Survive! Gwanggong!

1



Before even opening his eyes, Gwak Seon-woo frowned at the unfamiliar voice. He tried to force his eyelids open, but they refused to move as he willed them to. When he remained silent, the voice spoke again, as if urging him.

“My name? Gwak Seon-woo.”

The moment he responded, his mind seemed to clear. Finally managing to open his eyes, he looked around in a daze. The enigmatic voice echoed in his ears once more.

<※ Warning: If your Gwanggong gauge drops, you may face disadvantages in gameplay.>

Not only was the content of the voice baffling, but he also had no idea where it was coming from. He wasn’t wearing earphones, nor was any device attached to him, yet the voice sounded crystal clear—almost as if someone were whispering directly into his mind.

‘What the hell is a Gwanggong journey…?’

Still dazed, Gwak Seon-woo glanced around. He was lying on a bed he had never seen before, resting his head on a pitch-black pillow, covered neatly by a blanket of the same color. The sheets, also black, were spotless—without a single speck of dust.

As he sat up, he noticed the floor was made of smooth marble, while the walls were uniformly black. The ceiling was pristine, fitted with LED lights so clean that not even a single bug seemed to have made its way inside. This didn’t feel like a place where people lived. Even a model house wouldn’t have such a cold, lifeless interior.

Beside the bed, a sleek, wireless mood lamp sat atop a nightstand, but it showed no signs of ever being used. He stared at it absentmindedly for a while, and then, out of nowhere, something resembling a computer notification popped up before his eyes.

「Bedside Mood Lamp」
: An essential piece of Gwanggong interior decor. However, since recharging the lamp diligently would disqualify you from being a Gwanggong, it has no charging function.

‘Wait, what? Is this some kind of Windows pop-up?’

His next thought was so trivial in comparison that it barely seemed worth considering.

‘If it can’t even be charged, why put it next to the bed at all?’

Hold on.

Lost in thought, Gwak Seon-woo suddenly felt as if everything was starting to make sense, and his eyes widened in realization.

‘Am I… actually inside a game right now?’

Now that he thought about it, the voice earlier had asked for the player’s name…

Unfortunately, Gwak Seon-woo was someone whose gaming experience was limited to Minesweeper and Sudoku on his phone. He knew nothing about game strategies—hell, he didn’t even understand game systems. If he really had been pulled into a game, figuring out what to do next was going to be a headache. He pressed his fingers against his forehead.

‘Is this a dream?’

No, it wasn’t. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, and the sharp pain was far too real. A sigh escaped him, but rather than dwell on the absurdity of the situation, he decided he needed to do something.

Gwak Seon-woo opened the door and stepped out into the living room. Strangely enough, the place was just as desolate as the bedroom. Apart from the fact that the walls were made of sleek black marble, the overall vibe was almost identical. The sofa was jet black, the dining table was white, and the refrigerator was also black. If he hadn’t pulled back the curtains to check the bright blue sky outside, he might have thought he had stepped into a monochrome world.

He approached the unusually stark-looking refrigerator and opened it—only to be left utterly speechless.

Inside, there was just a single bottle of Evian.

The fridge was clearly powered on, so why was it running just to keep one bottle of water cold? What a ridiculous waste of electricity.

“Did anyone even live here?”

The moment he muttered to himself, a notification window popped up in front of him, as if responding to his words.

<[!] The refrigerator is nearly empty. Would you like to restock it?>

< Yes / No >

‘This really is like a game.’

Ever since the first pop-up appeared, none of this had felt like reality, but it was still a bit embarrassing to wave his hand through the air like he was using a smartphone. Instead, he murmured hesitantly,

“…Yes.”

As soon as he spoke, new options appeared before him.

▶ Instruct the secretary to restock the refrigerator.

▶ Order groceries online.

A secretary? Was he supposed to have one? Then again, judging by the absurd size of the house, whoever he was in this game probably had an insane amount of wealth.

Sending a secretary to do the grocery shopping felt like overworking them, but ordering online might mean sacrificing the freshness of the ingredients. Feeling somewhat conflicted, Gwak Seon-woo hesitated before asking,

“Can I just go grocery shopping myself?”

He was worried he might just be talking to thin air, but thankfully, the voice in his head answered him.

What the hell even is a Gwanggong…?

After weighing his choices, he decided that having a person handle the task would be better than relying on online shopping. With some reluctance, he selected:

▶ Instruct the secretary to restock the refrigerator.

<※ Warning: Unless in special circumstances, a Gwanggong must use either ‘Danakka speech’ or ‘Semi-formal speech.’ The question, ‘Can I just go grocery shopping myself?’ was too mild. Gwanggong gauge decreased by 3 points.>

This was ridiculous. So what was a Gwanggong supposed to do? Gwak Seon-woo debated whether he should argue with the voice in his head, but in the end, what was the point? A game system was just a program running on predetermined input. Complaining wouldn’t change anything. He sighed and continued exploring the house in silence.

<1 hour and 30 minutes remain until work. Travel time to the office is 20 minutes by car.>

“What if I take public transportation?”

At this rate, keeping his mouth shut seemed like the safest option. He had no idea what kind of “status abnormalities” would occur if his Gwanggong gauge dropped too low, but judging by how things were going, it definitely wouldn’t be anything good.

Soon, another set of choices appeared before him.

▶ Get ready for work.

▶ Do not get ready for work.

‘Well… I do have to work…’

As a typical Korean office worker programmed to clock in no matter the circumstances, even this bizarre situation wasn’t enough to stop him. He selected “Get ready for work” and set off to find the bathroom for a shower.

The house was absurdly large, making it difficult to tell where the bathroom even was. While searching, he passed by the entrance and peeked into the shoe cabinet—only to find it filled entirely with leather dress shoes, all in the same size. Judging by this, it seemed like only one person lived here. But if that was the case, why were there so many rooms? On top of that, every single one of them had the same soulless black-and-white decor.

After much effort, he finally located the bathroom. The moment he stepped inside, he was greeted by black tiles covering the walls and floor, along with a black bathtub. He shook his head in disbelief.

Then, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror—and froze.

The face staring back at him wasn’t the one he was used to.

Gwak Seon-woo had always worn glasses due to his poor eyesight, and the dark circles under his eyes, thanks to years of overwork and endless overtime, nearly reached his cheeks. But the man in the mirror…

He was a strikingly handsome city elite, with looks that could rival a movie star.

Even though he was just standing still without any expression, his gaze was piercing, and his jawline was sharp enough to cut. Unlike Gwak Seon-woo’s naturally slender frame, the man in the mirror had broad shoulders and a proportionally slim waist—an undeniably perfect physique.

‘So a Gwanggong can’t do anything, but as long as they’re ridiculously handsome, that’s all that matters…?’

As he pondered the absurdity of it, Gwak Seon-woo stepped into the shower booth. The moment he turned on the water, an overhead shower head blasted ice-cold water onto him. Instinctively, he shouted,

“Shit, that’s freezing!”

That was quite a drop.

But he had bigger concerns—like the freezing water that left him with no energy to worry about some damn gauge. Gritting his teeth, he reached for the faucet to adjust the temperature. However, no matter how hard he twisted, it wouldn’t budge.

“……”

If anything, this game shouldn’t be called “Gwanggong Project.” A more fitting title would be “Surviving as a Gwanggong.”


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