Seon-woo glared daggers at Seung-hyeon with sharpened eyes.
Eun-jae, though he seemed a bit troubled by Seon-woo’s icy words, shot a subtle look toward Seung-hyeon that practically said, “Yeah, why the hell did you even come here?”
Maybe it was just Seon-woo reading too much into things. Maybe Eun-jae’s expression was just an absent-minded kind of guilt without any deeper meaning. Still, unless Seon-woo apologized to Seung-hyeon in his heart, he didn’t think he could overcome the gnawing guilt.
I didn’t mean to humiliate him…
Of course, there was no way Seung-hyeon could have heard the apology in Seon-woo’s mind, yet he remained unfazed. He acted like he hadn’t heard a single thing.
“Go ahead, try it.”
Seung-hyeon, as brazen as ever, picked up a new plate and began scooping more fishcakes onto it. Seon-woo stared at him in bewilderment before shifting his gaze down to the fishcake dish now placed in front of him.
He wanted to eat it… so badly.
And right as Seung-hyeon, with a practiced hand, handed him a fresh spoon—
<Gwanggong Score has decreased by 1.>
He hadn’t even accepted it, so why the hell was the score going down?
Furious, Seon-woo seriously considered just devouring all the fishcakes right then and there. Sure, if the score hit zero, he’d probably collapse on the spot, but hell, at least he could think about doing it.
That’s when Eun-jae chimed in.
“If this is your first time trying chicken feet, yeah… it can be a bit much. Try eating it with some odeng instead.”
His tone carried the reluctant acceptance of someone forced to concede.
At this point, Seon-woo didn’t care what the reason was—so long as he could eat. Anyone who knew the old Seon-woo, the version of him who never had much of an appetite, would’ve been stunned to see him like this.
Either way, since Eun-jae had given his blessing, eating the fishcake now shouldn’t affect the Gwanggong Score.
Thanks, Seo Eun-jae.
With that thought, Seon-woo brought the fishcake to his mouth as elegantly as he could manage.
Sure enough, the score didn’t drop.
Now, though, he couldn’t not be conscious of Seung-hyeon. It wasn’t like he intended to blatantly favor anyone.
Still, Seung-hyeon looked over with a slightly frosty gaze.
That was all, though.
In the next moment, he relaxed his expression and offered a smile.
From that point on, Seon-woo couldn’t even tell whether he was eating the chicken feet or inhaling them through his nose. He had no idea whether he should call the meal a success or a disaster.
***
By the time he got home that evening, he felt completely drained.
That must’ve been why he carelessly assumed something like this wouldn’t happen again.
What Seon-woo had failed to take into account were two key things:
First, he was currently inside a game where predetermined events had to unfold.
Second, Gwak Seung-hyeon, for some reason, felt like a character slipping further and further outside the bounds of the story.
After that day, Seon-woo kept running into Eun-jae over and over again.
Maybe the system thought things weren’t going smoothly because of Seung-hyeon’s appearance—because it genuinely felt like it was doing everything in its power to force Seon-woo and Eun-jae together.
The day Gwak Seung-hyeon disrupted their first meal at the pojangmacha, Seo Eun-jae texted Seon-woo the moment he got home: “There was a bit of a mix-up today, but next time, I’ll treat you properly. We’ve still got 19 chances left, after all.”
It seemed like he was already scheming for the next opportunity to buy him a meal.
If Gwak Seon-woo were a real Gwanggong and not just someone being dragged along by force, he might’ve shuddered at Eun-jae’s sheer tenacity when it came to food. Of course, from Seon-woo’s perspective, Seo Eun-jae was just a typical Korean who put a lot of importance on meal strength.
At any rate, it wasn’t a bad deal for Seon-woo.
If he wasn’t going to eat with Seo Eun-jae, he’d just end up downing coffee on an empty stomach while working, anyway.
And sure enough, the very next day after receiving that text, Seon-woo “coincidentally” ran into Eun-jae again at work.
Bumping into an executive inside the company wasn’t something that happened often. At least, not according to Seon-woo’s understanding. The fact that he kept running into Eun-jae like this had to be some kind of manipulation by the game system.
After exchanging a few pleasantries with Seon-woo, Eun-jae suddenly threw out a question.
“Director, have you ever been to a movie theater?”
For some reason, a bad feeling crept up his spine.
Seon-woo was never fond of crowded places. He didn’t go to theaters unless he absolutely had to. And honestly, when would someone have to go to a movie theater? It was more accurate to say he pretty much never went.
But the fact that Eun-jae had brought it up meant one thing:
Eventually, Seon-woo was going to have to go.
Given how things had gone so far, there was no doubt.
With wary hesitation, Seon-woo gave his answer.
“…There hasn’t really been a reason to.”
But even that reluctant reply did nothing to change the direction this was headed. Eun-jae’s face brightened with anticipation as he spoke.
“Why don’t you come with me next time we grab a bite?”
It really did seem like Eun-jae wanted the Gwanggong to experience normal, everyday things.
Maybe it was pity—watching a chaebol with no humanity, no hobbies, no leisure time. Maybe Eun-jae felt sorry for someone like that.
From Seon-woo’s point of view, this kind of “experience” wasn’t something he appreciated.
But if he were a true Gwanggong, he might’ve been touched by the freshness of it all.
Maybe that’s how love began.
▶ “Not bad. Let’s do that.”
▶ “I don’t really see why I’d need to go all the way to a theater just to watch a movie… but if that’s your wish, fine.”
Normally, he wouldn’t have picked the snarky option. But this time, he wasn’t in the mood to go, so he went with the second choice. A small act of rebellion.
“I don’t really see why I’d need to go all the way to a theater just to watch a movie…”
But before he could even finish, Seo Eun-jae cut in, sounding a bit flustered.
“There’s a certain charm to it. I know you’re not fond of crowded places, but sometimes it’s a good way to reset your mood.”
Until now, Seon-woo had thought only Gwak Seung-hyeon had the ability to interrupt and override dialogue options—but it turned out Eun-jae had the same talent.
Surprised, Seon-woo raised his eyebrows and listened to what Eun-jae had to say before replying casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“You sure figured out I don’t like crowded places.”
Eun-jae looked momentarily flustered but quickly recovered with a smile.
“I just had a feeling…”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. It would’ve been totally off if the Gwanggong actually liked crowds and spent every weekend wandering around the middle of Myeongdong.
Seon-woo gave a slight nod in agreement.
“If that’s what you want, then sure.”
<Gwanggong Score has increased by 1.>
***
As Seon-woo set out to go to the movies with Seo Eun-jae, it suddenly hit him—he remembered what kind of place a movie theater was.
He himself had never gone for those kinds of reasons, but movie theaters were classic spots where couples deepened their romantic ties. And the system had always gone out of its way to stir up passionate romantic tension between Eun-jae and Seon-woo.
What if… what if the system used this outing to force some… B-movie-level romantic antics through the dialogue options?
What if things spiraled into a melodrama he couldn’t walk back from? No—forget melodrama. He might end up stepping into a police station before he even got near a love story.
Lost in grim speculation, Seon-woo suddenly questioned himself.
Am I overreacting?
Maybe his imagination was just a bit too vivid. Sure, it was a typical date course, but maybe they could just watch the movie like normal people and head home.
He wanted to believe that.
But the unease refused to fade.
Seon-woo sat stiffly in the car, his expression serious. Eun-jae glanced over, noticing the tension on his face, then pulled out his phone and started browsing newly released films.
He scrolled through the list, reading out the titles one by one, telling Seon-woo to pick anything that sounded interesting.
“Burning Passion, One Night with My Man, Adultery Is Fun…”
“…Looks like there’s nothing decent out right now.”
“……Let’s just head out.”
With a conflicted look, Seon-woo reached to start the engine—then suddenly, an image of Seung-hyeon flashed in his mind.
Maybe…
Maybe he could text Gwak Seung-hyeon. Ask him to crash this date too.
It was such a ridiculous, shameless idea that he almost scoffed at himself—but at the same time, it felt like it might really help.
He hesitated, then set the keys down and pulled out his phone.
Eun-jae looked at him curiously.
“Give me a second.”
He offered a vague excuse and opened his message window.
The real problem? He didn’t know how the hell to address him.
He had to call him something to send a message at all.
Gwak Seung-hyeon-ssi? Way too formal—they were technically family.
Hey. Too rude. They worked together, after all.
Seung-hyeon-ah? Not happening.
[Hey you.]
After much hesitation, he finally sent the message.
He figured if Seung-hyeon didn’t reply, he’d just give up—no big deal. But the reply came almost instantly.
[Yes, Director.]
The response arrived even faster than he expected, catching Seon-woo a bit off guard. He paused for a moment, then began typing out his next message, fingers hesitating on the screen.
[If you’re free, could you possibly help me out with something?]
Just as he reached that point, Seon-woo sensed something was off. No matter how many times he pressed it, the send button wouldn’t work.
Was it broken?
He tapped around the screen to check if it was frozen. All the other buttons worked just fine.
No way…
A creeping suspicion began to form. Could this be another trick from the system?
At first, he tried to brush off the idea—it sounded too far-fetched. But when the send button continued to ignore him and only that button refused to respond, he couldn’t help but grow suspicious.
Considering this was a system that restricted even spoken words, maybe blocking a text wasn’t all that shocking after all.
[If you’re free, could you hel—]
[If you could hel—]
He kept trying over and over, tweaking the wording slightly, but it was no use. The messages just wouldn’t go through.
With an irritated sigh, Seon-woo finally gave up and shoved his phone back into his pocket.
“All right. Let’s go.”
What Seon-woo didn’t know, however, was that one of his half-formed messages had ended up getting sent to Gwak Seung-hyeon.
[If you cou do—]
From inside his pocket, the phone screen flickered a few times. But focused on driving, Seon-woo never noticed.
