She is Yeon-woo's aunt, mocked by her nephew for her poor keyboard and piano skills, yet within the entertainment industry—particularly among musicians—Shin Ji-young holds considerable clout.
Beginning as a composer, she scored consecutive hits ranging from modest successes to chart-toppers. Her career breakthrough came when she produced a debut album for a mid-sized agency's idol group that cracked the top 20 on the Mango Chart. She solidified her reputation through multiple successful album productions.
Though she’s never built an idol group from the ground up alone, her standing as both producer and composer remains unshakable in the industry.
With that track record, she could’ve easily lounged in the U.S. for years without steady work.
Crucially, no reputable agency would dismiss a song bearing her name.
“Shin Ji-young sent us a track?”
The moment her name reaches any agency, the reaction is universal: At least give it a cursory listen.
Even if unimpressed, they’d feel compelled to make a courtesy call. That’s the weight her name carries.
“Manager, should we play it here?”
“No. When it’s from Shin Ji-young, the executives hear it first. Hand me the track—I’ll take it upstairs.”
“Right away. I’ll get it ready.”
This held equally true for BSK Entertainment—no, even more so.
Founded by Kim Beom-shin, the 90s-2000s ballad legend, and his former manager, the agency shared deep ties with Shin Ji-young. Her first production credit had been for Daydream, one of BSK’s idol groups.
While their direct collaboration ended there, both Kim Beom-shin—now head producer—and the CEO (his ex-manager) made a point to personally review anything she submitted. Daydream’s unexpected smash hit had propelled the agency from small-time to mid-tier, after all.
“Here’s the track, Manager.”
The manager carried the files toward Kim Beom-shin’s office, muttering, “Since when does our part-time executive producer send us Shin Ji-young’s work? Funny how he finally shows up for this.”
He opened the door to a producer’s suite designed as a recording studio—devoid of office practicality. On a lone sofa sat Kim Beom-shin, scribbling furiously on paper.
“I’m here, sir.”
“......”
“Hyung?”
“...Can’t you see I’m composing?”
“You’re writing a song?”
When had the man once called the “Prince of Ballads”—who’d dominated Korea’s music scene—last penned a melody? The office’s lavish decor contrasted sharply with his years of creative silence.
Noticing the manager’s bewilderment, Kim grimaced. “I’ve been idle too long. Trying to squeeze out whatever inspiration’s left. Got a problem with singers writing songs?”
“People think you’ve retired.”
“Who dares say that? I’m not even sixty!”
“You’re hitting sixty soon, though.”
Has it come already? Kim’s hand flew to his face in horror—he’d long abandoned counting years. Only his dermatologist’s diligent care kept his skin taut.
“...Why are you here? You never visit.”
“Shouldn’t that be my line? You’re never around to visit.”
"Anyway, you’re such a brat. I’ve never seen someone get so owned in an argument since the beginning. Did you pawn off your dignity at Secondhand Heaven?"
"These days, everyone uses Karrot Market. Nobody uses those old secondhand platforms anymore."
"......"
"Anyway, Shin Ji-young sent over some songs."
"Ji-young did?"
Kim Beom-shin shot up from his seat.
"If it’s our Ji-young’s song, we have to listen to it."
"We need to debut new artists anyway, so we can’t skip this."
"Right?"
"Exactly. If we get something like ‘Daydream,’ we’ll soar again. But she took a long break in the U.S., didn’t she? What if she’s lost her edge?"
"We won’t know until we listen."
At this, Kim Beom-shin nodded and imported the songs.
Five fresh tracks.
Beom-shin stared at the files labeled simply 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, hesitating.
"What are you doing? Play them already."
"Should I start with track 5 or track 1?"
"...People usually start with track 1, don’t they?"
"I’d rather hear the best one first."
"Look—there’s a star next to track 1. That’s probably the killer track, right?"
"Ah, you’re right."
1☆.
Beom-shin pressed play on track 1.
It was the very song Yeon-woo had materialized after drawing power from the grandmother fairy—a melody that had once existed only in his imagination.
A song built on jazz foundations, yet defying categorization as mere jazz.
As the music played, Beom-shin and the manager’s expectant faces gradually stiffened.
Beom-shin paused the track and turned to the manager.
"Hey, we need to—no, I’ll contact her myself."
He scrolled through his contacts and called Ji-young.
The line was busy.
It remained busy no matter how many times he redialed.
Normally, he’d let it go, but today, frustration gnawed at him.
"I’ll send a KakaoTalk message."
[Ji-young, it’s Beom-shin. The song’s incredible. Let’s meet?]
A reply arrived moments later:
[So many calls—still on oneㅠ Have prior meetings, will meet them first and see you later!!]
"Prior meetings?"
She wasn’t the type to postpone plans with him without cause.
This had to be a commitment bigger than BSK.
"Ah... damn it. I need to lock her down."
He could walk away, but it’d be a shame. The song was that exceptional—a rare blend, neither chasing trends nor predictable. Something poised to ignite a sensation.
"But did Shin Ji-young ever write in this style before?"
"Never. She only produced hyper-trendy tracks—more mercenary than artist."
"Maybe she evolved in the U.S.? Or she’s collaborating with another composer."
"She’s capable of building a team, right?"
"Possibly."
“Ah, yes. Of course. I can produce albums too. This is Shin Ji-young. Shin Ji-young speaking. Ah, the song? Did I write it? No, should I call them my collaborator? Anyway, I didn’t write it—someone close to me did, I suppose? Haha, well, that’s how it is. Ah, yes. I’ll handle the story properly. Yep! Go ahead then!!”
After hanging up, Ji-young heaved a deep sigh.
“Unbelievable… Seriously?”
Eight agencies had already contacted her. One was a top-five powerhouse in the country. The rest were established players commanding respect in the industry.
Even the best songs get buried without luck and timing.
Ji-young had assumed Yeon-woo’s tracks would suffer the same fate.
This industry, drowning in clichés and hook-driven formulas, shuns anything trend-adjacent no matter its quality.
She’d hoped for a niche agency or plucky startup at best.
Otherwise, the songs would’ve languished in obscurity until someone stumbled upon them years later.
But no.
Calls poured in the moment the songs circulated.
Her reputation likely sparked initial curiosity, but approval was never guaranteed—most of her own work got shredded.
Yet all five songs by her nephew Yeon-woo were turning heads.
Some agencies demanded specific tracks. Others wanted the full set for their next album.
“Well I’ll… never understand this business.”
She pretended bafflement but knew the truth.
Trends die fast.
Korea’s music scene had evolved as violently as America’s during her absence. K-pop’s idol-driven surge now dictated trends, paradoxically breeding diversity.
The key was…
“Yeon-woo’s timing is perfect.”
For a boy transforming jazz and vintage swing into fresh bops? An ideal era.
She glanced at Yeon-woo playing piano outside, tiny hands nailing swing rhythms.
“Or is it really just timing?”
Since when do children wait for perfect moments?
“Daddy’s home!”
The music-obsessed boy abandoned the piano, sprinting to the entrance at his father’s voice.
She needed her brother’s consent anyway—guardian approval mattered.
“Jumped the gun there.”
“What’s that?”
Ji-hoon asked as she exited mumbling.
“Nothing… Or maybe?”
She outlined the agency offers.
Ji-hoon studied Yeon-woo gravely. “This scale? He’s six.”
“Would you believe a six-year-old wrote these?”
"Really?"
"Agencies are lining up, you know? Want to hear it?"
"Yeah, okay."
Jihoon felt guilty, realizing he’d been neglecting his son under the excuse of being too busy with work.
Meanwhile, his son had composed a song.
Hadn’t he just been good at playing the piano?
Following Jiyoung’s lead, Jihoon carried his son into Jiyoung’s room.
The music began to play.
Jihoon’s eyes widened at the sound.
He possessed perfect pitch—a rare gift, perhaps one in five thousand people. But perfect pitch was a talent that faded without use.
Though his skills had dulled after distancing himself from music, his upbringing immersed in classical and jazz allowed him to instantly recognize the song as a sophisticated jazz piece disguised as a pop track.
“So? Good, right?”
“Hmm… It feels like an old person getting a facelift and wearing trendy clothes. But somehow it’s not awkward?”
“What kind of nonsense is that?”
As Jiyoung scowled, Jihoon grinned and lifted Yeonwoo into the air.
“Our son’s music is incredible. Yeonwoo, you’re amazing. Did you really create this?”
Yeonwoo nodded vigorously.
Seeing his father’s approval, the boy beamed and nodded again.
Jihoon studied Yeonwoo.
The child’s talent was undeniably extraordinary.
But as someone disconnected from the music industry, Jihoon struggled to believe major agencies were genuinely interested in a six-year-old’s composition.
Yet something else troubled him.
“It’s all great, but… exposing Yeonwoo to those people… doesn’t it feel…?”
He questioned whether it was right to let a child—newly rescued from a dark past and just beginning to bask in love and light—enter the adult world.
Jiyoung shrugged.
“There are faceless singers. He can be a faceless composer.”
“Is that possible?”
“Absolutely. His age complicates things, but high school composers exist. We’ll keep his age private and use a stage name instead of his real one.”
“A stage name? Got it. Yeonwoo, what should yours be? It’s like a special name people know you by—like YouTube nicknames. Understand?”
Yeonwoo nodded, grasping the concept.
A stage name…
What name?
Suddenly, he remembered someone—the second-greatest pianist in his world after his grandmother, someone crushed by his cruel grandmother and uncle before her talent could shine.
Hesitantly, Yeonwoo shaped the name with his lips.
‘Yooin.’
Jihoon stiffened.
Yooin. Kim Yooin.
The name of Yeonwoo’s mother—Jihoon’s beloved late wife.
“Okay. Let’s do that. Yooin… it’s perfect.”
While Jihoon had forced himself to forget the woman whose loss still haunted him, Yeonwoo chose to honor her memory.
Moved by his son’s gesture, Jihoon pulled him into a tight embrace.
