Survive! Gwanggong!

“……Sir.”

“……”

“…Director.”

“Mm.”

“Hyung.”

After several calls, his eyes snapped open. It seemed he’d dozed off in the car. Even after closing his eyes for a bit, his body still felt like absolute hell.

He hadn’t even properly registered what Gwak Seung-hyeon had said, yet his mouth responded on its own. His voice came out rough and hoarse.

“……Who the hell are you calling hyung? Don’t get cocky.”

“I figured that would wake you up.”

Even half-asleep, the instincts of a Gwanggong seemed to be kicking in. Most likely, this was the system’s doing. Seeing how Seung-hyeon spoke as if he knew he’d wake up from that, it was clear that the original Gwanggong absolutely loathed being called hyung.

Now, Seon-woo had decided to just accept everything as it was and move on. Pressing against his throbbing forehead, he slowly sat up. At some point, the seatback had been reclined, so he returned it to its original position and glanced outside the window.

“Where are we?”

“Your place, Director.”

His voice still rough, he cleared his throat and asked, receiving an immediate response. Seung-hyeon had already caused his Gwanggong Score to plummet significantly, but still, he had to admit—getting dropped off at home was something to be at least a little grateful for.

Seon-woo unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the passenger door. His plan was to give a half-hearted goodbye and send Seung-hyeon on his way.

“That was an unnecessary effort. Anyway, then……”

He made sure to sound as ungrateful as possible, his words barely passing as a thank-you, and prepared to step out.

Of course, Gwak Seung-hyeon wasn’t the type to let things go so easily.

“……Where do you think you’re following me to?”

Seung-hyeon had naturally stepped out of the car right behind him. With barely any energy left, Seon-woo threw the question at him, only to receive an utterly matter-of-fact response.

“If you go up alone like this, you might pass out in the elevator. Wouldn’t it be better if I made sure you got inside safely?”

It was clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Accepting his fate, Seon-woo let Seung-hyeon follow along.

They passed through the building’s entrance, took the elevator, and walked down the hallway in silence. Seon-woo lacked the energy to talk, and Seung-hyeon, for whatever reason, seemed to respect that. It appeared neither of them found the silence awkward.

Arriving at his front door, Seon-woo entered the passcode. As he did, Seung-hyeon, who had been quietly waiting behind him, followed him in with a casual, “Excuse me for intruding.”

His blunt persistence contrasted with his unexpectedly polite demeanor, which was somewhat amusing.

In the end, Seung-hyeon ended up inside his home.

Yesterday, it had been Seo Eun-jae. Today, it was Gwak Seung-hyeon.

For a house that had never borne the presence of others, two guests in two days felt surreal.

He wondered how the real Gwanggong would have reacted to this situation.

Gwak Seung-hyeon didn’t bother looking around the house. Instead, he naturally slipped off his shoes and stepped inside.

Seon-woo no longer had the energy to stop him from doing whatever he pleased. In that sense, it was actually a relief that Seung-hyeon went straight to asking a question instead of doing anything unnecessary.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“I’ll find my own way. Just mind your own business.”

“Suit yourself.”

If he’d been planning to carry him all the way to bed, Seon-woo would’ve been tempted to bite his own tongue, but fortunately, Seung-hyeon accepted the answer without argument. Relieved, Seon-woo decided to take this opportunity to finally kick him out.

“If you’re done with your good deeds, now—”

“Lie down.”

Before he could finish, Seung-hyeon effortlessly cut him off and pushed him lightly on the back. Seon-woo resisted for a moment but quickly gave up and walked into his room. He was too exhausted to waste more energy on a pointless argument.

It wasn’t like Seung-hyeon was about to rob this luxurious yet eerily empty apartment. What was the worst that could happen?

Without even bothering to take off his outerwear, Seon-woo collapsed onto the bed. He lay still for a moment, listening for any sound from outside the room, but there was nothing noticeable. Pressing a hand against his feverish forehead, he shut his eyes.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

Even if he did manage to fall asleep, it would only make things more troublesome. He needed to get up soon and take care of things, but now that he wasn’t feeling as outright miserable, his body had gone slack. Moving even a single finger felt like too much effort. The headache wasn’t as bad as before, and the fever and dizziness, though uncomfortable, weren’t torturous to the point of incapacitation.

As he lay there, the door opened, and Seung-hyeon walked in.

“Director.”

Seon-woo didn’t respond.

“Director. Are you asleep? Just wake up for a second.”

“……What now?”

His voice was thick with irritation. The sheer persistence was starting to piss him off.

Was he finally about to say goodbye and leave?

That thought prompted Seon-woo to lift his head slightly—only to find Seung-hyeon looking down at him with his usual smooth, unreadable expression.

“Sorry, but what’s your passcode?”

A short apology, followed by an utterly unexpected question.

Had he heard that right?

Did he really just ask for his home’s passcode?

Seon-woo, baffled, repeated in disbelief.

“……What?”

“The passcode to your apartment. I’m going out to get groceries, and I’ll need it to get back in.”

Seung-hyeon spoke in the same calm, matter-of-fact tone as always, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

The moment he realized what exactly the man was asking for, Seon-woo felt like he was about to lose it.

“Groceries? What groceries……”

He muttered in exasperation, pressing a hand against his forehead.

Just hearing the word groceries was enough to stir up a minor trauma.

It brought back memories of his secretary’s disastrous grocery shopping.

Sure, Seung-hyeon probably wouldn’t return with nothing but Evian water and whiskey like that fool did.

But even if he did manage to buy something more reasonable, that didn’t mean Seon-woo would actually be able to eat it.

Completely oblivious to his inner turmoil, Seung-hyeon responded with an easy, unbothered tone.

“I was going to make you some porridge. Why the hell is your fridge so empty? No wonder you’re sick, living like this.”

Somehow, the words felt oddly familiar.

Before he had ended up in this Gwanggong’s body, the original Gwak Seon-woo used to skip meals constantly, always too busy with work. And back then, his mother would show up at his apartment, nagging at him just like this.

Seon-woo let out a short, breathy chuckle before waving his hand dismissively and rattling off the passcode.

“0914.”

At that, Gwak Seung-hyeon paused.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, which was strange.

Seon-woo, finding the silence odd, raised his head slightly to glance at him.

There was a strange, unreadable complexity to Seung-hyeon’s expression.

“What?”

“……Nothing. I’ll be back. Just rest.”

It was puzzling, but Seon-woo wasn’t in the mood to press further. He simply waved his hand again, as if shooing away a fly, and let his body sink deeper into the mattress.

Seung-hyeon lingered for a second before turning toward the door and stepping out.

A while later, the sound of the passcode being entered rang out, signaling his return.

Seon-woo pressed a hand to his forehead and slowly opened his eyes. His body felt heavy with exhaustion.

The headache and dizziness had made it impossible to get any real sleep, but he must have dozed off for a little while. Judging by the lingering ache in his head, less than three hours had passed. The pain was more tolerable now, but the fever and dizziness remained just as bad.

As he lay there in a hazy daze, faint noises drifted in from outside his room.

A soft chopping sound came from the kitchen.

So, Seung-hyeon really was making porridge.

Not that he’d be able to eat it.

His Gwanggong Score had already taken a massive hit just from being weak and accepting help from his so-called rival. If he actually ate that porridge, wouldn’t his score plummet straight to zero?

As if in response to his thoughts, the system sent a notification.

< Due to the drop in Gwanggong Score, your status ailments persist. >

Yeah, no shit.

Seon-woo, who still hadn’t quite figured out how or why these alerts popped up, didn’t think much of it. He was about to brush it off—

—until the next message appeared.

< If your Gwanggong Score remains below 50 for an extended period, additional status ailments may stack. Raise your score to avoid further penalties. >

It was like a thunderclap out of nowhere.

The realization jolted him awake.

Sure, he had been planning to do something about it eventually, but he had been too drained to move. Now, hearing that things could get even worse made his body snap upright like a spring-loaded toy.

He darted his eyes around the room in a mild panic.

He needed to raise his Gwanggong Score. Right now.

Sensing his desperation, the system promptly offered a list of actions.

▶ Throw your phone.

▶ Throw the mood lamp.

▶ Flip over the dresser.

…What kind of options were these?

At this point, he was starting to wonder if the system was just messing with him.

Was this really supposed to raise his Gwanggong Score?

And if it did work… then what the hell was a Gwanggong even supposed to be?

Lost in existential contemplation, Gwak Seon-woo reluctantly picked up the mood lamp.

It was a product he had never used before and, thanks to his so-called “Gwanggong dignity,” likely never would. But still… it felt like such a waste to throw it.

No matter the circumstances, Seon-woo was, at heart, a sensible man who valued his belongings.

Taking a deep breath, he hurled the mood lamp against the wall.

< You are expressing madness with fervor. Gwanggong Score +2. >

…He couldn’t believe this was actually working.

The increase was disappointingly small, though. At this rate, he’d probably have to go through all the suggested actions just to get his score back to a safe level.

Resigned, Seon-woo reached for his phone.

His hands trembled with reluctance.

But then he forced himself to think—Gwanggong is supposed to be a chaebol, right? That meant he had plenty of money. He could afford another phone.

Convincing himself with this logic, he flung the device.

As expected, another notification popped up.

< Gwanggong Score +3. >

Apparently, the system considered his phone more valuable than the mood lamp.

With a deep sigh, Seon-woo finally turned toward the dresser.

Just as he steeled himself to tip it over, the door opened again.

“Director. When you’re sick, you really shouldn’t—”

Gwak Seung-hyeon stepped inside, balancing a tray with a bowl of porridge—only to freeze at the sight before him.

“…What are you doing?”

His expression was a mixture of confusion and sheer disbelief.

For a second, Seon-woo nearly lost himself in panic.

He had been so absorbed in following the system’s ridiculous instructions that he had forgotten to act like a person with a purpose.

He couldn’t afford to look flustered now.

No, if anything, this was the perfect moment to go all in.

With fierce determination, Seon-woo violently overturned the dresser.

Then, turning to face Seung-hyeon, he took a few slow, ominous steps forward, his expression now one of cold, simmering rage.

It was an incredible performance.