reached into the air, trying to feel the rain, and murmured with concern. Just like he said, the raindrops were getting thicker. As Seon-woo was contemplating whether they’d end up looking like a pair of drowned rats, Eun-jae suddenly perked up and exclaimed,
“Director! Look over there!”
“Where?”
“There—don’t you see it? Looks like some kind of pavilion!”
Following the direction of Eun-jae’s pointing finger, Seon-woo spotted a roofed pavilion in the distance, just as he’d said. It was odd—there was no visible path leading to it, and not a soul in sight, yet there it was.
“It should be good enough to wait out the rain. Let’s go check it out!”
Brightening up, Eun-jae straightened his back to stand, but immediately faltered, unable to rise due to his injured ankle. Seeing that, Seon-woo stood up first, offered a hand, and helped Eun-jae walk toward the pavilion.
“Ah, sor—wait, no—thank you.”
Eun-jae had instinctively started to apologize again, but quickly caught himself and smiled instead.
The two of them made it under the pavilion’s roof, finally shielded from the rain. Seon-woo brushed the droplets off his already damp hair and clothes as he looked out beyond the pavilion. It didn’t look like the rain would be stopping anytime soon.
Would they even be able to make it back safely? That thought weighed heavily on Seon-woo, but Eun-jae, in contrast, looked as carefree as ever. He acted as though he had absolute faith that everything would work out just fine.
“Look over there. Someone stacked a stone pagoda.”
Since worrying wouldn’t produce any answers, maybe it was better to just take it easy—like Seo Eun-jae. Resigned, Seon-woo turned his head in the direction Eun-jae was pointing. A rather tall cairn of stones came into view. Eun-jae beamed and suggested they make a wish. Seon-woo wasn’t the type to wish on shooting stars, but something did come to mind, and he quietly mumbled it to himself.
My wish is… three full meals a day, a hot shower… and…
Feeling a strange heaviness settle in, Seon-woo turned to Eun-jae.
“What did you wish for?”
“My wish? Hmm, is it okay if I tell you? They say wishes don’t come true if you say them out loud.”
“What kind of wish is it?”
He’d asked out of politeness, but the mischievous smile on Eun-jae’s face only made him more curious. Eun-jae didn’t tease for long and gave his answer.
“Well, it’s the kind of wish that won’t ever come true if I don’t say it now—so I’ll just tell you.”
Maybe it was because Seon-woo had always wondered what went on in Eun-jae’s head, but his interest was fully piqued. And yet, Eun-jae’s wish went in a direction Seon-woo could never have anticipated.
With a smile that feigned innocence, Eun-jae opened his mouth and said,
“My wish is… for you to kiss me right now, Director. Not later—right now. While no one’s watching.”
Por eso odio los triangulos amorosos