Ever since Alice suggested they meet, Yeonwoo began immersing himself in her music.
She was an idol trained by a mid-sized agency who rose to fame as the first producer-idol hybrid.
Her early songs radiated freedom and boundless youthful freshness.
So much so that even among pop music’s "fairies," her work birthed fairies so innocent they seemed like young girls.
Sure, she used the same formulaic money chords and borrowed trends like everyone else—yet something distinctly her own still shone through.
Yeonwoo couldn’t put it into words, but his instincts whispered this was the raw daring of a rising star.
Years later, after her group disbanded, she recruited trainees loyal to her and formed a new idol team.
The agency, sensing her potential, granted her full creative control—and she led the group to even greater success than her previous one.
This era marked the peak of her seven-year journey honing composition and production skills, as if every ounce of her talent had bloomed at once.
After propelling this group to stardom, she transferred to Taein Entertainment under a massive contract.
Later releases were hailed as her career’s pinnacle by the public, but Yeonwoo remained skeptical.
Or more precisely—the fairies were.
The new song fairies resembled her earlier creations but emerged shackled, their identical forms unsettling to even young Yeonwoo’s eyes.
Copy-pasted clones devoid of joy or individuality stared back as she thought: So this is Alice now.
Otherwise, the fairies wouldn’t look so trapped.
That’s why he needed to meet her—to ask what the chained artist truly wanted.
“So I want to meet her. I’m not wrong, right Grandma?”
“You’re right. She’s skilled, but there’s no joy in her music now.”
“But why? Music’s fun!”
“Maybe… she’s making music she doesn’t love?”
“Why would she do that? Is music boring now?”
Heo-ok stroked Yeonwoo’s baffled head. “Adults sometimes have to make art they hate, even when they crave to create what they love.”
“Then I’ll never be an adult!”
“Don’t want to grow up?”
“No! I’ll stay a kid and only make music I love!”
Could that truly happen? Heo-ok privately wished Yeonwoo might remain this pure forever.
“Then keep making your music, just like this.”
“Okay!”
Yeonwoo marched to his room and returned with the mini guitar his dad had express-delivered online—a child-sized instrument nearly swallowed by his enthusiasm.
Heo-ok watched, mesmerized, as the boy played thumb-style like jazz legend Wes Montgomery.
Though she’d introduced Yeonwoo to Montgomery’s work, she couldn’t tell if the child was fixated on him or simply unaware of other guitarists. What mattered was the uncanny skill—as if Montgomery’s ghost guided her hands, note after perfect note.
It seemed just like Heo Ok, who had taught herself the piano until her playing came to mirror her own instrument.
Was it natural for a genius to imitate and reconstruct others' work so effortlessly?
To Yeonwoo—unaware he was being taught by the fairy observing Wes Montgomery—everything could be explained away as mere "genius."
Of course, that was fundamentally true.
Who would believe a mute fairy taught Wes Montgomery?
But the guitar presented a greater challenge than the piano.
"My fingers hurt…"
Barehanded guitar playing inevitably caused finger pain.
While prolonged piano practice could strain fingers enough to cause tendonitis, plucking guitar strings swiftly made Yeonwoo’s delicate hands swell and ache.
"Why not use a pick?"
"I hate picks."
Yeonwoo shook his head resolutely.
Wes Montgomery hadn’t used one either, or so he seemed to imply.
"Let’s stop for today. Overdo it, and you won’t play tomorrow."
At Grandma’s words, Yeonwoo set the guitar aside without regret and turned to the piano.
Any observer would remark, "That boy’s truly consumed by music."
But Heo Ok, who had once abandoned everything for her musical obsession, merely smiled fondly.
Between the grandmother and grandson—normal yet not quite—a third voice intervened.
"Stop playing. Time to go."
It was Jiyeong.
Yeonwoo sprang to his feet.
He wore a Mickey Mouse graphic tee and jeans.
"Take a jacket. It cools down after sunset."
"Mom, worried about me? Since when? I already packed one. Heehee!"
"No—Yeonwoo. Never mind. I’ll handle it. Yeonwoo, Grandma will get your clothes."
Heo Ok rose and strode toward his room, Yeonwoo scampering after her.
"Who’d have thought she’d embrace being called ‘Grandma’?"
Heo Ok had never used "Mom" for herself. Now "Grandma" rolled off her tongue, making Jiyeong cringe at the unnaturalness.
It felt awkward every time—like secondhand embarrassment.
"Yeonwoo, wear this. Blue suits you better than black."
"Okay, take it."
Heo Ok, uncharacteristically doting, handed him to Jiyeong with concern.
"Don’t worry! I’m not a child! I’ll bring him back safe!"
Muttering "So dramatic," Jiyeong left with Yeonwoo.
"Perfect."
Ellis adjusted her tailored suit and nodded.
The formal wear clashed with her role as an idol producer, but she insisted on it for business meetings.
When her group disbanded and skeptics dismissed her as a producer, she’d learned: casual attire invited casual disrespect.
Dress ordinarily, and people treated contracts carelessly.
Especially when facing Shin Jiyeong.
Of course, Yoo In is her opponent, but it's clear that Shin Ji-young, a seasoned veteran in this field, will step in for Yoo In and handle her instead.
No—perhaps Yoo In is hiding her true identity.
If someone of Shin Ji-young’s caliber is acting as her proxy, she can’t be dismissed outright.
It might be a stretch, but maybe during her studies in the U.S., she formed a connection with a composer active on Melboard (a popular music platform).
It could seem excessive, but given how fiercely K-pop is growing these days, she might’ve reached out half out of curiosity, half for fun.
Nothing could be ruled out.
That was just her nature.
She was the type to map out dozens of scenarios and prepare countermeasures for each.
In MBTI terms, she was a capital J—no, more like JJJJ.
But the moment she finally saw Yoo In, all her carefully constructed scenarios crumbled, freezing her thoughts entirely.
“This is Yoo In. Oh, and she’s my niece.”
Alice’s mind short-circuited. In contrast, Shin Ji-young seemed amused by the situation, introducing the child with a grin.
“…Hello. I’m Yeon-woo—no, Yoo In.”
The child peeked out from behind Ji-young, her shy gaze fixed on Alice.
“Ah, um, I… uh…”
Alice struggled to speak, her thoughts still scrambled, but the words refused to form.
The creator of that masterpiece song… was this child?
Plump cheeks, porcelain skin, large eyes with natural double lids and long lashes, a delicate nose…
Cute…! Wait, no. Pretty!! …No, that wasn’t it either.
How could someone so adorable compose such a song? Even an adult would be hailed as a genius for it.
Was this a stunt by Shin Ji-young to generate buzz and profit?
But if so, why bother with a nondisclosure agreement?
As her mind gradually cleared, Alice assessed the situation coldly.
Still, she refused to take anything at face value.
She didn’t even believe in ghosts.
Why?
Because she only trusted what she could see.
Determined to test Yeon-woo, Alice crouched to meet the child’s eyes.
“Composer, what inspired you to create those five songs?”
If this child truly was the composer, Alice couldn’t disrespect her with informal speech—not as a fellow professional.
Yeon-woo fidgeted before whispering,
“…’Cause.”
“Huh? What was that?”
“It… wasn’t fun.”
“Huh? Wasn’t fun?”
Ji-young cut in, laughing.
“Yeon-woo found recent idol music boring, so she made her own.”
“Wait, what?”
Boring? The songs were boring?
“They all sound the same.”
Ah…
It was a sharp remark critiquing the current idol industry.
Of course, each idol group has distinct concepts and styles—but their songs are all the same.
Listeners might not realize it, but industry insiders know there’s little meaningful difference.
The kid was undoubtedly pointing this out.
“Everything’s the same… so it’s boring.”
“Oh? Then what about my song? What do you think of mine?”
Ellis asked, her voice trembling. How would this child judge her work?
Yeonwoo answered without hesitation.
“It’s the same.”
His reply was so blunt it bordered on embarrassing.
“For now.”
“For now?”
In response, Yeonwoo pulled a tablet from his aunt’s bag.
“Up to here, it’s good.”
“Hmm…”
The screen displayed the album cover she’d created with her former agency—a project she’d poured her soul into.
“From this point on, it’s all the same.”
He played a track.
It was “Volcano,” the first song Ellis had worked on after joining Taein. A fiery, passionate piece with an addictive sound that matched its title.
Ellis chuckled bitterly but nodded in agreement.
“I see… You understand. I’ve felt the same way.”
At her words, Yeonwoo fiddled with the tablet again.
“You… originally wanted to make it like this, right?”
Inspired by his grandmother’s saying that adults can’t always follow their desires, Yeonwoo had dissected “Volcano” with the fairies.
Beneath the generic sound, he’d easily uncovered her buried vision.
Among the cookie-cutter fairies from “Volcano,” he’d found a tiny, rare one resembling those from her early work, and another in flamboyant, unfamiliar attire.
By conversing with these fairies through the keyboard, he’d reconstructed the song’s true form—a vibrant, rhythmically complex piece far richer than the released version. Familiar yet strangely foreign for an idol track.
“My aunt said this sounds like samba—Brazil’s traditional dance music. You meant to use this rhythm, didn’t you?”
“Y-yes… Not exactly, but… this was the idea…”
Ellis mumbled, abandoning formal speech as if soliloquizing.
“Volcano” had originally been titled “Carnival,” a summer-themed track built on Brazilian samba rhythms.
Taein had gutted it, keeping only the beat and melody before rearranging every element to their taste and rebranding it as “Volcano.” Back then, Ellis had been too cowed by the company’s prestige to protest.
“How… how did you…? You figured this out?”
Ellis stared at the miraculous boy who’d excavated the song’s hidden skeleton. Yeonwoo flashed a breathlessly adorable grin.
“It just happened.”
“Just… happened?”
“Yeah. I just… saw it.”
As if the song had unveiled itself to him.
“I… see.”
Someone once said genius defies comprehension.
This boy embodied that truth.
