Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 164: The Man Who Looked Like His Husband

[Renji’s POV—The Night After the Encounter—Sa Night]

Snow crunched under my shoes as I walked ho, or... stumbled ho.

I don’t rember crossing the next street. I don’t rember waiting at the signal. I don’t rember the lights, the crowds, the music, or the laughter.

I don’t even rember unlocking the apartnt door.

All I rembered was him.

That mont. That warmth. That familiar scent—clean winter air mixed with sothing sharp and grounding. The way his sleeve felt under my fingers. The way his height shadowed from the cold.

Alvar’s warmth. Alvar’s presence. Alvar’s tenderness.

My chest tightened painfully.

But reality pressed in like a cold fist.

"There’s no way... No way my Alvar would be here."

My voice cracked in the empty apartnt. I stumbled toward my bed—a narrow, thin mattress pressed against the wall—and collapsed face-first onto it.

My breath hitched.

"Why did I hug that random man...?" I covered my face with my hands, groaning into the pillow. "I’m such an idiot."

My cheeks burned with embarrassnt and grief tangled together.

What if he thought I was crazy? What if—

"Ughhhh..."

I flopped on my back, staring at the ceiling, letting my limbs splay out like I’d fallen from a very tall building.

The room was dim, cramped, and too quiet. A single desk lamp glowed faintly. Bills sat neatly stacked at the corner of my table. A cup of instant ran from yesterday’s dinner rested on the floor.

My life.

My... very normal, very lonely life.

I closed my eyes.

"Get over it, Renji... He’s gone."

But the warmth from that man’s coat sleeve lingered stubbornly on my fingertips.

As if the universe didn’t want to forget.

As if he didn’t want to forget.

I exhaled shakily—and then—DING!!!

My phone buzzed violently beside . I unlocked the screen lazily.

Then froze.

It was an email. From a company na I never expected to see:

KUROSAWA.CO

My eyes widened.

"...Kurosawa?"

A top-tier company. One that I applied to months ago. Even though they saw "coma – 1 year" in my resu.

My heart thumped—slow, cautious. I tapped the email.

Dear Takeda Renji, After reviewing your updated resu, we would like to invite you for an interview...

"...What?" I sat up straighter, the blanket sliding off my lap. "They... liked my resu?"

My voice cracked with genuine disbelief.

Even though there’s a one-year coma... Even though I have gaps everywhere... Even though my last job was a coffee shop part-tir...

"They want... ?"

I whispered it aloud because my brain refused to believe the letters on the screen.

I stared—blinked—stared again.

But the email didn’t disappear.

Interview Scheduled: Location: Kurosawa Corporate Tower, Ti: 10:00 AM, Date: Tomorrow

My fingers trembled around the phone. As in—less than twenty-four hours from now. My heartbeat slamd against the silence of the tiny apartnt, loud enough that I could feel it in my throat. I swallowed, trying to ground myself.

"Kurosawa...?"

A humorless laugh slipped out.

Of all places—Kurosawa Tower was on the sa street as the coffee shop I worked at.I passed it every day. I’d spent lunchti staring at its glass exterior, wondering how successful people inside managed to breathe air that didn’t weigh them down.

"I guess... It’s a good thing," I whispered.

***

[The Next Day—Kurosawa Corporate Tower]

"...Yes, yes, Mika-san... I’m not nervous."

My voice said that.

My hand? Shaking.

"Maybe they’ll reject too," I muttered into the phone. "I’m not expecting anything."

Mika’s dramatic gasp echoed, "DON’T SAY THAT, RENJI. YOU’RE SMART, YOU’RE HARDWORKING—"

"Mika."

"—YOU’RE BASICALLY A TRAGIC ANI PROTAGONIST—"

"Mika, please."

She sighed loudly. "Fine. But call when you finish, okay?"

"Yeah... see you."

I hung up.

DING—!

The elevator opened onto the 5th floor—the interview floor. Sleek tiles, soft lighting, the faint sll of expensive coffee that I absolutely could not afford.

I exhaled slowly.

"...Here we go."

I stepped out, clutching my bag tighter than necessary. I wasn’t expecting anything. I knew how these went. A polite smile. A glance at my resu. A hidden wince at the "one-year coma." A rejection email.

Sa cycle. Sa ending. So why was my stomach twisting... Like sothing was different today?

"Renji Takeda?" a receptionist called.

I straightened. "Y-Yes, that’s ."

She offered a polite corporate smile. "Please follow ."

Her heels clicked softly as she led down a long corridor with glass walls and silver doors. The environnt felt too clean. Too cold. Too perfect.

"Your interview is in Room 5B," she said brightly. "You can go inside whenever you’re ready."

I bowed. "Thank you so much."

She walked away. I took a slow breath and reached for the door handle, but when I pushed the door open, I froze again.

My heart didn’t just lurch.

It stoppedpletely.

Sitting at the table—among three other interviewers—was the man from yesterday.

Black hair. Blue eyes. Sharp jaw. Perfect posture. A presence so heavy it pulled the air out of the room.

Him.

The man I collided with. The man I chased down the street. The man I hugged in desperation—who I thought was my Alvar.

And under the office lighting... he looked even more like him. Even more like the man who held as I died. Even more like the husband my soul still scread for.

He didn’t react.

Just a small shift of his fingers on the table. A slow lift of his gaze.

His eyes—icy blue—t mine.

Cold.Sharp.Professional.

Then he looked back down at the papers in front of him—dismissive, distant, uninterested.

As if yesterday... Never happened.

My pulse hamred so loud I thought every person in the building could hear it.

He doesn’t rember . Thank god...That ant I wasn’t about to die of embarrassnt.

And yet—the way my chest tightened told sothing else entirely.

"Please take a seat," another interviewer—an older man with silver hair—said kindly.

I forced my legs to move. My breath felt tight in my throat. The room felt smaller with each step.

I sat down.

My hands trembled where they rested on my knees.

And the man—my Alvar-but-not-Alvar—didn’t even spare a second glance.

But my heart? It wouldn’t stop racing.

Because even without mory—even without a na—Even without recognition—

Sothing in whispered: He’s still Alvar.

I sat down and the silver-haired interviewer cleared his throat and offered a polite smile. "Takeda-san, thank you for coming today. Let’s begin."

"Y-Yes," I murmured, hands clasped tightly in my lap.

He scanned my résumé with practiced eyes. "You previously worked as a junior editor, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you were... in a coma for a year?"

"Yes..sir."

The words hung in the air like a bruise reopening. But what made my breath hitch wasn’t the question—It was him.

The man from yesterday—the one with the blue eyes—lifted his head sharply. He looked at .

Then at the resu.

Then back at .

As if trying to reconcile two different truths at once.

The silver-haired interviewer continued, unaware of the knot forming in my chest.

"We are aware of the gap in your work history. However, your skillset looks promising. Could you tell us why you applied to Kurosawa Corporate?"

I steadied my breath.

"I... wanted to start over." My voice wavered, just slightly. "I want stability. I want to work hard and prove myself again."

A quiet sincerity filled the space. The silver-haired man nodded thoughtfully. The woman beside him tapped her pen. "And what strengths do you believe you bring to this position?"

"Discipline," I answered softly. "And... endurance. I don’t give up easily."

Her expression ward. "That’s admirable, Takeda-san."

A page flipped. His voice followed—calm, deep, steady. "Your résumé lists proficiency in translation. Japanese to English, and vice versa?"

Goosebumps rose along my arms.

Not his voice...Yet sohow—the gravity, the subtle authority—Alvar’s shadow lingered in his tone.

"Yes," I said. "I—I’m fluent."

He nodded once. Businesslike. Controlled. But there was sothing... thoughtful in the way his eyes lingered on before dropping back to the paper.

"And your typing speed?" he asked.

"Fast."

"How fast?"

"One hundred words per minute."

His pen stopped mid-stroke. The woman blinked. "That’s quite impressive."

The silver-haired man smiled. "That speed would be very valuable for our editing departnt."

So of my nerves eased.

Just a little.

Until—

"Takeda-san," the blue-eyed man said quietly.

I froze. He leaned back, crossing his arms—studying with unnerving focus. "Why did your previous company refuse to take you back?"

The air split.

His question wasn’t casual. It wasn’t polite. It was precise, sharp—drilling straight into the wound.

Just like Alvar.

. . .

. . .

...Why do keep I comparing him to Alvar? I should stop that.

My fingers curled around my knees.

"Because of the coma," I answered. My voice didn’t shake. "They said hiring again was... a risk."

His brows drew together.

"A risk?" he repeated, voice dropping low. "Why?"

I swallowed, but nothing inside hesitated. There was nothing to hide. "...They didn’t think I could adjust again. That I wasn’t reliable anymore."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, subtle but unmistakably displeased. Then he leaned back, tapping his pen once before setting it down.

Silence stretched—heavy, thoughtful. The silver-haired interviewer glanced at him, as if waiting for his judgnt.

He gave a small nod.

And suddenly the atmosphere shifted.

The silver-haired man looked back at with a polite smile. "Thank you, Takeda-san. We’ll review everything and inform you through email."

That was it?

My chest sank.

But I forced myself up and bowed deeply. "Thank you so much for the opportunity."

As I straightened—I made a mistake.

I looked at him.

His eyes t mine for a heartbeat.

Just one.

But the world seed to hush between us—like sothing invisible had tried to bridge the gap. Before I could decipher it, he looked away—expression unreadable, jaw set, hands folded neatly on the desk.

...A stranger.

Yes.

Of course.

I forced a small, polite smile, turned, and stepped out of the room, my heart thudding far too loudly for sothing that wasn’t supposed to matter.

I exhaled, a long, shaky breath that fogged the cold air of the corridor.

"...I guess," I whispered to myself, lips twisting bitterly, "I’ll be rejected again."