Chae Hayeon faced Yeonwoo, who was peeking out from behind his grandmother, gazing at her with shy curiosity.
‘Good heavens……!’
She now understood the universal reaction adults had upon seeing Yeonwoo in person.
Anyone who laid eyes on the astonishingly beautiful child found their heart racing uncontrollably.
That breath-stealing, heart-plummeting sensation.
Even Chae Hayeon, despite her years of childcare experience, wasn’t immune.
She crouched to meet Yeonwoo’s eyes.
“Shall we go in together?”
“…….”
Yeonwoo glanced at his grandmother.
Heo Ok gave a silent nod.
Permission granted.
The boy emerged from his grandmother’s shadow and grasped Chae Hayeon’s offered hand.
“Please don’t worry. I’ll contact you immediately if he struggles to adjust.”
“Thank you. Yeonwoo, Grandma’s leaving now.”
“Yes. I’ll see you later.”
Yeonwoo bowed deeply, his hands pressed to his stomach in traditional farewell, before reclaiming Chae Hayeon’s hand.
As if determined to replace his grandmother’s warmth with hers.
Thus began Yeonwoo’s life at Jain Daycare.
While practices varied between centers, Yeonwoo’s daycare avoided formal newcomer introductions.
Some parents objected to making children introduce themselves alone before a crowd.
Moreover, unlike kindergartens overseen by the Education Ministry, these welfare-managed facilities prioritized care over academics – nutritious meals over structured lessons, playtime over worksheets.
At 9 AM sharp, the day commenced with unstructured play until snacktime.
“Hey! Who’re you?”
A girl approached Yeonwoo standing alone (though teachers monitored from a distance).
“Me? I’m Yeonwoo… Shin Yeonwoo.”
“Wow. You’re super pretty.”
Yeonwoo’s nose scrunched in protest.
“I’m a boy. Not pretty.”
“Really? But you look like a princess! That’s why you don’t wear sparkles?”
The girl flashed her princess necklace and earring set, plastic rings glittering on every finger.
“Wanna try?”
“…No.”
Yeonwoo recoiled instinctively.
Though society preached against gendered stereotypes, children naturally gravitated toward blue robots for boys, pink dolls for girls.
Yeonwoo reacted like any typical preschool boy.
The girls swarmed regardless.
“Try this necklace!”
“Play Barbies with me!”
Their curiosity drew boys like magnets.
“You’re really a boy?”
“Which apartment building d’you live in?”
“Got any Lightning Man figures? I’ll share!”
“I like Brachiosaurus best. You?”
Surrounded by a dozen chattering children – his first experience with peer crowds – Yeonwoo froze.
“Uh… um……”
Words flowed easily among family, but now his tongue felt leaden.
Ding.
A piano chord sliced through the noise.
Ding-ding. Ding-ding.
Like Hamelin’s children enchanted by the piper, every face turned toward the electronic keyboard.
There sat Chae Hayeon, radiating teacherly warmth as her fingers danced across keys.
Melodies sparked instant singalongs.
Girls belted out lyrics with practiced ease:
“Rainbow, show your glittering magic!”
“Catchy catchy!”
“Gather hearts so sweet!”
Teenagers mimicked TikTok dances; clubgoers lost themselves in EDM beats. Likewise, these children moved as one to trending anime themes and nursery rhymes.
Even boys mumbled along, too cool to dance but unable to resist.
Next came the bread barber’s anthem:
“No one ever finds MEEEE—me-me-me-me-me!”
Followed by a decades-old Jadu classic still beloved:
“Sour J! Sweet D! Sour J! Sweet D!”
It was truly a whirlwind of madness.
Amidst it all, Yeonwoo encountered the incessantly popping-out child fairies.
From Yeonwoo's perspective—someone who even composed songs for adults (?)—the children's favorite tunes should have felt tedious. Yet she found herself endlessly captivated by their boisterous singing and the fairies joyfully swirling around them.
This continued until morning snack time arrived.
The children, now fully energized, began unleashing their boundless stamina in chaotic play.
The teacher disliked seeing them play independently without her involvement.
The real trouble began at lunchtime.
Even then, the kids prioritized play over eating.
After the teacher finally coaxed them into eating, nap time approached.
The core issue was the graduating class—children who would enter elementary school next year.
Their sleep needs had dramatically decreased over the past year.
They resisted napping despite drowsiness, caught between outgrowing naps and still needing some rest.
If they skipped naps now, they'd grow sleepy during the awkward 4-5 PM window.
Putting them to sleep then would create hell for parents.
Late-night wakefulness would delay parents' respite from childcare.
For these parents' sake, Teacher Chae Hayeon had to make them sleep.
"Teacha!! Play piana!!"
"Play piana!!"
"Yeah!!"
The children, still buzzing from morning excitement, clamored for Chae Hayeon's piano.
"No, it's nap time. I'll play this afternoon, okay?"
"Aww, play now!!"
"No sleep without piana!!"
"Me too!!"
"Hmm... No cartoon themes, but I can play a lullaby."
"Then play that!!"
Reluctantly, Chae Hayeon reactivated the electric piano.
Her hands began a lullaby.
The children initially listened quietly before growing bored and rowdy.
Amid the chaos, Yeonwoo studied Chae Hayeon's piano.
'Is it the piano?'
Yeonwoo theorized the fairies around the teacher originated from the instrument.
The theory felt incomplete.
At best, faint fairies materialized briefly before vanishing like ghosts.
Their colors varied unpredictably—sometimes red, sometimes ambiguous lavender rather than proper blue.
For Yeonwoo, who'd never heard such clumsy playing, these imperfect purple fairies were unprecedented.
The earlier blue fairies likely emerged from familiar melodies.
But...
"Sleep well, our baby—in front yard and back hill—"
When Chae Hayeon sang, Yeonwoo's eyes snapped open.
Fairies congregated around the teacher as she vocalized, new ones materializing mid-note.
'Not the piano—her voice.'
Yeonwoo solved the mystery of Chae Hayeon's fairy attraction.
The piano playing remained terrible.
The singing made it worse.
Unable to endure, Yeonwoo slipped over to the teacher.
"Huh? Yeonwoo-ya. You should be lying down."
"Teacher."
"Yes?"
"Teacher... You play piano badly."
"......!!"
Chae Hayeon gaped at the child.
"B-but... I've played for years......"
Yeonwoo's standards were stratospheric.
She didn't consider herself skilled, and even producer/composer Jiyeong's playing fell short in her eyes. Chae Hayeon's performance existed outside measurable scales.
"I'll do it."
"Huh?"
"I'll play. You sing."
"You... can play?"
"Yes."
Chae Hayeon hesitated—this was a six-year-old—but couldn't refuse.
Yeonwoo's sparkling piano gaze was too endearing.
Children sometimes showed such daring.
Yielding, Chae Hayeon surrendered her seat.
Yeonwoo placed small hands on the keys.
The lullaby originated from "Mozart's Lullaby" (actually Bernhard Flies', though misattributed for centuries).
Yeonwoo knew neither title nor melody—her grandmother had never played it.
But Yeonwoo knew this song.
She remembered it exactly as her mother had played it for her when she was little.
From Yeonwoo’s pale, delicate fingers flowed a lullaby woven with her mother’s precious memories.
Chae Hayoung’s eyes widened at the elegant performance.
“Wow……”
The children watching Yeonwoo’s back—like baby birds waiting to be fed—also sparkled with excitement.
They seemed astonished by a skill far beyond their peers.
Amidst this, Yeonwoo kept playing while gazing intently at Teacher Chae Hayoung.
“…Ah!”
Realizing what Yeonwoo wanted, the teacher cleared her throat and began singing to the accompaniment.
“Sleep well, my baby, in the front yard and back hills—where birds and lambs all slumber—”
Her sweet voice soon had the children rubbing their eyes and laying their heads down.
Though they resisted sleep, one by one, they began to drift off.
Energized, Yeonwoo started improvising.
She layered her grandmother’s piano melodies over her mother’s lullaby.
As if waiting for this moment, her grandmother’s fairy grinned brightly and clapped.
The more her grandmother smiled, the more the fairy’s laughter grew.
Yeonwoo chuckled at the fairy and shifted Fleece’s lullaby into a jazz rendition—so flawlessly that Chae Hayoung gaped, forgetting to sing.
Without pausing, Yeonwoo said to Teacher Chae Hayoung:
“Teacher, sing for me.”
“Huh? Oh… okay. Um…”
When the teacher hesitated, Yeonwoo smoothly restarted the introduction without breaking rhythm.
A frenetic jazz lullaby fused with that honeyed voice.
Soon, every teacher in the daycare gathered around.
They left the sleeping children behind—the director, young teachers, even the senior class teacher who’d just arrived.
And like all Koreans—or anyone tethered to smartphones—they immediately pulled out their devices to record.
As if foreseeing how this moment would unfold, some fairies unfurled translucent wings and scattered in all directions.
Ready to traverse the entire world.
