After a brief silence, Eun-jae finally spoke.
“Why not?”
His voice was filled with frustration, sounding stifled and choked back. Seon-woo let out a sigh and was about to respond, but just then, another wave of piercing pain surged through his head. With his face tightly contorted, he had no choice but to speak through the discomfort.
“Love doesn’t work the way we want it to.”
It was a statement that sounded almost like common sense, but hearing it come from a Gwanggong’s mouth made it feel oddly out of place—almost laughable. Seo Eun-jae clenched his lips and glared at Gwak Seon-woo with unreadable eyes. It was only after a moment that he spoke again, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“Why is it only you, Director…”
The words were laced with raw emotion. Seon-woo, who had been bowing his head in an effort to endure the headache, slowly lifted his gaze to meet Eun-jae’s.
“Do you resent me?”
It was a blunt, direct question. Eun-jae didn’t answer. He simply glared at Seon-woo in silence. Seon-woo followed up with another question in a deliberately calm tone.
“Do you think I ruined your life?”
Seo Eun-jae still didn’t respond. But the emotion clouding his eyes was unmistakably close to resentment. And in truth, Gwak Seon-woo hadn’t been the one to ruin Eun-jae’s life—he himself had gotten pulled into this game and had his own life turned upside down. Still, from Eun-jae’s perspective, it made sense that he’d harbor resentment toward the man who had suddenly appeared and derailed everything.
Seon-woo continued to question him steadily, unfazed by the lack of response.
“You clearly said… you didn’t want to see me.”
His voice was calm, surprisingly so given how frequently the pain in his head was causing him to falter.
“You’re not being abused anymore, and now you can finally be free from being controlled. Isn’t that enough?”
The coldness in his tone made Eun-jae’s expression begin to waver. His reply came with a tremble in his voice.
“I’ve already lived like that for so long… Do you really think I can just accept it’s all over now—that I’m free?”
His words were more than understandable. And yet, Seon-woo remained composed, his tone icy.
“So what, you think hearing me force out some empty ‘I love you’ is going to make you happy? Or would it make things better if I just turned back into the person you used to know?”
But there was no going back. He was no longer the same Gwanggong Eun-jae once knew—and never could be again.
“I just don’t get it. Why go so far as to kidnap me just to get back into this mess? Why put yourself through this again?”
That was where Seon-woo ended his words. Eun-jae stayed silent for a while. Whether he was struggling to find the right words or had simply lost the will to respond, it wasn’t clear.
And when he finally opened his mouth again, his voice was filled with bitter resignation.
“If you’d stayed the way you were back then, I wouldn’t be feeling like this now. You should’ve just stayed the same.”
Though the words were clearly directed at Gwak Seon-woo, they sounded more like a monologue whispered to himself. Seon-woo furrowed his brows slightly, unsure what expression he should wear. Eun-jae still hadn’t looked his way. With his head bowed low, he continued speaking.
“If you had… I never would’ve ended up loving you.”
For someone confessing love, his voice was devastatingly hollow. It wasn’t love he was expressing, but something far more tangled and chaotic. Seon-woo opened his mouth, caught between disbelief and pity.
“What do you even know about me that makes you think you can call this love?”
In truth, Seo Eun-jae might actually know the Gwanggong better than Gwak Seon-woo himself. But that knowledge belonged to the original character—the Gwanggong from the source material—not the person Seon-woo had become now. And yet, ironically, the one Eun-jae claimed to love wasn’t the original Gwanggong—it was this current version of Gwak Seon-woo.
“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
Eun-jae accepted it without resistance.
“Maybe I’m just confused. Shock, frustration, resentment… hate—so much of it that maybe it’s making me mistake it for something else.”
Seon-woo swallowed the words he was about to say: Those kinds of complicated emotions will never bring you happiness. He figured Eun-jae already knew that.
Eun-jae struggled to continue, his voice strained.
“I hate you. I spent my whole life trying to escape that kind of life… and yet you just—how can you tear it all down so easily?”
Seon-woo said nothing. Eun-jae, as if turning the words over in his mouth, repeated them quietly to himself.
“So easily… why is it always you…”
His voice trailed off, the delirious muttering of a man at his limit. Then, as if barely regaining composure, he finally spoke again.
“So, that’s a no. You’re rejecting me.”
Instead of answering aloud, Seon-woo gave a small, silent nod. Eun-jae glared at him and pressed one last time.
“I’m asking one last time. Are you really not going to regret this?”
A bitter laugh escaped Seon-woo before he replied, his voice softer now.
“I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t really something he had to say, especially given he was the one who’d been kidnapped, but somehow, a strange sense of guilt had settled inside him regardless.
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 7.>
<Due to the continued score drop, ‘Status Ailment: Hyperventilation’ has stacked.>
The calm apology was met with a ruthless deduction in points. Right after the alerts flashed across his vision, his breathing suddenly turned ragged. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time.
The only relief was that, compared to the past, even this status condition was far easier to endure now. As Seon-woo panted with his head bowed, Eun-jae watched him with a startled expression. Looking flustered, he glanced around nervously, and then, his voice turned sharp with anger.
“This is happening because you’re trying to escape, isn’t it?”
It was a cutting observation. But not wanting to validate the thought in any way, Seon-woo stayed silent. Only his labored breathing filled the heavy air. Eun-jae snapped, his voice laced with venom.
“Why are you going this far? Wouldn’t it be easier to just accept it?”
With that, he roughly yanked Seon-woo’s head up, forcing him to meet his gaze. Seon-woo was met with an unreadable expression on Seo Eun-jae’s face.
Then, without warning, Seo Eun-jae pressed his lips against Gwak Seon-woo’s.
The shock hit Seon-woo instantly, his eyes flying wide open. It didn’t feel like an erotic gesture—it was more like artificial respiration, like someone trying to breathe life into another. Just like what Gwak Seung-hyeon had done before. But the result this time was the complete opposite.
<Gwanggong Score has recovered by 6.>
<‘Status Ailment: Hyperventilation’ has been cleared.>
Seon-woo struggled violently in resistance. Whether the kiss was sexual or not, whether the outcome was beneficial or not, none of that mattered—it was sheer emotional rejection. A visceral, instinctive refusal.
Physically, Seon-woo could easily overpower Seo Eun-jae, but his hands were tied behind his back, and the headache combined with lingering symptoms of hyperventilation had left his body weak and sluggish. Seo Eun-jae clamped down on Seon-woo’s jaw and refused to pull away.
In the end, Seon-woo had to bite down—hard—on his tongue and lips to force him off.
Only when blood was drawn did Eun-jae finally retreat. Crimson streamed from his lips, bitten and torn by Seon-woo’s desperate resistance.
“You’re fine now, aren’t you.”
That one sentence, because it was true, made Seon-woo even angrier. He glared at Eun-jae, who stood there with blood staining his mouth.
“So what now?”
“…What are you asking.”
“That guy might look weak and gutless, but that’s exactly why he’s so damn meticulous. He made sure to cover his tracks completely before bringing us here. If this were just some thug off the streets, your people would’ve tracked us down the moment they started searching. But that guy? He’s your cousin. Even if they start now, they won’t find us before the day’s out. I’d say it’ll take at least three days.”
A lengthy, detailed explanation followed. Seon-woo had been holding onto the faint hope that someone might rescue him soon, but Eun-jae coldly crushed that hope without hesitation.
“That’s more than enough time for everything to be over. Your father will already be dealt with, and you’ll be branded the mastermind. I don’t know what makes you think you still have leverage… but without my help, you’ve got no way out.”
The hope was gone—but his resolve didn’t waver. What remained was the question: just what kind of plan did Eun-jae think he had? He couldn’t seriously believe the power of love alone would save him. Did he have something prepared, knowing their location?
Whatever it was, Seon-woo had no intention of taking back anything he’d said. His gaze fell unconsciously toward the pocket where his phone had been. Seeing that, Eun-jae let out a faint smile.
“Already took care of the phone. You’ve got someone who sticks to you like glue—did you really think I wouldn’t have thought of that?”
He was referring to Gwak Seung-hyeon, who had tracked him down using the GPS. Somehow, Eun-jae had figured it out with eerie precision. As Seon-woo silently mourned the lost opportunity, Eun-jae muttered under his breath.
“I’m not even a stalker, and yet…”
At those words, Gwak Seon-woo lifted his head sharply. It wasn’t exactly wrong—but there was a world of difference between thinking it himself and hearing it said aloud by someone else.
“Watch your mouth.”
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 4.>
Even as he snapped back, an annoyingly well-timed alert notified him of another point loss. Seon-woo let out a harsh breath and lowered his head again.
Three days. Was he really going to be stuck here like this for three whole days?
Naturally, his thoughts drifted to what would happen next. The part about taking care of his father… was a bitter pill to swallow, but in truth, the man known as the Gwanggong’s father meant next to nothing to him. He wasn’t someone Seon-woo felt any real connection to. Accepting a so-called happy ending with Seo Eun-jae for that stranger’s sake wasn’t an option.
If Seon-woo was framed as the mastermind, he’d likely be stripped of managerial control and forced into a life on the run. In that case, maybe hiding away somewhere wouldn’t be so bad. He couldn’t be sure Gwak Seung-hyeon would agree to such a plan, but considering they’d acted together up to this point, he’d probably be a fugitive too… meaning he wouldn’t have much of a choice.
It was a line of thought only someone like Gwak Seon-woo—who had little desire for power or control—could entertain.
Seo Eun-jae seemed irritated by how calm and unaffected Seon-woo’s expression remained. He looked like he was about to explode, lips parting in anger—but before he could speak, the door opened.
Seon-woo turned his head with no particular hope. It was the right instinct—not to expect anything. The ones who walked in were Gwak Su-won and his lackeys. Strolling in at a leisurely pace, Gwak Su-won immediately asked,
“What happened to your face? Did you two get into a fistfight or something?”
No one responded. He just went on.
“You’re Seo Eun-jae, right? No matter how mad you are, taking swings isn’t the way to go.”
Of course, it was Eun-jae whose lip had been torn open, while Seon-woo only had some of his blood smeared around his mouth. But with Seon-woo’s face still a wreck from status ailments, it seemed Gwak Su-won had jumped to his own conclusion—and didn’t intend to change it.
Neither Eun-jae nor Seon-woo replied. Eun-jae simply glared at Seon-woo with sharp eyes, keeping his mouth shut. It seemed he knew better than to say anything in front of others.
Gwak Su-won gave a faint smile as he looked down at Seon-woo’s face. His eyes still had that delicate, fragile quality—but now there was a glimmer of something else behind them. A subtle, disturbing glint of madness.
He stared directly into Seon-woo’s eyes and slowly opened his mouth to speak.
But the moment his voice began to spill out, a deafening crash echoed through the container.
“What the hell?”
Su-won raised his head in alarm. He was the only one who spoke, but everyone instinctively turned their gaze toward the sound. It had come from the direction of the door—like something had rammed into it. For a moment, they all wondered if it had just been their imagination.
But then it came again.
With a thunderous bang, the container door burst open as if blown off its hinges. Blinding headlights flooded in, followed by the shriek of a horn that pierced the air like a blade.
