Seon-woo flinched slightly and studied Seung-hyeon’s expression carefully. It was to figure out what that cold, impassive face might be hiding.
Was it because something had struck a nerve, and it showed through on his face? That was the first thought that came to mind when he was suddenly confronted with that icy expression. But the pang in his chest quickly subsided. His mind, surprisingly calm, settled faster than he expected. Seon-woo fell into thought, focusing on reading the look in Seung-hyeon’s eyes.
If Seung-hyeon had truly approached Gwak Seon-woo with a specific goal in mind—and if he had actually disliked him but pretended otherwise just to achieve that goal—then… he wouldn’t be just any ordinary schemer. And someone that calculated wouldn’t break their composure and reveal their true feelings just because someone suggested he might not like them.
That was Seon-woo’s judgment.
Still, it was too soon to draw any conclusions. Seon-woo calmly opened his mouth to speak.
“It’s nothing serious, but… you know I don’t have all my memories intact.”
Normally, Seung-hyeon would have at least responded—if not with words, then with a nod. But now, he remained silent. Though Seon-woo felt his chest tighten slightly, he kept his voice steady.
“From what I understand, before I ended up like this… we didn’t exactly have the smoothest relationship.”
Again, under normal circumstances, Seung-hyeon might have replied with something like, ‘That’s true.’ But now, he remained silent once more.
Taking that silence as tacit acknowledgment, Seon-woo continued. He didn’t need to spell it out—Seung-hyeon would know what he meant. Before he lost his memory—more precisely, before Seon-woo’s consciousness entered the body of the Gwanggong—their relationship wasn’t just rocky. The Gwanggong had outright mistreated Gwak Seung-hyeon.
“It’s just… odd, is all. You have every reason to hate me, and yet, instead…”
He trailed off. The unspoken words hung in the air: Even though Gwak Seung-hyeon should, by all rights, hate him… Instead of tormenting the memory-less Gwak Seon-woo, he treated him well. So well, in fact, that…they had even shared a bed.
Upon hearing that, Seung-hyeon finally looked away, averting the gaze he’d fixed on Seon-woo. Only then did Seon-woo realize it wasn’t just a cold, distant expression—he was offended. There was a distinct sense of displeasure on his face. Seung-hyeon spoke in a dry, emotionless tone.
“I’d say the one who hates is you, Director.”
It wasn’t the kind of response Seon-woo had expected, which left him a little flustered. He had no idea what Seung-hyeon might say—whether it would be a polite denial, a heartfelt truth, or something else entirely. Maybe he’d say he didn’t hate him, whether sincerely or just to smooth things over. Or maybe he’d suggest they leave the past behind since Seon-woo had no memory of it. But when he imagined either of those options, they both felt oddly unreal, like scenes from someone else’s life.
Still… he hadn’t expected him to so openly show that he was upset.
“That’s…”
So Seon-woo hesitated, unable to come up with a clear answer.
“What, are you upset now because things aren’t as dog-shitty between us as they used to be?”
Seung-hyeon continued speaking without turning back to look at him. It seemed he thought his sudden comment had soured the mood.
To Seon-woo, who still couldn’t quite figure Seung-hyeon out, this response might not have been appropriate.
Even so, in that moment, Seon-woo felt that Seung-hyeon’s sarcastic tone didn’t quite suit him. But when he thought about it more deeply, that wasn’t such a convincing premise. After all, from the very first time they met—after he entered this body—Seung-hyeon had coldly thrown biting remarks at Seon-woo’s bratty, arrogant attitude.
So, it should have felt natural… and yet—
“I thought it was just something you mumbled in your sleep, but maybe it wasn’t.”
Upon hearing those words, Seon-woo snapped out of his bitter thoughts. The word “sleep talking” snagged in his mind. As soon as he heard it, he recalled something from a recent phone call with Seung-hyeon.
Back then, when Seon-woo had questioned why he’d left without saying a word, Seung-hyeon had explained that he himself had been kicked out by Seon-woo. Since Seon-woo had no memory of doing such a thing, he’d assumed it must’ve been something he muttered in his sleep…
Was that what Seung-hyeon was referring to now? Or—could it be—had he said something today, in the car, while dozing off?
Confusion swirled inside Seon-woo, but he didn’t let it show. It felt entirely inappropriate to ask, “Did I say something weird in my sleep again today?” Meanwhile, Seung-hyeon let out a bitter smile and continued speaking, almost to himself.
“I thought… things between us are actually going pretty well now.”
As he finished speaking, Seung-hyeon turned his head toward Seon-woo. That bitter smile from moments ago vanished, replaced by the same chilly expression as before— as if the smile had been nothing but a mirage. Looking into those eyes, Seon-woo felt a dull throb at his temples. A sudden surge of emotion bubbled up from inside.
Was this the system pulling its strings again? But being nudged into certain feelings by the system was something he’d already experienced multiple times. It wasn’t anything new.
And yet, this time… the feeling was different. It was sudden, yes—but it didn’t feel artificial.
In the midst of that confusion, Seon-woo spoke on impulse.
“Who gave you permission to look at me like that?”
Seung-hyeon’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. But Seon-woo was even more startled by his own words. He hadn’t meant to say that. Not like that. But if someone were to ask whether the thought hadn’t crossed his mind… he wouldn’t be able to honestly say no.
Seon-woo hurried to explain, watching Seung-hyeon’s expression.
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
Seung-hyeon looked confused. Moments ago, he’d seemed resentful—hurt, maybe—but now, his gaze had shifted to something more cautious, more assessing. He stared at Seon-woo with sharp, inquisitive eyes, as though trying to figure him out.
Was he wondering what on earth was happening to Gwak Seon-woo? It would make sense. Even to Seon-woo, those words just now had sounded crude—like something the Gwanggong himself would say. But there’d been no system prompt, no manipulation. He had no idea what triggered it.
There wasn’t time to dwell on it. Out of habit, Seon-woo ran a dry hand over his face and continued speaking.
“That’s not what I meant. I just… heard something recently.”
He worried there might be no reply again. But Seung-hyeon responded calmly.
“What did you hear?”
It seemed he’d regained his composure. Half-relieved, Seon-woo began thinking carefully. He had to choose his words with precision now.
Finally, with a steady expression, Seon-woo answered.
“Word is… there’s a rat hiding somewhere in the company.”
“If you say a rat…”
“An industrial spy.”
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t something he’d heard from someone—it had come to him in a dream. But Seung-hyeon had no way of discerning the truth of that, so it didn’t really matter. Seung-hyeon murmured a flat-toned, “Ah,” and gave a small nod, as if he understood.
“I don’t know if people have started catching on that my memory isn’t fully intact… but I thought it’d be wise to be cautious.”
Seung-hyeon calmly muttered, “Understandable.” Then, before Seon-woo could say anything more, he swiftly threw out a question.
“Are you talking about the spy Gwak Sang-cheol planted?”
Seon-woo didn’t respond. Or rather, it might be more accurate to say he couldn’t respond. Because Seung-hyeon had immediately named the culprit without the slightest hesitation.
He was right—it was about Gwak Sang-cheol. But how he knew that, or why he mentioned it now, was a mystery.
Still, considering he’d brought it up first, maybe it meant he had nothing to hide.
Even without an answer, Seung-hyeon seemed already convinced. He gave another small nod and tapped his chin lightly with his index finger as he muttered:
“So that’s it. Meaning… you were suspicious of me.”
The words were dry, matter-of-fact—but they still struck a nerve. Seon-woo found himself wanting to look away. And yet, Seung-hyeon wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, he kept speaking to himself in that calm, rational tone.
“It would make sense, I suppose. Yeah… you’d have every reason to be. You’d have every reason, but still…”
“You were the one who brought up Gwak Sang-cheol first.”
As a subtle note of resentment began to creep into Seung-hyeon’s tone, Seon-woo cut in quietly. Rather than saying ‘You’re right to be suspicious, but I’m hurt,’ Seung-hyeon simply nodded.
“You’re right.”
Then he turned to face Seon-woo. A faint smile appeared on his lips. Oddly enough, that smile put Seon-woo slightly at ease. Seung-hyeon spoke.
“So all I have to do is make myself trustworthy to you.”
It wasn’t something Seon-woo could easily affirm with a quick yes, so he remained silent. Seung-hyeon caught on and kept the conversation moving.
“If it’s about that guy, I’ve been digging into him on my own too. I’ll report back when I get something.”
Still, Seon-woo gave no reply. So Seung-hyeon tilted his head slightly, wearing a mock-playful expression.
“You know this is a risk for me too, right, Director…?”
Those words made Seon-woo’s head go momentarily blank. He still couldn’t be sure of anything, so he did his best to remain composed as he replied.
“Alright… let’s see what you find when you get back.”
Seung-hyeon smiled. And what came next was something so out of left field, it was hard to believe it came from the same man who, just minutes ago, had been drowning the air in tension.
“Then should we book a room first?”
Seon-woo murmured in stunned disbelief.
“…What did you just say?”
