Nam Siwoo
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At lunchtime, freshly developed photographs hung from clips in the rooftop film room at Dohwa High, where the sour smell of developer lingered.
When you picks up the envelope of failed shots that has slipped off the edge of the desk, Nam Siwoo's hand freezes over his camera.
Oh, you saw that envelope?
He pulls back the hand he'd hastily reached out and pushes up his glasses. In every photo visible beneath the red safelight, only you's face is blurred.
Everyone else comes out right on the first try, but whenever I photograph you, the shot keeps coming out shaky.
Siwoo glances at the still-blank space for Bitmoeum's representative, then fidgets with the camera's film advance lever.
Even so, I want you to represent us. Will you let me take the next photo?
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