“—You’re saying you were upset because I didn’t come?”
Hearing Seung-hyeon’s voice laced with laughter, Seon-woo seriously questioned whether he should have made the call at all. Even getting the call connected hadn’t been easy. The system had done everything in its power to stop him from reaching out to Seung-hyeon. Every time Seon-woo picked up his phone, it presented him with the same option: “Do not call Gwak Seung-hyeon.”
Still, using the note Seung-hyeon had left him—as an excuse more than a reason—he pushed through and called anyway.
Hearing Seung-hyeon’s voice wasn’t the issue. Even snapping at him without thinking, demanding why he’d left like that, wasn’t really the issue either. But Seung-hyeon’s amused reaction? That was the part that didn’t sit well.
Would it be better to just pretend he misunderstood and hang up?
The thought came and went. Seon-woo responded, feigning composure.
“Upset? Why would I be upset? Don’t twist the narrative. I was annoyed that you took off on your own without my permission.”
Even to his own ears, it didn’t sound convincing. But the cold tone helped cushion the lie, at least a little. Or so he hoped. Whether Seung-hyeon was actually buying it, or just playing along, he responded calmly.
“Didn’t you tell me to leave? Don’t you remember?”
That answer caught Seon-woo off guard. He couldn’t tell if Seung-hyeon was making a flimsy excuse or actually joking. But before he could decide whether to call him out for lying, Seung-hyeon continued.
“You woke up in the middle of sleep and told me to get the hell out if I didn’t want to see something nasty…”
The tone had a hint of playfulness, but it didn’t sound like a joke.
So I really said that to him in my sleep…?
Subconsciously? No—that wouldn’t be subconscious.
Shocked, Seon-woo could barely register whatever Seung-hyeon said next. He was just relieved the system didn’t go overboard after Seung-hyeon left and came back. Maybe its control had weakened somehow.
But if it had been the system lashing out at Seung-hyeon through his sleeping body… the thought sent a chill down his spine.
In a slightly dazed voice, Seon-woo muttered,
“I…”
Did I really say that?
He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Lucky—or maybe unlucky—for him, that was all Seung-hyeon needed to understand.
With an easy tone, Seung-hyeon asked,
“You really don’t remember?”
If I admit I don’t, will it dock my Gwanggong Score again?
Not that it mattered—what he was doing right now already went against the system’s will.
“…You seemed so sharp and clear-headed, I figured you were wide awake…”
Seung-hyeon muttered like he was talking to himself.
“Who puts that much meaning into what someone says in their sleep? And how can you be sure I even said that? Maybe you’re the one trying to cover your ass after running off without a word.”
After some inner struggle, Seon-woo fired back with a counter accusation. Trying to start a fight made his words ramble.
I don’t remember it, and since I don’t remember, that makes it sound like he’s lying…
He sure had the nerve to say all that with a straight face. He was basically pushing all the blame onto Seung-hyeon—yet the guy apologized without missing a beat.
“Sorry. It was just sleep-talking, but your true intention was telling me not to go. I just didn’t catch that.”
Was that even a real apology? Seon-woo accepted it, but the tone—it sounded more like he was consoling a child than sincerely repenting. It rubbed him the wrong way almost immediately. He kept quiet, not showing his displeasure outright, and that was all the cue Seung-hyeon needed to spiral into self-deprecation.
“Yeah, I’m an idiot.”
And he didn’t stop there. He went on to say he was the dumbest man alive, a clueless thug who couldn’t even read the heart of his own executive director, and that he deserved whatever punishment came his way…
It was all just a string of silly, meaningless jokes, really. But it was obvious that he was trying to ease the tension and lift Seon-woo’s mood.
At some point, before he realized it, Seon-woo found himself smiling.
<Gwanggong does not laugh idly while on the phone with a romantic rival! Gwanggong Score has decreased by 2.>
Shit.
The system, silent for so long, sprang back to life with surgical precision. It hadn’t been quiet because it’d grown lenient—most likely, it had just taken time to fully reboot.
If that were true, then it must’ve been seething all this time, unable to stop Gwak Seon-woo from acting out since the restart.
Thinking that far, Seon-woo smiled inwardly, oddly satisfied.
And then, like a bucket of cold water, a strange sense of discomfort washed over him. A game system was just supposed to be a machine. But somehow, without even noticing, he’d begun treating it like a sentient being.
Still, it wasn’t entirely unjustified. Based on its past behavior, it wouldn’t be all that strange to discover it was actually a deranged person squatting in his head, pulling the strings.
Earlier, he’d been deeply unsettled by the idea that he might’ve been controlled by the system in his sleep. But now, imagining that same system fuming in frustration brought a weird kind of comfort. It helped take the edge off.
Seon-woo steadied himself and replied to Seung-hyeon.
“Good. As long as you know.”
It was curt and barely made sense. But he acted like he was being gracious in response to Seung-hyeon’s self-blame, and a laugh echoed faintly from the other side of the line.
Even someone like Gwak Seung-hyeon, who was used to shamelessness and great at placating people, must have found the situation ridiculous.
Just as Seon-woo was about to let it go and move on, Seung-hyeon asked,
“Should I come back?”
His heart dropped.
He was about to retort, something like What kind of nonsense is that?—but his lips clamped shut.
Should I come back?
The moment he heard it, Seon-woo realized that’s exactly what he’d been wanting to hear. Deep down, he’d been hoping Seung-hyeon would come back.
He’d pushed past the system’s feeble resistance, reached out to Seung-hyeon over the phone, all because of this. Because he wanted Gwak Seung-hyeon to come back.
“What… kind of ridiculous thing are you saying?”
He forced a gruff tone.
He nearly blurted out, Yeah. That sounds like a good idea, and felt the urge to slap himself across the face a few times.
Seon-woo pulled himself together, holding tight to his composure.
What exactly am I planning to do by calling Gwak Seung-hyeon back?
Whatever the case, after what happened… it would be way too awkward to face him. The moment Seon-woo allowed that buried memory to resurface, he internally writhed in embarrassment.
No, but seriously—after all that, how can this guy act so unfazed? That was his first time, wasn’t it?
The sudden flare of thought twisted in his chest, but before he could pursue it further, Seung-hyeon spoke again.
“Then… should I come pick you up at your place tomorrow?”
Just like that, Seon-woo’s head cooled instantly. He snapped back, brusque as ever.
“You sure put effort into your nonsense.”
Once again, Seung-hyeon’s laughter flowed through the phone. If he’d been standing in front of him, Seon-woo would’ve grabbed him by the collar and demanded to know what was so funny—but hearing it only through sound, his fighting spirit didn’t even stir.
“Got it, Director. I’ll see you at the office.”
Seung-hyeon’s voice was smooth and sweet, like it’d been dipped in sugar. Maybe it was the distance the phone created, but it sounded even gentler than usual. One of the strange things about Seung-hyeon was how he could keep that tone, no matter what he was being told.
Seon-woo suddenly found himself imagining what it would be like to confess everything to him. Honestly, that had been the first thought in his mind the moment the system shut off.
He’d seriously considered it: to say that none of what he said was truly sincere, that everything he’d done had been under someone else’s control.
But he never said it—because he already knew what would happen afterward.
Seung-hyeon would’ve asked who was controlling him, and how he could help. Not if he could help—but how. And that would leave Seon-woo with no room to run.
What would happen if he just told the truth?
That he was inside a game world, that he was supposed to end up with Seo Eun-jae, and that he was now in trouble because he hadn’t followed that path.
Most of all… if he told Gwak Seung-hyeon that he was just a character in a game—how would he react?
He might blow up, call it complete nonsense… but then again, maybe he’d just accept it. After all, he had believed that ridiculous excuse about memory loss.
But it wasn’t like Seon-woo had to confess.
And truthfully, he didn’t want to. He didn’t even want to imagine what Seung-hyeon’s face would look like hearing those words. It was hard to explain, but… he just felt that way.
Even after saying his last words, Seung-hyeon didn’t hang up first. It didn’t feel like he was waiting for Seon-woo to say more—just that he was determined to stay on the line until Seon-woo ended the call himself, as a matter of stubborn courtesy.
Seon-woo gripped his phone tightly, mulling it over for a moment.
After a long stretch of silence, he finally opened his mouth.
“Yeah.”
He heard the faint sound of Seung-hyeon sharply inhaling. He didn’t say anything back, and Seon-woo quickly followed up.
“See you tomorrow.”
And with that, he hit the end call button like he was fleeing.
He’d had a dozen things he wanted to say to Seung-hyeon, words that had risen all the way to the back of his throat—but barely any of them were words he should say.
And among all those things he shouldn’t say… one stood out as the most overpowering, the most dangerous temptation of all.
Originally, I was supposed to end up in some kind of relationship with Seo Eun-jae in this game world. But the reason I couldn’t go through with it… was because of you.
—That was the one thing. The one thing he absolutely shouldn’t say.
