Seo Eun-jae had taken Gwak Seon-woo to a pojangmacha (a street stall eatery) near the company. Eun-jae kept sneaking glances at Seon-woo, clearly worried about bringing the executive director to such a shabby little place.
Sure, a Gwanggong probably wouldn’t have ever stepped foot into a pojangmacha in his life—but Seon-woo wasn’t like that. Of course, he’d shared countless drinks inside these tents with his coworkers, venting the daily frustrations of corporate life. Still, watching Eun-jae’s uneasy expression, like he was silently asking, “Director… you don’t go to places like this, right?”, made Seon-woo feel like he ought to play along.
So Seon-woo fixed his gaze on the tent, scowling like someone who’d never once in his life seen such a run-down place, let alone considered eating there.
“Is this the place?”
Adding a line to enhance his performance, he kept his tone cold. Eun-jae fidgeted even more and scrambled to justify himself.
“The place looks like this, but the food’s really good. I just thought… maybe you’ve never been to a place like this, Director, so I wanted to show it to you.”
Was he trying to offer a new experience to the Gwanggong, who had likely never once eaten “commoner food” in his life? Though Seon-woo found the whole situation both awkward and a little irritating, he opened his mouth, determined to endure it as best he could while staying in character.
“Let’s go in.”
Eun-jae looked like an actor playing a loyal subject in a historical drama—he seemed one breath away from declaring, “I am forever honored by Your Majesty’s grace.” Watching him make such a fuss over something so trivial by Seon-woo’s standards made it hard not to burst out laughing.
Truthfully, Seon-woo wasn’t particularly good at hiding his expressions, which is why people often said he lacked any talent for acting. Not that he ever cared to be good at it. But seeing the way Eun-jae’s face shifted constantly with each passing second… it was actually kind of entertaining.
Even after they stepped inside, Eun-jae kept gauging Seon-woo’s reactions. To a passerby, it might’ve looked like Eun-jae owned the pojangmacha, the way he hovered so nervously. Seon-woo, who had just been thinking a pojangmacha’s just a pojangmacha, what’s the big deal, found himself scanning the interior with the scrutinizing expression of a surprise-visiting food columnist or a power blogger, just to match Eun-jae’s expectations.
“I’ll have the chicken feet.”
After rambling on about the various charms of this particular pojangmacha, Eun-jae finally called over the owner and placed the order. Seon-woo didn’t particularly like chicken feet. But he couldn’t exactly interrupt and say, “Actually, no. I’ll have the assorted fish cakes instead.” So he kept his mouth shut.
Should I pretend not to know what chicken feet are and ask? But would that make me less of a Gwanggong and more like some recluse who’s lived in the mountains for years…?
Seon-woo mulled it over for a second, but then recalled the saying, “Silence is half the battle,” and decided to just stay quiet.
When the food arrived, he had to brace himself to keep from blurting out the usual, “Oh, thank you, boss. I’ll enjoy the food.” That part was Eun-jae’s job.
And there was a reason Eun-jae had praised the food here so excessively. Even to Seon-woo—who wasn’t a fan of chicken feet—it wasn’t bad at all. Nothing about it rubbed him the wrong way.
To maintain the Gwanggong persona, Seon-woo had to keep moving his chopsticks with a reluctant expression. But if it weren’t for that pretense, he probably would’ve been sucking the sauce off those chicken feet like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Not bad, right?”
Eun-jae asked, eyes gleaming as he chewed with obvious delight at the chewy texture of the chicken feet. Seon-woo nodded with an air of resignation.
▶ “Even a man of my stature can tolerate peasant food once in a while.”
▶ “…It’s not as terrible as I expected.”
▶ “…Well, it’s not exactly inedible.”
It was like the Gwanggong had some personal vendetta against the phrase “commoner food”, constantly inserting comments like that into the list of dialogue choices. Seon-woo had gotten used to filtering through the worst ones and picking the most neutral-sounding line.
“…Well, it’s not exactly inedible.”
Even though it barely qualified as praise, Eun-jae looked thoroughly pleased.
Just then, someone walked in from the entrance of the pojangmacha. If it had been a total stranger, Seon-woo wouldn’t have given it a second thought—but unfortunately, he recognized the face. He quickly turned his head away, hoping the person wouldn’t notice him, or at the very least, would ignore him and walk right past.
The problem was, the person who just walked in had no intention of doing either. It wasn’t a coincidence—they clearly knew exactly where to find them. Eun-jae, sitting with his back to the entrance, was still busy munching away on chicken feet, completely unaware.
The man walked right up to their table and casually spoke.
“So this is where you were.”
Unfortunately for Seon-woo, this was one of those moments where he couldn’t reply. If he said something like, “Oh~ Fancy running into you here, Team Leader Gwak~”, his Gwanggong Score might drop by thirty points on the spot. So the only one who could respond to Gwak Seung-hyeon’s overly familiar greeting was Eun-jae.
“Team Leader?”
Even that wasn’t exactly a warm welcome. Eun-jae looked like a row of ten question marks had popped up on his face, and his eyes practically screamed, “You followed me here, too?” Gwak Seung-hyeon didn’t seem fazed by the cold reception—he just smiled shamelessly and dragged a chair over to sit down next to Eun-jae.
“How… did you even know we were here?”
Eun-jae’s expression was clearly annoyed. He stared Seung-hyeon down like he was trying to pierce through his skull, but Seung-hyeon completely ignored the glare. Considering he’d spent the entire day messing with Eun-jae in one way or another, showing up here like this probably felt like the final straw.
Seung-hyeon responded lightly to Eun-jae’s question.
“Assistant Manager Seo, how did you find this place?”
“Huh? Deputy Manager Kim said the food was good, so I came once before.”
“Then who do you think told Deputy Manager Kim about it?”
Eun-jae turned his head, wearing a defeated expression. Seon-woo stayed quiet, simply watching the two bicker. At this point, even he was starting to feel intimidated by Gwak Seung-hyeon.
When Seung-hyeon had said he’d try to “cover things well,” Seon-woo never imagined that meant he’d be casually popping up everywhere he and Eun-jae went…
With that ever-smiling face, Gwak Seung-hyeon waved over the owner and placed his order.
“I’ll have the assorted fish cakes, please.”
Eun-jae looked at him and shook his head in disbelief. His expression practically screamed, “You poor thing, you don’t even know what’s good.” But Seung-hyeon just smiled in response, like he found it all laughable. His face said, “No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”
It was hard to understand why a simple pojangmacha order was becoming some kind of power play, but watching it unfold was weirdly entertaining.
“The chicken feet here are way too spicy and intense. If you eat them without any fish cake broth, you’ll wake up with heartburn tomorrow.”
Seung-hyeon shrugged casually as he said it. Eun-jae, visibly irritated, snapped back.
“I like spicy food, so I’m fine, actually.”
That didn’t really match the image Seon-woo had of Eun-jae, but seeing him argue with Seung-hyeon like a sulky grade schooler made one thing clear—they were definitely close. Seung-hyeon volleyed back smoothly.
“Director, how about you?”
“Of course I—”
Eun-jae started to answer reflexively, then abruptly shut his mouth. It dawned on him that he’d never actually asked Seon-woo if he could handle spicy food.
“I can eat it.”
Seon-woo responded on his own, noticing Eun-jae glancing at him with a questioning look. But to stay honest, he only said he could eat it. Saying he liked it would’ve been a lie.
Upon hearing that, Eun-jae’s face fell. The triumphant glow of his earlier chicken feet victory faded, replaced with the same deflated look he’d worn when they first arrived. Should I have lied instead? he wondered.
While Seon-woo sat awkwardly, feeling guilty, Seung-hyeon remained completely unfazed. Even though silence hung over the table while they waited for the food, it didn’t seem to bother him one bit. He came off as sociable, sure—but unlike most social people, he didn’t flinch in the face of quiet.
“Would you like to try some, Director?”
Once the fish cakes were served, Seung-hyeon even offered to share. To an outsider, they might’ve looked like a cheerful boss and his junior enjoying a casual night out. Eun-jae looked over at him like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
In truth, Seon-woo did want to try the assorted fish cakes. But saying so would only hurt Eun-jae, who had been proudly feeding him chicken feet all this time. Not to mention, the system surely wouldn’t take kindly to a Seon-woo who not only coveted Seung-hyeon’s food, but also bruised Eun-jae’s pride in the process.
After mulling it over, Seon-woo settled on scoffing lightly.
“I’m fine.”
But apparently, that level of rejection wasn’t harsh enough for the system. A new, even more extreme set of dialogue options appeared:
▶ “Why the hell would I eat crap like that?”
▶ “Is barging into someone else’s table not enough for you? What the hell are you doing now?”
▶ “If you’re this desperate to show off how uncultured you are, maybe just get lost instead.”
Seon-woo felt a heaviness settle over him as he read through the choices. Sure, to someone who didn’t know the full story, Seung-hyeon’s sudden intrusion might come off as rude. But Seung-hyeon had already made it clear—he was doing this to help Seon-woo. Knowing that, Seon-woo felt he had no right to blame him.
And yet… there was no way around it.
Seon-woo didn’t have the power to defy the system’s commands.
“Barging into our table uninvited wasn’t enough for you… now what the hell are you doing?”
