Seung-hyeon slowly extended one hand toward Seon-woo’s shoulder.
His eyes made it clear—he looked like he wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around Gwak Seon-woo, to soothe and touch him. But his hand moved with caution. Like it meant nothing, he tidied up Seon-woo’s clothes, checked the arm with the IV drip, and then pulled away.
Withdrawing his hand in silence, Seung-hyeon slowly opened his mouth.
“I had so many things I wanted to ask, but… strangely, I can’t think of a single one right now.”
Seon-woo instinctively parted his lips at those words. If Seung-hyeon couldn’t bring himself to speak, he felt like he had to break the silence. But just as desperate as he was, so too was the system, it seemed. The moment Seon-woo opened his mouth, a set of choices popped up—as if even the system, devoid of emotion, could sense the tension in the air right now.
▶ “Why are you touching me? It’s disgusting.”
▶ “If you can’t remember, just go back.”
Typical of the system. Neither option captured what Seon-woo truly felt. He skimmed through the choices quickly and clenched his jaw. He managed to ignore the prompt—but still couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.
Fortunately, Seung-hyeon didn’t stop talking just because Seon-woo remained silent.
“Even if Director-nim was just playing with me, I wouldn’t have minded.”
But the content of those words was far from comforting. Seon-woo flinched and looked up sharply. He thinks I was toying with him? Why was he using the past tense? His mind buzzed with all kinds of worry and dread, making his head throb.
“Even if you pulled off this whole farce because you still hate me so much you couldn’t stand it… I figured I could live with that too.”
The fact that Seung-hyeon had even considered such a possibility was a shock. Of course, given how abruptly Seon-woo had changed, it wasn’t unreasonable for him to be suspicious. Still… why did it hurt so much, like someone scraping raw nerves?
While Seon-woo forced himself to keep his expression neutral, Seung-hyeon continued.
“So I figured I had no right to meddle in other parts of your life. That I shouldn’t. But even so… I’m angry.”
Seon-woo wanted to tell him—it was okay to be angry. But the system wouldn’t let up, persistently interfering with him.
▶ “That’s presumptuous of you.”
▶ “And what right do you think you have to be angry?”
Lowering his head, Seon-woo fought with everything he had not to let either of those options slip from his mouth. He didn’t know how he must’ve looked to Seung-hyeon in that moment—but either way, Seung-hyeon went on without a hint of hesitation.
“You know what makes me such a hypocrite?”
“I tried to pretend I was angry for some other reason. Not because you left without saying anything to meet someone else—but just because you were in danger. That was the only reason I let myself be upset.”
His heart pounded violently in his chest—but Seon-woo already knew it wasn’t because of anxiety.
“But if that’s the case, then I shouldn’t be angry right now, should I? If I really thought it was fine… then I shouldn’t be upset after seeing you with Assistant Manager Seo.”
“…Gwak Seung-hyeon.”
Seon-woo forced himself to speak, but he couldn’t say more than that. Not just because of the system’s interference—but because he genuinely had no idea what words could possibly diffuse the weight of this moment.
At the sound of his name, Seung-hyeon paused and drew in a slow, steady breath. Then, in a composed tone, he replied, “Yes.” But when Seon-woo didn’t follow up, he quietly studied Seon-woo’s face, then continued—his voice even calmer, slower than before.
“You’re right. Making up other reasons just to avoid it… that’s not something I should be doing. What I really want to know is why you went to see Assistant Manager Seo…”
Seung-hyeon trailed off, his expression turning dry and detached as he muttered:
“Why you kissed him. Why you were with him at all.”
Seon-woo lifted his head, startled. Hearing those words triggered a clear recollection—inside the container where he’d been kidnapped, the moment Seo Eun-jae had forced a kiss on him, and how he’d bit the man’s lip in response. Had Seung-hyeon seen the blood and figured out what had happened? Seon-woo wanted to scream that it wasn’t a kiss—that it had been done to him, and that he’d fought back with everything he had.
But again, Seung-hyeon was one step ahead.
“I’m just jealous. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
Seon-woo froze. The word jealousy, spoken so plainly, so naturally, hit harder than he’d expected.
“That’s why I came here, Director-nim. I sat out there… and I thought about it.”
Seung-hyeon pointed to the hallway bench he’d been sitting on earlier. His next words came out more like a monologue—murmured and quiet, like he was talking to himself.
“I’ve never really been the type to believe in fate. The more people believe in that kind of thing, the weaker they get. If you start thinking every bad thing that happens is just your destiny, life becomes miserable and meaningless.”
Suddenly, Seon-woo found himself thinking about Seo Eun-jae, who once despaired at the idea that his life was dictated by fate—and now, sitting here, was someone who couldn’t have been more different. This, perhaps, was the fundamental difference between them.
“But for some reason, whenever it comes to you, Director-nim… I keep thinking otherwise.
Like there’s some inescapable… flow. Something fated.
Like I was destined to fall in love with someone I knew would end in failure.
Like it was my fate to let go of someone I knew I’d regret losing.”
“…”
“It was the same when my father passed away.”
Back then, the one Seung-hyeon had loved—and failed to hold onto—had been his father. The emotions swirling inside Seon-woo’s chest became a storm of contradictions. The one who had once resented and interrogated Seung-hyeon during that time was Gwak Seon-woo too… but not the current him. Not the version of him that existed now. And the one who was making Seung-hyeon feel that same way again…
“…was you, today.”
It was the current Gwak Seon-woo.
That truth made his chest ache—and yet, his heart raced. In the end, the one who made Seung-hyeon fall in love and left him filled with regret… was him.
“That’s why I thought I should just go back. I didn’t want to cling to you and demand answers, didn’t want to lash out in anger. I figured… maybe just this once, I should accept that this is fate.”
But he hadn’t left.
Even though Seon-woo had seen him start to rise from his seat, as if he were about to walk away, he hadn’t moved. He had clearly hesitated for a long time.
Seon-woo opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. The words refused to come.
Impatience swarmed his thoughts.
The man standing before him had almost walked away. If he didn’t say something now—if he let the silence drag on even a moment longer—it felt like Seung-hyeon might really leave.
But instead of turning to go, Seung-hyeon spoke.
“And then, one last thought crossed my mind.”
“…What did?”
“That maybe… if, just maybe, you came after me.”
Then Seung-hyeon smiled faintly. Seon-woo couldn’t take his eyes off that face, like someone mesmerized.
“Then this time… I’d hold on.”
The smile soon faded from Seung-hyeon’s lips, and he offered a plain, quiet apology.
“I’m sorry for waiting around like a fool.”
“But… if you really wanted me to go, Director-nim, you shouldn’t have come out.”
He was always like this. Apologizing without hesitation for things that weren’t even his fault.
But the words that followed carried a tone that felt subtly different from his usual manner. That difference rang sharp and clear in Gwak Seon-woo’s mind.
His fingertips tingled.
“Director-nim.”
<Your Gwanggong Score has dropped by 4!>
The loud warning sound cut in the moment Seung-hyeon called out to him.
Like it was trying desperately to drown out Seung-hyeon’s voice. How low had the Gwanggong Score fallen by now? At this rate, it really might hit zero.
But he didn’t care.
“Do you still hate me?”
<Your Gwanggong Score has dropped by 3!>
He had never once hated Gwak Seung-hyeon.
“Do you like Assistant Manager Seo?”
<Your Gwanggong Score has dropped by 4!>
He had rejected Seo Eun-jae coldly—because of Seung-hyeon.
“Am I the one making things hard for you?”
<Your Gwanggong Score has dropped by 5!>
<Due to the continued score drop, status effect ‘Fever’ has been triggered.>
The alert sounded as if it were hell-bent on proving just how much pain Gwak Seung-hyeon was causing him.
But Seon-woo merely brushed his hand over his burning forehead and let it drop limply, pretending it was nothing.
▶ “Just looking at you disgusts me.”
▶ “Please, just disappear from my sight.”
The choices flared before him like a tantrum. Seon-woo didn’t voice either of them.
Still, with every new system alert, the fog in his head thickened. Doubt curled inside him like smoke—Is it really okay for things to be like this?
That was when Seung-hyeon spoke again, as if he’d peeked into Seon-woo’s mind—or the system itself.
“Then.”
“…”
“Why did you follow me out here?”
<Your Gwanggong Score has dropped by 4!>
<Current Gwanggong Score: 24>
There was something in his voice—something that weighed even heavier than the system’s relentless brainwashing.
Had the score ever dropped this low before?
Seon-woo shoved the fleeting thought aside and forced himself to speak.
“I…”
Seung-hyeon met his gaze, calm but not cold.
“I… I—love you.”
