“Right? When I first saw him in person I almost fell on my face. It’s not just that he’s handsome or pretty—there’s something... he looks almost sacred.”
I snorted at my brother’s exaggerated gesture, but the content of his words wasn’t much of an exaggeration. He was the kind of person who seemed to glow with a subtle, mysterious halo, like the actors who played elves in that fantasy movie I once watched.
“They say there’s no genetic difference except reproductive function, blah blah, but there really must be some kind of atmosphere different from betas. It pulls people in. No—rather than draws you in, it sucks you in. When you watch him, your head goes hazy and you feel like you’re going to be bewitched.”
My brother narrowed his eyes as if focusing on a point in the air, finished speaking, then tapped my back and lifted his chin with a smug look that said, Now you finally get it.
“That’s a Golden Omega.”
Maybe he meant it as a joke, but to me the words had weight and sank heavy in my chest. It felt like he was naming an unchanging difference set even before birth, something I could never catch up to or surpass no matter what I did.
That’s a Golden Omega.
■ ■ ■
“Just a few more shots.”
That was what he said, but it was already the third time, so I didn’t put much faith in it.
It was awkward enough that I was wearing tight shorts that came a little above my knees; on top of that I had a bit of makeup on my face and had to strike something like poses in front of the camera.
“Don’t look into the camera—give me a dreamy expression.”
“......”
The only visual records of me in any form were a few surprise photos saved in Morae’s phone. At least for the last few years, that was the case. And now they were telling a person like that to make a dreamy face. Unable to endure the embarrassment any longer, I covered my face with my hand.
“Ah, that’s good too!”
Even that moment was caught by Juhan’s camera.
“It’s okay, you’re doing well.”
Yuni, who was shining a big reflector at me, gave a thumbs-up, but it didn’t comfort me much.
As far as I remembered, I had come here as a spectator and a gofer. And at first I really had. The reflector, which she was now angling in a near-acrobatic pose, had been my job just a little while ago.
I moved the clothes, shoes, and accessories piled full in the trunk and back seat of the commercial vehicle we rented from Phantom for the day, cleared away branches and stones that got in the way during shooting, ran errands, and watched their passion—which seemed no less than that of professional photographers or models—with a complicated feeling mixed of longing and jealousy.
After the shoot that had started in the morning went on for four or five hours, we had almost finished with the outfits we’d brought. Once we had some room to breathe, the two of them came up with a wild idea. They wanted to make me the model...
Even my most active refusal and rejection couldn’t stop their prankish curiosity—or their curious prank.
They marched me into a room in the back of the house that had been lent to us as a changing room. They dotted artificial freckles on my cheeks, roughly swept orange shadow over my eyelids, and drew over my eyebrows into a different shape than usual. They put me in tight shorts I would never wear in ordinary life and made me wear Juhan’s chunky work boots.
At least the top was thankfully long and boxy—a knit. It was hard to handle that the color was a strong orange, though.
They stood me, stiff as a stick, in a corner of the garden, then took turns grabbing the camera and burning with artistic fervor. But no matter how great a photographer you are, what can you get from a subject who finds it awkward to even look at the lens?
“A model I haven’t seen before.”
I was trying to do as my brother asked—arms hanging, head tilted, “a gaze as if looking toward some dear place in memory that isn’t here”—when I reflexively lifted my head toward the sound and, this time for real, wanted to hide my face.
I didn’t know how long he’d been watching, but the director was leaning against the front doorframe, looking down this way and smiling.
I bit my lower lip to steady the feeling of heat racing from the roots of my ears to my temples and cheeks all at once without my consent. Because of the lipstick or lip gloss Yuni had put on me, there was an artificial, dull taste.
“We discovered a rookie this time.”
Juhan turned around and giggled.
I pretended to touch my hair and covered my face with sleeves long enough to nearly swallow the backs of my hands. Never mind this ridiculous pretend-model scene; at the very least I didn’t want my flushed face to be exposed.
“Yeah, the ones we had were kind of lame.”
He snorted as he came down the six or seven steps that led to the garden.
Because the days were longer, the early-summer sunlight at four in the afternoon was still fierce, and he was squinting. His expression relaxed a bit as he stepped into shade, and only then did our eyes really meet. I bobbed my head in a bow, and he returned the greeting while slowly raking his gaze over me. He looked in a good mood.
“How is he? He’s full of boyish charm, right?”
Thanks to Juhan showing him the photos on the camera screen, I almost let out a weird shriek. The heat I had barely managed to calm felt like it would flare up again.
“Mm, the camera certainly doesn’t hate him... but isn’t his body way too stiff?”
“He’s an amateur. In the shots, his face really comes out great. But... Ihyeon doesn’t have any knack.”
My brother, head close with the director as they looked down at the screen, lifted only his eyes toward me and grinned playfully. Being photographed—or showing someone the photos of me—felt like exposing my most private self, so my throat went dry, but the director was overly serious, even scrubbing back through the already-taken frames.
“Even so, the awkwardness is fresh. Ah, this one feels good.”
After saying that, he raised his head and looked at me, standing awkwardly in front of a spirea bush whose flowers had mostly fallen. His gaze, as unhesitating as his way of speaking, drove me into tension, but there was nothing I could do to escape.
No sooner had that slanted gaze finally withdrawn and I felt a bit of relief than the next ordeal tightened around me.
“Shall I take a few myself?”
This time I definitely couldn’t hide my panic. Yuni, who had leaned the reflector against a rock, came over and slung an arm around my shoulder.
“It’s fine. The director’s photos are secretly pretty good.”
That wasn’t the problem...
I didn’t even have the chance to resist. Whether being the subject in front of the lens or the producer behind the shutter, I was the only person in this garden who felt uncomfortable with anything to do with cameras. Everyone else treated this as a kind of game, so any refusal or resistance would only look like making a fuss.
The camera passed from my brother’s hands to the director’s, and this time Juhan took the reflector.
“Would you sit on the ground here? Stretch your legs out long. Yuni, can you set that down on the floor?”
Gauging the light on the screen, he pointed at a mat that had been tossed onto a prop box in the corner. Yuni and my brother, who had been worn out by the long shoot, perked up again and moved quickly to his requests.
I sat on the mat with an ethnic pattern that evoked Native Americans, and stretched my legs the way he wanted.
“......”
Before I even properly settled into position, his two feet slid in between. The closed toes of his leather slippers were planted on the ground to either side of my knees.
“This is a test. Don’t mind it—just relax.”
That’s what he said, but I couldn’t not mind it, and I couldn’t relax. Click. Click. The shutter sounded in a continuous run above my head, and Yuni was still at my feet, switching the mat’s wrinkles this way and that to find the shape she wanted.
“Seo Ihyeon.”
The voice calling me was no different from usual. I thought he was calling because he had something to say, and the moment I lifted my head to look up at him, the aperture blinked once more in front of my eyes.
“Put your hands behind you and lean your upper body back a little.”
Even while shooting, he knew exactly what he wanted. He didn’t waste time on unnecessary politeness or hesitation.
“Raise your chin. Eyes down.”
The requests kept coming with no time for me to falter, and for someone like me who found cameras uncomfortable, that approach was actually better. At least he didn’t order me to make a dreamy face or a look like I was recalling something I missed.
“Keep your chin where it is and slowly lift only your eyes. As slowly as you can.”
I slowly drew my gaze up. The lens was only about fifty centimeters away. His big body, with his feet braced to my knees, was right in front of me. As soon as I became aware of that, my earlobes grew hot. For a civilian unaccustomed to this kind of work, it was a hard pose. He wasn’t touching me anywhere, but it felt stifling, like I’d been tied up.
“Hey... don’t turn your head.”
I must have averted my eyes without realizing it. He clicked his tongue low from behind the lens. His tone was like a dentist dealing with a patient who keeps turning their head and getting in the way of treatment. This doesn’t even hurt much; even little kids handle it fine—coaxing words from the doctor.
But I’m the type who rarely even gets cavities, and I’m very good at enduring pain. If it were dental treatment, I could do it all week; this, I don’t think I could ever do again.
Backing away off my feet, he stepped onto a rock to the side and rose above me. Even so, my body wasn’t any freer than when the lens was aimed at my face from right up close.
What version of me was he seeing through the lens, and how was he evaluating it? I wanted to erase those thoughts, but all I could do was bite and release my lips over and over, drying out with nerves.
“Yesterday.”
Before I had time to be startled by the sudden change of subject, he climbed down from the rock and came back up my legs again. This time past my knees, up to my thighs.
Because Yuni and my brother had mostly shot from farther back, focusing on the clothes, the lens had never pushed in this close. It was a distance where it was hard to breathe comfortably.
“You worked hard.”
“No.”
“And... I’m sorry.”
Sorry. In a voice low enough for only me to hear, he said it, then took his eye off the viewfinder for a moment and looked straight at me.
He didn’t give any explanation for why a word that seemed like it would never come out of his ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) mouth had done so, but there was only one thing it could be.
“Could you give us a little space? He’s very shy and feels uncomfortable if there’s someone he doesn’t know well.”
Heat rushed to my face again.
Even at my young age, I was the sort whose emotions didn’t show much on his face—not because I had a mature attitude toward controlling them but because my emotional sensitivity was duller than other people’s. If you don’t feel emotions strongly, your expression naturally stays flat.
But the distance was too close, and the situation was strange. In reality I was dressed and we were shooting clothes, but the embarrassment was close to shame, as if I were stripping bare and showing my inner skin to them. Because of that, my reactions flared easily to the smallest trigger. I could only hope the fake freckles brushed onto my cheeks would hide even a little of my heat.
He looked down at me like that for a short moment, then tilted the camera to check the results—still with his feet planted to either side of my thighs. With the lens withdrawn, not knowing where to put my eyes only made me more anxious.
Hmm. After a dissatisfied little sound, still looking at the camera screen, he asked:
“Do you have someone you like?”
“......”
“Or, at least, someone you used to like.”
“......”
When his eyes slanted a little and he smiled with a touch of mischief as he glanced down at me, a string of my own out-of-character acts—things I’d done wanting to shock him—flashed through my mind, but they weren’t an answer to his question about whether I had someone I liked.
Bending again, he set the lens on me and added,
