It’s absolutely not true that Jiyeong went to the U.S. to study and just lazed around doing nothing productive.
No matter what anyone says, she went to the U.S.—which can be considered the center of the world—to learn music and producing.
In the past, she might have awkwardly pretended to learn from the fringes, but now, with K-pop thriving and active exchanges with the U.S., she built new networks by meeting American artists through her connections.
To those at the top of Billboard, these connections might seem laughable, but from Korea’s perspective, they were talents worth paying to bring over.
During her time in the U.S., Shin Jiyeong laid the groundwork for her artists and idols to advance globally before returning.
The timing simply aligned perfectly with bringing Yeonwoo into the mix.
“Frankly, wouldn’t hiring a team that choreographs better than Release solve everything?”
“Is it even possible to find such a team domestically right now?”
“I never said domestically.”
When Ellie stared at Jiyeong in confusion, Jiyeong continued.
“I have a friend named Morgan Lee.”
“Morgan… Lee?”
“She’s the leader of a dance team that’s risen rapidly over the past three years. Their name is Jabberwock.”
Ellie tilted her head, while Dahyun’s eyes widened.
“Jabberwock?”
“You know them?”
“My old dance academy showed us their videos. They got famous last year for choreographing Allen’s new song, right?”
Allen was a singer who moved from Spain to the U.S. and found success.
He was hailed as a leading figure in Latin pop, a genre that dominated Billboard for a time.
Though Ellie didn’t know Jabberwock, she recognized Allen’s name, her eyes widening further.
“Call it luck—I’ve known them since their street-performing days.”
“You’re hiring someone who hangs out with Billboard’s top artists… to choreograph our kids’ song?”
Jiyeong cut in sharply.
“To be precise, they’ll choreograph the song by our in-house composer, Yooin.”
Ellie, who understood Yooin’s relationship with Jiyeong, nodded. “Ah, right.”
“Like Ellie and Dahyun, I have reasons this debut team can’t fail. That’s why I’m helping.”
“Seriously… sunbae.”
“No matter how Taein struggles, he’s a frog in a well. Kids who’ve never touched the U.S. market can’t rival Jabberwock. Contact Kim Beomshin sunbae—we’ll need more funds.”
“Understood.”
After a fleeting panic, Ellie regained her composure, fueled by Jiyeong’s support.
Jiyeong added, “Taein’s schemes won’t stop here. Prepare thoroughly. Keep your mentality strong—there’ll be many breakdowns.”
“Yes, sunbae.”
Jiyeong stood, leaving Ellie’s respectful gaze behind.
“Leaving already?”
“It’s almost Yeonwoo’s bedtime. I need to see her once more.”
“Jealous… Well, thank you, sunbae.”
“No need. Maybe it’s fate—Ellie and Jabberwock.”
“Huh? What’s the link?”
“Characters from Alice in Wonderland. Alice and the Jabberwock.”
Come to think of it, the Jabberwock was the villain. Would they mesh well?
Perhaps Jabberwock could turn heroic under Ellie’s influence—or they might join forces to defy Wonderland itself.
No one in the room knew yet.
They had no idea what unimaginable thing Yeonwoo was achieving.
While Jiyeong accelerated BSK’s debut preparations alongside Jabberwock…
“Bye!! Take care!!”
…Yeonwoo lived in an entirely different world.
The life of a diligent kindergarten student.
At least until pickup time.
Holding her grandmother’s hand home, Yeonwoo washed her hands and dashed to her aunt’s room.
With Jiyeong in the U.S. coordinating Jabberwock, her room had become Yeonwoo’s studio.
Her aunt once helped her boot the laptop and launch MIDI programs—now, Yeonwoo did it herself.
“This is… a ukulele.”
Her first task was playing virtual instruments to memorize their sounds.
“This is a kalimba.”
One might question the purpose, but Yeonwoo never forgot a sound. It helped her find the right instruments for composing.
After listening, she began playing.
As always, free jazz—but not on a piano. She used a keyboard, blending synths and virtual instruments.
When tired, she shut the laptop and opened YouTube on her tablet.
Briefly indulging in dinosaur or robot videos, she’d then explore music genres.
She preferred YouTube—where she’d learned everything—over streaming apps. Watching performances was part of the charm.
Just as he would stack virtual instruments in his mind, Yeonwoo absorbed various genres through YouTube, similarly storing them in his head.
The Yeonwoo who once knew only a little jazz, pop, classical, and children’s songs was gone.
Now, he soaked up everything music-related like a sponge.
But then came the problem:
The so-called “my songs suck” syndrome.
Every track he created felt unbearably awful.
His biggest regret was the song he’d given to the BSK debut group.
Titled Fly High after recording, it had already slipped from his hands, making the sting even sharper.
So, Yeonwoo began layering new musical insights onto the song daily.
Some results were clunky or overdone, but he shrugged it off.
The original was beyond his control now—he was just tinkering for practice.
But today felt different.
“This could be fun…”
While scrolling through YouTube, a sound grabbed him.
Past a tacky video thumbnail, a man in a white suit performed on multiple MIDI keyboards.
The frenetic beats and jarring synths scattered his focus, yet the addictive rhythm buzzed under his skin.
After watching, Yeonwoo hurried to his aunt’s room.
The moment his hands touched the laptop keyboard, fairies from the video materialized, demonstrating techniques.
Yeonwoo mimicked them, then crafted his own track in the same style.
“Heh.”
A laugh escaped as the playful melody took shape.
Entranced, he lost himself in experimenting.
How much time passed?
“Yeonwoo?”
His grandmother stood in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“Where’d you hear…that?”
He tilted his head at her baffled tone. “YouTube.”
“Not a highway rest stop?”
“What’s a rest stop?”
“Oh, they exist.”
“Grandma,” he pressed, curious, “do you know this genre?”
“Of course. You think I don’t?”
“The video just said ‘Medley.’”
Heo-ok hesitated under his eager gaze. “It’s called ppongjjak.”
“Heh. Funny name.”
He tapped the keyboard, unleashing a cheery sound fit for a tour bus.
“Hmm…”
Heo-ok stared, speechless.
Despite her musical openness, she was old-school.
Even trot—ppongjjak’s parent genre—dismissed it as tacky.
It belonged to highway rest stops hawking cassette tapes, tour buses, and rural festivals.
Not that she judged, but as a refined jazz musician, seeing her genius grandson embrace ppongjjak? Unthinkable.
Yet Yeonwoo kept playing.
The melodies might be retro, but the synth-driven beats hooked him.
After churning out a ppongjjak medley, he fused it with modern flair—rearranging it into jazz, children’s tunes, even classical snippets.
Then, he grafted ppongjjak onto Fly High.
The vibe shifted completely, but Yeonwoo grinned. Idol dance tracks and ppongjjak? Perfect.
Let’s do this.
As he committed, fairies swarmed, watching intently.
Among them, Yeonwoo imagined the BSK debut members—four sisters.
He crafted a melody for them, then draped it in ppongjjak.
He lowered the shrill vocals, sped up the bass, and slowed the melody for easier singing.
As the track evolved, blue fairies multiplied—manifestations of his ideas.
His first jazz-free song took shape.
Total time: 30 minutes.
Including learning ppongjjak? Barely over an hour.
Heo-ok was left speechless as she watched Yeon-woo from behind.
She couldn’t help but be amazed at how something as crude and unsophisticated as trot music had transformed beyond recognition.
Could this even be called trot anymore?
To be fair, trot wasn’t entirely obsolete.
In its heyday, many hit dance songs had incorporated trot chords as their foundation.
But simply using trot chords didn’t make a dance song a "trot dance song."
By that logic, this couldn’t be considered trot either.
To Heo-ok’s ears, it sounded genuinely good—but she couldn’t trust her own judgment.
She belonged to the older generation, after all, steeped in traditional trot.
Maybe she was deluding herself into finding it polished and appealing.
Of course, Heo-ok wasn’t one to lie to herself, but now she couldn’t be sure.
This bizarre, unprecedented song had thoroughly confused her.
She decided to consult the family’s resident expert on modern pop trends.
“Can you send this song to your aunt?”
“Yes, one moment. Sent it!!”
“Ah, right—it’s probably dawn where she is.”
Given that Ji-young rarely woke before noon, Heo-ok assumed it’d be midnight before they could discuss the song.
But then—
Rrrrrrrr…!!
Ji-young called almost immediately.
“Goodness, you’re up this early? Ji-young, what’s going on? Since when do you rise with the sun?”
-I haven’t slept yet, Mom! Wait, what is this song? Did Yeon-woo make it? Is she there with you?
“Why are you still awake?”
-I’m working! Both teams are holding nonstop choreography meetings—I can’t just duck out to sleep.
Caught between the U.S. and Korea, Jabbawockeez and Alice, Ji-young had no time to rest.
-Seriously, though—did Yeon-woo make this?
“Yes. What do you think?”
-Whoa… what even is this? This is insane! No way… Yeon-woo’s a legit genius. Mozart wouldn’t stand a chance against her!
“You like it that much?”
-Duh, Mom! Don’t you? Or are you too old to get it?
Heo-ok’s temper flared, but she held her tongue.
-Anyway, it’s perfect! Alice already wants a second digital single.
“…Do you know what this song’s based on?”
-Huh? What do you mean? Did she pluck it from the air? Whenever we ask how she does it, she just says, “It comes to me!”
“It’s trot.”
-What?
“The song uses trot as its foundation.”
-…Stop joking. Are you messing with me because I called you old?
“…….”
-…Wait, seriously?
Ji-young’s flustered voice crackled through the phone.
Heo-ok had expected this.
“See? You’re shocked too! It’s not my age—it’s the song that’s unbelievable.”
With a triumphant sniff, Heo-ok hung up.
