The absolute reality mirrored behind the studio's front window glass—that the entire city out there was nothing more than a two-dimensional background painting drawn across a weathered canvas cloth—struck Arya’s head like a fatal bolt of lightning.

All the strength in both of his legs instantly evaporated. Arya staggered backward, moving away from the glass window with ragged breaths, his eyes wide open, staring blankly around the color-drained monochrome room.

"No... this isn't real. I'm dreaming. This has got to be a nightmare..." he ranted hysterically, his voice cracking and shaking heavily in the gripping silence.

He beat frantically at his own head with his fists, hoping to wake up immediately from this insane hallucination. Yet the real pain from his punches changed nothing. This photo studio was his absolute reality now—a monochrome cage without an exit door, an eternal prison where the universe outside was merely a deception of a painted canvas backdrop.

His subconscious filled with paralyzing terror. He felt like a tiny insect trapped inside a transparent glass container, watched by unseen eyes from an untouched dimension.

If the outside world is just a painting... then where am I now? Who trapped me here? his mind screamed hysterically, tears dripping slowly to wet his pale face amidst that colorless world.

Yet amidst his soul-shredding wails of despair, a very heavy mechanical sound suddenly shattered the monochrome silence within the studio.

SKREEE-KRRRRK... ZZZT!

Arya started violently, halting his sobs instantly. He lifted his head with a stiff motion, darting his gaze across every corner of the monochrome upstairs room filled with dust.

The sound originated from the corner of the room.

There, standing atop a sturdy teak wood tripod, was a large-format studio camera—the exact same camera that had monitored the entire cycle of terror in this studio all along.

Without a human hand touching it, without any trigger cable being pulled, that massively sized antique camera suddenly moved on its own mechanically. Brass gears inside its wooden body groaned loudly, rotating the tripod axis with eerie, jerky movements.

KRRR-TAK... CLICK!

The ancient lens of the large camera shifted slowly, focusing with precision, before aiming its lens barrel directly at Arya, who stood frozen in the middle of the room.

"N-no... please, don't..." Arya whispered shakily, stepping backward slowly with rubbery knees.

He realized in horror that he was now standing right in the dead center of the camera's primary viewfinder. That large brass lens gleamed oddly, reflecting his terrified silhouette.

Climactic tension blanketed the room's entire atmosphere. The sound of the camera gears grinding constantly—krrrk... krrrk... krrrk—sounded like the ticking clock of an executioner counting down the final seconds of his existence. The lens continued its smooth shift, locking its focus perfectly right onto Arya's pupils, capturing every detail of cold sweat, every blink of dread, and every sob of despair on the young man's face with extraordinary sharpness.

"What do you want?! Why do you keep taking my picture?! I'm not your exhibition piece!" Arya screamed hysterically, his voice screeching high, piercing the monochrome quiet of the studio.

The camera did not answer with a voice. It replied through its cruel optical mechanism.

The moment the focus locked perfectly onto the expression of terror on Arya's face, the shutter blades inside the large camera's lens suddenly swung wide open with a sharp click.

And instantly, from within that ancient lens aperture, an extraordinarily powerful magnetic pull radiated outward.

SREEE-VUUUUSH!

An invisible wave of energy slammed into Arya's body, stirring up a violent gale within the enclosed room. That magnetic pull gripped tightly onto Arya's clothing and body, dragging him forcibly toward the camera.

Arya shrieked in shock, driving both soles of his feet into the monochrome wooden floor, summoning every ounce of remaining strength to fight the pull. He clawed at the floor with his fingers, fighting to stay anchored and avoid being dragged away.

"Argh! No! Let me go!" he screamed desperately.

Yet his efforts were entirely in vain. The supernatural power of the camera lens far surpassed human physical limits. His body lurched forward, sliding slowly across the wooden flooring, unable to shift even a single centimeter to escape the lethal target lock of that viewfinder.

He was trapped entirely within the catalog creator's optical grip, dragged helplessly toward the final seconds of his perfect exposure.