Became an Observer in Love Company

“Again.”

Senior Seo Yeonhee’s voice echoed coldly through the gymnasium.

I tightened my fists.

I’ve lost count of how many times this has happened.

The tips of my fingers trembled slightly as I adjusted the lighting.

This time, I thought I’d gotten it right.

Yet, Senior Seo Yeonhee’s expression remained distant.

“Do you even know what the role of this lighting is supposed to be?”

“…”

I remained silent.

The light completes the stage.

I knew that much.

But—

“Lighting is not just about illuminating the stage.”

The senior walked up to me.

She lightly flicked her finger.

“Light creates emotion.”

Her voice was firm.

I bit my lip.

To be honest—

I still didn’t fully understand the power of ‘light’.

I might have only thought of it as a decorative element for the stage.

But the senior wouldn’t tolerate that.

“Warm light or cold light, the emotion on the stage changes just by altering a single hue.”

She adjusted the lighting as she spoke.

In an instant, the atmosphere of the gymnasium shifted dramatically.

Even though it was the same space, in the moment the light changed, it felt like the air itself was different.

I took a quiet breath.

“Jian.”

The senior looked directly at me, then grabbed my shoulder and said,

“The moment you adjust the light, you become an actor too.”

Her words stayed with me.

I wasn’t someone who hides behind the lights—I was someone who creates the stage with them.

Changing the mood with a single beam of light.

Considering the emotions that the person on the stage might feel under that light.

Only then did it hit me.

I was still afraid to stand on the stage.

Was I truly ready to handle ‘light’?

In that moment, my gaze lifted to the lighting fixtures hanging from the gymnasium ceiling.

Light wasn’t just a simple tool.

With just one light, you could either make someone feel immense joy or completely enclose them in solitude.

I wanted to become someone who could manipulate light—someone who could stir emotions.

At that moment, a face flashed through my mind.

Kim Dohyun.

While handling the lighting and building the stage, sometimes I would look somewhere.

And at the end of my gaze, Kim Dohyun was always there.

He always stood a step behind, neither on stage nor under the light.

Behind the lens, or beyond somewhere unseen.

At such times, he seemed almost transparent.

Like someone who existed faintly outside of the reach of the light.

Perhaps he was never part of this stage to begin with.

But—

Sometimes, momentarily,

His presence would fade even further.

As if he were about to crumble.

As if he’d disappear if I didn’t reach out right away.

I’d witnessed that moment many times.

Each time, for some strange reason,

I felt the urge to hold onto him.

So that he wouldn’t be lost from this stage or this light.

Yet, he always remained quietly on the side, observing.

Without a word, without showing any emotion,

Just raising the lens to record.

But when he looked at the stage—

There were moments when his presence became clearer.

When he looked at me in the light.

When his pupils would waver ever so slightly.

He rarely displayed his emotions.

But I know.

Each time the light changes,

His gaze sways ever so subtly.

And when he observes my stage,

He doesn’t fade.

That’s why, I want to keep him here.

Here on this stage, in this light.

To prevent him from leaving, to keep him observing me.

To make his presence grow sharper as he watches my stage.

So that he doesn’t dissipate.

And so, I continue to create light today.

*

“Have you ever thought about taking pictures? Capturing this moment?”

Senior Kwon Hyuktae asked while fiddling with the camera.

I stared at him blankly.

“Taking pictures”…

Until now, I had merely thought of it as a matter of documentation.

But strangely, the thought lingered in my mind.

“…Yes, I have.”

I quietly replied.

“A few days ago.”

I recalled Eejian on stage.

Holding an umbrella, dancing within the beams of light.

That moment—I wanted to…

Capture it.

Not just document it,

But preserve the emotion.

Senior Kwon Hyuktae smiled, intrigued.

“That’s it. That’s where the journey of an artist begins.”

He handed me the camera.

“You’ll stop being a mere observer once you learn how to capture a fleeting moment.”

Capture a fleeting moment.

I mulled over his words.

If a photograph isn’t just a record,

Then it’s the act of preserving a moment.

The emotion of the moment.

The atmosphere of the moment.

The temperature of the moment.

Not merely what meets the eye,

But the air, the sensations, the textures of that time.

“Have you ever seen a photograph imbued with magic?”

The senior asked.

I shook my head.

“They call it ‘photo magic’.”

The senior quietly raised the camera.

_Click._

In an instant, a gentle wind seemed to pick up in the photograph.

The air rippled.

I looked closely at the photo in surprise.

The world inside the photograph wasn’t stagnant.

Ever so slightly, it was alive.

The light trembled.

As if that moment itself was alive.

“This is photo magic.”

The senior said softly.

“Memory, you see…”

He flicked the photo with his finger.

“It’s not exact. It corrodes over time. Weathered away until most of it is eroded.”

I quietly listened to his words.

“So we preserve that memory through photographs.”

He extended the camera to me.

“Once you master photo magic, you won’t just preserve memories—you’ll be able to ‘recreate’ them.”

I quietly looked at the camera in my hands.

Photo magic has the power to capture a moment.

The air, the scent, the temperature of that moment.

The sensations on the fingertips, the strength of the wind.

All of it can remain within the confines of a ‘photograph’.

I quietly raised the camera.

Capturing a moment.

It’s not just documentation.

It’s about holding the light,

And preserving the emotions within that light.

“If only I’d realized this earlier.”

Regret seeped into my voice.

As I looked at the photograph, I remembered that moment.

The dancer illuminated by the lights.

Every gesture and step filled with emotion, the air itself seemed to tremble.

But what I had captured was—just a photograph.

That heat, the warmth of the lights, the flow of the emotions she created—none of it was captured; just a visual record.

Just staring at the photo couldn’t fully evoke the sensations of that moment.

The memory in my fingertips is slowly fading,

And the air of that day will drift away like the wind.

Even so, I wanted to capture that moment.

“There’s charm in regular photographs too, you know.”

Senior Kwon Hyuktae smiled.

“Like the joy of imagining, the happiness of reflecting?”

I quietly contemplated his words.

Memory is imprecise.

Over time,

The emotions we felt,

The temperature of that moment,

All become blurred.

Can a photograph truly preserve all of that?

This is a fictional world.

And as a possessor, I will eventually have to return.

Ultimately, these memories here might just be illusions.

Then, what meaning does capturing that instant hold?

If all of it is false,

What good does it do to preserve those emotions?

But—

Even so,

Could I leave behind traces of my existence here? Could I prove that this world isn’t merely a delusion?

“So, what kind of photographs do you want to take?”

I lifted my head.

Perhaps photography isn’t a perfect record.

But it could still carry its own meaning.

I raised my shutter.

“For now, the present.”

The heat inside the rehearsal room.

The burning passions leading up to the competition.

I captured that scene.

And—

In one corner, Eejian was captured.

Sweaty but with an unwavering gaze.

The girl who aspired to be the center of the stage.

In that moment, I realized.

Taking a photograph,

It’s not just about preserving a fleeting moment,

Perhaps it’s about preserving oneself in the act of remembering that moment.

But this emotion won’t last long.

_Click._

The moment captured in the photograph was vivid.

But I wasn’t in it.

I was never a part of “this world”—always “the observer”.

The lens-wielding onlooker.

Not someone on the stage, but someone who documented the stage.

Our connections here will eventually fade.

Knowing this, I still pressed the shutter in the end.

It might just be a habit.

Or perhaps a faint lingering attachment.

This is a fictional world, and I’m not one of its characters.

My disappearance won’t collapse the stage,

Nor will it end the story.

I’ll just vanish.

The ties I’ve formed here will gradually unravel.

It’s a fact I embraced long ago.

_Ziiing—_

The small vibration signaled that the photograph I took had come out.

Two pictures.

The scene inside the rehearsal room and a photo solely of Eejian.

Even with magic, it seems I couldn’t fully capture everything.

All sensations were faintly recorded as if out of reach.

However, in the photograph, she glanced at me sideways.

Although she was clearly preparing the stage, for a brief moment—she looked toward the lens.

I flicked the photo with my finger.

The stiff paper trembled slightly before gradually settling.

‘Did she see me?’

[Observer mode is active. The perspective is locked.]

I reflexively looked up.

Not into the photograph,

But at her in reality.

Yoon Jihoo passed by me.

He held a bottle of water.

He casually approached Eejian and extended the bottle.

“Drink.”

“It’s fine, I got it.”

Eejian muttered but still snatched the bottle.

Yoon Jihoo laughed as if it was no big deal, and tousled her hair.

“You’re doing well.”

“Go away.”

Eejian scowled and kicked him lightly with her foot.

Yoon Jihoo stepped back with a laugh.

They exchanged light banter and smiled at each other.

[Observer mode deactivated.]

I lowered my gaze.

The photograph in my fingertips trembled slightly.

The moment from the lens when she looked at me overlapped in my mind.

But—

‘This is right.’

“Are you just going to keep this one for yourself?”

Senior Kwon Hyuktae asked as he looked at the photograph I’d taken.

“…Maybe. Would she like it if I gave it to her?”

Her sweaty, exhausted look.

“Wouldn’t she be mad instead?”

Senior Kwon Hyuktae smiled.

“I don’t think she’d be angry.”

“She’d be. Definitely.”

Saying that, I shoved the photo into my bag.

Even as I did, my gaze lingered on the two of them.

A pretty close pair.

Eejian and Yoon Jihoo.

In the original story too, she liked Yoon Jihoo.

Everything is progressing as it should.

That’s what I should believe.

Yet,

A feeling of discomfort lingered in my mind.

Even though everything seems normal,

For some reason, I felt an ache in my chest.

And it felt like her gaze in the photograph wasn’t directed at me anymore.

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