Seung-hyeon stared at him without even blinking. His gaze felt like it could pierce right through.
His expressionless face made it impossible not to feel on edge. He didn’t exactly look angry, but the usual smile that softened his features was gone, making it oddly unsettling to be in his presence.
Feeling like he shouldn’t be the first to look away, Seon-woo met his gaze head-on. Seung-hyeon’s lips moved.
“Why…”
<Due to a Gwanggong Score below 50, a status effect has been triggered: Nausea!>
But Seon-woo couldn’t hear the rest. He had to turn his head away. Of all moments, the system chose that exact timing to hit him with a debuff.
Thankfully, the side effect wasn’t severe—just a mild queasiness in his stomach. Still, it wasn’t the kind of discomfort he could just brush off and carry on talking like nothing was wrong. Seung-hyeon, noticing the sudden change in Seon-woo’s complexion, paused mid-sentence and checked on him first.
“What’s wrong all of a sudden? Are you all right?”
Seon-woo tried to calm the churning in his stomach with a few deep breaths. It took some effort, but he managed to speak.
“I’m fine. It’s just the alcohol.”
Then he quickly added another line—most likely a response to the question Seung-hyeon had been about to ask.
“I told the chairman too—I just don’t think we can keep going on like this forever.”
He wasn’t sure he even needed to explain himself like this, but staying silent felt risky. There was no telling when the Gwanggong Score might drop again. Besides, saying he was “fine” without being able to follow it up with anything might make him seem seriously ill or worse.
Only then did Seung-hyeon’s lips curl slightly into a faint smile. Seon-woo watched that subtle expression with quiet puzzlement.
“You make it sound like an excuse.”
“…Sorry?”
“You always do that, Director—every time you’re even a little kind to me.”
Seung-hyeon didn’t give Seon-woo, still too nauseated to respond properly, any time to answer. He stood up and extended a hand as if to help him up.
It wasn’t like Seon-woo was in so much pain that he couldn’t stand on his own, and thanks to the system, he couldn’t exactly grab that hand without hesitation either. He shook his head and got up by himself.
Normally, a bit of fresh air helped ease the stomach, but even after stepping outside, nothing changed. This wasn’t something that would go away unless the Gwanggong Score increased. It would’ve made sense to do something—anything—to raise it, but Seon-woo didn’t move. He didn’t want to lash out at Seung-hyeon for no reason under the pretense of “raising the score.”
It seemed better to go home alone and figure out the next step later.
But Seung-hyeon had called for a substitute driver instead of letting Seon-woo’s chauffeur take over. What’s more, apparently worried about Seon-woo’s condition, he didn’t send him off alone—he got into the car with him.
At this point, Seon-woo didn’t even try to stop him. He climbed into the backseat without protest and sat in a position that made his stomach feel the least queasy. Thankfully, the status effect wasn’t too severe.It was a relief—truly. And the fact that it felt like he was defying the system’s whims made it all the more bearable.
Seung-hyeon slid in beside him naturally, then gave the substitute driver the address of the Gwanggong’s apartment. The car glided forward smoothly. Still, the moment it started moving, the nausea hit hard—like a bout of motion sickness.
Seon-woo leaned his head against the window, one hand covering his mouth. Seung-hyeon, calm and quiet beside him, asked softly:
“Should I have him pull over?”
“No, it’s fine…”
When Seon-woo declined, Seung-hyeon gently patted his back a couple of times, as if soothing someone who was carsick. Normally, Seon-woo would’ve thanked him, but this nausea wasn’t some natural condition.
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 2.>
Pushing down his guilt, Seon-woo swatted Seung-hyeon’s arm away. He didn’t seem offended—his expression remained mild as he obediently lowered his hand.
Just then, Seon-woo’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket.
He didn’t have the mental clarity to answer, so he tried to ignore it, but the vibration wouldn’t stop. Finally, he pulled out the phone and checked the screen. When he saw the name, his eyes widened briefly. Then, with a short sigh of ah, he handed the phone to Seung-hyeon.
He silently mouthed the words “Hang up.” as clearly as he could. Seung-hyeon gave a reassuring nod.
Then, instead of ending the call, he pressed the answer button.
“Hello.”
Startled, Seon-woo snapped his head up. Had he misunderstood? He glanced at Seung-hyeon’s face for a clue, but the man only smiled faintly back at him.
“Assistant Seo,” Seung-hyeon said evenly.
At that moment, it became clear—it wasn’t a mistake or misunderstanding. He’d done it on purpose. Seon-woo let out a disbelieving scoff, practically laughing. Meanwhile, Seung-hyeon responded to the caller in the same calm, unbothered tone.
“He’s with me. Yes.”
It wasn’t clear what the person on the other end was saying, but Seon-woo could hear the unmistakably raised voice of Seo Eun-jae. Compared to that, Seung-hyeon remained composed.
“Well… do I really have to explain that?”
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 2.>
Seon-woo, already struggling with nausea, didn’t want to add an argument on top of it. He tried not to care whether Seung-hyeon stayed on the call or not. But seeing the score tick down, little by little, made it impossible to ignore.
Eventually, he snatched the phone from Seung-hyeon’s hand.
Should he say something? He hesitated briefly but knew he didn’t have the strength for that. I’ll explain later, he told himself, then ended the call without a word.
He turned to say something—anything—to Seung-hyeon, who had handed over the phone without resistance.
But before he could get a word out, the car suddenly jolted to a stop with a hard brake.
His body lurched forward in an instant. Seung-hyeon pulled him in protectively, shielding him against his own chest.
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 4!>
The car came to a stop, leaving Seon-woo in an awkward half-embrace with Gwak Seung-hyeon, their positions frozen mid-motion. The substitute driver apologized hastily from the front.
“Oh no, I’m terribly sorry! A car cut in front. Sir, are you hurt?”
Seon-woo couldn’t answer. His focus was completely hijacked by the string of alerts following the score drop.
<Your current Gwanggong Score is 40.>
<Due to consecutive drops in Gwanggong Score, an unexpected side effect has occurred.>
<System has temporarily lost control.>
<Attribute: “Gwanggongness” has been temporarily deactivated.>
He swallowed hard as the flood of system messages hit him. Since entering the game world, he’d seen countless pop-ups—but never anything like this. It was hard to even process what it meant. The system lost control? Was that something that could even happen?
He’d seen his Gwanggong Score drop multiple times before. Overlapping status effects, sure—but the system shutting down? Not once. What kind of condition had he triggered to cause a system failure out of nowhere? Could this itself be considered a type of status effect?
As his mind kept spinning through possibilities, Seon-woo noticed something.
The nausea that had plagued him—gone. Completely.
Thinking back, it had disappeared right after the last alert popped up. Must’ve been because the system lost control and deactivated everything, including the lingering effects of the status ailment.
Which… honestly, was amazing. Could you even call this a “status effect” when it was so good? Lately, he hadn’t even dared to imagine what it’d feel like to move without the system’s constraints. It felt like a breath of freedom.
Though, not without side effects. Gradually, his head began to spin. But it wasn’t the artificial disorientation of a debuff—it felt organic, like something natural.
Am I drunk?
His face felt flushed, too. The sudden rush of intoxication made no sense—he’d been totally fine until now. There was only one explanation.
The system had lost control. Gwanggongness had been deactivated.
He hadn’t gotten drunk earlier because of the “Gwanggong” trait. And now that it was gone, the intoxication came crashing in all at once.
“Director? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Seung-hyeon asked, clearly concerned, but Seon-woo couldn’t bring himself to answer. He nearly laughed. His whole face felt hot, like someone had poured a bottle of liquor over his head.
At some point, the car had already arrived in front of his apartment complex. Seung-hyeon helped steady him and guided him out of the car, as Seon-woo’s legs wobbled beneath him.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Seon-woo had planned to walk inside alone and send Seung-hyeon away. But anyone could see how unstable his gait was now—there was no way he could convince anyone to just leave him like this. In the end, he had no choice but to lean on Seung-hyeon and let himself be taken home.
He half-draped himself over Seung-hyeon’s shoulder as they stepped into the elevator. The fact that the system didn’t flash another “Gwanggong Score has dropped” warning at that moment felt like a blessing. He liked not having to hold himself up stiffly for once, so he deliberately let his posture slacken even more.
When they finally reached his front door, Seung-hyeon spoke.
“Director, you need to punch in the code.”
His voice was like a whisper right against his ear—just soft enough to tickle and send an unsettling shiver down Seon-woo’s spine. Irritated, he let out a sigh and snapped back.
“You know the code.”
At that, Seung-hyeon fell silent for a moment. It wasn’t until Seon-woo squinted up at him through bleary eyes that he finally responded, “Yeah… you’re right,” and punched in the digits to open the door.
Drunk on both alcohol and the rare taste of freedom, Seon-woo staggered straight into the apartment as soon as the door swung open. Seung-hyeon followed after neatly arranging Seon-woo’s discarded shoes.
“You should take off your jacket before you sleep.”
He seemed to have fully accepted by now that Seon-woo was drunk. His tone was halfway between someone dealing with a drunk adult and someone humoring a stubborn child.
When Seon-woo collapsed wordlessly onto the bed, Seung-hyeon gave a short, incredulous laugh. For a moment, it seemed like he’d given up and was leaving the room—but a few seconds later, he returned, holding a change of indoor clothes he’d found somewhere.
“Director, just get changed before you sleep.”
It wasn’t like he was that drunk that he needed coaxing. But Seung-hyeon’s gentle, overly careful manner was oddly amusing—and not entirely unpleasant—so Seon-woo didn’t bother protesting. He simply stretched both arms up in the air. Seung-hyeon stepped in and supported his torso with one arm to help him sit up.
The movement was purely practical. Completely professional.
But the second Seung-hyeon’s fingers brushed the buttons of his shirt, Seon-woo snapped back to full awareness. He hastily grabbed Seung-hyeon’s wrist and pushed him away.
“I can do it myself.”
Unfortunately, his rushed, clumsy fingers refused to cooperate. After fumbling uselessly around the buttons, he gave up with a frustrated sigh and dropped his hands.
Without saying a word, Seung-hyeon resumed unbuttoning the shirt—no smirk, no teasing in his expression. But the real problem wasn’t the touch. It was the fact that, the whole time, his eyes never left Seon-woo’s face.
That intense stare was too much.
There were no system constraints now. He didn’t need to act like a Gwanggong. And yet, for some reason, he wanted to slap that hand away and tell him to quit it.
Come to think of it, he’d worn that same expression at the bar, too. Not smiling, not angry, but gazing at him with that relentless, piercing look. It sent a chill crawling up Seon-woo’s spine.
He wasn’t angry.
He wasn’t scared either.
It was just…
After helping him change into a soft indoor shirt, Seung-hyeon reached for the buckle of his pants. There wasn’t anything overtly suggestive in the way he moved—nothing to give Seon-woo a clear reason to lash out. Still, he instinctively stopped him, reaching out in a hurry to push his hand away. He was even ready to blame it all on being drunk and kick Seung-hyeon out if he had to.
But Seung-hyeon was faster.
Hand still resting lightly on the buckle, he leaned in and spoke.
“Director.”
His voice was low, coaxing, almost teasing.
“You’re hard, aren’t you?”
