It’s kind of a meme and depends on personal taste, but the four best singers in South Korea today are collectively called the "Kim-Seong-Yun-Jang" – a name formed by combining their surnames.
Before their rise, during the golden age spanning the 90s to early 2000s, there existed the "Four Heavenly Kings." Kim Beom-shin was not only one of them but widely regarded as the foremost. His legacy is so profound that some argue the "Kim" in "Kim-Seong-Yun-Jang" should rightfully be him. While such debates inevitably spark chaos online, even critics unanimously agree on one thing: Kim Beom-shin possesses the greatest voice in South Korea’s history. Ask ten people, and eight or nine will name him. To put it bluntly, his voice alone could have sustained a singing career even if he lacked skill. In an era of cringeworthy nicknames, he earned titles like "The Voice of God" and "Heavenly Voice."
And now, this legend stood inside the recording booth at Alice’s studio, grinning like a child.
"Is this a dream…?"
As a company representative, Kim Beom-shin was just a stubborn old man. But as a singer? Entirely different. Alice, who’d once aspired to be a singer during his prime, felt her nerves tighten. I’m supposed to direct him? For a mere guide track?
Just then, Ji-young pressed the talkback button. “Sunbae, will your voice hold up?”
-Huh?
“It’s been ages since you last sang, right?”
-What nonsense! I was singing yesterday – hell, every day!
“…Still staying up all night partying?”
-At home! Who do you take me for? I train my voice daily, you punk!
Their playful bickering snapped Alice back to reality. This isn’t complicated. I’m the producer. I know this song inside out. It’s just a guide – no need to micromanage.
“Shall we start?” she asked, forcing calm.
-Ahem. Yeah.
Kim Beom-shin’s demeanor shifted the moment he faced the mic. His carefree persona vanished. As the music began, Yeon-woo finally understood why fairies flocked to him. His voice birthed countless luminous spirits, their blue radiance flooding the booth until it blinded. To Yeon-woo, who’d always prioritized instruments, it felt like a revelation: This was divinity’s true instrument. He stood transfixed, lost in the song.
“Take care, kiddo.”
“Yes…”
After watching the guide recording until the end, Yeon-woo saw Kim Beom-shin leaving while pretending to recognize her, so she bid him farewell with a playful bow.
"Auntie, why does that man sing so well?"
"Hmm, he was once considered one of the best singers in our country."
"Once?"
"Yeah, back in the day."
"What about now? He still sings well, doesn’t he?"
Ji-young laughed at this.
"Of course he still sings well. But popularity doesn’t stay with you forever just because you keep singing well."
"What does that mean?"
"It’s how the adult world works."
"Adults are so weird."
How could someone who sang that well not be popular?
It made no sense.
Seeing Yeon-woo’s confusion, Alice chimed in.
"Popularity depends on timing. Representative Kim Beom-shin reached the top by seizing the right moment, but that era has passed. People also prefer something new over what they already know."
"But still... it’s amazing. He’s so good."
"True. But no matter how well you sing, sticking to outdated songs makes it hard to stay popular."
"Then he should sing new songs! Can’t he just do that?"
"Hmm... How do I explain? People associate Kim Beom-shin with ballads, and ballads with Kim Beom-shin. Even if he tries trendy songs, they might reject it... It’s complicated."
As Alice spoke with a smile, Yeon-woo partially grasped her meaning.
But accepting it was another matter.
Yeon-woo never grew tired of listening to music, playing instruments, or composing daily.
Wouldn’t a great voice stay captivating no matter how often you heard it?
Yet Alice insisted:
Even if Kim Beom-shin sang trendy tracks, his ballad-singer image clung to him.
People disliked his old-fashioned style or found his new attempts mismatched.
No matter how much Yeon-woo pondered, adults remained puzzling.
Deciding to stop straining over incomprehensible things, she shifted her gaze.
The recording booth came into view.
Kim Beom-shin, while singing the guide track, had conjured countless fairies and radiated brilliant light.
Traces of that magic lingered—tiny fairies still fluttered inside the booth.
"...?"
Something glowing unusually bright caught Yeon-woo’s eye.
She peered intently past the booth before stepping inside.
"Ah...!"
There, Kim Beom-shin’s fairy—of indeterminate age—drifted among others in the booth.
Though merely a guide track, his heartfelt singing had birthed this fairy right here.
It was her first time seeing a singer’s fairy rather than an instrumentalist’s.
Yeon-woo approached Kim Beom-shin’s fairy.
It stood before the microphone, quietly humming.
"Can you actually sing?"
The fairy turned to Yeon-woo with a look that said the answer was obvious.
"Sing for me."
At her request, Kim Beom-shin’s fairy pressed close to the mic and began to sing.
Kim Beom-shin's fairy couldn't speak human language.
It sang in incomprehensible babble, yet the voice remained unmistakably Kim Beom-shin's own.
The passionately singing fairy emitted its signature blue glow.
"Good job."
At Yeon-woo's praise, Kim Beom-shin's fairy puffed up with pride, looking identical to the real person.
"Do you think he's finished?"
Dori-dori (a Korean term for head-shaking).
Watching the fairy vigorously shake its head side to side, Yeon-woo nodded in agreement.
"I think so too."
That’s why he began conceptualizing a song for him.
Truthfully, Yeon-woo had never cared much for ballads.
As Ji-young and Alice often remarked, traditional ballads felt outdated, while modern ones still clung to melodramatic tales of love and separation—neither of which resonated with him.
Even their melodies lacked emotional weight.
Worse, the fairies emerging from such songs carried an air of melancholy.
This aversion kept Yeon-woo from listening to ballads at all.
Though Ji-young’s influence played a role, it mainly explained why he preferred dance tracks in mainstream music.
Regardless, Yeon-woo wanted to offer Beom-shin something beyond ballads.
But a dance track wasn’t viable either. Stumped, he turned to the Melboard charts.
Though illiterate in English and unclear on Melboard’s exact purpose, he recognized its letters as visual symbols and knew it dominated music rankings.
In Alice’s studio, Yeon-woo scrolled through Melboard’s offerings.
Country music dominated the trends—a resilient American staple resurging whenever near obscurity—followed by Latin pop and hip-hop.
Yeon-woo immediately ruled out country.
He’d never encountered it on Korean charts, meaning it wouldn’t resonate locally.
While he could’ve pushed it, he aimed for sophistication.
His gaze then landed on tropical house-infused pop—a track within Melboard Hot 100’s top 20.
"This works. What do you think?"
He glanced at Kim Beom-shin’s fairy beside him, which nodded approval.
Yeon-woo explored more tropical house tracks, including long-reigning Hot 100 champions still topping yearly and all-time charts.
Though less prominent now, the genre remained a timeless force.
After repeated listens, swarms of tropical house fairies materialized.
Yeon-woo itched to compose with them immediately.
Should I use a tablet?
As he hesitated, Alice’s computer and keyboard caught his eye.
"Aunt Alice... Can I use this?"
Alice, mid-lyric discussion with Ji-young, nodded cheerfully.
"Of course. One moment."
She swiftly prepared the keyboard.
Yeon-woo began playing the instant he sat down.
Alice marveled at his fluid performance.
What was I doing at six? Probably smacking a xylophone in kindergarten, clueless about notes. Yet here was Yeon-woo, effortlessly crafting not just a decent tune—but a masterpiece.
"Wait, is this a house track? Tropical house?"
"So this is what tropical house sounds like?"
"You made this without even knowing what it was?"
"Yeah, I heard it on the Melon chart—it's a Korean music chart—and tried to copy it."
"...You can just replicate it after hearing it once?"
Of course, Yeonwoo couldn’t have done it alone.
But with guidance from the "fairies"—metaphorical mentors born from tropical house—it became possible.
With their help, Yeonwoo grasped the genre's core structure and began crafting his own vision.
"Auntie, I need this instrument!!"
"Got it."
With his aunt's support, he rapidly switched virtual instruments and finished his second track in one go.
"Done already?"
"Yep. Let me play it now."
Yeonwoo hit play.
The track leaned on tropical house foundations but carried an undercurrent of Korean sensibility.
Melancholic, perhaps?
If forced to categorize...
"A ballad? It has ballad vibes."
"Yup."
It felt like a ballad drenched in tropical house textures—or was it tropical house infused with ballad soul?
A purely pop structure might’ve clashed with Korean lyrics.
But this blend of pop and K-pop elements made the Korean verses feel effortless.
Ellis stared in disbelief as Yeonwoo pieced together the song’s innovative chords and genre fusion within 20 minutes.
This wasn’t the same shock as hearing a polished track—this was raw awe at witnessing creation itself.
The reality hit her: this six-year-old had produced genius-level work. She stood before a generational talent.
Just six years old.
How far would he grow? How many masterpieces would follow?
Humbled yet grateful to collaborate with him, Jiyoung asked separately:
"Should we shop this to another label? Like Auntie Ellis’s deal—buyers would queue for miles."
Yeonwoo shook his head.
"What? Not satisfied? It’s release-ready as is!"
"Still missing one element, Auntie."
"What’s missing?"
The song remained incomplete.
A crucial layer was absent.
"Vocals. We need a voice as the bassline."
"Whose? We could generate AI vocals."
"No. Kim Beomshin’s voice belongs here."
"Beomshin sunbae? His voice is golden, but why specifically—"
Only one reason mattered.
"This song is for Kim Beomshin." It was crafted around his timbre.
That’s why only he—the legendary "Voice of Heaven"—could breathe life into it.
