Survive! Gwanggong!

Gwak Seung-hyeon stared at the sandwich in the trash can with a hardened expression. Following his gaze, Gwak Seon-woo suddenly found himself wondering about the contents of the sandwich still in its packaging. It was a completely out-of-place thought in this tense atmosphere, but he couldn’t shake it off.

Of course, given the situation, it wasn’t like he could just ask Gwak Seung-hyeon about it.

When the man had been smiling appropriately, he’d simply thought he had a pleasant face. But seeing him like this, his features looked much sharper, more severe than his first impression suggested.

‘They say kind people are the scariest when they’re angry…’

He had no way of knowing whether Gwak Seung-hyeon was actually a kind person. But at the very least, he seemed a hell of a lot more approachable than this Gwanggong.

“What the hell is your problem, Director?”

It took a long moment before Gwak Seung-hyeon finally spoke, his voice cold and dry despite his hardened expression.

Gwak Seon-woo thought to himself, Good question.

Meanwhile, Gwanggong’s body was sprawled lazily against the chair, exuding a defiant arrogance. His face muscles twisted into an expression that practically screamed, So what? What are you gonna do about it?

Gwak Seung-hyeon let out a deep sigh. “I’ll be going now.”

Gwak Seon-woo, who had been sitting there pretending to be composed, ultimately didn’t say a single word until Gwak Seung-hyeon left the room.

The system, as always, was trying to force him to feel something. But in reality, he didn’t feel refreshed at all—just overwhelmingly unsettled. Guilt gnawed at him for how things had played out with Gwak Seung-hyeon, but what was even more suffocating was the realization that this was how his life was going to be from now on.

Surviving all day on just a single cup of Americano while using his brain like this was not sustainable.

A faint sandwich scent wafted up from the trash can—probably because the packaging had come loose. Gwak Seung-hyeon must have had a surprisingly sensitive palate.

Not like I can rummage through the trash can.

That wasn’t just a matter of being a Gwanggong or not—it was basic human decency.

Shaking off his ridiculous thoughts, Gwak Seon-woo irritably scattered the documents on his desk. It was meant to be a petty act of frustration, but instead, a wave of anger surged up so fiercely that he couldn’t hold it back.

Even as he found himself confused by the intensity of his emotions, his body moved on instinct. He grabbed the entire pile of documents and violently hurled them onto the floor.

Was it the system’s influence? Was it Gwanggong’s body reacting? Or was it his own latent temper being amplified as a side effect? He had no way of knowing.

All he’d done was throw some papers—hardly a big deal—but oddly enough, the outburst did help cool his rage a little. The real problem, however, was the notification that followed immediately after.

Hearing the alert made him feel stupidly embarrassed.

Suppressing a sigh, Gwak Seon-woo begrudgingly climbed down from his chair to start picking up the scattered documents. Even if he was now a second-generation chaebol, he wasn’t shameless enough to call someone else to clean up a mess he made himself.

Someone knocked on the door again. Was this just the norm for a company director? There seemed to be an endless stream of visitors.

Gwak Seon-woo was crouched awkwardly, halfway through picking up the scattered documents, but he quickly straightened up in alarm. No matter who it was, he couldn’t let them see him in such a ridiculous state.

After a brief internal debate, he decided it was better to let them see the messy floor than to be caught kneeling on the ground. He swiftly returned to his seat.

“Come in.”

This time, unlike with Gwak Seung-hyeon, the door opened hesitantly. A familiar face peeked in—Seo Eun-jae.

Gwak Seon-woo, still seated, propped his chin on two fingers and observed him. Seo Eun-jae seemed to be gauging the mood, but he didn’t avert his gaze.

“Hello, Director.”

Why the hell is he here?

His mind remained perfectly rational, yet his heart lurched with an inexplicable thud. The sensation was so artificial and out of place that it startled him.

It had to be the system’s doing.

Losing control over his own body like this felt deeply unpleasant, and his expression soured.

▶ (Dazed) “How did you… end up here…?”

▶ (With a puzzled expression) “What brings you here? I mean… (furrowing brows faintly) Seo Eun-jae.”

▶ “You… (acting indifferent) Now that I think about it, I just realized this is my company. I didn’t expect you to show up.”

Isn’t this a bit too soft for just our second meeting?

He frowned as he reviewed the available choices.

Seo Eun-jae hadn’t done anything except spill coffee, so why the hell did he have to greet him ‘dazedly,’ ‘nostalgically,’ or ‘acting indifferent’?

If it had been anyone else, he would’ve reacted the same way he did to Gwak Seung-hyeon—“What do you want?” “What business does a mere employee have coming to the director’s office during work hours?” “What kind of bullshit is this?”—any of those would’ve been fitting. But for some reason, the system was oddly lenient when it came to this man.

He debated for a moment before picking the most neutral option.

“You… Now that I think about it, I just realized this is my company. I didn’t expect you to show up.”

Even after carefully choosing his words, they still felt embarrassingly long-winded.

As far as Gwak Seon-woo was concerned, this was one of the rare times he had softened his tone, but Seo Eun-jae seemed to interpret it as reproach. Not that it was surprising—Gwanggong’s usual way of speaking was cold to begin with, and to top it off, there was a pile of scattered documents on the floor.

Anyone walking in would assume he had just flipped his desk in a fit of rage.

“I’m sorry. Team Leader told me to come in his place…”

“Team Leader?”

He echoed the unfamiliar term, raising an eyebrow. Seo Eun-jae nodded, looking noticeably less tense now.

“Yes, Team Leader Gwak Seung-hyeon. I told him about my mistake earlier, and he said I should come apologize and also get the documents signed on his behalf.”

So Gwak Seung-hyeon and Seo Eun-jae were in the same team.

In the original story, their relationship was tangled up in some messy melodrama. It seemed there was at least some connection between them here as well.

A mere employee running errands on behalf of his team leader, all under the pretense of “as an apology.”

Gwak Seon-woo wasn’t sure if this company just had a generally sloppy work ethic or if Gwak Seung-hyeon was the odd one out. Then again, considering this was a game world, it was probably inevitable that some parts of it were loosely structured.

Honestly, if the job had required genuine professional expertise and systematic efficiency, he would have been completely screwed.

Feeling a strange sense of relief, he replayed Seo Eun-jae’s words in his head.

It was obvious why Gwak Seung-hyeon had sent Seo Eun-jae instead of coming himself—he didn’t even want to see him. If Seon-woo were in his shoes, he would’ve done the exact same thing. So, all he had to do was sign the damn papers and send the guy on his way.

As he was lost in thought, Seo Eun-jae hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“It must have been really hot… Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“And your clothes…?”

“I bought a new set.”

“I still feel really bad. Would you let me treat you to a meal?”

Gwak Seon-woo, who had been casually answering without much thought, suddenly froze.

The fact that the story was moving this aggressively was likely because of the game’s genre. He had never considered playing along with Seo Eun-jae’s romance route, but the word meal shook him.

It was a strange feeling.

He had never thought of himself as someone particularly obsessed with food. If anything, he was the type to skip meals when work got busy. But now that he was in a situation where he couldn’t eat freely, it suddenly felt desperate.

“Koreans run on rice, after all.”

Just as he was trying to rationalize it, a set of dialogue options appeared in front of him.

▶ “Where does that confidence come from, thinking you can buy me a meal?”

▶ “No need. I already told you, I’m fine.”

To be fair, for an ordinary company employee to casually offer to buy a meal for a chaebol heir did take some guts.

But still, why the hell were both choices so damn negative? The system had been acting all lenient toward Seo Eun-jae, and now, when it came to food, it was suddenly playing hard to get. What, do I have some kind of lifelong vendetta against meals now?

Annoyed yet resigned, Seon-woo picked the second option.

“No need. I already told you, I’m fine.”

But Seo Eun-jae turned out to be unexpectedly persistent.

“Still… I heard you skipped lunch today, too. Please, let me buy you at least one meal. I know a really good place. It might not be up to your standards, but…”

Seo Eun-jae’s stubbornness was actually welcome news to Seon-woo. If someone was pushing this hard, refusing would feel rude.

At least, that’s how he saw it.

Before the system could pull any more nonsense, he quickly responded.

“Well… If that’s what it takes to make you feel better, then fine.”

Seo Eun-jae let out a relieved smile and said, “Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

You’re the one treating me, so why the hell are you thanking me? Seon-woo wondered.

That, and the fact that the guy had so effortlessly locked down the plan for tonight, was impressive in its own way.

Either way, Seon-woo had nothing to lose.

If anything, I should be the one feeling grateful, he thought, nodding smoothly as if it was no big deal.