Gwak Su-won nodded indifferently as he replied, his voice carrying that same lifeless tone he was known for. “Yeah, I did…”
He wiped his face again with the handkerchief. It was the same motion as before, but perhaps because of the tense atmosphere, the gesture seemed less like that of a nervous man and more like that of a sly, underhanded one. “Still, a promise is a promise. Gotta keep it.”
With that, Gwak Su-won signaled the men around him to leave, and he, too, turned toward the exit as if he were preparing to step out. As he cast a brief glance toward Eun-jae and Seon-woo, he spoke. “Go ahead and talk. I don’t know what kind of scheme you two might be cooking up, so I can’t give you too much time.”
But for someone saying that, he showed no real signs of caution. If he were truly wary, no matter what deal he’d made with Eun-jae, he would’ve pretended not to know anything and stayed put. The fact that he was casually walking out of the container said everything about what he truly thought. Gwak Su-won seemed convinced that Seo Eun-jae had neither the will nor the means to set Gwak Seon-woo free.
Seon-woo, for his part, had no expectations either. He didn’t believe Eun-jae would let him go or suggest running away together. If that had been his intent, he wouldn’t have helped kidnap Seon-woo in the first place. Even so, he was curious about what Eun-jae had to say, so he waited silently for Gwak Su-won to leave.
Once everyone had stepped out, Eun-jae quickly approached Seon-woo. Even though the others were now outside the container and it would’ve been hard to overhear anything from behind the door, Eun-jae stayed cautious—as if he were about to share something deeply confidential.
“I have a proposal for you.”
Eun-jae spoke with a grave expression. Seon-woo, however, found it hard to take him seriously. Despite Eun-jae’s solemnity, Seon-woo responded with a casual tone.
“So the guy who lured me out under the pretense of wanting to talk and then helped kidnap me… wants to make a proposal, now? I already feel like turning it down without hearing a word.”
The words were sharp—biting, even. But he didn’t really feel like blaming Eun-jae. After all, it was his own lapse in judgment for trusting him so easily. What he’d said was more or less just the truth.
“…Yeah, that’s fair.”
But even those few words made Eun-jae visibly deflate. With his head lowered, he looked utterly crestfallen—not at all like someone bold enough to abduct an executive from the very company he worked for. Just as Seon-woo felt a pang of doubt, wondering if he might’ve gone too far—
Eun-jae finally opened his mouth again after a moment of hesitation. His tone was calm—eerily so. The defeated air he’d shown just seconds ago now seemed almost like a lie. “You remember when I told you that Gwak Sang-cheol came to me and threatened me…?”
Now that he mentioned it, Seon-woo did recall something like that. The remark had seemed a little out of place at the time, so he had to take a second to retrieve the memory. He wasn’t sure why Eun-jae was suddenly bringing it up now, but he gave a small nod anyway.
“It was a lie. Well, not entirely a lie, but… not exactly the truth either.”
A frown quickly formed between Seon-woo’s brows. The fact that it had all been a lie was absurd enough. It hadn’t even been a lie that would’ve particularly benefited Eun-jae. But what was even more baffling was Eun-jae’s sudden confession—especially now, of all times.
Before Seon-woo could say anything, Eun-jae continued speaking.
“Originally, Gwak Sang-cheol would’ve come to me. He would’ve used me as leverage to threaten you.”
It seemed that was how the original story had unfolded—at least, according to what Eun-jae knew. But if that event had only happened in the original storyline and was derailed by Seon-woo’s interference as a player, then why had Eun-jae lied?
“But in reality, Gwak Sang-cheol never came to me. I guess it’s because, to him, it didn’t look like you and I were close enough for that kind of thing. That’s probably why it never happened.”
Seon-woo couldn’t hold back his question.
“Then why did you say he had come to you?”
Eun-jae replied immediately.
“To warn you. I wanted you to be wary of Gwak Sang-cheol.”
Seon-woo narrowed his eyes and studied his face. Considering that he’d just been kidnapped thanks to Eun-jae, it made far more sense to believe that Eun-jae had lied with malicious intent. But strangely, that wasn’t how Eun-jae’s words sounded right now.
“You make it sound like you were trying to help me.”
It wasn’t something anyone would easily believe, and yet, Eun-jae didn’t look like he was lying. Once again, he answered without hesitation.
“Because I was.”
He said it with a bitter smile. Seon-woo looked him over with a scathing gaze. If Eun-jae had truly wanted to help him, shouldn’t he have told him who was pulling the strings behind Gwak Sang-cheol, instead of offering vague warnings?
Almost as if he’d read Seon-woo’s thoughts, Eun-jae immediately added an explanation.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I didn’t tell you because… I really didn’t know at the time.”
“Didn’t know?”
The unexpected response made Seon-woo ask reflexively. Eun-jae had spoken as if he knew the entire original plot, and now he was claiming that part had slipped his mind?
Looking sheepish, Eun-jae lowered his head and replied.
“…Yeah. I forgot there was someone behind Gwak Sang-cheol.”
“You forgot?”
Was he seriously supposed to buy that? But Eun-jae, seemingly flustered by Seon-woo’s incredulous tone, fired back sharply.
“You’re misunderstanding something—I don’t know everything, okay? It’s not like I’m some prophet. I only saw it once, a long time ago. Isn’t it weirder to remember every single detail?”
It was true—Seon-woo didn’t know exactly how Eun-jae had come to learn the original storyline. Given how off some things were, it was hard to believe he was a player like Seon-woo himself. Maybe, just like Seon-woo had seen the original plot through a dream, Eun-jae had experienced something similar. Instead of asking for specifics about what Eun-jae had seen or how, Seon-woo just gave a vague nod.
With that, Eun-jae seemed to deflate again, as if the energy had leaked out of him. He spoke again, slowly.
“Anyway, I really did think everything would be over once Gwak Sang-cheol was taken care of. I had this nagging feeling that I was missing something, but since I couldn’t recall it exactly, I chalked it up to paranoia. And then… when Gwak Su-won showed up, it all came rushing back—what was supposed to happen.”
Eun-jae’s long explanation was briefly interrupted as he lifted his head. His eyes, calm yet piercing, made Seon-woo flinch involuntarily. “If things had gone according to the original story, you would’ve raped me that day.”
He was referring to the night the system had forced Seon-woo to take Eun-jae home and nearly assault him. Seon-woo was momentarily stunned by the fact that he’d forgotten that ever happened. Eun-jae continued in a flat voice. “And then, Team Leader Gwak Seung-hyeon would’ve come and taken me away.”
The Gwak Seung-hyeon of the original storyline sounded like a completely different person from the one Seon-woo knew. Trying to ignore the growing discomfort twisting in his gut, Seon-woo listened as Eun-jae went on.
“While Team Leader hid me somewhere, you would’ve been driven to the edge dealing with Gwak Sang-cheol’s schemes. Even though I’d be traumatized and hurt from the way you treated me, I’d still be worried about you and come running to find you… and then I would’ve been kidnapped by Gwak Sang-cheol.”
Maybe it was because Eun-jae was describing all of this with such an eerily calm tone, but Seon-woo started to feel like he was listening to some ridiculous, impossible lie. Yet Eun-jae kept talking, completely unaffected by Seon-woo’s reaction. “You barely managed to rescue me and get Gwak Sang-cheol arrested, but I ended up in critical condition—unconscious and hospitalized.”
Despite the fact that he was describing himself being put through hell, Eun-jae’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. He stole a glance at Seon-woo’s face. “And while you were in that dazed state, overwhelmed with guilt, Gwak Su-won’s thirst for revenge would’ve led him to target your father. Then, in just a moment of carelessness, you’d have been framed for everything and lost everything you had.”
The fine details were different, but the broader strokes—Gwak Sang-cheol being taken down and Gwak Su-won targeting Seon-woo’s father in retaliation—did seem to match what Seon-woo knew. Still, there was something else that rubbed him the wrong way more than the false accusation, and he latched onto it.
“Why was I in a daze?”
“Because I was lying in a hospital bed, unconscious.”
Eun-jae answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Seon-woo was momentarily too dumbfounded to speak. In the original story, the Gwanggong had been completely consumed by his feelings for Seo Eun-jae, so it might’ve made sense then—but hearing it now, it just sounded impossible. “…It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I know. But it’s true.”
Eun-jae muttered, as if he understood exactly what Seon-woo was feeling. Then, as though eager to move on, he jumped straight to the point. “The one pulling the strings behind it all is Director Gwak Sang-hwa’s husband—Nam Jeong-dong.”
The name of his uncle-in-law, which had completely slipped his mind until now, finally surfaced. Nam Jeong-dong… Seon-woo had a gut feeling when Gwak Su-won casually mentioned his uncle-in-law earlier, but he hadn’t imagined it would really be him. If that were true, then even when they met in the chairman’s hospital room…
A sudden chill ran down his spine. Eun-jae drove the final nail in with a firm tone.
“He staged it as an accident and killed the chairman’s eldest son. Then, much later, he used Gwak Sang-cheol to have Team Leader’s father killed, too.
He manipulated everything so subtly that Gwak Su-won ended up believing it was your father who was behind it all. It was so meticulous—even your father, as sharp as he is, and Director Gwak Sang-hwa didn’t notice a thing.”
Seon-woo had been listening to the list of atrocities as if it were some unreal tale, detached from reality. When he finally managed to say something, it came out weakly.
“Is that… even possible? To do all that without anyone finding out?”
Eun-jae responded immediately, his tone flat and mechanical, as though reciting a foregone conclusion.
“Because that’s how it was written.”
A chill ran down Seon-woo’s spine. Of course. In a story-driven game or novel, asking how something was logically possible was pointless. Whether it made sense or not didn’t matter—Gwak Seon-woo was already inside the narrative. There was no time to question plausibility when the events were playing out around him.
Eun-jae looked at Seon-woo with eyes full of urgency, as if trying to persuade him.
“Because it’s already written, the solution is written too.”
In the end, Seon-woo had no choice but to speak. He tried to sound composed as he asked,
“…Fine. If things had gone according to the original plot, how was I supposed to resolve all that?”
“With the power of love.”
Eun-jae answered instantly. It would’ve sounded like complete nonsense—except his eyes were deadly serious. His expression wasn’t just intense—it was downright chilling, like something in him had cracked or slipped loose.
Seon-woo forced himself to keep looking at him, resisting the urge to look away. Eun-jae spoke with a firm, unwavering tone.
“Here’s my proposal. Tell me you love me, Director. Then I can fix everything.”
