Chapter 21 : For some reason

Again senior.

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

I clenched my fists tightly.

I had lost count of how many times this had happened.

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

I was sure I had gotten it right this time.

And yet, Seo Yeonhee senior’s expression remained indifferent.

“Do you even know what the purpose of this light is?”

“…..”

I kept my mouth shut.

Lights complete the stage.

That much, I knew.

But—

“Lights don’t just illuminate a stage.”

She walked up to me.

Then, with a flick of her fingertip—

“Light creates emotion.”

Her voice was firm.

I bit my lip.

To be honest—

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

Maybe I had only thought of it as just another decorative element of the stage.

But senior wouldn’t accept that.

“Warm light, cold light—just a slight change in tone can shift the entire emotion of the stage.”

She adjusted the lights as she spoke.

In an instant, the atmosphere in the gymnasium transformed.

It was the same space, yet the moment the light changed, the air felt different.

I took a silent breath.

“Jian.”

Senior looked straight at me.

Then, gripping my shoulders, she said—

“The moment you control the lights, you become an actor too.”

Her words imprinted themselves in my mind.

I wasn’t just someone who hid behind the lights.

I was someone who created the stage with them.

To change the mood with a single light,

To consider how the person under that light would feel.

And that’s when I realized—

I was still afraid of standing on stage.

Was I really ready to handle light?

At that moment, I looked up at the lights hanging from the gym ceiling.

They weren’t just tools.

A single beam of light could make someone feel pure joy—or trap them in complete solitude.

I wanted to be someone who controlled light. Someone who could touch people’s emotions.

And then—

A face flashed through my mind.

Kim Dohyun.

As I adjusted the lights, as I shaped the stage, my gaze would sometimes wander.

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

Always watching from one step behind.

Neither on stage nor under the lights.

But from behind a lens, or somewhere beyond.

In those moments, he looked almost transparent.

A person who existed faintly, in the shadows where the light did not reach.

Maybe he was never meant to be part of this stage.

But—

Sometimes, just for a moment,

He seemed to fade even more.

Like he could disappear at any second.

Like if I didn’t reach out right then, he’d be gone forever.

I had witnessed that fleeting moment more times than I could count.

And every time, strangely enough,

I felt the urge to hold onto him.

To keep him on this stage, within this light.

So I wouldn’t lose him.

And yet, he always remained the quiet observer.

Never saying anything, never revealing any emotions,

Just holding up his camera, recording.

But when he looked at the stage—

There were moments when his presence became clearer.

When he looked at me under the light.

In those moments, his gaze would waver.

He never showed emotions easily.

But I knew.

Every time the light changed,

His eyes would tremble, just slightly.

And as long as he was watching my stage—

He wouldn’t disappear.

So, I wanted to keep him here.

On this stage, within this light.

I wanted to keep him from leaving, to make him keep looking at me.

To make his presence undeniable while watching my stage.

Because maybe—just maybe—

That would keep him from fading away.

And so, today, I created light once more.

“Have you ever wanted to take a picture?

To capture this moment?”

Kwon Hyuktae senior asked, fiddling with his camera.

I stared at him blankly.

“Wanting to take a picture?”

I had always thought of it as just documenting things.

But somehow, those words lingered in my mind.

“…There was a time.”

I answered quietly.

“A few days ago.”

I thought of Lee Jian on stage.

Holding an umbrella, dancing in the light.

That moment—

I had wanted to capture it.

Not just as a record,

But to preserve the feeling itself.

Kwon Hyuktae senior smiled, intrigued.

“Yeah.

That’s how an artist begins.”

He handed me the camera.

And then he said—

“If you learn how to carve out a moment, you won’t just be an observer anymore.”

Carving out a moment.

I turned the words over in my mind.

If a photograph wasn’t just a record,

Then it was the act of preserving a moment.

The emotion of that instant.

The atmosphere of that second.

Even the temperature of that fleeting time.

Not just what was visible to the eye,

But the air, the sensation, the very touch of that moment.

“Have you ever seen a photograph with magic in it?”

Senior asked.

I shook my head.

“It’s called photo magic.”

He quietly raised his camera.

Click.

In that instant, a small breeze stirred in the photograph.

The air rippled.

I looked at the picture in surprise.

The world inside wasn’t frozen.

It moved—just slightly, ever so slightly.

The light was shifting.

As if the moment was still alive.

“This is photo magic.”

Kwon Hyuktae senior said softly.

“Memories,”

He flicked the photograph with his finger,

“Aren’t perfect.

They rust with time, erode, and fade away.”

I listened quietly.

“That’s why we preserve them with photos.”

He held out the camera to me.

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

I quietly looked down at the camera.

Photo magic has the power to capture a moment.

The air of that instant, its scent, its temperature.

The texture that brushes against fingertips, the strength of the wind.

All of it could be preserved within the frame of a photograph.

I slowly lifted the camera.

The art of carving out a moment.

It wasn’t just about documentation.

It was about capturing light.

And preserving the emotions within it.

“I wish I had realized this sooner.”

Regret seeped through my words.

As I stared at the photograph, I recalled that moment.

The girl dancing under the stage lights.

Her fleeting hand gestures, the tip of her foot brushing against the glow.

Every second carried emotion, the very air itself seemed to tremble.

Yet what I had captured was merely a photograph.

A visual record that failed to retain the heat of that moment,

The warmth of the lights,

The flow of emotions she had created.

Just by looking at the photo, I couldn’t completely relive that moment.

The memory lingering at my fingertips would soon fade.

The air of that night would scatter like the wind.

And yet, I wanted to hold onto that moment.

“Still, traditional photos have their own charm.”

Kwon Hyuktae senior smiled.

“The joy of imagination, the happiness of reminiscing?”

I quietly repeated his words in my mind.

Memories are unreliable.

As time passes, the emotions felt.

The warmth between us,all of it fades.

Can a photograph truly preserve everything?

This is a world inside a novel.

And as someone who has possessed a character here, I will eventually have to leave.

In the end, these memories might just be an illusion.

So what meaning does a captured moment hold?

If all of this is fake.

Then what’s the point of preserving emotions?

But—

Even so.

Wouldn’t leaving behind some kind of trace prove that I was here?

Wouldn’t it prove that this world wasn’t just a delusion?

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

I lifted my head.

Maybe photographs weren’t about perfect records.

Maybe they had meaning simply by existing.

I raised the camera.

“For now, this moment.”

Click.

The heat of the practice room.

The passion burning before the upcoming competition.

I captured a single frame.

And—

In one corner of it, Lee Jian was caught in the shot.

Her gaze unwavering despite the sweat on her face.

A girl who wanted to be the center of the stage.

And in that instant, I realized—

Taking a photo isn’t just about preserving a moment.

It’s about leaving behind yourself as the one who remembers it.

But this feeling won’t last long.

Click—

The captured moment was vivid.

But the person who took the photo—me—was absent from it.

I had never been part of this world.

I was always the observer behind the lens.

Never someone standing on stage, but the one recording it.

Someday, all the connections I made here would break.

I knew that.

And yet, I still pressed the shutter.

Maybe out of habit.

Maybe because of a faint hesitation.

This world is just a novel, and I am not one of its characters.

Even if I disappear, the stage will not crumble.

The story will not end.

Only I will be gone.

The ties I made will slowly unravel, one by one.

I had already accepted that long ago.

Bzzzt—

With a small vibration, the photo I had taken was printed.

Two pictures.

One capturing the practice room, and another solely of Lee Jian.

Even with magic, I hadn’t been able to capture everything properly.

The sensations seemed faint, as if they were just out of reach.

And yet, in the photo—

She was glancing at me.

She had been preparing for the stage, and yet, for the briefest moment—

Her gaze had turned toward the lens.

I flicked the edge of the photo with my fingertip.

The stiff paper trembled.

Then, slowly, it stilled.

Had she been looking at me?

[Observer’s Perspective Activated. The viewpoint is now fixed.]

Instinctively, I lifted my head.

Not at the photo, but at the real her.

Yoon Jihoo walked past me, a bottle of water in his hand.

He naturally approached Lee Jian and held it out.

“Drink.”

“I’m fine.”

She grumbled but still snatched the bottle from his hand.

Yoon Jihoo ruffled her hair casually, unfazed.

“You’re doing well.”

“Screw off.”

She scowled and kicked him lightly.

He stepped back with a laugh.

They stood there, teasing and exchanging lighthearted words, smiling at each other.

[Observer’s Perspective Deactivated.]

I lowered my gaze.

The photo in my hand trembled slightly.

Her gaze through the lens overlapped with the real her.

But—

This is how it should be, right?

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

Kwon Hyuktae senior asked, glancing at my photos.

“…I don’t know.

Do you think she’d like it?”

A picture of Lee Jian, drenched in sweat.

“Wouldn’t she just get mad?”

Kwon Hyuktae laughed.

“I don’t think she’d be that mad.”

“She would.

Definitely.”

I said as I slid the photos into my bag.

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

They looked close.

Lee Jian and Yoon Jihoo.

Even in the original story, she had liked him.

Everything was progressing as it was meant to.

That’s what I told myself.

And yet—

Something felt off.

Everything was falling into place, and yet—

For some reason, a weight settled in my chest.

And in the photo—

It felt as if her gaze no longer belonged to me.