Became an Observer in Love Company

‘”There won’t be anyone there.”‘

That’s what I thought.

After the entrance ceremony ended, instead of returning to the classroom, I wanted to find a quiet place.

New people, a new environment. It would take time to get used to it.

So I recalled a spot where I could have some time to myself and naturally found myself heading to the back of the gym.

A small path wound through the bushes. Following it, I came upon an open space.

It was a quiet area where sunlight filtered through the leaves.

Strangely, that atmosphere calmed my mind.

I took a deep breath and relaxed my body there.

It wasn’t the first time I’d danced in a place where no one was around.

Though I was always behind the scenes, adjusting the lighting and equipment on stage, I had admired the stage from a young age.

There were times when I still wanted to dance, even by myself.

Performing under the gaze of an audience, under the spotlight, bearing all that pressure while dancing.

Pretending it’s nothing while moving lightly under the suffocating weight of that pressure.

Soloing through the dazzling light as if transcending it, silencing the noise with a quiet presence, and enveloping the massive stage with my own insignificance.

I admired it so much I couldn’t bring myself to reach out. I had unconsciously drawn a line. This far is my limit.

Even so, somehow, moving my body made me feel like my mind would calm down.

Because Park Nayul’s appearance at the entrance ceremony was so vividly etched in my mind, my heart was unnecessarily racing.

Unconsciously, I began to move my feet.

It felt familiar, like becoming one with the air, the sensation of brushing against the floor.

I crouched down, spun, took steps, and rose again.

The quiet space felt like my own stage.

However.

Suddenly, my balance wavered.

The sensation in my toes was off.

‘Ah.’

Without realizing, my body leaned forward, and I absorbed the shock by kneeling.

Though I could have gotten up right away, there was a bigger issue.

Our gazes met.

It was him.

The guy I had bumped into in the hallway behind the gym, the one whose presence was so faint, whose name I also remembered because the homeroom teacher called it several times.

Kim Dohyun.

I froze instantly.

“…Did you see?”

I awkwardly asked in the silent stillness.

He didn’t respond at all.

That made me even more uneasy.

“Ah, no, it’s not like…?”

I hastily stood up and adjusted my uniform for no reason.

“I didn’t do anything. I just tripped.”

He just stared at me.

“…I see.”

I flinched.

That response… It’s too bland.

“…What’s with that reaction!?”

“Just tripping, huh?”

“That’s right! That’s correct!! …But why do I feel so embarrassed?”

I covered my face and sighed.

Strangely, it didn’t seem like he was going to let it go.

‘Please, just forget that you saw it.’

I earnestly wished.

But.

“Why?”

His voice rang out.

“…What?”

“Why should I forget?”

I answered reflexively.

“Well, obviously!”

But his response was far too calm.

“If it was just tripping, wasn’t it?”

“…Ah.”

‘Is this guy doing it on purpose?’

I shut my mouth.

I sat down as if fleeing, covering my head.

“Ahhh, forget it. Just… forget it!”

But Kim Dohyun slowly shook his head.

“I won’t forget.”

“What?!”

“Because it looked good.”

I blankly stared at his face.

I momentarily didn’t know what to say.

What is this guy talking about?

My mind went blank.

“…”

“Forgetting it would be a waste.”

At his words, I opened my mouth to respond but ultimately turned and walked away without saying anything.

I hurriedly left, trying not to look back.

“If you go around telling other people, I won’t let it slide!”

“I won’t talk.”

He said it composedly.

Still, it somehow bothered me.

‘Did he really think it looked good…?’

I’ve never heard such words. Not even from Yoon Jihoo, my childhood friend.

No, I’ve never danced in front of him. Since that day, I was afraid to dance in front of others.

That day, it was raining. A light summer rain, but it felt cold.

I was sitting alone in a small waiting room.

I wanted to be alone.

I didn’t want anyone to find me.

Since I was a child, I’ve been assigned roles like adjusting lights and organizing props backstage.

It was what I did well, and I enjoyed it.

But…

I actually wanted to stand on stage.

However, I’ve never told anyone about that dream.

So no one knew.

I was always the one backstage, adjusting the lights, thinking it was only natural.

There was only one time. Arriving earlier than others, an empty stage.

Drawn to it like a magnet, I stood on that stage and danced.

So.

That was my biggest mistake.

When I dance, I can’t see or hear anything around me. It’s as if I alone quietly shine.

That’s why I didn’t notice anyone watching me.

An awkward laugh. Then the words I heard.

“You… would probably suit backstage work better, I think.”

That statement wouldn’t leave my mind.

I left that place and curled up in a quiet spot.

It was a difficult feeling to describe.

One thing was clear. When someone tells you “no” towards a dream you wanted,

whether it’s a joke or serious, it leaves a heavy mark.

I buried my head.

Then,

“What are you doing?”

A strange voice reached me.

Without realizing it, I fidgeted with my fingertips, recalling the moment I danced just a while ago. …Did it really look that good?

That voice felt vaguely similar to Kim Dohyun’s.

.

.

.

The next day, before class started, the classroom was bustling.

I deliberately stood casually in front of his desk.

“Ah, there you are.”

He nodded without much reaction.

“Yeah, you seem pretty diligent from what I saw this morning?”

“I was just looking.”

I turned my neck aimlessly to keep the conversation going.

Then, I whispered cautiously.

“Hey, about yesterday…”

“Hmm?”

I glanced around and, in a lower voice, said,

“Really, you didn’t say anything, right?”

He looked at me for a moment, then calmly replied,

“I said I wouldn’t talk.”

I relaxed instantly.

“…Phew, that’s good.”

Still, it somehow nagged at me.

I raised my finger and wiggled it in front of his eyes jokingly, adding,

“But! If you blab later and get caught, I won’t let it slide!”

He shortly answered.

“I said I wouldn’t.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

I watched him with lingering doubt and finally shook my head in resignation.

“…Alright. Well, since you said so, I’ll believe you.”

I lightly tapped the edge of his desk with my fingertip.

“…That’s that, then.”

With that, I acted like I was leaving nonchalantly.

But I didn’t think about whether he had noticed how my ear tips had tinged red while I walked back to my seat.

.

.

.

“Ah, that dream again.”

Lately, I’ve been having a recurring dream. It started after my private moment was discovered behind the gym.

When I was little, on a rainy day, about the moment someone shone light on me.

I don’t remember who that person was.

But I’m certain that their single word shook me a little.

And strangely, every time I see Kim Dohyun, that feeling rises.

His tone.

His reactions.

They seem both familiar and unfamiliar.

That day, in the dark waiting room, the gaze of someone watching me.

“…Maybe it’s just my imagination.”

I murmured to myself while looking out the window.

The vivid yet vague memory,

An unknown butterfly effect,

Floated up in the form of a dream like that.

*

A few days after the entrance ceremony, club enrollments began.

No big events happened in between.

Of course, it’s natural that proper interactions only started once we joined clubs.

If I had to point out one change, it would be the frequent eye contact with Lee Jian.

She seems quite anxious.

Looking at her, it oddly matches well with stage directing.

From behind the stage, shining a light on others rather than herself.

Yet when I see her dance, it seems like that side suits her better.

She took to stage directing due to past trauma.

That trauma was soothed by Yoon Jihoo.

Yoon Jihoo, who comforted her, became an important figure when she started harboring romantic feelings for him.

It’s a pity I didn’t witness that moment directly. At that time, I was too preoccupied with adjusting to this world.

Still, I did get to see something valuable.

A single magic orb floating in the air, spinning and emanating a distant light.

The gentle ripples spreading in the stillness, neither too fast nor too slow, like ripples on a lake.

I often revisit that moment.

“Alright, here’s the club schedule you’ve been waiting for. Check it well! Don’t miss the application period!”

“Yes!!!”

The students enthusiastically responded to the homeroom teacher’s announcement.

At the academy, joining a club wasn’t mandatory.

That’s the case for general students, those aspiring to paths other than the arts.

However, because of the various benefits from joining, it was practically mandatory. These benefits included participation in different competitions and access to facilities.

Since this is a renowned academy for the arts, getting into a club was difficult.

Meaning, there would be interviews.

The Magic Performance Club. The place where Yoon Jihoo, Lee Jian, and Park Nayul meet.

As an observer, I had to get in there.

Considering the potential repercussions of missing out on key events, I couldn’t risk it.

The club’s selection offered three areas: performer, stage director, and cinematographer.

I applied for the cinematographer role.

“What? You’re here, too?”

On hearing the familiar voice, I predictably saw Lee Jian.

I don’t know how she finds me so well among the crowd of students.

I casually waved.

“What are you applying for? It’s definitely not performer, right?”

You’re right, but that certainty annoyed me a little.

“Right?”

“Huh?”

“I’m applying as a performer.”

Lee Jian clearly looked flustered, her large eyes darting around restlessly.

“Really? E… E… Good luck!”

She apparently thought I wouldn’t make it.

“This is the first time I’ve had such uninspiring support.”

At my words, Lee Jian seemed dejected as she hung her head with her mouth puckered like a duck’s.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s just talk.”

“Eh? Wh-what? Are… ARE you joking?”

She emitted various onomatopoeic sounds before finally blowing up.

“Who are you?”

The nearby Yoon Jihoo asked with a bewildered expression.

Lee Jian, who was punching me in the ribs, answered.

“Don’t you know? She’s from our class. Kim Dohyun.”

“Ah, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it. It’s this guy that’s weird.”

“What? You’re the one with no presence.”

Lee Jian flared up at that.

“Hehe. When did you two get so close?”

“We’re not close.”

“Not close.”

Simultaneously answering, we both watched Yoon Jihoo burst into laughter again.

It felt like I hadn’t had a proper conversation with someone in a long time, and I smirked slightly as well.

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