Survive! Gwanggong!

After everyone else had left the restaurant, Seung-hyeon headed not toward the door leading outside but to the opposite one. It seemed he intended to talk somewhere out of sight, away from prying eyes. With no way to escape, Seon-woo had no choice but to follow.

The air outside was considerably cold. But if he so much as pretended to shiver, the system would be quick to slash his Gwanggong Score. Standing still with a calm expression as if the cold didn’t affect him in the slightest, he remained composed. Seung-hyeon spoke.

“If you smoke, feel free to light one while we talk.”

Regardless of how the Gwanggong might respond, Gwak Seon-woo was a non-smoker to begin with. He shook his head lightly in reply.

“No need.”

He worried whether even this would be nitpicked somehow, but neither Seung-hyeon nor the system said anything. A brief flicker of hesitation crossed Seung-hyeon’s face as he prepared to speak. It vanished the moment he ran a hand through his hair.

“I’ll get straight to the point. Our director prefers it when things are kept simple.”

Seung-hyeon murmured with a faint smile. Depending on the listener, that might’ve come across as sarcastic, but from Gwak Seung-hyeon, it sounded anything but. As Seon-woo slowly blinked, Seung-hyeon continued.

“Something’s going on with you, isn’t there?”

His voice was not just calm—it was almost gentle. Nearly identical to when he’d asked in the car if something had happened. But this time, the tone felt… different.

With a furrowed brow, Seon-woo searched for a reply. Once again, he couldn’t figure out what kind of angle Gwak Seung-hyeon was working with, or why he was asking such a thing.

But before Seon-woo could speak—or before the system could even pop up a response option—Seung-hyeon went on.

“This isn’t a question. It’s not small talk. It’s not me just checking in. Something’s going on, isn’t there?”

There was an odd certainty beneath his words. Caught off guard, Seon-woo nearly took a step back on instinct but managed to hold his ground. He didn’t know what Seung-hyeon was referring to when he said “something,” but it felt like he’d been completely seen through.

Still facing Seon-woo in quiet composure, Seung-hyeon added with certainty.

“There is. I’m sure of it.”

The system alert rang out like a nail being driven in. Though it was a dry, mechanical voice, in this moment, it somehow sounded accusatory, as if spitting in outrage. Was this sharp intuition of Seung-hyeon’s the reason the system loathed him so deeply? Then again, maybe it was just an ingrained, irrational hate…

For the first time, as he stared into Seung-hyeon’s deceptively calm eyes, Seon-woo felt a genuine chill run down his spine.

At last, Seon-woo opened his mouth to respond.

***

“Buuuuusaaan Gaaaall~ Maggiiiii…….”

The slurred voices of the staff drunkenly singing the Lotte Giants’ cheer song jolted Seon-woo back to reality. Caught up in a daze, he had somehow walked all the way to their next destination without realizing it.

The second location was a karaoke room. With a heavy heart, Seon-woo looked up at the sign in front of the building. A neon light blinked the words “Nado 7 Suda” (“Me Too, 7 Tries”). It must have originally said “Nado Gasuda” (“Me Too, a Singer”). To fall from ‘singer’ to a 7-time exam retaker—what a cruel twist of fate.

As he mulled over the irony, Seon-woo turned to glance at Seung-hyeon standing beside him. Replaying their earlier conversation in his head only left him questioning whether he’d handled it properly. Perhaps noticing the look, Seung-hyeon turned to meet his gaze. He smiled, broad and easygoing. It was a refreshing, pleasant smile—but it still couldn’t dispel Seon-woo’s sense of unease.

Just then, Eun-jae approached from behind and suddenly leaned in toward Seung-hyeon.

“What were you two talking about?”

Another whisper, like before. Of course, it was still loud enough for Seon-woo to hear. Seung-hyeon answered with that same flawless smile.

“Hmm. Just something personal, I guess?”

Very personal, indeed… Seon-woo internally conceded with a bitter look as he turned away. Eun-jae closed his mouth, clearly displeased. He must’ve realized pressing any further would look absurd. Without another word, the two walked into the karaoke building, and Seon-woo started to follow behind.

Are you kidding me right now?!

Seon-woo stopped in his tracks, flabbergasted. First the system insisted he follow along for company dinner, and now it was docking points just for entering a karaoke room? He was about to mentally lodge a complaint when Eun-jae turned his head from inside.

“Director, aren’t you coming?”

Right, he’s the one calling me. Seo Eun-jae is literally asking me to come. So what, I’m not supposed to?

It was a desperate attempt to reason with the system. But unlike usual—when it would always react to his inner thoughts—this time, the system stayed silent. Frustrated, Seon-woo bit the inside of his cheek. Just as he was about to start calculating how much his score had dropped, the system finally spoke again.

Should’ve done that in the first place. A faint smile touched Gwak Seon-woo’s lips.

“No, I’m coming.”

He answered without hesitation and stepped inside.

The staff, who had been loudly singing the whole way there, suddenly fell silent once they were actually inside the karaoke room. Being trapped in a small space seemed to have sobered them up. Seung-hyeon had gone to the counter, saying he needed to get drinks, and Eun-jae sat down looking grim. As a result, the other employees sat stiffly, stealing anxious glances at Gwak Seon-woo every few seconds.

“No one’s picked a song yet?”

Kicking the door open with his foot, both hands full, Seung-hyeon stepped in and asked. His voice held a note of confusion, but all anyone did in response was exchange nervous glances—no one dared to take the lead. Eventually, unable to bear the awkward silence any longer, Seon-woo spoke up.

“Don’t mind me. Just sing whatever you want.”

Even so, no one moved. The only thing making a sound was the system.

The sudden alert about a status effect made Seon-woo’s heart plummet. He fumbled discreetly, trying not to show his panic, looking around to see if there was any way to quickly boost his Gwanggong Score.

“Th-then, I’ll go ahead and sing one!”

He didn’t catch the exact nature of the status effect—whether it was a headache, fever, dizziness—because someone’s voice cut in just as the system was about to explain. Whatever it was, experiencing it inside this cramped room would be hell. He needed to recover his score, even if it would take time to fully stabilize.

His eyes landed on a heavy-looking ashtray sitting on the table. That should do the trick.

—“Eight! Nine! Nine! Nine!”

Meanwhile, the bold volunteer began punching in a song number with great enthusiasm. From the brief glance he got, Seon-woo recognized the name—it was Kyung-chul, the happy boyfriend who had mentioned at the restaurant that he was planning a proposal.

With a dreamy sigh, three syllables slowly floated onto the screen:
Seonginshik. (Coming of Age Ceremony.)
Song: Park Ji-yoon.

Kyung-chul began swaying his hips confidently to the intro. From the side, Seon-woo caught a glimpse of Eun-jae’s twisted smile as he forced out a strained, “Haha…”

“Geudaehyuh~” (My darliiing~)

Kyung-chul’s nasal voice rang out as the song began. The timing was awful, but Seon-woo couldn’t afford to wait any longer. He let the ashtray slip from his hands, letting it fall to the floor with a crash. He planned to follow up by claiming it was an accident—just long enough to restore his score.

The ashtray clattered loudly as it rolled across the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be made of breakable material; it tumbled away in one piece.

Kyung-chul froze like a statue, still clutching the mic. The only lyrics he managed to utter were “Geudaeyeo” (My darling). The background music continued to ooze through the speakers with its sultry tempo, filling the tense silence. In that icy atmosphere, Seon-woo prepared to follow up as planned with, “It was an accident. Please continue.”

But then, the system’s mischievous voice slipped into his ear.

Silent Meditation. Seon-woo blankly mouthed the phrase over and over in his head.

His lips were sealed shut like a clam, refusing to part even a single millimeter. He wasn’t even able to mutter, “It was an accident.” All he could do was glare sharply at the karaoke screen, looking for all the world like he was burning it with his eyes. The employees nearby started whispering.

“I guess he didn’t like the song choice.”

“He said to sing whatever we want, but…”

He told them to sing freely, but the moment someone actually sang what they wanted, he hurled an ashtray? From their perspective, he was a senior exec pulling the ultimate power trip. Absolutely the worst.

Seon-woo desperately wanted to say That’s not it. He tried with all his might to open his mouth—but it was no use. Just as the despair settled into his bones, Kyung-chul, still holding the mic, delivered the finishing blow.

“Director, I’m sorry!”

—Sorry!
—…rry…
—…rry…
—…rry…

Kyung-chul’s booming apology echoed over and over through the karaoke’s surround-sound reverb. Somewhere in the room, someone couldn’t hold it in and pfft!—burst out laughing like they’d just spit water. Meanwhile, Park Ji-yoon’s chorus played softly beneath it all, singing “I’m no longer a girl~”

The karaoke room turned frigid, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over the entire space.