They began to build their current image—Alphas and Omegas are outwardly attractive and possess outstanding abilities in various fields—after the 18th-century Industrial Revolution. The most significant factor was that they acquired wealth and social influence while struggling in various ways to maintain their lineage, which was only a small minority in a turbulent society.
In reality, there is no proven genetic basis for their superiority over Betas. However, in many societies, Alphas and Omegas are mostly from the upper class (although not all members of the upper class are Alphas or Omegas). As a result, in modern times, more Alphas and Omegas have benefited from favorable opportunities due to environmental and social factors.
Furthermore, from the perspective of the vast majority of Betas, the element of pheromones, which can be seen as romantic depending on interpretation, has been added. This has been featured in various movies and dramas, and it has also been a factor in the great popularity of Alphas and Omegas in various fields, including the entertainment industry.
However, while some people blindly admire them simply because they are different, there are also those who look at them unfavorably for the same reason.
Whether Alpha, Omega, or Beta, if there is a real class system in the world, it is, to put it bluntly, wealth. As the moving company foreman once said, Alphas and Omegas, due to their special constitutions, find it even more difficult to live if they are not financially supported.
Not all the light in the world can be concentrated in one place.
“Ssaem-nim… are you an Omega?”
“Yeah. A Golden Omega.”
While mechanically stuffing the 500 or so pamphlets into envelopes, Hyung added,
“Honestly, when you actually see Ssaem Shu Shu, you might think that there really is such a thing as an Omega’s unique aura. Something… like a very noble person? More than just being handsome, the atmosphere is special. Ah, it’s hard to explain unless you see it in person. Anyway, because of his looks and aura, he had a lot of fans since he was dancing, and many fans followed him when he moved into this field. Being a Golden Omega and having a glamorous appearance has also made people interested in the art world. Whether you’re Alpha, Omega, or Beta, it’s a world where being good-looking is advantageous. Even athletes who have nothing to do with looks are more popular if they have a good face.”
Golden Alpha and Golden Omega.
It was a fitting name, as if they were destined to be each other’s partners from before birth. It also reminded me of a pair of luxurious and elegant dress watches.
“So, he’s completely quit dancing now and only does photography?”
Hyung, who had quickly finished packing about 50 copies, paused for a moment, scratched his cheek with his index finger, and frowned.
“Well… he injured his leg.”
I had done some research on Ssaem Shu Shu for the magazine ad layout, but I deliberately avoided information outside of his work, so I was almost completely ignorant of his personal life.
“He got injured in an accident while studying abroad… It doesn’t interfere with his daily life, but it seems impossible for him to dance professionally. He was supposed to be a very promising star, but I don’t know anything about dancing. He had been living in Hong Kong before studying abroad for dance. Of course, I wouldn’t know.”
Hyung shrugged and started putting pamphlets into envelopes again. I, too, kept working without stopping my hands while listening to Hyung’s words. The pile of pamphlets was rapidly decreasing, despite the number of 500, and was being moved from this side of the table to the other, wearing white envelopes.
He was an artist with an interesting background. He studied dance abroad, had been living in Hong Kong before that, and is now a Golden Omega working as a photographer in Seoul.
I wanted to know more about the reason for his transition to photography, but asking more questions for personal curiosity seemed like it would be idle chatter during work. And I could always research the artist on the internet.
When about 50 pamphlets remained in front of Hyung and me, Noona returned to the office.
“You’re not done yet?”
Hyung pointed to the shallow layer of pamphlets in front with his chin.
“Almost done. This is left. How’s the display?”
“Almost finished. Except for two or three that I’m still thinking about.”
Because the entire second floor was being emptied for Ssaem Shu Shu’s exhibition, we hung the works in the exhibition hall today without going through the process of taking the works down to the underground storage and bringing them back up. Noona, who had been working with the director and came down, sat down next to me with a thud and looked up at the ceiling with her chin raised.
“I’m getting hungry. Want to eat pho?”
“Sounds good.”
Hyung Juhan answered cheerfully, sticking address stickers on the last envelopes and patting them with his hands.
The work was done, and Noona had come downstairs and suggested going to eat pho, so I became a little impatient.
From the moment I read the sentence ‘In front of his works, I always feel anguish’ in the pamphlet’s introduction, I had been curious about what kind of works could elicit such an honest confession from someone like him.
“Um, can I go see the works? After seeing the pamphlet, I’m curious about the real thing…”
“Of course, go ahead.”
Noona, still looking at the ceiling with her chin raised and blinking, looked up at me and smiled. And then she called me back as I was about to open the office door and leave.
“Yeehyeon-ah, when you go up, can you ask the director if he wants to come with us to eat pho? He should still be upstairs.”
But when I went up to the second floor, he was nowhere to be seen. I figured he would appear from somewhere if I looked around. Or maybe he had already gone back to the first floor before me.
I slowly moved to the rightmost exhibition hall. Unlike the last joint exhibition of several artists, the wide spacing between the works immediately caught my eye. It was an environment where I could focus much more on each individual piece.
Body to Soul.
Reality and unreality. Dreams and fears. Freedom and restraint. Flight and comfort. Pity and contempt.
A body expressed only in black silhouettes on a white background.
A body that has lost its expression and curves, existing only as an outline and the blackness that fills it, was something other than a body.
The boundaries become blurred and ultimately meaningless. Whether it is a black silhouette on a white background or a white silhouette printed on a black background. Whether experience shapes a person’s nature, or whether the quality changes depending on which person the same experience passes through.
It becomes unknowable. It becomes ambiguous. It becomes no one’s fault, and everything becomes great, and everything becomes nothing.
What remains in the place where expansion and contraction are repeated like breathing… What is seen in a state where nothing is important…
“What do you think?”
A voice suddenly heard from the left, at the entrance of the exhibition hall. But I wasn’t surprised at all, strangely enough. It was as if someone had told me that he would appear around this time and say these lines to me.
I slowly turned my head.
He was leaning against the partition at the entrance, his hands in his pants pockets, looking at me. I didn’t know how long he had been there. It didn’t matter.
He took his body off the wall and started walking closer to me. His shoes make black dots in the all-white space.
“Choi In-woo says that Seo Yeehyeon ‘s eyes are better than most critics. I’m curious about your impressions.”
Whatever In-woo Hyung said, however much sincerity was in those words, I didn’t have an eye for art. At least, I didn’t have the objective perspective to convince people in the industry. Even when I was painting, I was only interested in expressing the world I saw in my own way, and I wasn’t interested in anything else.
But if he wanted to hear my impressions, there was no need to pretend I didn’t feel anything.
I turned my head back to face the work in front of me.
Whether the body implied by the black silhouette belongs to one person or two. It was a photograph that could not be known from the work alone. Judging by the volume, it seemed like one person’s shadow, and judging by the angles of the hands and neck, it seemed like a pose that could not be created alone.
The important thing is not whether there was actually one model or two, that’s not it. What do I want to see as I stand in front of this work now?
“The artist… is not visible in the work.”
“……”
I deliberately didn’t turn to look at him.
He provoked me lightly, asking for my impressions as if to say, ‘Tell me what you think of this work,’ but I didn’t think he would be able to maintain his composure after hearing my impressions.
Because the works that fill this place now are ‘Shu Shu’s’. The works that scare him, make him face life, and make him confess those things.
“Not the artist, I am visible.”
“……”
“Looking at it, I want to draw.”
Only after saying that did I turn to look at him. His eyes were on me, not the work.
The first time we met was also at this exhibition hall. The gray-blue eyes, like the foam of crashing waves, were asking about my identity indifferently. Eyes that had no curiosity at all. Even if he found a newly placed flowerpot in an empty space, he would have made a more colorful expression than that.
But it was different now. His eyes were looking deeply into me. As if he wanted to find a hint about some question in my eyes.
More than the false declaration that I was gay, more than the declaration that I was a Beta and not an Omega, the confession that I wanted to draw, which he didn’t know but had a huge meaning for myself, was shaking him more intensely and causing cracks in his eyes.
His eyes left my eyes and rummaged through my nose, lips, cheeks, eyebrows, forehead… every part of my face. I was so fascinated by his gaze that was examining me that I entrusted myself to it and allowed the exploration, and the scent was drawn into my breath.
A fragrance that feels heavy and sinking, yet wraps around the ankles and wrists and stimulates as if grabbing intensely at some point. It seems to spread languidly, then presses down heavily.
As if drawn, I approached him. I leaned my upper body so that the tip of my nose almost touched his shoulder, straightened my back, and looked up at his eyes.
“Your perfume… is very unique.”
What kind of expression would he make in front of my paintings?
What kind of introduction would he write about my paintings? I became curious about that.
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