Yeonwoo continued to play the piano even while composing songs on the tablet his aunt had given him.
He disliked not being able to perfectly play the pieces he wanted due to his still-awkward fingers, and he resented relying on his aunt's help.
Though his aunt excelled at handling the software, her actual playing—whether on the keyboard or piano—couldn’t compare to even a fraction of his grandmother’s skill.
Yet asking his grandmother for help wasn’t an option. She didn’t understand MIDI keyboards at all—in fact, she seemed to actively dislike them.
The solution was clear:
He needed to surpass his aunt in both piano and keyboard proficiency.
The software was challenging, but if he could master playing virtual instruments through the keyboard, he could leave the technical details to his aunt.
From before her arrival until long after she came, Yeonwoo’s piano practice never ceased.
The grandmother fairy watched over him daily.
Strangely, as Yeonwoo’s playing improved, the fairy’s glow grew brighter and more vivid.
Yeonwoo believed it reflected his gradual progress toward matching his grandmother’s skill.
'Am I right?'
When he asked, the fairy remained silent, offering only a gentle smile reminiscent of his grandmother’s.
But today was different.
As Yeonwoo neared the end of his original composition, the grandmother fairy rose from her seat.
While he stared in confusion, she applauded softly and approached the piano.
……?
'What’s happening?'
The fairy gazed at him with tender affection before cradling his hands. A blue light emanated from her, seeping into Yeonwoo’s fingers.
He stared at his glowing hands.
'What is this?'
When he looked up, the fairy appeared faded, her light dimmed beyond recognition.
Yeonwoo’s face crumpled.
'Are you okay?'
She nodded and pointed to the keys, urging him to play as always.
Placing his radiant hands on middle C, Yeonwoo suddenly understood—the light had transferred her skill.
His playing flowed effortlessly now, mirroring his grandmother’s grace.
'Why give this to me now…?' he wondered. Had she shared it earlier, his struggle might have eased.
The fairy shook her head sternly, emphasizing that effort precedes reward. Too young to grasp this, Yeonwoo simply lost himself in his newfound mastery.
“Since when does Mom play piano at dawn? Wait—Yeonwoo?!”
Jiyeong stumbled out bed, her short hair wild from sleep. The sophisticated jazz pouring through the house couldn’t possibly be her nephew’s work—yet there he sat, fingers dancing across the keys.
“He’s becoming Grandma’s clone,” she muttered, brewing coffee as she marveled at his progress. Days ago, he’d fumbled through simple melodies; now he transitioned seamlessly from jazz standards to original compositions.
When his repertoire finally exhausted, Yeonwoo turned expectantly.
“What?”
He scribbled on his tablet:
[Now record keyboard]
Jiyeong blinked. His Korean had improved, but the demand stung—was her playing really that inadequate?
Before she could dwell, Yeonwoo marched to the kitchen.
“Hungry?” she guessed.
The six-year-old nodded, already retrieving bread and eggs. Jiyeong hovered nervously as he operated the stove, only relaxing when Heo-ok emerged.
“My daughter making breakfast? I’ve seen everything now.”
“You never cooked for us either!” Jiyeong retorted.
“True.” Heo-ok ruffled Yeonwoo’s hair. “My twilight years are blessed.”
The meal ended as quickly as it began. Without prompting, Yeonwoo cleared dishes and brushed his teeth.
“Who programmed this kid?” Jiyeong grumbled. “Even adults skip brushing sometimes.”
“Only you,” Heo-ok said.
“Bet Brother didn’t brush when alone!”
“He’s thorough. Unlike some.”
“So I’m the lazy disappointment? Typical!”
“I never said ‘disappointment.’”
As Jiyeong sulked into her coffee, Yeonwoo tugged her sleeve.
“Composing already?”
He nodded.
Not composing, exactly—the fairies had helped craft these songs long ago. Until now, his clumsy fingers and Jiyeong’s mediocre recordings had stalled their release.
But today, magic buzzed in his hands.
Yeonwoo attacked the MIDI keyboard, Jiyeong silently adjusting settings as he worked. For the first time, sound perfectly matched the music in his mind—a duet between grandmother’s legacy and fairy light.
Unlike the songs made so far, this time, aside from one wind instrument, no virtual instruments were used.
Yeonwoo composed the song entirely with electronic sounds, boasting an extremely fast BPM.
A dance track?
Since Yeonwoo was monopolizing the earphones, I couldn’t tell.
I assumed I’d only get to listen once the song was at least roughly finished.
As layers were added one by one over the beat, the draft was finally completed.
Yeonwoo unplugged the earphones from the speakers and turned to Jiyeong with resolve.
“Want to listen together?”
Jiyeong nodded.
“Should we play it, then?”
Jiyeong, buzzing with anticipation, pressed play.
The high-pitched beats erupted from the speakers as if ready to tear them apart.
Yeonwoo’s hands danced dazzlingly across the keyboard, and the song’s breakneck BPM was so infectious and intense it made you want to move instantly.
When Jiyeong heard Yeonwoo’s first attempt at the track, her eyes widened.
It was fresh.
Not only did it defy current trends—it felt wholly original, like nothing she’d ever heard.
Yet there was an odd sense of familiarity.
Had it twisted clichés in some brilliant way?
That’s when it happened.
Heook, who had been silently listening by the door, chuckled and said:
“It’s jazz.”
“…Huh? Jazz? Anyone can see this is EDM-based!”
“No, it’s jazz. The foundation is jazz.”
“No way! Jazz? Right, Yeonwoo?”
At Jiyeong’s question, Yeonwoo wordlessly adjusted the mouse.
Following what she’d learned by watching others, she lowered the BPM and scaled down the notes before playing it again.
The song now flowed slower, its electronic tones evoking pianos and wind instruments.
“Ah…”
It was jazz.
Jazz brimming with swing—Yeonwoo’s favorite.
All Jiyeong could do was marvel.
She’d thought jazz would cling to its roots no matter how you mixed it with EDM, but Yeonwoo had shattered that framework.
It made her wonder again: Is this kid really six?
“As a producer,” Heook cut in, “what’s your take on this song?”
“It’s obviously good.” And it truly was.
Even without polish, Yeonwoo’s tablet (originally Jiyeong’s) held countless tracks more than fit to sell.
These songs were too refined to dismiss as a six-year-old’s hobby. Letting them gather dust felt almost sinful.
“Yeonwoo,” Jiyeong ventured, “would you let your aunt handle these songs?”
Yeonwoo stared blankly.
“Like we saw on YouTube,” Jiyeong clarified. “I want to sell them so people can perform your music.”
“Sell them?” Yeonwoo parroted, bewildered.
Can you really sell songs? Yeon-woo, who'd never considered such a thing, was amazed.
So the main point is that others will sing the songs he created?
This idea completely captured Yeon-woo's interest.
"How about this? Should I let your aunt handle it?"
Yeon-woo immediately nodded.
Jiyeong ruffled his hair while transferring all the songs from his tablet to her computer.
"But should I send these existing tracks as they are? Or do you want adjustments, like rearrangements?"
Nodnod.
"Okay, which parts need tweaking?"
Using Jiyeong—an excellent tool (?)—Yeon-woo refined the songs by filling in weak sections.
Five completed songs.
When each finished track played, blue fairies erupted into the air and danced wildly.
Jiyeong asked Yeon-woo, who was watching contentedly, "You like it? All done?"
Nodnod.
Yeon-woo thrust out his thumb.
"Perfect! Now Auntie will send these five songs to every agency. Oh, but don't expect too much, alright? Composers flood them with submissions—some don't even open the files."
Of course, with Jiyeong's clout, they wouldn't be disregarded, but she warned him anyway to prevent disappointment.
Yeon-woo shrugged like it didn't matter.
Jiyeong sensed he didn't truly comprehend the significance.
How could a six-year-old grasp how extraordinary it was for his songs to reach the world? It was easy to forget his age—this genius crafting unbelievable music wouldn't even start elementary school until next year.
'Still... I'm excited.'
Come to think of it, though the songs are Yeon-woo's, since I'm distributing them, they might ask me to produce the album.
What concept would I pursue then?
The thought thrilled her, but first the songs needed traction or a producer offer. Yeon-woo owned the rights, and while she handled promotion, she remained merely an agent—agencies would hire the actual album creators. As a producer, she could only fantasize about hypothetical projects.
Truthfully, even Jiyeong hadn't fully processed it yet—what ripple effect these five scattered songs might create.
Meanwhile, Yeon-woo replayed his composition.
To the melody's rise, a new fairy burst forth in radiant light. Born with bizarre butterfly wings, it grinned at Yeon-woo before soaring away.
