Secretary Gwanggong's Survival Diary-Chapter 2: Is the Gwang in Gwanggong from (mad) or (feral)?

There was this weird drama.

No one had watched it, but somehow, everyone knew about it. A cast filled with top-tier alphas, betas, and omegas, a director with a string of hit dramas, and even a star writer—and yet, it couldn’t even surpass the national anthem in viewership ratings. It had everything: murder, kidnapping, ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) confinement—every shocking trope crammed in—and still, the public met it with cold indifference. All it earned was a warning from the Broadcasting Commission. That ill-fated drama was Madman.

The one person who watched that drama all the way to the end on public broadcast—where it made history with a rating in the zero percent range—was me. At least, no one else around me had.

“You have a meeting with the Strategic Management Division at nine, and lunch with the board of directors. In the afternoon—”

“Push the lunch.”

“You’ve already rescheduled it once, sir... Understood, CEO.”

It still tried to follow the trends in its own way. The alpha protagonist had everything except for one thing—emotion. He was the kind of guy who mistook obsession for love. Because of his omega-phobia, he kept latching onto betas, until he finally met one fated beta who made him realize what true love was... It was one of those typical romance plots.

But maybe it leaned too ambiguous with the genre. Maybe that’s just hindsight talking, but honestly, I think that was the biggest reason it flopped.

The alpha protagonist wasn’t just fierce—he was too fierce. To the point where it made you question, Is that really love...? His obsession with the beta was so violently one-sided it was terrifying. The title Madman couldn’t have been more fitting. Naturally, the drama was filled with an endless stream of scenes that were way too extreme to show on TV. That, I think, was its fatal flaw.

“Bring Taehyun for lunch. I want him there.”

“...It’s Daehyun, sir.”

“Whatever.”

Maybe it had been about two weeks.

When I first opened my eyes here, I thought I was dreaming. But the familiar setting, the familiar faces—little by little, I realized the truth. I had ended up inside that failed drama. More precisely, at the very beginning of a drama that had already finished airing. It was surreal. And honestly, kind of terrifying.

I woke up and it was like I’d fallen into another dimension—of course it was scary. But I adapted more easily than expected. The world was modeled after the one I used to live in, and the fact that I’d forced myself to watch the boring show to the end probably helped. Most of all, the backstory and role assigned to my character kept surfacing in my mind like leftover memories.

Anyway. The man sitting in front of me now, wearing a bathrobe and sipping coffee, is the alpha protagonist of that drama. He was a famous alpha actor even in real life, so at first, I thought it was kind of cool—but I had to rethink that fast. To me, he was just a fictional character. But in this world, he really was Yoon Taeo, the “madman.” Everyone else here believed this world was real.

So I accepted it. What else could I do? It had already happened. And it wasn’t that hard to adjust, really. Or rather, it was a role I had no choice but to adjust to.

“How about a burgundy tie today, sir?”

“Whatever.”

“Excuse me for a moment.”

Yoon Taeo leaned forward slightly at my words. Bastard... Just a little more, would it kill you? He didn’t even seem to consider how tall he was. Because of him, I had to get on my tiptoes to tie his tie. He’s got hands, doesn’t he? Feet too. Why the hell do I have to tie his tie?

“What are you doing, Secretary Kim?”

I lost my balance while on tiptoe. I accidentally placed a hand on Yoon Taeo’s chest to steady myself. I quickly pulled away in surprise, but then a displeased voice came from over my head.

“I’m sorry—! I’m so sorry!”

It was a mistake. In a world where it was already hard enough to survive by going unnoticed, I couldn’t believe I’d made such a stupid error. Anyone else might’ve brushed it off as nothing, but Yoon Taeo, with his spectacularly shitty personality, was different. Depending on his mood, even a “small” mistake like this could cost someone their neck.

That’s not a metaphor. Just last week—before I’d even fully adjusted to this world—a teammate of mine disappeared. All because they failed to notice a tiny scratch on Yoon Taeo’s shoe and let him wear them anyway. The guy can’t even tie his own damn tie, but he’s hypersensitive about pointless shit like that.

For a second, a chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t help wondering if this time, I was next. Technically, if the plot followed the original, it wasn’t my turn yet—but you never knew when things might go off-script.

“...But, sir...”

“What?”

“I’m not Secretary Kim. I’m Secretary Baek...”

Ah, fuck. I want to sew my own mouth shut. Who gives a shit whether my name is Secretary Kim or Shit Secretary in a situation like this? It’s not even my real name anyway.

“Right. Secretary Baek. Hurry up and tie it. We’re going to be late.”

“...Yes, sir...”

Thank God. Judging by how he let my mistake slide so easily, he must be in a decent mood today. It must be because that beta of his, Kim Daehyun, was being especially obedient yesterday. Seems like this Yoon Taeo guy really takes romance seriously—must be the genre talking.

At his urging, I quickly started tying the burgundy tie.

But... what the hell is up with that chest?

The second I confirmed I wasn’t going to die, my mind went somewhere else entirely. His chest was so firm, his shirt might as well have been useless. That solid chest had supported my weight so steadily, I actually started wondering if it was a wall. It’s... kind of pretty. How the hell does a shirt stretch so tight across someone’s chest like that? Even while I tied his tie, my eyes kept drifting to his pecs. More precisely... his nipples were...

“Are you hot? Why are you sweating so much?”

“No, no? I’m cold?”

“...Cold?”

“I mean—hot. I’m hot. All done.”

Did I forget to take my pheromone suppressant today? Why is my body heat spiking? I quickly stepped back to create some distance, but the heat that had flared up wasn’t going away. I was sweating so much I had to wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, and my mouth felt dry as a bone.

“The pin.”

“Oh—sorry, sir.”

My mouth was working overtime today—just to apologize. My brain must’ve gone on vacation. I’d tied the tie but forgotten to pin it. Yoon Taeo frowned in irritation, and I grabbed the first pin I could get my hands on and fastened it to his tie.

“...As expected of our CEO. You look amazing. I was just thinking—no alpha wears a suit quite like you do.”

Was it survival instinct? A compliment spilled out of my mouth without ever passing through my brain, as I helped him on with his jacket.

“Just now?”

“...Pardon?”

Yoon Taeo’s voice turned slightly more twisted. He tilted his head, glaring at me from over his shoulder. The moment our eyes met, I nearly collapsed on the spot. I caught myself just in time, grabbing the edge of the watch display to stay upright.

“Just now, you noticed that?”

“...Ah! No, I mean—I’ve always thought that, of course. You just look especially good today, that’s all! I’m sure Taehyun—no, I mean, Daehyun—will love it too!”

Taehyun or Daehyun or whoever. I hadn’t even met the guy yet. Just some background character—I couldn’t even remember his face. I just kept saying whatever came to mind. As I babbled on, Yoon Taeo’s scowl started to fade.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely! I mean, seriously—who wouldn’t fall for you, sir...?”

Does a person have to go without drinking water to die of dehydration?

Couldn’t you also die from sweating too much?

I could feel it vividly—the inside of my shirt was already drenched like a flood, sweat pouring down my entire body.

“Secretary Kim, have you been acting a little different lately? The tie pin’s... not bad, I guess.”

...It’s Secretary Baek, you bastard.

“...Thank you. I think these shoes will go best, sir.”

For now, I decided to let the little stuff slide.

If not for my reflexes, I might’ve ended up with my neck twisted 180 degrees, cold and stiff on the spot.

Of course, if I were the real Secretary Baek, I probably wouldn’t have made a slip like that in the first place.

“The CEO is departing. Director Kim, stand by.”

For the secretary team, in-ears and mics are essential.

If you’re going to stick by a protagonist who could go off in any direction at any time, you need to wear them almost 24/7—sleeping hours excluded.

“Director Kim...?”

That’s when the problem started.

I gave the departure signal while Yoon Taeo was putting on his shoes, but there was no response on the other end.

As the silence dragged on, my shirt—which had just started to dry—felt like it was getting soaked again.

Why the hell is he putting on his shoes so fast today, of all days?

I followed behind him, carrying his briefcase as he walked ahead with his hands in his pockets. I tried calling again in a small voice, but silence was all that came back through the in-ear.

“Sir, are you feeling thirsty at all?”

“...What?”

“Would you like a glass of water? The humidity seems low today—it feels a bit dry.”

“What kind of bullshit is that? Do you even know how much the humidity control system in this house cost?”

Yeah, I know.

Temperature, humidity, oxygen saturation—everything’s adjusted to perfection.

It’s impossible not to know that.

Honestly, I might even have that system to thank.

After sleeping here, my brain always feels crystal clear.

High oxygen levels must really resurrect dead brain cells.

“It might be broken. I’ll have it fixed today.”

“...It’s German-made.”

“I can... handle it.”

I had to buy time.

Saying whatever dumb shit I could think of, I dashed to the fridge and poured a glass of bottled water.

Thankfully, Yoon Taeo stayed put without saying anything.

The one who was really parched was me.

Waiting for Director Kim’s radio silence to break felt like my blood was drying up.

“Let’s go.”

“...Yes, sir.”

Impatient bastard didn’t even give me time to put the empty glass in the sink.

He drank the water I gave him, then walked off.

I left the cup on the floor and followed him again.

We stepped out of the main house, which sat higher than the front gate, and walked down the steps cutting through the garden.

At least the garden was big—it was made with the prettiest trees and stones gathered from all over the country.

Maybe Director Kim would be there by now.

Surely, surely, after watching the secretary team get chewed up day in and day out, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to screw up... right?

Wait—hold on. In the original story, I think...

“This is what I want to know, Secretary Kim.”

Right, around this point... there was a chauffeur who got turned into a chunk of cement and dumped into the ocean.

I’d forgotten about that, too busy trying to stay alive.

And there was something else... some other incident... but I didn’t have time to think.

“...I’m sorry, sir.”

Director Kim was sprawled out in the car, seat fully reclined, dead asleep.

Even after I knocked on the window, nothing.

When I quickly opened the door, a thick stench of alcohol hit me in the face.

“Urgh...!”

Even my own drinking leaves me nauseous sometimes, but this was next-level.

The stale stench of someone else's liquor, fermented overnight—it reeked like vomit.

My eyes started to sting as I forced down a few dry heaves.

I gave up trying to wake him and shut the door.

“...Ha, fuck.”

Yoon Taeo was just as dumbfounded.

All he managed was a short curse.

He glanced at his watch, and I realized it was up to me to save my own life.

“I’ll go get another car, right away.”

Call it a retreat—

With no clue when Yoon Taeo’s temper might explode, I chose to remove myself from the blast radius first.

And realistically, if I was going to stick to his schedule, I needed to move fast.

I rushed back into the house and straight to the garage.

Disaster.

The only cars left were a two-seater sports car and an SUV.

The main sedan was still at the company, and the other one... was currently marinating in vomit outside.

I had no choice but to go with the SUV.

There was no way in hell I was going to sit next to a pissed-off Yoon Taeo in that confined sports car.

“Sir...?”

Just as I pulled out of the garage, I saw it—and my legs gave out.

I tumbled out of the car and onto the ground.

The driver's window of the black sedan, perfectly fine just moments ago, was now shattered.

Slumped over the glass, head hanging toward the ground, was a bloodied pulp that used to be Director Kim.

A man was gripping that mess of black hair.

Our eyes locked.

His fist looked massive, stained bright red.

Even his eyes glowed crimson, like blood had seeped into them too.

He looked like a demon.

And that gaze turned toward me.

“...What.”