“What are you looking for so intently?”
Gwak Seung-hyeon spoke up after quietly watching Seon-woo, who was completely absorbed in the computer screen.
Without taking his eyes off the monitor, Seon-woo replied indifferently.
“If you’re bored, you’re free to leave.”
It probably wasn’t the response Seung-hyeon had been hoping for. Rather than answering the question, Seon-woo all but told him to get lost, prompting a short, derisive snort from Seung-hyeon. Mimicking Gwak Seon-woo’s frosty tone, he deliberately lowered his voice and replied,
“Doesn’t matter what you say—I’m not going anywhere.”
The tone gave Seon-woo pause for a fleeting moment, though it was so brief that it might’ve gone unnoticed. He quickly schooled his expression and responded in that same flat, monotonous voice.
“Then shut up and stay quiet.”
Seung-hyeon slouched back on the guest sofa with a grumble.
“You’re really cold, Director.”
Despite the words, his tone didn’t carry any real resentment. His empty complaint was amusing, but Seon-woo’s lips remained as still as ever. Still, his gesture—nodding toward the table—was noticeably more relaxed than before.
“There should be a newspaper over there. If you’re really that bored, go do a crossword or something.”
It was, in his own way, a generous offer—but Seung-hyeon didn’t seem to take it seriously. Either he took it as a joke or simply chose to joke back, because he chuckled and replied,
“You sound like an old man…”
Maybe he should’ve just told him to play a game on his phone. Come to think of it, the Gwanggong’s daily routine had always had an oddly old-fashioned side to it, despite his polished looks and refined demeanor. He only showered with cold water, and he preferred physical newspapers over reading news online. Somehow, without realizing it, Seon-woo had started to blend into that rhythm too—and the words just came out naturally.
Not wanting to admit that he might actually be an “old man,” Seon-woo gave a couple of awkward coughs to cover his embarrassment.
“Suit yourself.”
Seung-hyeon didn’t say anything else, and soon the office fell quiet. Seon-woo focused on his research again for a while until, suddenly, he raised his head. Seung-hyeon had been too quiet—it was starting to nag at him.
When he turned to look, he saw Seung-hyeon holding a pen in one hand and studying the newspaper. He was really doing the crossword, apparently. A faint, barely-there smile tugged at Seon-woo’s lips before he turned his attention back to the monitor, eyes locked in as if the screen might pull him in.
After clicking the mouse for a long stretch, his eyes started to feel strained. Seon-woo leaned back so far his chair nearly tipped over, stretching out his stiff muscles. He pressed around his eyes to ease the tension, and that naturally triggered a yawn.
He was about to yawn without thinking, but a sudden chill down the back of his neck snapped him back to attention, and he quickly covered his mouth. Fighting the urge brought a bit of teariness to his eyes—a purely physical reaction. Yawning with his mouth wide open in front of someone would be disgraceful and could lower his Gwanggong Score. Even if that wasn’t the reason, showing an unsightly side of himself in front of Gwak Seung-hyeon felt like giving the man ammunition, and that was something he wanted to avoid.
Just when he thought Seung-hyeon was fully absorbed in his crossword, the man had apparently shifted his gaze to Seon-woo at some point. In a calm, composed voice, he asked:
“You look tired. Are you really going to keep going?”
“I’ll look into it just a little longer.”
Seung-hyeon looked concerned, but he didn’t cross the line. Rather than insisting they go home, he simply nodded.
“I’ll go grab something to drink.”
“Well, if you want to…”
Seon-woo considered turning him down, not wanting to trouble him for no reason—but once the words sank in, he realized he was actually thirsty. On top of that, having Seung-hyeon sitting right there was subtly distracting, making it hard to focus. Mentally, it was doubly exhausting. Maybe it really would be better if he stepped out for a bit.
After a brief hesitation, Seon-woo gave a nod. As if waiting for it, Seung-hyeon promptly asked,
“Coffee?”
“Sure.”
When he readily agreed, Seung-hyeon gave a slight bow of acknowledgment. Once he quietly opened the door and stepped out, an unexpected silence fell over the office. It wasn’t as though Seung-hyeon had been making any real noise or talking much, yet somehow it now felt too quiet.
Seon-woo leaned back in his chair and relaxed his posture. For the first time in a while, he felt like he could breathe.
Ever since hearing Seo Eun-jae’s warning, he hadn’t been able to go straight home—too preoccupied with the matter of Gwak Sang-cheol. Even if he told himself it was just a matter from within a game, it was happening right in front of him. There was no way he could lie down and sleep soundly.
Of course, he didn’t seriously expect to dig up any groundbreaking information just by tapping away on his office computer. If Gwak Sang-cheol really intended to harm him, it wasn’t like he’d leave a clear paper trail. The man would move in secret—he wouldn’t openly draw attention to his schemes.
Still, the reason Seon-woo had bothered to come back to the office at all was simply because he didn’t know enough about Gwak Sang-cheol. At the very least, he needed to know what the man actually did and what kind of person he was. That way, he could prepare for whatever might be coming.
And it turned out, his judgment wasn’t entirely off the mark. He’d noticed it before when handling some paperwork, but Gwak Sang-cheol wasn’t particularly careful with his corruption. Even a light skim could uncover obvious embezzlement or things like money laundering through the art museum.
Seon-woo closed his eyes for a moment and recalled the visit to the gallery run by Sang-cheol’s wife. But when he tried to remember the woman’s face, his mind was foggy—as though everything were shrouded in mist.
‘Well… It’s not like people usually remember extras’ faces anyway.’
He’d thought of her as someone he’d never see again, so he hadn’t made an effort to remember her face. Not that it mattered now—thankfully, her appearance wasn’t important in the current situation. So he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he kept his eyes closed, sorting through his thoughts. He hoped a brief rest would help shake off the fatigue.
Honestly, this whole thing was just unnecessary trouble. No matter how much more effort he put in tonight, all he’d find were fragments of information. Maybe it would be better to just delegate the investigation to his secretary. Or… he could ask Gwak Seung-hyeon. He probably knew far more than someone with no memory like himself.
Lost in those thoughts, Seon-woo must’ve dozed off.
***
“You wouldn’t lose anything by listening to me, would you? The real problem is when you refuse.”
At the sudden voice, Seon-woo jolted awake, eyes darting around in alarm. Or rather, he tried to look around. But his head wouldn’t move at all—locked in place, facing dead ahead. As his vision gradually adjusted to the darkness, he was finally able to make out the face of the speaker.
“Think carefully. Be cautious.”
Seon-woo spent a few seconds trying to place that face—and then realization struck like a bolt of lightning. Gwak Sang-cheol. It was him!
His mind began racing. He was dreaming again, clearly. But was this another dream showing him the original story’s progression? Or just a meaningless jumble brought on by thinking about Gwak Sang-cheol right before falling asleep?
Given that he was aware this was a dream while still inside it, it was probably the former. Seon-woo sharpened his focus, eyes wide open and ears on high alert.
“It’s not like you’re particularly close with him anyway, right? Honestly, I bet you dislike him.”
He strained to figure out who Gwak Sang-cheol was talking to, but there wasn’t much to glean. The other person was nothing more than a dark silhouette—the face and voice completely indistinct. Even their responses were muffled, as if smudged out.
All Seon-woo could do was make educated guesses based on the context. Someone not particularly close to the Gwanggong… someone who might even resent him.
“If you say you don’t hate him, you’re either lying or some kind of saint. Think about it carefully. What exactly did Gwak Seon-woo do to you?”
Apparently, the Gwanggong had done something—something bad. At this moment, that “Gwanggong” was himself, but even he had to admit the words sounded persuasive. It wouldn’t be strange if the person listening ended up agreeing with him.
Yet the silhouette didn’t give in so easily.
“Tch… damn. I really didn’t want to take it this far either.”
Gwak Sang-cheol’s tone didn’t sound all that sincere. He shook his head in annoyance and continued in a voice laced with unmistakable malice.
“What, you’re not worried about your family?”
Blackmailing someone using their family—how disgustingly underhanded. It was astonishing how sleazy this felt, even within a dream. Seon-woo silently clicked his tongue.
The other person stayed silent for a long time, offering no reply. Then, after what felt like ages, they finally said something—but it was garbled again, impossible to make out.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s more like it. I mean, come on. You’re just gonna leave your one and only blood relative to suffer because of some punk like Gwak Seon-woo?”
Judging by how Gwak Sang-cheol nodded with satisfaction, it seemed he’d gotten the answer he wanted.
“Just do exactly what I told you. I’m not even asking for much. Sure, it’s technically industrial espionage, but it’s not anything difficult. Just handle a few simple things for me. Sounds like a good deal, doesn’t it?”
He burst into loud, hearty laughter at the end—a sound that left an unpleasant residue in the air.
Seon-woo tried to gather his thoughts through the hazy fog of the dream. Someone who wasn’t close with Gwak Seon-woo—who had good reason to dislike him. Someone with a single close family member. Someone Gwak Sang-cheol planted as a corporate spy…
“You’re awake?”
Seon-woo’s eyes snapped open. He immediately locked eyes with Seung-hyeon, who stood before him wearing the same easygoing smile as always—like nothing had happened at all.
