When his sarcastic comment was met with an immediate yes, it was impossible for Seon-woo to hide his disbelief this time. But Eun-jae remained unfazed, even at the sight of Seon-woo’s contorted expression. His words flowed out as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“It’s a bit awkward to talk about this out in the open. You never know who might be listening.”
Instead of snapping back, Seon-woo clamped his mouth shut. The attitude irked him, but the excuse wasn’t entirely baseless. He’d already been tailed by a car once, and with Gwak Sang-cheol now in custody, if there was someone backing him—or an accomplice—they’d likely have their sights set on Seon-woo by now. Broadcasting his conversation with Seo Eun-jae was far too dangerous.
In the end, there was no reasonable counterargument. As Seon-woo’s aggressive edge dulled, Eun-jae picked up the thread of conversation like he’d just been waiting for the right moment.
“Can’t use my place either. Someone might follow me home. But I doubt anyone’s gutsy enough to tail you all the way back to your house, Director.”
But understanding and being pissed off were two very different things. Seon-woo shot him a cold glare. The silence that followed was long and heavy, but in the end, it was Seon-woo who made the first move. Without so much as a word of agreement, he rose from his seat. For Eun-jae, who had barely just sat down, it meant standing right back up, but he followed along with an expression that suggested it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
Seon-woo’s car was parked in the garage, but the problem was that he wasn’t the one who had driven—it had been Seung-hyeon. Which meant the keys weren’t with him right now. Still, going to Seung-hyeon to get them would be awkward and a hassle. Seon-woo glanced sideways at Eun-jae.
“How did you get here?”
“Drove my own car.”
Then it’d probably be easier to just ride with him. Pulling out his phone, Seon-woo said to Eun-jae,
“Show me where you parked.”
He could feel Eun-jae looking his way, but he kept his eyes fixed on the phone screen. He wanted to leave some kind of message for Gwak Seung-hyeon. As he debated over the wording, he noticed Eun-jae standing quietly beside him and quickly revised the message.
[Something urgent came up. I’ll stop by the house for a bit. Wait for me.]
After hitting send, Seon-woo slipped the phone away and pressed again as if nothing had happened.
“I said show me the way.”
“…This way, please.”
Eun-jae replied after a brief pause. Seon-woo found himself briefly wondering about the complicated expression on his face, but it was just that—brief. Eun-jae had already turned around and started walking, so Seon-woo followed without overthinking it.
After barely a dozen steps, a car door on the left suddenly flung open. Seon-woo figured it was just someone getting out to visit the hospital and didn’t pay it much mind. He merely turned his head slightly in reflex, casting a glance in that direction. When he saw the door swing wide open, he turned his gaze forward again—or rather, he tried to.
The person who stepped out of the car reached straight for Gwak Seon-woo. It was so abrupt, he had no time to react. Something pale flashed in front of his eyes, and the next instant, his mouth was covered. Realizing it was a white handkerchief, Seon-woo’s eyes flew wide open, and he struggled to yank the hand away from his face. The hand gripping him was firm and muscular, but when he exerted all his strength to pull it downward, he could feel the grip gradually weakening.
Just then, he caught sight of Seo Eun-jae reaching toward him. Right as Seon-woo was about to use his remaining strength to shake off the hand, he hesitated—worried for Eun-jae’s safety. If someone capable of overpowering even him had set their sights on Eun-jae, anything could happen. A sense of responsibility, almost moral in nature, overtook him.
Eun-jae’s fingers barely brushed the edge of his collar before falling away weakly. In the brief moment Seon-woo stopped resisting, the handkerchief was pressed firmly over his nose and mouth again. It was obvious now—it had been soaked in some kind of chemical meant to knock him out.
Gwanggong, getting kidnapped…
Somewhere deep down, he must have believed that, since he now inhabited the body of a Gwanggong, there was no way something like a kidnapping would ever happen to him. And in truth, who would dare attempt to abduct Gwak Seon-woo? It hadn’t been a totally absurd thought. But maybe that sense of invincibility had made him careless.
If the system had still been intact, it would’ve popped up with something like “Gwanggong does not get kidnapped” and deducted some Gwanggong Score. Or maybe, thanks to the very Gwanggong-ness of the character, this would’ve never happened in the first place…
Lost in the swirl of thoughts, Seon-woo forced his blurring eyes open and looked toward Eun-jae. He had already come to the conclusion that this was the work of someone connected to Gwak Sang-cheol. What worried him now was whether Eun-jae would end up getting dragged into the chaos too.
But contrary to his fears, no one so much as laid a hand on Seo Eun-jae. It was as if he didn’t matter. As if he hadn’t been part of the equation from the start.
Something was off.
Though too stunned by the sudden ambush to think clearly, he still sensed it—something was definitely wrong.
Eun-jae’s face was twisted in anguish, but it didn’t look like the kind of pain one feels just from witnessing someone else being kidnapped. And the men who were abducting him—how could they be so indifferent to Eun-jae? As if he had nothing to do with it? It didn’t sit right.
Don’t tell me… that bastard actually…
His gaze, locked on Eun-jae, gradually dimmed as his eyes slid shut.
When he opened them again, a dim gray backdrop greeted him.
As soon as he regained consciousness, Seon-woo darted his eyes around, scanning his surroundings. It was indoors, but he wouldn’t have called it a room. Paint cans, oil drums, and various bits of junk were strewn everywhere. He was seated on a tiny wooden chair—something straight out of an old elementary school—and his wrists were bound tightly behind him. From the stiffness in his jaw, he realized something like a gag or tape was covering his mouth.
It was such a textbook kidnapping scene—so much so that Seon-woo had believed there was no way he’d ever fall victim to it. He wriggled his hands, but the knots binding him showed no signs of loosening. Letting out a deep sigh, Seon-woo thought about how he had told Seung-hyeon he’d be stopping by the house… yet this place couldn’t be called a “house” by any stretch.
And yet, he felt oddly calm. There was still some lingering irritation and anger, but no fear. If this had happened before he ended up in a Gwanggong’s body, he might’ve thought he was about to die and panicked completely. But now? The only thing that bothered him was how uncomfortable his tied wrists were.
Where’s Eun-jae…?
The look on Eun-jae’s face just before he blacked out told him enough—he had either orchestrated this abduction himself or was at least involved. If that were the case, there was a good chance he had come along. Seon-woo deliberately thrashed around, making as much noise as possible to signal he’d woken up.
The response was the sound of shuffling feet—at least four or five people, by the sound of it. Before long, several men emerged from the shadows, all of them with the unmistakable look of gangsters or hired muscle. Did Seo Eun-jae really hire thugs to kidnap me? Seon-woo doubted someone like Eun-jae, a regular office worker, had the means to pull off something like this. If so, someone else had to be involved.
One man swaggered over, cigarette stench heavy on his breath. He brought his face right up to Seon-woo’s and, with a loud rriiip, tore off the tape that had been covering his mouth. Seon-woo sighed in irritation and muttered under his breath.
“Judging by the way you lead with that filthy face of yours, I’m starting to understand the piss-poor hospitality here.”
His voice was cold and laced with contempt, but the man just grinned, seemingly unbothered. At least he had more self-control than Gwak Sang-cheol.
“Mouth sure works fine for someone who can’t move a muscle.”
That was fair, so Seon-woo didn’t bother with a comeback. But having that reeking cigarette breath shoved in his face was intolerable. With a calm expression, he spat directly into the man’s face.
The thug’s eyes narrowed. Maybe the act itself didn’t faze him, but the fact that it came with such nonchalance seemed to strike a nerve. He raised a hand right away. Compared to Gwak Sang-cheol, he was a little more composed, but clearly not composed enough. The fist came crashing into Seon-woo’s cheek. It wasn’t full force, but enough to leave a dull ring in his skull.
Seon-woo glared up at him, annoyed, and the man raised his hand again.
That’s when another voice cut in.
“Don’t touch him.”
The voice was calm, with a quiet weight to it—and Seon-woo recognized it immediately as Seo Eun-jae’s. Both Seon-woo and the thug turned toward the direction the voice had come from.
“The hell is this punk acting all tough for?” the man muttered in disbelief.
Eun-jae responded smoothly.
“I don’t think your employer told you to beat me up either.”
Clicking his tongue, the man stepped back. Seon-woo stared intently as Eun-jae approached and finally spoke.
“I believe we were supposed to lock ourselves in a room and have a chat, just the two of us…
Excellent choice of venue, really. Cozy. Quiet.”
Eun-jae’s eyes met his, and his expression was steeped in gloom. From the exchange that followed, it was clear someone else was pulling the strings behind all this—but it was just as clear that Seo Eun-jae had played a part. All that evasiveness, the constant deflection… had it all been to lure him in?
Seon-woo realized now that he’d been too naive, assuming someone like the main uke of the original story—or rather, Seo Eun-jae himself—would never go this far.
With a bitter, conflicted feeling settling in his chest, Seon-woo sneered.
“Didn’t you say you could only talk if we were alone? Seems a little too crowded in here for that, don’t you think?”
Eun-jae responded in a voice that felt oddly out of place, subdued… almost deflated.
“This wasn’t what I intended either.”
