Seo Eun-jae wore a terrified expression. His pale face looked as though he might burst into tears at any moment, and the way he anxiously averted his gaze felt completely foreign. To Seon-woo, the Seo Eun-jae he knew and the one standing before him now seemed like two entirely different people.
Then suddenly, he recalled something—his very first impression when they’d met had felt similar to this. Eun-jae had looked soft-hearted and kind back then, too.
“D-Director, what are you doing…?”
Eun-jae spoke in a voice that sounded almost pitiful. Only then did Seon-woo begin to process what kind of situation this was. But it was like a thick fog had rolled into his mind—he couldn’t think of anything at all. In the end, all he could do was continue listening to Eun-jae’s voice, dazed and numb.
“If it was nothing, then why couldn’t you just tell me?”
Another voice cut in. Seon-woo doubted his own ears for a second. It had sounded familiar—and then it hit him. That voice belonged to none other than himself, Gwak Seon-woo.
But something was off.
Sure, people often say that your own voice sounds different when you hear it from others, but even accounting for that, this voice felt unmistakably unfamiliar. It sounded like someone else’s entirely. Before he could dwell on it further, Eun-jae’s reply snapped him out of it.
“There really wasn’t anything going on between me and the Team Leader! He was just worried about me…”
His voice still quivered with unease. Perhaps out of fear, Eun-jae clasped his trembling hands behind his back. With his head lowered and both hands gathered like that, he looked heartbreakingly fragile.
Whether he meant to appear that way or not, the sight was more than enough to stir sympathy in anyone watching.
But the Seon-woo standing before him now showed not a shred of sympathy—only cold, unrelenting indifference.
“Why the hell is he worried about you?”
Those words struck with sharp clarity, and Seon-woo couldn’t help but agree.
If Eun-jae said “Team Leader,” he must be referring to Gwak Seung-hyeon. And though Seo Eun-jae now seemed desperate to defend him for whatever reason, the relationship Seon-woo had observed between the two over time was anything but friendly—they’d clashed constantly, more like bitter enemies in some old-school cartoon, like a cat and mouse endlessly at each other’s throats.
So the idea that Gwak Seung-hyeon was concerned about Seo Eun-jae sounded completely absurd.
Maybe that was why, despite the vividness of what was unfolding in front of him, everything still felt strangely unreal—like he was watching a movie play out on screen rather than witnessing reality.
Rather than try to make sense of the situation, Seon-woo surrendered to his fogged mind.
“Enough. I don’t want to hear another excuse.”
“But, Director…”
“I said enough!”
At that point, the exchange between the two became noticeably more heated.
The Gwak Seon-woo in front of him suddenly raised his voice, full of rage, and stormed toward Seo Eun-jae.
In the blink of an eye, Eun-jae was grabbed and shoved onto the bed.
The scene triggered a sense of déjà vu.
That was when he finally snapped out of it.
Seon-woo instinctively reached out. The urge to stop what was about to happen overwhelmed everything else. But his hand wouldn’t move—he was like a theatergoer strapped to a seat, forced to watch.
He saw himself forcefully pressing his lips to Seo Eun-jae’s.
No—that wasn’t him.
The Gwanggong yanked his tie off roughly and threw it aside. In a pitiful, trembling voice, Seo Eun-jae repeated over and over, “Please don’t do this!”
Seon-woo stared at the scene in shock, his face frozen in horror.
And then—blackout.
“Assistant Manager Seo!”
The scene shifted abruptly. Seon-woo whipped his head toward the voice. Gwak Seung-hyeon was striding in, his face twisted in anger.
Hearing his voice, Eun-jae weakly pushed himself up.
Seung-hyeon walked right up to the bed where Eun-jae lay and knelt beside him. His face, as he studied Eun-jae’s expression, seemed caught between barely restrained fury and deep concern.
Seon-woo had never seen that expression on Seung-hyeon before—and certainly not directed at Seo Eun-jae.
How the hell did he even get in here?!
Even amid the confusion, that question surfaced first—and the fact that it did struck Seon-woo as strange. The place was unmistakably still Gwak Seon-woo’s room, and yet Seung-hyeon had barged in as if it were his own home.
From the looks of it, Eun-jae seemed just as confused.
“Team Leader? How did you even…?”
Eun-jae asked in a dazed voice as he sat up, but wobbled on the bed. Seung-hyeon rushed to support him, steadying his body. Then, looking down at him with a pained expression, he said softly:
“You’re okay now. I’m here to take you back.”
“Does the Director… know about this?”
Eun-jae asked hesitantly, his voice filled with worry.
Seung-hyeon shook his head firmly. What startled Seon-woo wasn’t Eun-jae’s reaction—it was the look that flashed across Seung-hyeon’s face at the word “Director.”
He visibly grimaced in disgust.
The last time Seon-woo had seen Seung-hyeon look unpleasant was the very first time they’d met. But even then, his expression hadn’t been twisted with this much open contempt.
Seon-woo stared, stunned, as he silently watched the conversation unfold.
“You should leave before the Director finds out.”
“I said I’m here to take you.”
Eun-jae shook his head, insisting he couldn’t go with him. He tried to sound resolute, but the hesitation on his face betrayed him.
“I’m just worried about you, Team Leader.”
In their back-and-forth, Gwak Seon-woo was being cast like some villain out of a thriller movie. And yet, Seon-woo didn’t even have time to feel annoyed by that portrayal. Because Seung-hyeon suddenly raised his voice.
“What more are you planning to endure by staying here? It’s safe now, so come on. Don’t make people worry about you!”
It was unmistakably Gwak Seung-hyeon’s face, but the expression and tone were like those of a completely different man.
Seon-woo, plunged into deeper confusion, kept his eyes fixed on the scene—more precisely, on Seung-hyeon’s face as he glared in open disgust at the thought of Gwak Seon-woo.
Seung-hyeon grabbed Eun-jae and helped him up. Though he still looked hesitant, Eun-jae staggered to his feet and followed behind him.
And then—another blackout.
***
Seon-woo woke up drenched in cold sweat, his breathing harsh and foreign, like it didn’t even belong to him. His hands trembled from the lingering tension of the dream, and even that felt unfamiliar—as if the shaking hands weren’t his own.
It wasn’t just shock.
It felt more like he was angry—furious about the scene he’d just witnessed in the dream.
Yet the strangest part was that, while watching Seung-hyeon flee with Eun-jae, he hadn’t felt angry at all. If anything, he’d just been overwhelmed with helpless disbelief.
What the hell was that…
He stared blankly down at his hands, mulling over the memory.
In truth, he already knew the answer. He didn’t even need to think long. That dream had most likely shown him a future event from the original storyline.
The way the Gwanggong had forcibly pinned down the terrified Eun-jae on the bed, and the way the sub-lead, Seung-hyeon, had swooped in to rescue him—it had all played out like a perfectly crafted scene.
If the current Seon-woo hadn’t possessed the Gwanggong’s body and meddled with the plot, that horrifying situation would’ve unfolded exactly as he saw it.
And yet, the look on Seung-hyeon’s face was what lingered most.
Seon-woo had never seen that kind of expression from him before.
Because up until now, Seung-hyeon had always treated him with a calm, even-tempered demeanor.
Seon-woo knew, of course, that in the original story, the two had been rivals fighting over Seo Eun-jae. But to think Seung-hyeon had despised Gwak Seon-woo that much… that came as a shock.
Even though it hadn’t been him who acted that way in the dream, the guilt and trauma clung to him.
If I hadn’t refused the choice back then… would that nightmare have become reality?
And yet… there had been a difference. The Seo Eun-jae who had nearly been assaulted in real life, and the Eun-jae who was forcibly taken in the dream—they’d responded very differently.
Still, what disturbed him most was Seung-hyeon’s expression.
Even knowing it hadn’t been directed at him, the memory wouldn’t leave his head.
Was it the shock of realizing Seung-hyeon was capable of making such a face? Or did the dream-version of Gwak Seung-hyeon simply feel like an entirely different person?
More than anything, what nagged at Seon-woo was—Why that dream? Why now?
Until now, no matter how curious he’d been, the system had never shown him Gwak Seon-woo’s part of the story. But now, all of a sudden, it had thrown him a scene out of nowhere.
Come to think of it, that last dream had been strange, too.
Could it be related to the system glitching, losing control and then snapping back?
His thoughts were a tangled mess.
He looked outside. Morning light had already flooded in. He knew he should get up, but his body refused to move. He lay there in a daze for a while.
Then, his phone buzzed with a familiar vibration. Forcing himself to reach out, he checked the message.
It was from Seo Eun-jae.
And somehow… he felt afraid to read it.
[Good morning, Director. Would you happen to be free this evening?]
[I’d like to treat you to a meal.]
It wasn’t the first time they’d eaten together, but the polite, formal tone felt oddly out of place. Which made it that much harder to reply. Still, regardless of the bad dream, it was something he’d have to face eventually.
He thought about what he’d say when they met. Honestly, there was something he wanted to ask—but he wasn’t sure yet.
Maybe it’d be best to start with an apology.
With heavy fingers, Seon-woo typed his reply.
[Sure. Let’s meet in the parking lot at 6.]
Cruzando los dedos para que no pase nada malo!!! Solo quiero q mi bebé sea feliz