Became an Observer in Love Company

“You all probably know, but originally the Performance Club was actually three separate clubs.”

Everyone nodded at Park Nayul’s words.

It was a fairly well-known story.

Performance, Lighting Art, Photography.

In the early days of the club, due to the lack of incoming members, they merged the three clubs as a workaround.

Now it’s the most popular club in the Academy, but thinking about it, that was a story limited to just the performance aspect.

Even now, the directing side is average compared to other clubs, and the photography section has so few applicants that the club approval might not even go through.

Looking at it that way, it might have been a rather wise decision.

“So right now, you can either compete in group events or individual events. That’s up to you. But participating in both group and individual events simultaneously is not possible.”

Of course, there were many who didn’t see that in a good light.

It seems that there’s also some talk about it from the outside.

Because this one club is taking part in multiple competitions, thus receiving various benefits, and the quality and quantity of the teachers they provide are overwhelmingly better compared to other clubs.

However, the club’s history, past achievements, and the performances during the festival silence all the complaints.

That’s why the Performance Club can’t help but be especially focused on the festival performance.

Following Park Nayul, Seo Yeonhee spoke up.

“At least by midterm exams, you need to let us know whether you’ll be participating individually or as a group.”

While entering the competition itself is relatively flexible, they needed to know beforehand when considering practice and such.

“There’s a clear difference between the individual and group events. Let me explain using directing as an example.”

You can’t conduct practices together. The training methods differ depending on whether it’s individual or group.

Looking at it from a broad perspective, it may seem similar since both involve lighting.

“Directing and lighting art are clearly different areas. Directing enhances the brilliance of the protagonist, whereas lighting art requires brilliance in itself.”

Seo Yeonhee looked around at the students as she continued.

“A person who illuminates others cannot shine themselves, and a person who shines cannot illuminate others. It’s a difference in approach.”

It was an important decision.

It seemed to be asking Lee Jian: whether she would become the lead or stay as a supporting role.

And as we all know, that choice…

[Observer Perspective Activated]

Practice was in full swing.

In the vast space of the gym, lights began to illuminate the stage one by one.

I quietly observed the scene.

The dazzling lights cascading onto the stage.

Lee Jian stood alone, her hands moving briskly as if conducting an orchestra.

Her fingertips seemed to radiate light.

The lighting magic rippled gracefully in sync with her movements.

The light spread softly but with precise trajectory.

Every movement appeared meticulously calculated.

And amidst the light, she was like a star, the glowing trails resembling a flowing galaxy.

But—she was always one step behind.

The one shining under that light was not Lee Jian, but someone else.

Park Nayul, whose graceful dance captured the audience’s attention.

The faint red afterimages forming with every gesture.

It smelled like rose petals wafting in the air.

Beautiful yet not fragile, strong yet not stubborn.

The harmonious dance movements were highlighted by the light created by Lee Jian.

Red, blue, and purplish hues swirled together to set the mood for the stage.

The light responded precisely with every movement.

At the back of the stage, in the shadow of the curtain where the light didn’t reach, stood the light creator who never basked in its glow.

I slowly looked to Lee Jian.

While adjusting the colors on stage with her fingertips, she herself did not stand in those colors.

Her expression was unreadable.

But when her fingertips paused briefly and resumed movement, we could tell she was continually making adjustments,

Small ones, without stopping.

And finally, she looked at Park Nayul.

Her gaze didn’t waver.

For a long time.

Even though it seemed like her expression carried some emotion, it was unreadable.

An invisible line seemed to have been drawn, placing the two in entirely different positions on the same stage.

[Observer Perspective Deactivated]

The photoshoot ended, with perfectly composed shots.

Of course, only Park Nayul was captured in the photos. Lee Jian wasn’t visible.

Next was Yoon Jihoo’s turn.

[Observer Perspective Activated]

Yoon Jihoo’s movements were fluid and precise, as smooth as flowing water.

The energy radiating when he landed was sharp, every detail of his stance reaching to the fingertips.

His sword circled and cut through the air, stretching forward in an instant.

He stepped and spun, flowing into a steady landing.

Rather than a performance, the movements resembled an actual fight.

Actions effortlessly connected, as though he had practiced martial arts for a long time.

Indeed, compared to the first time, the awkward movements had decreased significantly.

Yoon Jihoo smoothly breathed and sheathed his sword.

Park Nayul clapped and grinned brightly.

“Good, good! But the final landing could be a bit more stable.”

“Understood!”

“The landing sets the final impression. If the end is shaky, the overall performance will leave a regrettable impression too~.”

“Understood!”

“Why so serious all of a sudden?”

Poke, poke. Park Nayul’s playful fingers nudged Yoon Jihoo.

Yoon Jihoo flinched as if ticklish but tried hard to play it cool, something everyone could see through.

There was a light-heartedness about those who understood and laughed together.

A step away, Lee Jian watched the scene.

She stood with her arms crossed at the side of the stage.

The position of a director observing the stage.

She was someone who created the performance with the performers, but would never become the main character of the stage.

A person who casts light, not one who chases it.

And—I observed from one step further behind.

Like camera lenses capturing everything in the pupils.

Every movement of Yoon Jihoo, Park Nayul’s smile, and Lee Jian’s watchful gaze.

All of these scenes overlaid into a single frame.

I quietly looked at the scene.

Always watching, from the position of an observer.

Neither chasing the light nor shining it, but simply documenting it all.

[Observer Perspective Deactivated]

After receiving feedback from the seniors, Lee Jian approached me.

It was always surprising how she could find me so quickly every time.

“Even the automatic doors wouldn’t open yesterday.”

It seemed a sensor malfunctioned, necessitating me to wait for someone else to come out.

“How was it?”

Lee Jian casually flicked her hands as she asked.

A slight upward twist of her lips.

The familiar glimmer in her eyes.

“I don’t even know how to look.”

“But you could still ask, right?”

I stared at the stage for a long time before speaking.

“…Like the moon.”

“What?”

She squinted her eyes at my comment.

“The moon.”

“…Why specifically the moon?”

I slowly looked at her.

“Because unlike the sun, which shines on its own, you’re like the moon that reflects someone else’s light.”

Her fingertips stopped. Her eyes slightly narrowed.

“…That’s cheesy.”

She recoiled slightly, curling her fingers.

“Hey, are you considering becoming the sun?”

My tease prompted a small smile from Lee Jian before she answered.

“Alright, no. I like my role. At least for now.”

She lightly tapped my shoulder as she passed.

But her step wasn’t as light as usual.

I quietly watched her retreating figure.

Her pace momentarily slowed before resuming its casual rhythm.

And I didn’t say anything, despite noticing it.

As if she had no problems at all.

Because it seemed like I should be as calm as she was pretending to be.

But clearly, her pause, however brief, had definitely happened.

And strangely, it stuck with me.

Was this what the anomaly in the original story meant? Could it mean she might connect with Yoon Jihoo?

Thinking about it made me feel uneasy.

In an attempt to hide the unpleasant feeling, I forced a slightly playful smile and spoke up.

“By the way…”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you danced at the back of the gym? That was quite impressive.”

“…”

She slightly shuddered at my mention.

I took a slow step closer.

“And you sang too.”

“…”

In an instant, her face tightened.

“When you were tone-deaf and had no rhythm, I wondered how your dance looked so good…”

I quietly added one more comment.

“…Turns out, it was all thanks to magic.”

That’s when it happened.

“Hey, Kim Dohyun!!”

Lee Jian, her face burning red, charged toward me.

“This is something you cannot kill!”

“What? It’s the truth!”

“Shut up!!”

Her hands wildly flailed through the air.

I easily dodged her reach by shifting my body.

“Kim Dohyun!!!”

“I just stated the facts, didn’t I?”

“Erase it from your memory!!! Right now!!”

“Your memory of being tone-deaf?”

“UUUGH!!”

The recollection brought up from the gym’s backside ended with my small revenge.

Of course, the price of that revenge was—

“You, you’ll regret this. Just wait and see.”

The continuous poking on my back by Lee Jian’s fingers.

…Cheaper than expected.

With a smug smile, I slowly moved my steps.

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