Ellis quietly observed Yeonwoo.
A genius who, just by scattering melodies, could draw interest from eight different directions and captivate Kim Beomshin.
A true genius composer.
But there was something more to it.
Just by listening to Kim Beomshin’s voice—a voice the trends of the time had already dismissed as washed-up—Yeonwoo worked magic to propel him to the top of the Mango Chart.
This wasn’t just about writing good songs.
It required not only understanding his voice but also the vision to seamlessly blend it with current trends and captivate the public.
Kim Beomshin, known for crafting decent songs, and even the composers and producers he handpicked, couldn’t achieve what Yeonwoo did through composition alone.
This meant Yeonwoo possessed not just a composer’s talent but a producer’s instincts.
Yet this same child now claimed the members’ singing was lacking.
There had to be a reason.
“What part bothers you?”
“When we all sing together, nothing lines up.”
“Really? I can’t tell. What about you, senior?”
“Me neither.”
Yeonwoo, struggling to explain verbally, turned on the keyboard.
“Dahyun? Dahyun’s hitting this note right now. It should be half a step higher.”
She played the key matching Dahyun’s vocal range, then struck the note half a step higher.
“Ayoung and Younseo are supposed to harmonize, but Ayoung’s half a step sharp while Younseo isn’t sustaining her note.”
“…….”
“You hear all that?”
At Ellis’s question, Yeonwoo nodded.
“How?”
“I just do.”
Ellis had expected that answer.
“Our Yeonwoo should’ve gone into classical music. You’d make a fine conductor with ears like yours.”
“Classical music’s boring, Aunt.”
Young Yeonwoo loved stimulation—fizzy cola, sweet jelly, anything intense.
Typical for her age.
But she never treated those passions carelessly.
“Aunt, can we try again?”
“I… suppose we must.”
Though startled by her sudden shift from childishness to professionalism, Ellis halted the recording and relayed Yeonwoo’s feedback to the members.
“Um… I’m not sure, Teacher.”
At their hesitation, Ellis played the piano. Dahyun, with her trained ear, found the note instantly. The others faltered.
“Let’s have everyone except Dahyun sing their parts one by one.”
Ellis made them perform individually.
Only then did she begin to hear what Yeonwoo had noticed.
Using the equipment, Ellis adjusted and played back each member’s vocal range.
Ayoung and Younseo grasped it quickly. Somin and Chaewon needed repeated attempts to match their notes.
“Shall we try together now?”
The group segment played, and the members sang in unison, timing aligned.
The moment they began, Yeonwoo grimaced and seized Ellis’s hand.
“Hm?”
“Chaewon’s half a step flat.”
“I’ll tell her. Chaewon! Pitch it higher!”
“Okay. But it’s too fast.”
“Higher, not faster.”
After several adjustments, Ellis had them redo the group part.
Just as their muscles memorized the corrected notes, they launched into the section again.
“Ah.”
A tweak too subtle for ordinary ears—yet Ellis felt the staggering difference.
Like swapping tinny speakers for premium ones.
A revelation to the ears.
But Yeonwoo remained unsatisfied.
“Aunt.”
“Yes?”
“Can Dahyun sing higher?”
“Her range? Dahyun, can you reach the third octave?”
-Yes, Teacher. Up to Mi.
“Impressive. She can hit that, Yeonwoo.”
Ellis indicated the corresponding piano key.
After listening, Yeonwoo asked,
“Aunt, after the lyrics here… can they transition smoothly together?”
“Ah! An ad-lib? The section’s… five seconds. Possible?”
Third-octave Mi was brutal even for female vocalists.
Back in rock’s heyday, Seohwi—the legendary singer who blazed like a comet—topped out at third-octave La in her own songs.
Although vocal range isn't the sole measure of singing ability, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say Dahyun possesses an impressive range for an idol.
But sustaining that highest note for five seconds? It wasn't as easy as one might think.
Ellis asked Dahyun if she could do it.
-"I think I can manage now? We’re not on stage or anything… I’ll give it a try."
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes. Then please have Dahyun unnie do that part, and let Ayoung unnie take Dahyun unnie’s original position.”
Ellis tilted her head in confusion at the suggestion.
Ayoung had a uniquely sweet tone and stable technique, but her high notes lacked solidity. If she’d been capable of that, she would’ve been the main vocalist.
“Ayoung, can you handle Dahyun’s usual range?”
-“Uh… I think it’d be difficult…”
Seeing Ayoung’s uncertainty, Yeonwoo tilted her head and glanced at Kim Beomshin’s fairy.
‘You said she could do it, didn’t you?’
The plan to push Dahyun’s higher notes had originated from Kim Beomshin’s fairy, who’d claimed Ayoung could effortlessly handle upper second-octave ranges.
Kim Beomshin’s fairy nodded again.
It flew over the recording booth toward Ayoung.
As Yeonwoo’s gaze followed, the fairy pointed at Ayoung’s head. Other fairies began swirling around her crown like a rotating angel’s halo.
‘Why her head?’
Kim Beomshin’s fairy returned to Yeonwoo, pointed at its throat, vocalized, then pointed at its head. When the sound shifted from throat to head, the voice gained strength and range as if by sorcery.
‘Sing from the head?’
The fairy nodded vigorously.
Though Yeonwoo—who’d never sung professionally—couldn’t fully grasp the concept, she understood the fairy’s intent.
“Auntie, shouldn’t we sing from the head instead of the throat?”
“Not chest voice… Are you referring to head voice? That’s not easy without training.”
Kim Beomshin’s fairy immediately shook its head and pointed insistently at Ayoung.
‘Can she do it? Or does she already know how?’
The fairy nodded again.
“That unnie can do it.”
“Really? Hmm… Ayoung, do you know how to use head voice?”
-“Ah… My vocal coach says it sounds too operatic. She forbids it—insists I only use chest voice.”
Ellis briefly recalled Ayoung’s profile.
Right—she’d studied classical vocals briefly before transitioning to pop. That meant she’d learned to distinguish between head, chest, and mixed registers.
“We’ll only use it for recording. Let’s try head voice. Can you?”
-“Yes, I’ll try.”
Meanwhile, Yeonwoo turned back to Kim Beomshin’s fairy, which pointed at Dahyun and then mimed pushing its stomach.
“Please tell Dahyun unnie to engage her diaphragm while singing.”
“Got it.”
The group re-recorded their parts under Yeonwoo’s guidance.
Ellis and Jiyoung stared blankly through the booth glass.
The high-note harmonies felt like a physical expansion in their chests—a visceral embodiment of freedom that perfectly matched the album’s concept. Ellis found herself mesmerized, unable to look away from Yeonwoo.
How had Yeonwoo known Ayoung could utilize head voice? How had simple advice about diaphragmatic support enabled Dahyun to sustain three-octave ranges with such breath control?
“How… does this even work? How did you know?”
“I just did.”
…Just knew.
Is this how geniuses operated? Ellis had heard rumors about Kim Beomshin—once a vocal coach, now a star—training juniors through unconventional methods.
It almost felt like Kim Beomshin herself was here advising them, though it was merely her fairy.
“Well… we’ve finished recording for now. Any further suggestions?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
When Yeonwoo nodded, Ellis played the hastily spliced recordings.
“It’s rough and needs polishing, but focus on the overall feel.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
Yeonwoo bowed her head and listened.
Red fairies flickered erratically in the rushed edits, but no critical flaws stood out. When her own arranged sections played, blue light erupted as fairies bounced exuberantly.
Not perfect—but satisfying.
“It’s good, Auntie!”
Yeonwoo’s smile bloomed uncontrollably.
Nothing compared to the joy of hearing her composition breathe through others’ voices. A pang of regret hit—how incredible would it have been to collaborate with Kim Beomshin herself? Yet being with these unnies, just beginning their dreams, felt equally precious.
Plus, unlike Cold Night’s earlier release, this was her true debut as a professional composer.
“If you’re happy… then I’m happy too.”
Watching Yeonwoo’s radiant smile, Ellis felt her heart plummet like a dropped stone.
So that's how brightly one can smile.
Even though he was still a child, he truly had a mesmerizing charm.
If I could just touch those soft, rice cake-like cheeks on that smiling face, I’d have no regrets.
“Yeonwoo, if you smile like that out in public, it’ll cause trouble, you know?”
Jiyeong looked at Ellis with a mischievous grin and pressed Yeonwoo’s cheek firmly, erasing his smile.
‘I’m jealous…’
It felt like she was declaring, It’s okay for me to touch his cheeks, and Ellis couldn’t help feeling envious.
I want a nephew too.
Snapping out of her thoughts, Ellis suddenly remembered she’d abandoned her members in the booth and hastily called them over.
“Great job!! You’ve heard it already, right? Isn’t it fantastic?”
“Yes, it’s incredible!!”
“This album’s going to blow up when it drops, seriously.”
“Right? The song’s unreal! That composer Yuin… they’re on another level. And our producer too—absolutely legendary!”
Ellis chuckled at the three vocalists buzzing with enthusiasm.
Yuin herself stood right beside her.
Ellis couldn’t muster a word, her eyes drifting instead to Yeonwoo.
“Ms. Shin Jiyeong, is this child your nephew?”
Chaewon and Somi hovered near Yeonwoo, their eyes gleaming like they’d spotted honey.
“Stop with the ‘Ms.’—it ages me. Just call me sunbae or teacher. And yes, he’s my nephew. Shin Yeonwoo.”
“Got it, Teacher. Didn’t get to greet you properly earlier. Hey, Yeonwoo?”
“Hello, noona.”
“Oh my god, you’re adorable! Can I hug you, Yeonwoo?”
Yeonwoo fidgeted before nodding shyly.
Somi swooped in instantly, as if she’d been waiting for this moment.
“He’s so pretty—wait, no, cute. Teacher, he could totally be a model! How is he this… this cute?”
As she spoke, Somi gave his cheek a playful pinch.
Ellis gaped as his cheek stretched under her fingers.
How dare they treat the divine composer Yuin like this?! If they knew who he really was, they’d be trembling!
She screamed internally, yet…
‘I’m jealous.’
In truth, Ellis envied their blissful ignorance of the genius in their midst.
