The movie opened with a lively scene of dinosaur friends frolicking playfully. These cheerful dinosaurs, living their days in bliss, suddenly found themselves swept into an adventure when an evil doctor from the future appeared. The dinosaurs struggled valiantly to stop the villainous doctor. The plot was surprisingly gripping—enough to make your palms sweat. Seon-woo watched the dinosaurs’ grand adventure unfold, thinking this so-called kids’ movie wasn’t something to scoff at.
—With our dino friends, we can do anything~!
In the climactic scene where the dinosaur friends defeated the evil doctor after overcoming countless trials and restored peace, every child in the theater wore a face full of emotion. Seon-woo, unconsciously immersed in the film, finally let out a breath and glanced to his side. Right next to him, Seung-hyeon looked moved, while beyond him, Eun-jae was staring at the screen with a clearly annoyed expression.
Even so, the two of them diligently continued munching on their popcorn. Watching them made Seon-woo naturally crave a piece himself. What would happen if I just had one? No sooner had the idle thought crossed his mind than the system jumped in with a penalty.
<Gwanggong does not sneak popcorn. Gwanggong Score -1.>
He hadn’t even reached out to grab any—hadn’t so much as twitched a finger. It was just a passing thought, not even a real urge to eat it right away. And yet, how many times had his Gwanggong Score been chipped away today over trivial things like this?
Screw this. I’d rather starve than take a hit over popcorn!
Clicking his tongue in frustration, Seon-woo turned his gaze away. If he couldn’t eat the damn popcorn anyway, it was better to distract himself. The villain had been defeated, so surely the movie had to be wrapping up by now. Just as that thought crossed his mind, Seon-woo glanced toward the exit.
That was when it happened. A sudden swell of dramatic background music filled the theater, followed by the protagonist dinosaur’s startled voice.
—No way! The Ice Age is coming!
Completely blindsided by the unexpected twist, Seon-woo quickly turned his head back to the screen. From the sky, where the dinosaur was pointing, chunks of ice were starting to fall. As the sudden Ice Age set in, the dinosaurs, shivering from the cold, huddled together—only to all freeze to death in the end…….
What the hell…
And yet, it was bizarrely heartrending. With an awkward expression, Seon-woo glanced around. The theater was now filled with the soft sounds of children sniffling.
The film, Dino Friends: The Great Adventure – The Movie, ended with the dinosaurs meeting their icy fate. Since this was a theatrical version, that implied there was also a TV series—but if they killed off all the dinosaurs like this, how were they planning to keep airing it…?
The development was absurd, no doubt about it, but the movie itself wasn’t bad. In fact, it was even a little moving. At the very least, it was better than Burning Passion.
Seung-hyeon didn’t just enjoy the movie—he looked genuinely moved, almost overwhelmed. In stark contrast, Eun-jae’s expression remained sour all the way to the end.
As they exited the theater, Seon-woo found himself thinking:
Are we really supposed to go eat now, just like this?
With Seung-hyeon’s sudden appearance and the unexpected Dino Adventure viewing, Eun-jae’s entire plan had been completely derailed. And not only had Seon-woo passively let it happen, deep down he had even welcomed it. That realization stirred a faint sense of guilt toward Eun-jae.
But Seon-woo’s worries turned out to be pointless—because the moment they stepped out of the theater, Seung-hyeon made the first move.
“Wasn’t the movie just so moving?”
“…Yeah, sure.”
“You must be busy, Director. I’ll give Assistant Manager Seo a ride. Let’s go.”
“W-What?”
Eun-jae’s reply came out in a voice that couldn’t be described as merely shocked—it was practically stunned speechless. But Seung-hyeon paid him no mind. With the most natural demeanor in the world, he simply led Eun-jae away before Seon-woo could get a single word in.
It was all so bewildering.
What on earth was Gwak Seung-hyeon thinking? Was this some scheme to block Seo Eun-jae from getting close to him and claim Seon-woo’s heart for himself? That might have made sense—if the two didn’t seem to get along so terribly. Even an elementary schooler teasing their crush wouldn’t act like Seung-hyeon did.
Most of all, if Seung-hyeon did like Eun-jae, how the hell did he come up with the idea that Seo Eun-jae was blackmailing Gwak Seon-woo?
Even after he got home, that thought refused to leave his head. But no matter how much he turned it over, it wasn’t like he could get inside Seung-hyeon’s mind. There was no answer to be found. And if something had no answer, the best thing to do was let it go.
Except this damn game wouldn’t even let him do that.
Seo Eun-jae didn’t reach out first. Gwak Seung-hyeon was silent, too—but this time, it was Eun-jae’s silence that gnawed at Seon-woo more. He couldn’t shake the guilt. Even if things had gotten complicated, had he been too hard on Eun-jae?
They’d promised to watch the movie and get a meal together—but nothing had gone according to plan. The film they were supposed to watch together turned into a trio outing with Seung-hyeon tagging along, and it wasn’t even the romance film Eun-jae picked—it was the Dino Adventure Movie.
I mean, let’s be real, the dino friends were way better than Burning Passion…
Seon-woo tried to justify himself as he stared at his quiet phone. And honestly, he wasn’t wrong. Eun-jae hadn’t seemed that into Burning Passion either, and it wasn’t like he’d outright caught on that Seon-woo had sent Seung-hyeon a distress signal…
Still, not only had they not gotten dinner, Seon-woo had straight-up ditched him and bolted home, leaving Eun-jae to deal with Seung-hyeon. If Eun-jae ended up feeling hurt by that, he could hardly be blamed.
In the end, Seon-woo sent him a quick message.
[Did you get home okay? Let’s do dinner another time.]
He had wanted to slip in an apology somewhere in the message, but the system had butted in with a prompt: “Gwanggong rarely apologizes.” So he gave up on that.
If Eun-jae had at least replied with a curt message, Seon-woo might have tried to keep the conversation going. But not even a simple “Yeah.” came from him.
Given the situation, sending another message would have just been pathetic—and completely unbecoming of a Gwanggong. Even as plain Gwak Seon-woo, it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do. So instead of waiting around for a reply, he went straight to bed, trying to calm his tired mind.
***
The next morning was strangely peaceful. As soon as he opened his eyes, a notification popped up: You don’t have to go to work today. It felt odd—this Gwanggong usually worked nonstop, even on weekends. Still, he decided to embrace it. Maybe even in this game world, there were uneventful days meant for rest.
Lazing around, he checked his phone and found two new messages. But both were from Seung-hyeon—not Eun-jae.
[I made sure Seo Eun-jae got home safely last night.]
[Get in touch when you have time.]
Since there were no pushy follow-ups, it probably wasn’t urgent. Or at least, Seon-woo hoped so. Still, he couldn’t fully relax. “Got home safely” was a judgment made by Gwak Seung-hyeon, after all.
He considered replying, but the system immediately flagged it. Apparently, Gwanggongs weren’t supposed to reply to texts right away either.
Left with no choice, he settled for a cold shower. It had been unbearable at first, but people really were creatures of habit—he was starting to handle the chill better now.
But there was still one thing he absolutely couldn’t get used to: the food situation.
A Gwanggong couldn’t survive on bitter black coffee forever. Even someone as sturdy as him would keel over at this rate. Only on special occasions—like family gatherings, unavoidable company events, or plans with Eun-jae—was he allowed to eat. That rule was just cruel.
Determined, Seon-woo made his way to the kitchen. He was finally ready to act on something he’d been planning to try the next time a day off came around.
There’s gotta be at least one kind of food a Gwanggong can eat without losing face.
He was dead set on finding and eating something like that. The top candidate on his list? Salad. It wasn’t instant junk, but it wasn’t a full-fledged meal either. It seemed like the perfect middle ground. Even if the Gwanggong Patriarch himself showed up, he wouldn’t be able to complain about a damn salad. Feeling confident, Seon-woo set to work.
But the moment he started prepping in the kitchen, a message popped up:
“Gwanggong does not make his own salad.”
And his score dropped again.
Crestfallen, Seon-woo trudged out of the kitchen.
There was no point in staying home if he couldn’t even cook. And honestly, sitting around in this suffocating black-and-white monochrome apartment felt worse than being outside. Better to head out and get some air.
Maybe I should just go find a salad someone else made.
Not that he had high hopes. Given that the system had penalized him for trying to make a salad himself, it wouldn’t be surprising if it docked his Gwanggong Score again with some message like “Don’t indulge in gluttony” the moment he went out looking for a pre-made one. With mixed feelings, Seon-woo stepped out of the house.
It was raining. The sky hung dark and heavy, nearly pitch black, and the downpour showed no signs of letting up. Traffic was sluggish too—probably due to the weather. Maybe I should’ve walked with an umbrella or just taken the subway, he thought absently while gripping the wheel.
The system promptly jumped in.
<Gwanggong does not take public transportation.>
Fair enough. Unless it was Eun-jae offering a ride, there was no way in hell a true Gwanggong would set foot on a bus or subway by his own volition.
As Seon-woo turned his head to check the adjacent lane, someone caught his eye on the sidewalk—someone familiar. He’d just been thinking about Seo Eun-jae a moment ago, so he figured he was probably mistaken. But when he looked again, there was no doubt—it was Eun-jae.
He was walking in the rain without an umbrella. That alone was surprising. Eun-jae struck him as the type who would definitely carry one—always prepared, always meticulous. With the windows streaked in rain, it was hard to make out his exact expression, but it clearly wasn’t a happy one. Was that cold, distant look just a trick of the water distorting the glass?
The moment Seon-woo spotted him, the congested adjacent lane miraculously began to clear. Coincidence? Maybe. But after how things ended yesterday—and the guilt he’d been feeling—there was no way Seon-woo could just drive past and pretend he hadn’t seen Seo Eun-jae walking alone in the rain.
Seriously…
After a brief internal debate, Seon-woo finally turned the wheel and pulled into the next lane. Just as he was maneuvering the car toward the sidewalk, his phone started ringing.
Glancing at the screen, he saw Seung-hyeon’s name pop up. Right—he’d completely ignored that message from earlier: Call me when you have time. What kind of timing was this?
He couldn’t answer now, so he focused on pulling up to the curb and rolled down the window.
That was when Eun-jae finally looked over at him. The moment their eyes met—Eun-jae’s face soaked from the rain—Seon-woo found himself at a loss for words.
After a brief silence, he finally spoke.
“Just get in.”
At that exact moment, the vibration of his phone stopped.
1 missed call. The message appeared on his screen. Seon-woo swallowed the discomfort rising in his throat.
