Survive! Gwanggong!

“Sunbae, do you know what ‘Gwanggong’ is?”

“Gwanggong?”

In the middle of their meal, his junior asked him that out of the blue. Gwak Seon-woo lowered the ladle he was holding and looked up. His junior had been immersed in developing a new game lately, so he wondered if it had something to do with that. The junior, dark circles heavy under his eyes, grinned cheerfully.

“You know the BL genre, right? Boys’ Love. Sunbae, you at least know what yaoi is, don’t you? In BL, the guy who, uh, does the ‘giving’ is called a ‘Gong.’ And if that Gong is completely insane, they call him a ‘Gwanggong.'”

That was information he had absolutely no desire to know. If he hadn’t heard it today, he probably would’ve lived his whole life without ever learning about it. Gwak Seon-woo didn’t even bother hiding his bewilderment. His junior, clearly amused by his reaction, burst out laughing again.

“Gwanggong… And why are you asking me this? Is the game you’re working on a BL title?”

Gwak Seon-woo wasn’t someone who had ever played even a basic bishoujo dating sim, so it was only natural that he had even less interest in BL games. Thinking it might be something important, he had put the ladle down, but now he picked it up again and fished out a drumstick. Then, glancing up, he met his junior’s eyes. The younger man grinned and nodded.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never made a game like this before either… but our company just signed a contract with an e-book publisher. We’re collaborating with one of the hottest serialized novels right now. The author wants something fresh, with a strong comedic element. The original work is really dark, so they’re hoping the game will be more lighthearted and funny.”

Not knowing how he was supposed to respond to that, Gwak Seon-woo just hummed and gave a slight nod. His junior didn’t seem to expect much of a reaction from him anyway—he was too busy laughing at his own words, carrying on with his explanation.

“So we did a little research, and apparently, this whole ‘Gwanggong’ thing is trending.”

“Is that the theme of the game you’re making?”

“Yeah. The concept of a Gwanggong is hilarious. It’s kind of like a melodrama male lead, you know? The cold chaebol heir type. Their house always has to have a modern black-and-white interior. No matter how cold it gets, they can’t wear a long padded coat. They can’t express emotions too intensely, and when they smile, it’s just a slight curl of the lips. Their fridge only has whiskey and Evian in it. When they drink coffee, it has to be an espresso, nothing else… And, obviously, they would never be into something like chicken stew, unlike you, Sunbae.”

“What’s wrong with chicken stew? So what, do Gwanggongs just starve to death?”

Seon-woo’s dumbfounded response sent his junior into a fit of laughter.

“Exactly! Isn’t it ridiculous? That’s why we’re making a game about it—a ‘Become a Gwanggong’ simulation.”

“The game industry never ceases to amaze me. But I have to admit, that does sound pretty funny.”

“Right? Oh, and here’s the best part—guess what? The Gwanggong in the original novel has the exact same name as you. Gwak Seon-woo.”

But if being a chaebol heir meant he couldn’t even eat chicken stew, then Gwak Seon-woo decided he had absolutely no interest in being a Gwanggong. And just like that, the lighthearted conversation with his junior soon faded from his mind.

‘So that was it…’

Sitting comfortably in the car driven by his chauffeur, Gwak Seon-woo retraced his memories. A vague clue surfaced in his mind—he recalled having a conversation about this with his junior from the game company.

Back then, he had been too busy to care, and since it hadn’t piqued his curiosity, he had quickly forgotten about it. But now that the situation aligned, the memory finally resurfaced.

If he had ended up inside this game, did that mean his junior had successfully developed it? Though, honestly, what kind of game this was didn’t matter much. The real issue was the absurd fact that he had been pulled into it in the first place.

He had realized it when he couldn’t even eat chicken stew—being a Gwanggong meant living a miserable life. Leaving his house on an empty stomach because his fridge contained nothing but Evian, he smacked his lips in frustration. Considering the circumstances, he should have been starving, yet oddly enough, his hunger wasn’t unbearable. He had no idea what kind of constitution a Gwanggong was supposed to have.

Can’t I just stop by and grab a Subway sandwich on the way…?

< A sandwich is not a selectable menu option for a Gwanggong. A reservation has been made for a traditional Korean course meal with the company executives during lunch. >

He wasn’t sure whether he should appreciate the fact that the game responded to his thoughts. But at least he wouldn’t be completely starving. He had been worried that this pitiful Gwanggong, who couldn’t even adjust the water temperature for his shower, might actually end up dying of hunger. Speaking of which, perhaps because of his earlier cold shower, he still felt a bit chilly even while sitting in the warmth of the car.

Can I at least grab a warm coffee?

< [!] Would you like to purchase a coffee on your way to work? >

< Yes / No >

Seon-woo gladly selected “Yes,” and the car smoothly pulled up in front of a coffee shop. An all-too-familiar franchise sign caught his eye. The logo featured a person inside a green-bordered box—wait. A box?

Upon closer inspection, the café’s sign read “STARBOX.”

Stunned, he stared blankly at the sign before quickly coming to terms with where he was—inside a game.

Must be a copyright issue…

Accepting it with mild resignation, he stepped out of the car and entered the café. He had worried that, as a Gwanggong, he might not even be allowed to drink franchise coffee, but thankfully, this seemed to be an exception.

As he pushed open the door, the familiar aroma of coffee filled the air. Standing in front of the counter, he scanned the menu. It was too cold for an iced Java Chip Frappuccino. Should he go for a signature hot chocolate? Or maybe a café latte?

Just as he was debating, a selection screen popped up.

▶ Order an espresso.

▶ Order an Americano.

“……”

▶ Order an espresso.

▶ Order an Americano.

“Can’t I get a hot chocolate instead?”

< Hot chocolate is not an available menu option. A Gwanggong is not allowed to add syrup to an Americano either. Gwanggong Index -4. >

< Current Gwanggong Index: 79 >

He hadn’t even gotten to work yet, and his Gwanggong Index had already dropped by 21 points. At this rate, it would dip below 50 by the end of the day, and he’d find out what kind of penalty awaited him. With a heavy heart, Gwak Seon-woo resigned himself to ordering an Americano.

As he waited for his coffee, he positioned himself in a spot where he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. He could feel a few glances being thrown his way. Given the face he’d seen in the mirror, it made sense—this Gwanggong had the kind of looks that naturally drew attention.

Seon-woo wasn’t used to this kind of scrutiny, and it made him uncomfortable. But if he showed any sign of unease, he had a feeling that disembodied voice in his head would chide him again—A Gwanggong does not care about others’ gazes. Gwanggong Index decreasing. So he forced himself to endure it.

“A-732, here’s your signature hot chocolate!”

At the sound of the barista’s voice, Seon-woo instinctively glanced toward the counter. He couldn’t help but envy the person who had just ordered the hot chocolate he himself was forbidden to have.

The one stepping forward to claim it was a man with fair skin and a neat, well-groomed appearance. So that’s the kind of face you need to order drinks without ridiculous restrictions, Seon-woo thought, letting out a faint, amused scoff before turning away.

And then—

“Ah—!”

A short yelp made him snap his head back around. The man holding the hot chocolate was stumbling—straight toward Gwak Seon-woo.

He tried to move out of the way, but his body refused to budge, as if he were made of stone.

The next moment, the scorching hot chocolate spilled all over Seon-woo’s shirt, and the man barely managed to avoid completely toppling over by grabbing onto Seon-woo’s arms.

“I-I’m so sorry! Really, I’m so sorry!”

The man hurriedly let go and bowed in apology. It was a little hot, but not unbearable—at least, he didn’t think he had gotten burned. Apparently, a Gwanggong’s body wasn’t just resistant to cold showers but also to boiling-hot coffee.

So I can’t drink hot chocolate, but my clothes sure can.

While Seon-woo was caught up in that absurd thought, the man in front of him continued his frantic apologies.

“I’m really, really sorry! I’ll pay for the cleaning! Are you hurt?”

Compared to how remorseful the man was, Seon-woo wasn’t particularly upset. Sure, a Gwanggong couldn’t do anything for himself, but he clearly had money—laundry fees weren’t an issue. And since there was still time before work, he could just buy a new shirt somewhere and drop this one off at the cleaners.

Just as he was about to brush it off with a simple “It’s fine,” a selection window appeared.

▶ “I don’t need pocket change. Just get your hands off me, you’re annoying.”

▶ “Tsk, how unpleasant. Do you even watch where you’re going?”

▶ (Scoff silently and ignore him.)

…Come on. It was just a little spill.

A choice window popped up in front of him again.

The options were so needlessly rude that he hesitated, taken aback. Ignoring them, he tried to say, “It’s fine, just go.” But his lips wouldn’t move, as if they were glued shut. A faint cold sweat ran down his back.

The phrase “scoff silently” bothered him a little, but compared to the other two, it seemed like the least offensive option. Resigned, he selected the third choice.

A scoff automatically escaped his lips—the epitome of a cool, indifferent chuckle.

< Gwanggong Index +3 >

< Current Gwanggong Index: 82 >

So acting more like a Gwanggong made the index go up. As Seon-woo started getting the hang of how this world worked, he let out a quiet sigh and stared straight ahead, waiting for the man to leave.

Yet, despite being ignored, the man lingered, shifting anxiously as if still concerned about Seon-woo’s condition.

“Uh… Are you really okay? Did you get burned? If you want, I can cover the cost of your clothes too.”

▶ “Enough. Don’t waste my time—just leave.”

▶ “Do you even know how much this shirt costs? Forget it.”

▶ (Let out a weary sigh and ignore him.)

With a heavy heart, Seon-woo chose the first option. He had no clue how much this damn shirt cost, and ignoring the guy again felt like too much of a jerk move.

This ridiculous Gwanggong persona had already managed to endure getting splashed with coffee like some magnanimous saint, but of course, it still had to ruin things by speaking like an arrogant prick.

“Enough. Don’t waste my time—just leave.”

< Gwanggong Index +1 >

< Current Gwanggong Index: 83 >

The man’s face briefly twisted, as if hurt by Seon-woo’s cold response, but he quickly schooled his expression back to normal. Then, pulling out his wallet, he retrieved a business card and handed it over.

“Please reach out. I insist on covering the cleaning fee.”

“I don’t—”

—need it. That’s what he tried to say, but once again, his mouth clamped shut. With no choice, Seon-woo took the card.

The name on it read Seo Eun-jae.

Seo Eun-jae hesitated, glancing back at Seon-woo a couple more times before finally leaving.

By then, Seon-woo had been trying to clean himself up as best he could. Just as he was about to retrieve his Americano from the counter, something strange happened.

< You feel something unusual. >

< For some reason, Seo Eun-jae’s face won’t leave your mind. >

< Heart rate increasing… >

The voice in his head kept trying to force emotions onto him.

Seon-woo, who had genuinely not given it a second thought, frowned in irritation.