“Director……..”
Only after walking for quite a while did he finally hear the voice calling out to him. He snapped out of it and turned around—only to realize he was still holding Seo Eun-jae’s hand. He had gripped it so tightly that white marks were visible on Eun-jae’s skin.
He must have been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed.
Seon-woo opened his mouth to apologize. But the words wouldn’t come out, as if something were blocking them. This was something that had only ever happened in front of Gwak Seung-hyeon. He’d never had trouble apologizing in front of Seo Eun-jae before—but it seemed like the system had made up its mind this time.
Instead of trying to push the apology out, Seon-woo simply closed his mouth. And he surrendered to the system, letting it take control of his body.
He loosened his grip just slightly and continued walking toward his car, then opened the door and pushed Eun-jae inside. It was a bit forceful, but Eun-jae didn’t resist. He quietly got into the passenger seat. He didn’t say a word, just kept stealing glances at Seon-woo the entire time until the car started moving.
To be honest, it was a little strange to Seon-woo. If he were in Eun-jae’s shoes, he probably would’ve been angry instead of just watching for reactions.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
Eun-jae even tried to explain himself. Odd, but Seon-woo didn’t say anything. There was no point in trying to analyze Eun-jae’s every mood or action—it would only give him a headache.
Not what I’m thinking, huh? And what exactly do you think I’m thinking?
He gave a dry, silent laugh and didn’t reply. Eun-jae cautiously continued.
“Are you… mad?”
Seon-woo glanced sideways at him. Why would he think Seon-woo was angry? Was it because he saw him talking all chummy with Gwak Seung-hyeon?
The system was certainly furious about that, but Seon-woo himself didn’t feel the slightest resentment. He just didn’t have the feelings the system expected him to have for Eun-jae—certainly not enough to be angry over something like that.
Still, he had enough awareness not to bother clarifying. The system seemed to want a scene where Seon-woo, full of rage, dragged Eun-jae off somewhere.
Since Seon-woo didn’t answer, Eun-jae probably took that as confirmation that he was furious. Letting the misunderstanding sit, Seon-woo continued driving—and then a set of choices popped up in front of him.
▶ “What did you talk about with Gwak Seung-hyeon?”
▶ “I don’t want to hear it. Shut your mouth and don’t say another word.”
Eun-jae was already staying quiet, but truthfully, Seon-woo was curious about what he and Seung-hyeon had talked about. So, he chose the first option.
“What did you talk about with Gwak Seung-hyeon?”
Eun-jae’s face shifted into one of discomfort. Had it been something difficult to talk about?
That earlier “It’s not what you’re thinking” must’ve been an attempt to convey that he had no feelings for Seung-hyeon. But now he couldn’t even answer what they actually talked about? That alone made the whole situation look suspicious. What kind of secretive exchange had taken place between the original story’s second lead and its main submissive character…?
Suddenly, a subtle hostility surged within him. Unlike the usual artificial rage the system forced on him, this wave of anger felt disturbingly natural. Even if it was his own emotion, it was the first time it had aligned so perfectly with the fury the system demanded.
Without hesitation, Seon-woo stepped on the gas and accelerated. The destination he sped toward was none other than Gwak Seon-woo’s own home. Heading straight for the underground parking lot, he didn’t bother correcting the car’s angle—he parked in one clean, aggressive motion and got out immediately. Then he practically dragged Eun-jae behind him as he made his way to the elevator.
Even as they stepped inside the front door, the forceful demeanor continued. Yet unlike the first time he’d come here, Eun-jae—though dragged in this time—didn’t look particularly flustered. Considering the situation, his expression was almost calm. He wasn’t completely composed—he kept glancing around the house—but rather than panic, it seemed more like nervous anticipation.
Seon-woo—or more accurately, the system—had no intention of matching that energy. Ignoring Eun-jae’s cautious gaze around the apartment, he pulled on his wrist again.
Gripping Eun-jae’s wrist tightly as they walked through the hallway, Gwak Seon-woo was struck by an ominous sense of dread. It felt like something that absolutely shouldn’t happen was about to unfold. And yet, he didn’t stop walking.
As expected, that sense of foreboding wasn’t wrong. The moment he opened his bedroom door, another set of options flashed before his eyes. And the second he saw them, he knew something had gone terribly off track.
▶ (Push Seo Eun-jae onto the bed.)
▶ (Shove Seo Eun-jae down onto the bed.)
Two options—essentially identical in meaning. The absurdity of it made his head spin, but his body moved faster than his mind could think, already following the command. He pushed Eun-jae down onto the bed, and then immediately focused on the next prompt that appeared.
▶ “What exactly did you talk about?”
▶ “Is there a reason you can’t answer my question?”
Still on track with the system’s desire to interrogate Eun-jae about what had happened with Gwak Seung-hyeon. Seon-woo adjusted his tie needlessly as he spoke.
“Is there a reason you can’t answer my question?”
Once the words were out, he glanced down at Eun-jae’s expression. The other man was averting his eyes, fidgeting slightly. He clearly didn’t want to respond. What kind of conversation could be so difficult to admit? At this point, Seon-woo wasn’t even angry anymore—he was just genuinely curious.
Before the system could interfere with another choice, he opened his mouth again.
“What on earth—”
▶ (Kiss Seo Eun-jae.)
He didn’t even get to finish the sentence. The sudden shift in progression left Seon-woo completely dumbfounded. Even though his face was involuntarily drawing closer, his mind was racing, thoughts spinning wildly.
Was this how things were supposed to go? Even when someone’s angry, isn’t it normal to at least talk first in a situation like this? A kiss—out of nowhere? What was even more baffling was that Eun-jae didn’t show the slightest sign of wanting to avoid it. He sat there stiffly, his head held high, completely still.
At this rate, Seon-woo was going to end up kissing him without hearing a single damn answer.
He struggled desperately to pull his head back, trying to escape the inevitable.
But in the blink of an eye, Eun-jae’s face closed in—and before he could even register what was happening, their lips touched.
“What the hell is this—”
Seon-woo hissed between clenched teeth. But the moment passed in an instant. As if nothing had happened, Seo Eun-jae pulled away and turned his head. His expression was stricken, as if the whole thing had never occurred. The terrified look on his face made what had just happened feel unreal.
It was ridiculous considering what had just happened, but Seon-woo decided the fear itself wasn’t out of place. He slowly sat up and put some distance between them.
He had no idea how to salvage the situation. For once, he actually wanted the system to offer him a choice. And as if reading his thoughts, it did.
But the content of that choice was revolting.
▶ (Forcefully rape Seo Eun-jae.)
▶ (Forcefully pin Seo Eun-jae down and assault him.)
A cold shock surged through him like ice water dumped over his head. Seon-woo sat frozen, repeating the options in his mind.
No way… this is real?
As outrageous as the system could be, this—this was outright criminal. Even if this was inside a game, how could it possibly justify something like this? Was this really a legitimate route?
Now that his head was clearer, even the events up to this point didn’t make sense. Dragging Seo Eun-jae to his house against his will. Forcing him down onto the bed. That kiss, which—granted—had been pulled by Eun-jae, not forced by Seon-woo. But there hadn’t even been time to think about that detail.
Either way, none of it was something a person in their right mind would’ve done.
Then why…
As Seon-woo reeled in a daze, retracing his own actions in disbelief, Seo Eun-jae—his expression tense—quietly called out to him.
“Director?”
▶ (Forcefully rape Seo Eun-jae.)
▶ (Forcefully pin Seo Eun-jae down and assault him.)
The same horrifying options reappeared, as if pushing him to choose. Seon-woo didn’t pick either. Instead, as if in a trance, he rose to his feet.
Why was I going along with this?
Well, I wanted to clear the game. Because this is a game. Because in the game, you’re supposed to follow the choices.
But still…
“I’m sorry. This isn’t right.”
He thought the system might resist—from the moment he sat up, to when he spoke. But thankfully, nothing stopped him this time. The words came out easily, and he repeated them silently to himself as if to confirm.
“Yeah. This… This isn’t right.”
Even if this was a game, it felt far too real. There was a living, breathing person right in front of him—how could forcing yourself on someone be justified just because it was “part of the game”? It was something Seon-woo’s own moral compass couldn’t begin to comprehend.
The more he thought about it, the clearer his mind became. But at the same time, a growing confusion began to take hold of him regarding his own state of being.
<Gwanggong Score has decreased by 5!>
Instead of restraining him, the system expressed its disapproval by slashing a significant chunk off his score. But Seon-woo wasn’t the type to let something like that sway him. He slowly stepped back without hesitation.
It was then, almost involuntarily, that he finally looked at Eun-jae’s face—something he’d been avoiding until now. And the moment he did, he flinched.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?”
The voice was calm, but the expression definitely wasn’t. Seo Eun-jae stared straight at him with a blank, unreadable look—not smiling, not angry, just… neutral. He slowly sat up from where he’d been lying and added:
“What exactly is the problem…?”
That was not the reaction Seon-woo had expected. After seeing how frightened Eun-jae had looked earlier, he’d assumed the man was still scared. But Seo Eun-jae didn’t look afraid in the slightest. If anything, he looked annoyed. Like he was frustrated—like he was disappointed something hadn’t happened when it should have.
“I think… I might be starting to understand.”
He said it slowly, deliberately. And Seon-woo felt a chill run down his spine.
Este mf si que da miedo