Seo Eun-jae was looking this way with a completely clueless expression. Seon-woo couldn’t believe he had to choose one of the options laid out before him, and was left utterly dazed. His eyes, unfocused, drifted into empty space—and Eun-jae, concern written all over his face, stepped in closer.
“Is something wrong?”
▶ (Push Seo Eun-jae down) “Are you trying to tempt me?”
▶ (Stare intensely at Seo Eun-jae’s lips) “…Ha, Seo Eun-jae.”
▶ (Kiss Seo Eun-jae in silence)
As if hurrying him along, the system displayed the prompt again. Seon-woo hastily skimmed through the options once more. Still, it was obvious that option 2 was better than suddenly pouncing (option 1) or kissing without warning (option 3). Should he be relieved there was at least one somewhat sane choice—or should he be despairing at the situation itself? He couldn’t tell.
“Ha, Seo Eun-jae-ssi…”
Seon-woo couldn’t stand the subtly drawn-out sigh that escaped his own lips. Shutting his eyes tight in exasperation, the system immediately scolded him.
<You must open your eyes and look directly at Seo Eun-jae’s face.>
In the end, he had no choice but to open his eyes again. What greeted him was Eun-jae’s wide, startled gaze. It was probably due to how intensely Seon-woo was suddenly looking at him…
…Was it?
Still lost in confusion, Seon-woo looked more carefully at Eun-jae’s expression. Yes, he was clearly flustered—but something about it didn’t feel like it was just from Seon-woo’s abrupt closeness. Rather, it was the kind of look one might have when things weren’t going the way they wanted them to.
Is it just my imagination?
Of course, in a situation like this, there was no way to tell if it was or wasn’t. With no time to even hesitate, a new set of choices appeared right in front of Seon-woo again.
▶ (Kiss Seo Eun-jae.)
▶ “You really… mess me up.”
Once again, Seon-woo shut his eyes tight. The system’s obsession with kissing was downright ridiculous, and more than anything, he couldn’t understand why there were options to suddenly pounce on, kiss, or passionately confess to Seo Eun-jae—as if there was some kind of intense relationship between them.
Even though he hadn’t selected anything yet, his head kept inching closer toward Eun-jae. He could feel the system’s unwavering will, as if it would force the kiss to happen whether he picked the option or not.
Gwak Seon-woo imagined Seo Eun-jae, looking at him with utter disgust and saying, “What the hell are you doing?”, or maybe pushing him away, or at the very least, making a distressed or confused face. He thought he knew what would happen. But as Seon-woo’s head leaned in closer, Eun-jae calmly closed his eyes—as if he already knew what was coming next.
‘Wait, why are you closing your eyes?!’
Seon-woo, on the verge of tears, cursed inwardly. If it came down to kissing, he’d rather go with one of those painfully cringy lines that made your fingers curl up and fall off. Trembling inside, he opened his mouth to say, “You…”
That’s when Eun-jae cracked one eye open—then stood up.
It was a completely unexpected move. Seon-woo was immensely relieved and grateful that Eun-jae had gotten up, but at the same time, he was puzzled. Just moments ago, this guy had closed his eyes like he was accepting the awkward moment—and now he was getting up? Maybe he’d been dazed from the rain and had only just come back to his senses. Entertaining that slightly violent thought, Seon-woo stared at him.
Eun-jae frowned as if troubled, like someone who thought they’d made a mistake.
What mistake, though?
The logical guess would be that he regretted closing his eyes—but he looked more like someone who was regretting getting up.
“Director…”
After standing there silently for a moment, Eun-jae finally opened his mouth. Seon-woo turned his head toward him to listen.
“I really can’t figure you out.”
“I thought you hated me, but when you’re actually with me… you’re kind.”
“…I’m pretty sure I told you I don’t hate you.”
Seon-woo did push back, but Eun-jae didn’t seem like he was expecting an answer. He just continued talking on his own.
“But your expression…”
Again with the expression thing.
First Seung-hyeon, now Eun-jae. Seon-woo seriously began to wonder if there really was something wrong with his face. But under the system’s control, no matter how devastated he felt inside, his facial muscles wouldn’t move on their own. All he could do was scowl in his heart while keeping a blank expression outwardly. It wasn’t something he had any control over. And yet… was it really showing?
Just then, Eun-jae started walking toward him again. For some reason, Seon-woo wanted to avert his gaze from the complicated look on his face. He didn’t know Eun-jae that well, but he’d at least had some kind of mental image of him—and the way he was today didn’t match that image at all.
“…I really can’t figure you out.”
Standing right in front of him, Eun-jae lowered his head, his lips parting as if to say something—then finally, he spoke.
“You’re so different from the person I knew… no, the person I thought you were.”
A chill ran down Seon-woo’s spine.
There was a strange sense of déjà vu. He’d heard something eerily similar from Seung-hyeon before.
You’re not acting like yourself. But… the situation is different now.
Seung-hyeon had known Gwak Seon-woo before, and although there was no real closeness between them, they were still bound by the label of “family.” But Eun-jae wasn’t like that. In fact, up until their chance encounter, they’d had absolutely no direct connection. That’s precisely why Seon-woo had thought there was no way he’d ever hear such words from Eun-jae.
Momentarily speechless, feeling as if his insides had been laid bare, Seon-woo forced himself to calm the chaos swirling in his chest.
Well… even if Gwanggong didn’t know Seo Eun-jae, Seo Eun-jae would’ve known him…
It was more reasonable to assume that the image Eun-jae had of the company’s CEO had simply been shattered. Maybe he was being overly sensitive again, still shaken from what had happened with Seung-hyeon.
Still…
As if to prove that this wasn’t something he could brush off so easily, Eun-jae’s face moved even closer. Seon-woo couldn’t tell what he was about to do, but a sense of alarm surged in his gut.
“I…”
And as if to confirm that ominous instinct, Eun-jae opened his mouth. Seon-woo instantly had a terrible feeling—like he shouldn’t let this go on. His breath caught in his throat. The moment he heard Eun-jae’s voice, he shot to his feet.
If he stayed here any longer, who knew what might happen?
Up until now, he’d only been worried the system would try to recreate some overly suggestive scenario—but Seo Eun-jae’s current demeanor was far more troubling. He looked like someone who wouldn’t even hesitate to do something wildly unexpected. If Seo Eun-jae suddenly cried out, “Who are you possessing Director Gwak’s body? I’ll perform an exorcism right now!”—well, Seon-woo honestly wouldn’t be surprised. As absurd as that idea was.
But the very fact that his mind was spinning off into such bizarre hypotheticals was a sign in itself—this whole vibe was just wrong. Turning his head away on purpose, Seon-woo spoke firmly.
“I’ll take a rain check on the tea.”
<Your Gwanggong Score has decreased by 3!>
The system flashed a notification, sounding oddly startled—even though it was just a mechanical voice devoid of emotion, it felt surprised. Eun-jae, too, clearly hadn’t seen that coming. Even with only a side glance, Seon-woo could see the confusion etched across his face.
Maybe walking away like this would look even weirder—but bad gut feelings weren’t something you just ignored.
Unbothered by the drop in his Gwanggong score, Seon-woo moved toward the door. Contrary to his expectations, Eun-jae didn’t try to stop him. He simply said:
“Take care getting home.”
Leaving Eun-jae behind like that, Seon-woo stepped out of the house.
When he reached the ground floor, he saw that the rain had started falling again. It wasn’t pouring like before, but it wasn’t light enough to ignore either. Still, the idea of going back upstairs to borrow an umbrella was unthinkable. He figured he was healthy enough to handle it and decided to just walk in the rain.
He’d barely taken a few steps when—like clockwork—his phone started vibrating. Seon-woo tried to ignore the buzz for a moment, but eventually pulled it out. On the screen, the name “Seung-hyeon” appeared once again.
Up until that moment, Seon-woo hadn’t had the slightest desire to answer Gwak Seung-hyeon’s calls. In fact, he’d been adamantly avoiding them. But now, seeing that name on the screen… strangely, it felt like he could finally breathe again.
It didn’t make sense. By all logic, Gwak Seon-woo should’ve found comfort in Seo Eun-jae’s words and rejected Seung-hyeon. But instead, he was unsettled by Eun-jae and felt oddly relieved to see Seung-hyeon calling.
That might be it.
Maybe it was because Seung-hyeon stood in complete opposition to the system that forced Seon-woo into everything.
Giving in to the insistent vibration of his phone, Seon-woo finally tapped the green button and picked up.
“…Hello.”
— Director.
A calm voice, no different from usual, came through the line. But Seon-woo could tell—Gwak Seung-hyeon was either very angry, or at the very least, deeply annoyed.
— You really weren’t going to answer, huh…
Seung-hyeon’s tone was unhurried. If he were to act like a proper Gwanggong, Seon-woo was supposed to bark back something like “So what if I didn’t?”, or “Why are you meddling?”, or just snap and yell “Don’t call me again.”
Instead, Seon-woo replied evenly.
“Something came up. I couldn’t answer.”
He didn’t go as far as to apologize, but it still wasn’t very Gwanggong-like.
Seon-woo figured Seung-hyeon would ask what had happened next. But contrary to his expectations, there was only silence from the other end of the line. Not even the sound of breathing. For a second, he wondered if the call had dropped.
Finally, after a long pause, Seung-hyeon spoke.
— I see.
On impulse, Seon-woo asked:
“You’re not going to ask?”
<That is not a Gwanggong-like question. Your Gwanggong Score has decreased by 1.>
How low was it now, anyway? He briefly wondered, but quickly gave up. As long as it wasn’t low enough to trigger a status ailment, it didn’t matter.
Still speaking in that same relaxed voice, Seung-hyeon replied:
— I can pretty much guess. But…
Before Seon-woo could ask “But what?”, he continued.
— You’re just standing there getting rained on, huh.
Startled, Seon-woo quickly looked up. His car was parked right nearby—and Gwak Seung-hyeon was standing in the adjacent alley, holding an umbrella.
Head tilted slightly, Seung-hyeon slipped his phone back into his pocket and started walking toward him. At that exact moment, Seon-woo’s own phone let out the soft beep that signaled the call had ended.
He could’ve said something like “Were you spying on me?” or “Did you track my location again?”—but instead, he asked something else.
“Hey.”
“Yes, Director?”
“Is there something wrong with my face this time too?”
Even Seon-woo knew how random that question was. Random, to the point of being meaningless. But Seung-hyeon answered without missing a beat.
“Hard to say.”
“Looks fine to me.”
The fact that he felt unsettled by Seo Eun-jae, yet oddly relieved by Gwak Seung-hyeon’s words—yeah, it was undeniably strange.
But at the same time, Seon-woo thought, maybe it couldn’t have been any other way.
