Late at night when Yeonwoo had fallen asleep.
Jihoon sat at the table with his mother and younger sister.
Though somewhat exhausted, he was jolted awake by Heo-ok’s out-of-the-blue remark.
“You’re planning to go to Japan with Yeonwoo?”
“If you allow it.”
At Heo-ok’s words, Jihoon scratched his head.
“No, why Japan?”
“First… let’s listen to this and then talk.”
Heo-ok played the song titled Mom, which she had received from Yeonwoo.
“Is this really something our Yeonwoo made? It’s too sad for a child to have composed.”
“…The title is Mom.”
“Ah.”
Jihoon’s expression, calm as he listened to the song, grew peculiar.
“It’s good Yeonwoo doesn’t hide her feelings. To think she misses and mourns her mom this deeply.”
“They say bottling it up would make her ill.”
“Can’t argue with that. Perhaps her hardships as a child gave her an old soul.”
At Jihoon’s words, Heo-ok glanced at Jiyeong and remarked,
“Some stay childish even past thirty, but she’s in a league of her own.”
“Mom!!”
“What’s she done this time?”
“Wow, seriously! What ‘trouble’ could I possibly cause? I’m respected in society, you know?”
“How lovely it’d be if you acted that way at home too.”
“Brother should practice what he preaches!”
“Hmph, but really—why Japan? Is this song the reason?”
Jihoon seemed genuinely disconnected from music. The song’s exceptional quality clearly didn’t register.
“This song is extraordinary. Even I, after decades in jazz, have rarely seen someone compose at this level.”
“That good? Our Yeonwoo’s amazing!”
Jihoon radiated pure, uncomplicated joy.
“Wow, this guy’s the epitome of a doting dad.”
“Why wouldn’t I be happy? Should I cry because Dad calls his son a genius?”
“W-well, fair enough.”
Heo-ok watched the siblings bicker before continuing.
“I want Yeonwoo to meet people thriving in the wider world. Brief connections could teach her much.”
“Then why Japan? America exists. You were active there during your prime too.”
As Jihoon noted, America was where Heo-ok had flourished as a jazz pianist.
Japan belonged to her early career and post-prime years—a place of podiums more than stages.
“America’s too far. My health’s frail, and the schedule would strain Yeonwoo.”
“I see.”
Jihoon pursed his lips, wishing she could experience America’s modern music scene.
Yet he hesitated to insist, uneasy about sending her abroad alone with her grandmother.
“Besides, Japan isn’t devoid of talent.”
“Oh?”
“In jazz, certainly. One of my students is world-renowned.”
Jiyeong turned to Heo-ok.
“Someone like that exists?”
“She does.”
“Who?”
“Not sure if you follow jazz. A girl named Uesugi Himari.”
Jiyeong’s eyes widened.
“Wait—that Himari? The pianist-composer?”
“You know her?”
“Who doesn’t?! She wrote that jazz track topping Billboard’s Hot 100 for weeks four years back!”
Jazz had waned even in its American birthplace.
A Japanese woman’s composition dominating the charts was unprecedented—and unforgettable to Jiyeong, whose work demanded Billboard awareness.
“There are others, but Himari’s my first choice for Yeonwoo.”
Jihoon stroked his chin.
He knew the Hot 100. That a Billboard-featured composer was his mother’s student stunned him—and now she’d connect her with Yeonwoo?
Though indifferent to music, he recognized this as Yeonwoo’s golden opportunity.
“Then go. The experience alone—learning, traveling—will be invaluable.”
“Good.”
As Heo-ok smiled in triumph, Jiyeong inhaled sharply.
“Honestly… I’d kill to meet Himari too.”
“Come along. You’ll be useful.”
“But did Yeonwoo agree?”
“When I said someone outplays this grandma, she lit up and begged to go.”
Jiyeong snorted at Heo-ok’s words.
“Yeonwoo says the best piano player is her grandmother, but she doesn’t want to admit someone plays better than her. You should’ve seen her brother’s face—it was like he was challenging her, saying, ‘Let’s see how good you really are.’”
“Unbelievable…”
Jihun thought it wasn’t worth getting so upset over, but since she was only six, he let it go.
“Anyway, have a safe trip. Oh, there’s so much to do—passports, preparations…”
“I’ll go with you tomorrow to take the passport photo. You handle the rest, oppa.”
“Got it. Mom, are you heading inside?”
“I need to prepare for my trip to Japan too.”
“Huh?”
As the siblings stared at Heo-ok in confusion, she entered the inner room and retrieved an old notebook.
It held contacts from her past, numbers she’d never bothered to save on her smartphone after retiring.
Himari of the World
In Japan, she was hailed as Himari of the World—a jazz virtuoso, a sorceress of the keys.
She’d dominated the Melboard Hot 100 with pure jazz, and long before that, had been revered as one of the genre’s greatest composers and pianists.
Yet despite her fame, she avoided Tokyo’s glittering lifestyle.
Instead, she remained in Fukuoka, her hometown and a region familiar even to Koreans.
People admired her loyalty to her roots, but that praise came only from those who didn’t truly know her.
“Hey, Tatskun!! Where’d you get these dumplings?”
“Apologies—the shop you wanted was closed today!”
“S-sorry, Uesugi. I forgot to tell Tatskun to call if the dumpling place was shut and grab something else…”
“Get it together! What am I supposed to eat when I’m starving?”
Those close to her knew the truth:
She stayed in Fukuoka for one reason—food.
A relentless gourmand, she hadn’t chosen to remain in her hometown. She was trapped by it.
Her devotion to local eateries was so extreme that she’d called her college years and time in the U.S. “hell.”
Even now, she scowled at meager portions, a tower of empty takeout containers rising before her—each from a decades-old restaurant that bent its “no takeout” rule solely for her.
“Relay my restaurant list properly. Understood?”
“Understood. I’ll manage with this today.”
“No, I’m still hungry. Tatskun, forget gourmet—get me ten triangle kimbaps from the convenience store.”
“T-ten? Right away!”
Himari sighed at the new manager and slumped onto the sofa.
“Ugh, my appetite’s out of control lately. I’ll gain weight at this rate.”
Yet her body, just past forty, remained taut without an ounce of excess.
“You’re not gaining, though. Speaking of—Uesugi, I’ve given up on new songs. But shouldn’t you perform? Your fans are waiting.”
Himari fixed her manager with a stare.
“Forgotten my sabbatical?”
“Sabbaticals last a year. You’ve loafed for four.”
“Nonsense! Three years ago, I played at that cursed Kohaku Festival. Year before—Christmas special. Last year, the Hakata Station promo concert!”
“…Doing one gig a year isn’t a sabbatical…”
“Of course it is.”
She grabbed a Zero Coke with shameless ease.
Then—
Her rarely used phone buzzed.
“What’s this?”
“An acquaintance?”
“Who’d dare call me first…”
Superiors avoided her tantrums. Subordinates feared her. She called this “authority”—but calls were vanishingly rare.
Curious, she checked the screen.
“Unknown number?”
“Hang up.”
“Wait.”
She froze at the country code:
+82.
“Manager—Japan’s code is 81, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then 82 is…?”
“One digit off. Korea or China?”
“Korea…”
To her, Korea wasn’t just special. It held someone special.
She answered.
—Himari?
“Who is this? Could it be… Sensei?”
- "Yeah, it's me."
[That's right, it's me.]
Himari screamed internally.
No way! Seriously?!
"T-teacher, how long has it been? How have you been? How could you not contact me even once? Didn’t you miss your student?"
Himari spilled words without pause, to the point where she barely knew what she was saying.
Then, Heo Ok’s laughter echoed from the other end.
"Huh?" She gasped.
It was the first time she’d ever heard Heo Ok laugh.
"Have you been well all this time?"
"I’ve been the same. Missing you and practicing piano diligently."
"The Himari I know is from Fukuoka. Did you fall for someone from Kyoto? You’re talking like a Kyoto local with all that polite fluff."
"What are you saying, Teacher! Kyoto? That’s going too far!"
"Anyway, are you in your hometown now?"
"I’m always home when I’m not working."
"Good to hear."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
When Himari asked, her voice trembling, Heo Ok replied:
"There’s someone I want you to meet—my grandson. May I visit with him?"
"O-of course! I’ll clear my entire schedule and wait!"
"I’ll contact you once the date is set."
"Understood."
As Himari ended the call with unnatural politeness, her manager stared in disbelief.
Though known to be fiery with superiors, she never crossed into rudeness or disrespect.
But she had never before used the phrase "I humbly acknowledge" [understood]—a level of formality entirely foreign to her.
What on earth was happening?
"Who was that? Who makes you answer like some obedient disciple?"
At the manager’s question, Himari blurted:
"Teacher is coming to Japan to see me!"
"Teacher? Wait—you don’t mean… Jade?"
"Jade?! Since when is Jade your friend?!"
"Ah, sorry! But seriously—didn’t she retire and disappear?"
"She said she’s bringing her grandson…"
"She has family?"
Himari shrugged. She’d never heard anything about Heo Ok’s personal life.
Regardless…
She would reunite with the person she endlessly admired and longed to emulate.
Though forgotten by all, her early career nickname had been "Little Jade."
The girl once called a "mini Heo Ok"—who’d yearned to deserve the title—had become a master in her own right, now preparing to meet her idol again.
‘I can’t wait to see you, my virtuoso.’
