"Yeonwoo, did you have fun?"
At 6 o'clock, it was time to leave school, and Jiyeong had come to pick up Yeonwoo.
"Yeah."
Yeonwoo nodded.
"Did you feel awkward or anything?"
"The kids kept asking if I was a girl. But everything else was okay."
Jiyeong bit back her comment - she wanted to say it was because Yeonwoo looked pretty, but they might sulk for days and give her the silent treatment.
"Anything else? How about the teacher?"
"Good."
"At what?"
"Singing."
"The teacher sings well?"
If an ordinary child had said this, Jiyeong would've nodded along. But this was Yeonwoo - the musical genius who'd propelled Kim Beomshin to #1 on Mango Chart's real-time, daily, and weekly rankings. When such a prodigy praised someone, it carried weight.
"Our Yeonwoo says they're good?"
"Yeah. Really."
"Hmm... Compared to Kim Beomshin?"
Yeonwoo silently stared up at Jiyeong.
Their eyes spoke volumes.
No - were they glaring?
You're comparing apples to oranges...
"Right, Kim Beomshin's overhyped. Actually, you've got no singers to compare with anyway. You don't know any besides him, do you?"
"...Aunt Ellis."
"Ah, back when Ellis was active. How about compared to her?"
Yeonwoo pondered seriously. Truthfully, Ellis hadn't been a vocal-focused idol. During her career, she'd been leader/producer/composer with sub-vocal duties.
"Our teacher's better!!"
"Really? Is she from a practical music program?"
Jiyeong wasn't impressed. This country overflowed with talented singers - audition shows sprouted yearly like weeds, yet hidden gems still emerged endlessly from the streets. The teacher was likely another failed aspirant.
Changing subjects, Jiyeong asked, "Aunt Ellis invited you to her recording session for your song. You're going, right?"
Yeonwoo nodded immediately.
Though unnamed, BSK's new idol group consisted of five trainees Kim Beomshin called his "children." Unlike typical 4th/5th gen groups that recruited across agencies or scouted SNS visuals, BSK's approach was rare - members were long-trained in-house.
Kim Beomshin and partner Park Sangcheol insisted on debuting their own, fearing trainees might feel excluded otherwise. Ellis agreed - the kids had both skill and looks.
They weren't equally skilled, but after filtering the best five, their varied abilities became assets. Distinct strengths outweighed uniform perfection.
"I've avoided assigning fixed positions until now, right?"
"Yes."
Today's recording session finalized roles:
"Vocals - Dahyun (main), Ayoung and Yoonseo (sub)." No objections. Dahyun stood out with her range and technique.
"Rap - Somin. Main dancer - Chaewon. Expected, isn't it?"
"Yes!!"
"Now for leader and center?"
Tension thickened the air.
"Keep it simple. Leader goes to our eldest, Somin."
At 18 and a high school senior, Somin naturally led the trainees. While age didn't always dictate leadership nowadays, her proven skills justified the choice.
"And the center... we won't have one."
Ellis's declaration shocked them.
"Why the surprise? Centerless groups aren't rare anymore. Who chases center positions these days?"
Truthfully, Ellis disliked dividing roles like "main vocal" or "dancer" from the start.
"Do you know what happens when you assign roles like center, visual, or variety? Fights break out? Jealousy is terrifying. That’s why we don’t have roles like center, visual, or variety. Got it?"
"...Yes!"
Ellis nodded in satisfaction and gestured toward the booth.
"Alright, let’s head in to record now. You’ve all listened to the guide track, right?"
"...Um, teacher."
"Yes?"
"It feels like it’ll be just as hard to sing as the guide track..."
"...I’m not expecting that. Not in terms of technique, anyway. Just treat it as a reference."
"Okay."
Recalling the guide track that barely qualified as one, the kids sighed in relief and entered the booth.
The hellish recording session began.
Ellis wasn’t someone you’d call overly strict, but she wasn’t lenient either.
During recording, she became strictness incarnate.
She wouldn’t scold you for failing to follow her lead, but she’d make you repeat it until you got it right.
"No, no. The ending note went too sharp. It’s ‘ah-,’ not ‘ah!’ Cut it off cleanly."
"You dropped a half step, Dahyun. You’re a mezzo—you can hit that note."
"You don’t need harmony theory to match chords. It’s one measure! Are you seriously asking me to autotune this?"
"Too fast—no, now it’s too slow. No, that’s not it!!"
From noon until dusk, Ellis cycled the kids through recording until she finally sighed.
"At this rate, we won’t finish today. Take a break. Eat dinner and regroup."
"Okay..."
The trainees, once buzzing with debut excitement, slumped into their seats.
Ellis opened a delivery app, swallowing her unspoken words of encouragement.
"What do you want? Nothing heavy, greasy, spicy, or hard to digest—it’ll strain your voices."
...What’s left to eat?
As they pondered, the studio doorbell rang.
"Ah, they’re here."
Who’d visit at this hour?
Ellis’s demeanor signaled an important guest. The trainees, sharpened by years of survival instincts, rose to greet them.
"Senior, you made it!"
"Yes, Ellis. Yeonwoo’s here too."
"Hello, Auntie."
"Nice to meet you."
After exchanging greetings, Ellis introduced Jiyoung and Yeonwoo to the group.
"Everyone, this is Producer Shin Jiyoung. She created Daydream."
At BSK, Daydream was both a legend and blueprint. Their producer commanded instant respect.
"Hello!!"
The trainees bowed with soldierly precision. Jiyoung chuckled.
"How adorable! Reminds me of Daydream’s debut days."
Debut-bound trainees always radiated this raw earnestness.
Jiyoung loved that stage—the nostalgia, the untouched potential.
That innocence never lasted.
"I brought porridge. Figured you hadn’t eaten."
"Classic move! Perfect for recording."
"Exactly. Fill up now, feast after we finish."
"Right."
The trainees nodded, though porridge felt decadent compared to their usual diet of salads, sweet potato halves, and chicken breast.
Yeonwoo studied them.
Like Chae Hayoung, fairies hovered around these girls.
But these fairies lacked everything—no wings, no distinct forms like Grandma’s or Wes Montgomery’s avatars, no genre-specific flair.
Why?
A memory surfaced.
Though still young, Yeonwoo’s childhood remained vivid. She too had once been trailed by such bare fairies.
Back when her only tie to music was her mother’s piano. Back when she’d hide in the kitchen, aching for her.
Now fairies were constant companions, but back then, they’d only appeared when music played outside.
Those same fairies.
Perhaps these naked, newborn sprites... were born from pure longing for music?
Potential? Or Talent?
Considering the fairies around Kim Beom-shin and the grandmother, it seems more accurate to view it as potential or talent.
Having vaguely organized his thoughts, Yeon-woo looked at the noonas.
At that moment, Alice introduced the girls.
“This is Dahyun, the main vocalist. Next to her are the sub-vocalists Ayoung and Yoonseo, the leader and rapper Somin, and the dancer Chaewon, sunbaenim.”
“They’re all so pretty. Is this Beom-shin sunbaenim’s good eye or Representative Sang-cheol’s?”
“Right? They’re all talented.”
Among the noonas, Dahyun had the most fairies hovering around her.
“Auntie, what’s a main vocalist?”
“The main vocalist is the center of the group who sings the key parts. She must be great at singing, don’t you think?”
Ah, so she sings well like Teacher Chae Ha-young.
But it’s strange.
Trainees are people who’ve practiced for years to become idols.
Yet Teacher Chae Ha-young had more fairies than them.
Does that mean she’s simply better at singing?
While Yeon-woo pondered deeply, the others began scooping porridge to eat.
Yeon-woo stared at his own bowl. He didn’t particularly like porridge, but not wanting to waste his aunt’s thoughtful gesture, he cleaned his plate thoroughly.
“Alright, shall we start recording properly now?”
With full stomachs and renewed resolve, the members returned to the studio.
The familiar intro Yeon-woo and Ji-young recognized began playing, followed by everyone singing their parts in succession.
“Were they singing badly earlier because they were hungry? They sound much better now.”
“Really? I think they’re doing well.”
“They seem fine to me now, sunbaenim.”
After saying this, Alice glanced at Yeon-woo and cautiously asked:
“What do you think, Yoo-in? Do they sound good?”
“Hmm…”
At the question, Yeon-woo looked at Kim Beom-shin’s fairy.
‘Well?’
Kim Beom-shin’s fairy shook its head decisively.
Fair enough.
It was Kim Beom-shin’s fairy, after all—its standards were bound to be high.
“Not really,” Yeon-woo said, sharing the fairy’s opinion.
“W-what? Not really?”
“Huh? Which part? Why?”
As the two stammered, Yeon-woo turned toward the booth.
Blue fairies flickered into existence, only for red fairies to burst forth moments later. They wedged themselves between the playful blue fairies, disrupting their harmony.
It was as if they screamed: Their singing’s wrong—don’t mingle with them!
