Grasping the Theme
I realized this world was different from the one I knew back in my second year of middle school. It wasn't some grand epiphany. Just a pile-up of tiny dissonances that finally became impossible to ignore.
The games at my usual PC Bang were gone. Snack names on convenience store shelves felt alien. Even the people on the news had unfamiliar names. It all felt so contrived, like a scripted world. That suspicion hardened into certainty because of a transfer student.
Middle school, second year, first semester.
"I'm Yoon Seo-ah."
Her thick black hair and sharply defined features carried a captivating aura that turned heads. That's when memories of my past life resurfaced. A classic romcom—predictable, but wildly popular. Yoon Seo-ah was one of the title heroines who ends up obsessively fixated on the protagonist. She was fated to get scouted by a major agency soon and debut as a top idol. On dazzling stages, she'd be everyone's sweetheart, but offstage, she'd cling fanatically to the male lead alone—a two-faced character.
Honestly, back then, I hadn't grasped my place in the story at all. If anything, I was a little excited. The original plot wouldn't kick off for a while yet. Maybe I could snag a childhood friend spot before it started. That stupid arrogance was bubbling inside me.
Yoon Seo-ah got assigned to the seat next to mine. I extended what I thought was basic kindness—nothing flashy, just common courtesy. I slid my textbook over since she hadn't gotten hers yet. I showed her around, lent her a mechanical pencil. For a few days, we had perfectly ordinary chats. Weather talk, next period's schedule, that sort of thing. I figured those days would secure me the childhood friend role.
It took less than a week for that delusion to shatter.
One rainy break time.
"Seo-ah, next period's in the auditorium—"
Clack. Yoon Seo-ah set her pen down with a sharp click, and the classroom fell silent in an instant. She turned slowly to look at me. I'll never forget that gaze.
"Don't come too close."
"...Huh?"
"You keep getting too close—"
I barely registered the rest. Classmates' stares stabbed into me like needles. Mocking murmurs swirled around my ears. My face burned, but I didn't have the energy to defend myself. Yoon Seo-ah finished speaking, stood up, and walked out of the room.
That's when it hit me: I wasn't the protagonist of this story. This world was a romcom, but roles like childhood friend or friendly classmate were reserved strictly for the lead. An nameless extra who oversteps gets wrecked. I learned that lesson hard.
From that day on, I treated Yoon Seo-ah like she was invisible. If her eraser rolled to my feet, I ignored it. If our eyes might meet in class, I looked away. If group work threatened to pair us, I'd bolt to the nurse's office. She gave me weird looks at my sudden attitude shift sometimes. I didn't care. I was just background in this world.
Thanks to that, I made it through the rest of middle school without exchanging a single word with her. Even on graduation day, when she approached like she had something to say, I didn't look back as I left the school.
Middle school was over. I was convinced my connection to her was done for good.
And then real high school life began.
Seonghyeon High School. The main stage of the comic, where all the central characters converge. I'd put different schools for my first, second, and third choices... Guess my luck sucked.
I wasn't too disappointed, though. Fact was, I was here now. The big events mostly start in second year, but first year is still crucial setup. So this was the real beginning.
Amid the freshmen packed into the auditorium, I silently watched the stage. The principal's address ended, and the freshman rep's oath followed.
"Freshman representative: Yoon Seo-ah."
The girl ascending the podium looked even more mature than in middle school. I had to admit it—she was the center of this story.
But something felt off. By the comic's timeline, she should've been scouted by a big agency by now, prepping for debut. No time for freshman rep duties.
Something was diverging.
...No need to dig deeper. Whatever she did, I planned to stay firmly in the background.
After the ceremony, classes were assigned: 1st year, Class 2. The room buzzed with new-semester chaos. I ignored high-event spots like the window by the back row. Picked a middle desk, nondescript, dropped my bag. I didn't want to stand out. Just wanted time to pass quietly.
Scraaaape. The front door slid open, noise dying down. Yoon Seo-ah—the one from the stage—had entered. It really hit home: this was her world. I averted my eyes, stared at my desk. Her seat was predetermined. Center of the room, or that window spot. Someone from a different league.
Her heels clicked at steady intervals, weaving between desks. Then...
They stopped by my desk.
I didn't look up. In my peripheral, white indoor shoes halted. No reason to panic. She was just scouting a seat, slowed down. Easy to brush off.
Brief silence. Footsteps resumed, passed me, headed back. I heard her sit, and only then did I exhale the breath I'd been holding.
Just coincidence. Nothing happened. I kept my eyes on the blackboard, head still turned away. High school would pass like middle school—no contact.
...It had to.
After school, once the sun set, my real routine began. My stage was a quiet park near the university district, a few bus stops from home. I set up the tripod, slotted in my smartphone, hit [Broadcast Start], claimed a spot under the streetlamp, and opened my battered guitar case.
Truth be told, even I thought it was a bit corny. In this day and age, busking in a park corner with a mask on, strumming an acoustic guitar. At least the songs from my world didn't exist here. Otherwise, I'd just look like another desperate attention-seeker.
It started because I hated wasting the guitar. Too noisy for home, too good to toss. So I picked an ignored park corner.
But the first time I played a song from my world...
I realized I'd been censoring even my words at school. Here, I didn't have to.
So I kept coming. The broadcast began as recordings—to review and tweak later. Then someone commented on a clip I'd uploaded.
That one line flipped the switch to live. Words I couldn't say at school.
I strummed and sang indie tunes—calm, quiet songs that didn't exist here.
And—middle school second year. The song I'd hummed absentmindedly while sliding Yoon Seo-ah my textbook. That's when she'd first asked me a question.
"What's that song?"
I couldn't tell her.
Passersby sometimes paused to watch. As the song ended, a few thousand-won bills and coins tinkled into the case. I cleared my throat lightly in thanks.
The hour-long busk wrapped up. I set the guitar down, checked my phone screen. Peak viewers: 14. Rock bottom. But that suited me fine. More watchers would just mean more chit-chat hassle.
"Alright, that's busking for today. Thanks to everyone who stopped by."
Light interaction time. The chat crept up slowly.
"Something like that. Just sang it for a mood boost."
I grabbed my water bottle, mumbling vaguely. Pulled the stuffy mask down to my chin and took a sip.
The quiet chat exploded.
I chuckled at the screen. Classic stream exaggeration, or polite flattery. I'd grown a bit taller around high school entrance, features sharpening, but I didn't think it stacked up to this world's protagonist-tier looks.
"Haha, thanks. Guess the lighting's hitting me right."
I unclipped the tuner from the guitar head and pulled the mask back up. Me, an idol trainee? The compliments felt good, but I didn't want ties to that world. My only goal: survive quietly as an extra, without standing out.
"That's the stream for today, folks. Get some good rest."
A quick goodbye, and I ended the broadcast. Slinging the guitar over my shoulder, I left the park. The night air was cool. Another day cleared safely. Tomorrow, the next day—my peaceful extra life would hold strong.