Survive! Gwanggong!

The grandfather Gwanggong’s birthday, huh. It’s not that he forgot—it’s that he never knew in the first place.

Still, there was no way he could reply to that text with something like, “Oh my, I completely forgot. Thanks for the reminder!”

Instead, Seon-woo coolly fired back a reply.

[Don’t get cocky.]

It wasn’t exactly a lie—he wasn’t pretending he did know. But he considered it the perfect answer, subtly saying “You really think I wouldn’t know that? Don’t be ridiculous.”

After sending that message, his phone fell silent. Just moments ago, Seung-hyeon had been replying at lightning speed. Maybe the cocky tone had annoyed him?

Then again, that thought faded quickly.

“Why now, all of a sudden?”

That feeling crept in. Rather than sit around waiting for Seung-hyeon’s reply, Seon-woo decided to get ready for bed.

As usual, the shower was a hassle—it didn’t regulate temperature or angle properly. After finishing his rinse under the janky water flow and changing into his monochrome loungewear, he returned to find that Seung-hyeon’s reply had already arrived.

[Have a good night.]

Short, crisp, and clean—no extra fluff.

If it had been Seo Eun-jae, he would’ve had to consider the system’s scrutiny and reply with something like “You too, Deputy Seo…”

But this was Gwak Seung-hyeon. In this case, not replying was actually the smarter move.

Worn out from a long day, Seon-woo stared at the message with more resentment than usual.

“Like I could have a good night, in your shoes?”

Venting internally at guiltless Seung-hyeon gave him a small sense of relief.

In the end, Seon-woo set the phone down without replying and crawled into bed.

***

Once again, the system’s voice reporting his Gwanggong Score woke him from sleep. Out of habit, he checked his phone just in case—and sure enough, another message had arrived.

Now, there were two possible culprits texting Gwak Seon-woo: Seo Eun-jae and Gwak Seung-hyeon. Naturally, he assumed it had to be one of them and tapped the message icon.

But the number waiting on his screen was neither—it was someone new.

“Not spam, is it…?”

It was just a vague thought, but honestly, it was hard to picture a Gwanggong receiving spam. If he ever got a loan ad from Team Leader Kim Mi-young, he was pretty sure his Gwanggong Score would drop by at least five points. Getting random unsolicited texts didn’t fit the vibe.

If he complained, saying, “How am I supposed to get involved in that?” the system would probably respond with something like, “Managing personal contacts is also one of the Gwanggong’s responsibilities.”

Getting carried away with fantasies about a situation that hadn’t even happened yet, Seon-woo finally opened the message to check its contents.

[Seon-woo, it’s Su-won hyung. I heard your aunt just opened a new exhibition at her gallery. Are you planning to drop by sometime this weekend? She really wants to see you. If you’re free, I’d love to go together.]

Even through text, it somehow gave off a model citizen vibe. Su-won hyung. Seon-woo repeated the name the sender had introduced himself with.

And just like that, the face of his older cousin from a family gathering came to mind.

Gwak Su-won looked significantly older than Seon-woo, but in truth, he was younger than he appeared—or so they said. He remembered him sitting there the whole dinner with a flustered expression, nervously sweating bullets the entire time.

Still, no matter how distant they might be, the fact that he hadn’t even saved his number said a lot about the Gwanggong’s personality. Seon-woo figured Su-won probably knew his number wasn’t saved in the Gwanggong’s phone—why else would he go out of his way to identify himself in the message?

He didn’t harbor any bad feelings toward him, but that didn’t mean he felt like going to the exhibition either. Truthfully, he didn’t even know who this aunt was supposed to be. It’s not like he had warm, fuzzy relationships with his family, and just sharing a meal with them felt like indigestion waiting to happen—why would he voluntarily throw himself into that?

Should he send a polite text saying he had other plans and wouldn’t be able to make it? For a brief moment, Seon-woo debated it.

Right on cue, the system presented him with options.

▶ Reply to Gwak Su-won.

▶ Do not reply to Gwak Su-won.

Seon-woo didn’t hesitate long before choosing the second option.

“Why the hell should I reply?”

His score went up from ignoring a message. Ridiculous. But… he couldn’t help feeling a bit smug. Moments like these made the Gwanggong’s arrogant personality kind of useful. After casually brushing off Su-won’s message and standing up from his seat, the next set of choices appeared.

▶ Show your face at the gallery.

▶ Do not show your face at the gallery.

Wasn’t ignoring the message enough? Now I have to decide this too?

It was annoying, but whatever. It was just another choice to make.

Naturally, Seon-woo picked: Do not show your face at the gallery.

It was the weekend, and Seon-woo had no real reason to go to work. But according to the system, the Gwanggong had no real hobbies, no weekend plans, and no life outside of work. On top of that, he was a half-crazed workaholic who still went to the office every weekend without fail.

Seriously, what a bleak existence.

Still, it beat running into the Gwanggong’s family. Seon-woo turned toward the bathroom to start getting ready for work.

That’s when the system popped up with another set of choices.

▶ Show your face at the gallery.

▶ Do not show your face at the gallery.

“……”

A sigh, heavy with disbelief, slipped from Seon-woo’s lips. It was obvious what the system was trying to do, showing the exact same options again.

“This is basically forcing me to go, isn’t it?”

Why even pretend to give him a choice in the first place? It had always been railroading the story forward—and now it wanted to act like he had freedom. Still, just in case, Seon-woo selected the same choice as before.

Do not show your face at the gallery.

As expected, the system repeated itself like a broken machine.

▶ Show your face at the gallery.

▶ Do not show your face….

“Fine, I’ll go, okay?!”

Seon-woo grumbled into the air, voice thick with annoyance. The system stayed quiet for a few seconds, then finally sent another notification.

“What the hell do you want from me…”

The words just came out of him. So it wanted him to go to the gallery, but also didn’t want him to go back on his word? If the system had a physical form, he would’ve already socked it in the face at least once.

Still, it wasn’t like his score had dropped to the point of causing any debuffs. Taking some comfort in that, Seon-woo slowly made his way out of the room.

He had no idea where the gallery even was or what it was called, but thanks to the system’s navigation and the ever-reliable chauffeur, he arrived without any issues.

At the entrance of the gallery was the name of a painter he didn’t recognize. Given that this was all in-game, of course Seon-woo had never heard of the artist. But even outside the context of the game, they didn’t seem particularly famous. Even after searching the name, no significant posts or articles came up.

When he tried to click on a blog post to find out more about the artist, he was met with the message: “Gwanggong does not use blogs.”—and his Gwanggong Score dropped by 1.

In the end, Seon-woo had no choice but to enter the gallery without a shred of prior knowledge. Judging by the poster’s design, it looked like an abstract art exhibition, but that was the only guess he could make.

And the moment Gwak Seon-woo stepped a few paces into the gallery, he understood exactly why the system had been so eager to push him here.

“I kind of suspected it… but seriously, this guy’s everywhere.”

He had spotted Seo Eun-jae standing in front of a painting. Eun-jae was facing a massive canvas, and judging by his expression, he seemed deeply moved.

Seon-woo had never really had time for things like cultural outings, nor was he particularly gifted in aesthetics, so he rarely—if ever—visited galleries. Even when he did, he’d just glance at the works and think, “Yup, that’s a painting,” and move on.

In short, he and Seo Eun-jae were very different types of people. And more than anything—

“…Huh?”

Just then, Eun-jae turned his head and spotted Seon-woo. His face lit up with visible surprise. At this point, with “coincidental encounters” piling up one after another, anyone else might’ve started thinking, “Is this guy following me?”

But Eun-jae’s face was completely void of suspicion.

From Seon-woo’s perspective—getting dragged around by the system and forced into these “accidental meetings”—Eun-jae’s naivety was, in a way, a relief.

“Director! Fancy seeing you here. Did you come for the exhibition too?”

Eun-jae approached with a warm smile, greeting him cheerfully. Seon-woo gave a slight nod.

“Well… something like that.”

Honestly, if this weren’t a BL game and if Seo Eun-jae weren’t a capture target, Seon-woo himself would’ve started wondering, “Is this guy following me?” Thinking that made him feel oddly amused, and a faint, fleeting smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Did you also come specifically to see this exhibition, Mr. Seo?”

The moment the question left his mouth, he realized how dumb it sounded. He was asking someone standing right in front of a painting if they came to see the exhibition. It was a pointless line, thrown out just to fill the silence—he should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

But Eun-jae nodded naturally, and without missing a beat, started talking about the piece in front of him. It seemed like he’d been waiting for someone to chat with.

“This one’s my favorite. At first glance, it looks cheerful—the colors are bright and lively—but when you notice the distorted face and those eyes, it completely changes how you see it. The impression just flips all of a sudden.”

The truth was, ever since the system notification that popped up the moment he entered the gallery, Gwak Seon-woo had been thinking about one thing. 

The alert said this gallery had been established by Gwak Sang-cheol’s wife. Given that Gwak Sang-cheol was labeled as a “corrupt chaebol,” it wasn’t far-fetched to assume the gallery served more questionable purposes. To be more precise, it was likely a front for tax evasion or money laundering.

But listening to Seo Eun-jae so earnestly describe his impressions of the artwork, Seon-woo couldn’t exactly say, “Actually, I think this gallery was set up by our company to launder money.” So instead, he gave a vague nod with an awkward expression.

“I see.”

In stark contrast to Seon-woo’s lukewarm reaction, the system was once again gushing over Eun-jae with unfiltered praise. As he listened to Eun-jae’s art critique, interspersed with the system’s endless compliments, Gwak Seon-woo honestly couldn’t shake the feeling of boredom.

And just as that boredom began to sink its claws deeper—

“Seon-woo, there you are.”

A voice spoke up from behind, sounding warmly familiar. It wasn’t distinct enough for him to recognize right away, so he turned around at a relaxed pace—and there stood Gwak Su-won. As always, he was dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief clutched in his hand.

Beside him, Seo Eun-jae turned toward Su-won with a mildly startled expression.

But it didn’t seem like Eun-jae was surprised solely by Su-won’s appearance. Behind him, a familiar face wore a picturesque smile.

“You’re here.”

Once again—it was Gwak Seung-hyeon.