“No one will be here.”
That’s what I thought.
After the entrance ceremony, instead of going back to the classroom, I wanted to find a quiet place.
New people, new environment.
It would take time to get used to it.
So I thought of a place where I could have some alone time, and naturally, I headed toward the back of the gym.
A small path through the bushes.
Following it, I came to an open space.
It was a quiet spot where sunlight filtered through the leaves.
Strangely, that atmosphere made me feel at ease.
I took a light breath there and stretched my body.
Dancing alone in an empty place wasn’t new to me.
I had always been the one behind the stage, adjusting the lights and equipment, but when I was younger, I had admired the stage.
There were times I wanted to dance alone, even if it was just by myself.
Dancing while carrying the gaze of the audience, the lights, and all the pressure.
Moving lightly with a carefree expression while carrying the heavy weight of pressure, as if I wasn’t suffocating.
In that dazzling light, I painted the stage with my own presence, more brightly than the light itself, covering the noise with silence, as I claimed the vast stage with my small existence.
I had admired it so much that I couldn’t bring myself to reach out.
I drew a line and told myself, this is my territory.
Still, just moving my body seemed to calm my mind.
The image of Park Nayul from the entrance ceremony had been so vivid that my heart kept racing unnecessarily.
I naturally started to move my feet.
It felt familiar, like becoming one with the air, the sensation of my feet brushing the ground.
Spinning, stepping, lowering my body, then rising again.
The quiet space felt like my own stage.
But then.
For a moment, my balance wavered.
The sensation at the tips of my feet subtly shifted.
“Ah.”
Before I knew it, my body tilted forward, and I absorbed the shock by hitting my knee on the ground.
I could’ve gotten up right away, but there was a bigger problem.
Our eyes met.
It was him.
The guy from the hallway by the gym who I had collided with earlier, the one who had seemed so unnoticeable.
I had remembered his name because the homeroom teacher had called it out several times.
Kim Dohyun.
I froze for a moment.
“…Did you see?”
I awkwardly spoke into the quiet silence.
He didn’t respond at all.
That made me more anxious.
“Ah, no, I wasn’t…”
I hurriedly got up, feeling embarrassed, and adjusted my school uniform.
“I didn’t do anything.
I just tripped.”
He silently stared at me.
“…I see.”
I flinched.
That answer…
It was so bland.
What’s that reaction!?
“It was just a trip, huh?”
“Exactly!
That’s it!!”
…But why do I feel so embarrassed?
I sighed while covering my face.
Strangely, it didn’t seem like something I could just brush off.
Please, forget what you saw.
I wished for that desperately.
But then.
“Why?”
His voice came to me.
“What?”
“Why should I forget?”
I reflexively answered.
“Well, obviously!”
But his response was so calm.
“Wasn’t it just a trip?”
“…Ah.”
Is this guy doing this on purpose?
I shut my mouth.
I sat down as if to escape and buried my head in my hands.
“Ah, forget it!
Just… forget it!”
However, Kim Dohyun slowly shook his head.
“I won’t forget.”
“What?!”
“It was just nice to see.”
I stared at his face in a daze.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
What is this guy even saying?
My mind went blank.
“It was a scene worth remembering.”
At his words, my mouth moved, but I couldn’t come up with a proper answer.
Without saying anything more, I turned around.
I quickly walked away, trying not to look back.
“If you tell anyone, I swear I won’t let it go!”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
He said calmly.
But still, for some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was bothering me.
“Was it really nice to watch…?”
I’d never heard something like that before.
Not even from my childhood friend, Yoon Jihoo.
No, I had never danced in front of him.
After that day, I became too scared to dance in front of others.
It was raining that day.
A light summer rain, but it was cold.
I sat alone in a small corner of the waiting room.
I wanted to be alone.
I thought, I hope no one comes looking for me.
Since I was young, I had always taken on the role of adjusting the lights and organizing the props backstage.
It was something I was good at, and I enjoyed it.
But—
The truth is, I wanted to stand on stage.
But I had never told anyone that dream.
So no one knew.
I had always stayed in the role of adjusting things backstage, and I thought that was just how it was.
There was only one time.
The stage was empty, and I had arrived earlier than the others.
It was an empty stage, with no one around.
It was as if I was drawn in by a magnet, and I stood on the stage and danced.
That was… the biggest mistake of my life.
When I dance, I can’t see or hear anything around me.
It felt like only I was shining in the stillness.
That’s why I didn’t realize that people were watching me.
An awkward laugh.
And then I heard a voice.
“You… you’d be better suited to stage directing, after all.”
Those words wouldn’t leave my mind.
I left that place and curled up in a quiet corner by myself.
I couldn’t explain the feeling.
What was clear, though, was that when someone tells you that you’re not suited for the dream you’ve always wanted—
Whether it’s a joke or serious—it leaves a heavy weight behind.
I buried my head in my hands.
And then—
“What are you doing?”
A strange voice spoke up.
I unconsciously started fiddling with my fingertips and recalled the moment when I danced just a while ago.
Did it really look that good?
The voice sounded strangely similar to Kim Dohyun’s.
The next day, before class even started, the classroom was noisy.
I stood in front of his desk on purpose, trying to act like everything was normal.
“Oh, you were here?”
He nodded without much reaction.
“Wow, you’re studying so early.
You must be really diligent.”
“I was just watching.”
I turned my neck casually and continued the conversation.
Then, I whispered carefully.
“Hey, about yesterday…”
“Hmm?”
I glanced around quickly and spoke in a low voice.
“You really didn’t tell anyone, right?”
He looked at me for a moment and then casually responded.
“I said I wouldn’t tell.”
I felt a wave of relief.
“…That’s a relief.”
Still, for some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.
I raised my fingers and waved them playfully in front of his face, adding,
“But!
If you do end up blabbing and get caught… you know I won’t let you off, right?”
He answered shortly.
“I told you I won’t.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
I stared at him with doubtful eyes for a moment, then sighed, as if giving up.
“Fine.
If you say so, I’ll believe you.”
I tapped my fingers lightly on the desk.
“Alright then, that’s settled.”
I said that and turned away, trying to act nonchalant.
However, as I walked back to my seat, I didn’t even consider that he might have seen the tips of my ears turn slightly red.
“Sigh, still dreaming about that, huh?”
Lately, I kept having the same dream.
It started after I was caught dancing behind the gym.
It was a dream from when I was a child, on a rainy day.
A dream about the moment when someone created light for me.
I can’t remember who that person was.
But what I do know is that something they said had made me waver, just a little.
And strangely, every time I see Kim Dohyun, I get this feeling.
The way he speaks.
His reactions.
It feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
Like the gaze of someone who had been watching me in the dark waiting room that day.
…It’s probably just my imagination.
I muttered to myself as I gazed out the window.
A vivid yet blurry memory, now turned into a butterfly effect we don’t even realize, rising up as the form of a dream.
A few days after the entrance ceremony, club sign-ups began.
Nothing really noteworthy happened during that time.
It was natural that I would start interacting with people once I joined a club.
But if there was one change, it was that, strangely, my eyes kept meeting Lee Jian’s.
It seemed like he was unusually anxious.
It was a bit unexpected, but I suppose that’s a sign that I’m pretty well suited for stage directing after all.
The role of someone who shines the light on others, not themselves, behind the stage.
It seemed like that suited her more when I saw her dancing.
Come to think of it, she was always in charge of stage direction in the original work.
Her taking on the role of stage director was related to a past trauma.
Yoon Jihoo had been the one to comfort her from that trauma.
That was the moment when she developed genuine romantic feelings for Yoon Jihoo, a rather significant scene.
I should have witnessed that myself, but it’s a shame.
I had just fallen into this world and was too disoriented at the time…
Well, still, I got to see something more precious.
A magic orb floating in the air, spinning and giving off a faint glow.
Not too fast, but not too slow either, small lights spread quietly like ripples on a lake.
I still often linger in that moment.
“Alright, here’s the club schedule you’ve all been waiting for.
Make sure to check the schedules and don’t miss the application period!”
“Yes!!!”
The students responded loudly to our homeroom teacher’s words.
Clubs weren’t mandatory at the academy.
That rule applied to regular students who weren’t pursuing art-related careers.
For those of us in the arts, we were more or less forced to join clubs due to the benefits they offered.
These included things like access to various competitions and facilities.
Since this academy was famous for its arts programs, getting into a club was actually quite difficult.
You had to go through an interview.
The magic performance club.
A place where Yoon Jihoo, Lee Jian, and Park Nayul gathered.
As an observer, I had to get in there.
If I missed any important episodes, I didn’t know what kind of disadvantages I might face.
The club selected members in three categories:
Performer, Stage Director, and Filming.
I applied for the filming role.
“What?
You came too?”
When I looked up at the familiar voice, Lee Jian was there, as if it was the most natural thing.
I had no idea how she could find me so easily among all the students gathered.
I waved my hand lazily.
“So, what did you apply for?
You’re definitely not a performer.”
She was right, but somehow this certainty made me feel a little annoyed.
“Well, yeah?”
“Huh?”
“I’m a performer.”
Lee Jian was noticeably flustered.
Her big eyes darted around, unable to focus.
“Really?
Uh… uh… good luck!”
It seemed like she didn’t think I’d make it.
“This is the most deflating encouragement I’ve ever gotten.”
At my words, Lee Jian looked even more down, pouting like a little duck, head down.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.
I got a good view of things, and honestly, I was just messing with you.”
“Huh?
Eh?
What?
Hey!”
She let out a variety of onomatopoeic sounds before finally exploding.
“Who is that?”
Yoon Jihoo, who was sitting next to me, asked with a slightly awkward expression.
Lee Jian, who had been poking me in the side, answered.
“Why don’t you know?
We’re in the same class.
Kim Dohyun.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“It’s fine.
I’m used to it.”
“He’s the weird one.”
“What?”
“You, with no presence, are the weird one.”
Lee Jian snapped back.
“Haha.
When did you two get so close?”
“We’re not close.”
“We’re not close.”
Yoon Jihoo burst out laughing again as he watched both of us answer simultaneously.
I felt like it had been a while since I had a conversation with someone, so I couldn’t help but smile slightly.