Yeonwoo was recognized by her grandmother's spirit and inherited her abilities.
At first glance, it seemed like the power had simply enhanced Yeonwoo’s piano skills in that moment, but that wasn’t all.
What the spirit passed down wasn’t just technique—it was also the time her grandmother had devoted to the piano.
Time was mightier than skill, refusing to grant Yeonwoo instant mastery. Instead, it gradually—yet far faster than others—filled the gaps in her experience.
But the spirit had overlooked one thing.
Yeonwoo, the child blessed with the ability to see spirits, possessed another extraordinary trait.
She was a prodigy, born with innate talent.
And she loved music so fiercely that she practiced relentlessly every day.
Yeonwoo’s skill was so staggering that even Heo Ok—who watched her daily, who knew better than anyone that Yeonwoo was a prodigy, who thought nothing could surprise her anymore—was left utterly stunned.
Thus, Yeonwoo became able to perform "Mother," a piece she had poured her soul into, renowned for its brutal difficulty.
With this confidence, Yeonwoo sat at Himari’s piano and soon found herself facing a new spirit that had materialized before her.
It was Himari’s spirit.
She gazed down at Yeonwoo with a prideful, almost arrogant expression, as if daring her to try.
It felt like a test.
But Yeonwoo didn’t care.
A test? She’d just prove herself.
Yeonwoo’s hands began to dance across the keys.
Meanwhile, Himari, watching from behind, felt a shiver race from her scalp to her toes the moment she heard the delicate opening notes.
It was Heo Ok.
Yeonwoo’s playing was Heo Ok incarnate.
Technique, experience, emotion—every aspect mirrored Heo Ok’s playing perfectly.
Some might dismiss it as mere mimicry, but Himari couldn’t.
Not when she revered Heo Ok above all others, viewing her piano as the absolute standard.
‘This… from a six-year-old?’
Heo Ok’s artistry wasn’t something a child could replicate through imitation alone.
Now Himari understood why Heo Ok had wanted her to witness this.
‘A genius…!’
This child was a genius.
The kind of genius recognized by Heo Ok herself—the same Heo Ok who had shattered countless “prodigies” drawn to her fame, telling them they lacked true talent.
And this genius was playing jazz.
She rode the waves of jazz, toying with it as if it were her plaything.
“[Remarkable. It’s unheard of for a six-year-old to play like this.]”
At Himari’s words, Heo Ok smiled.
“[Our Yeonwoo has only been playing for about half a year.]”
The instant those words fell, Himari’s eyes bulged as she gaped at Heo Ok.
“N-no way…!!”
“[It’s true.] Yeonwoo? Will you play ‘Mother’ for us now?”
“…Yes.”
As Himari stood frozen, Yeonwoo halted her playing.
When the music stopped, Himari jolted back to her senses and stared at Yeonwoo again.
Yeonwoo’s eyes were tightly shut.
She thought of her mother.
Her mother, who had always looked at her with boundless love tinged with sorrow.
Remembering her mother always brought aching longing and grief.
Steeping herself in that emotion, Yeonwoo opened her eyes.
Before her, Himari’s spirit—previously stern—now watched with keen interest.
‘Watch.’
This is my piece. My piano.
Yeonwoo’s hands returned to the keys.
A crushing sorrow began to gather like storm clouds.
Then, drop by drop, rain fell, seeping into hearts.
As the piece unfolded, the drizzle swelled into a tempest, violently churning emotions.
Even Heo Ok and Jiyeong, who had heard “Mother” many times, choked back tears. Himari, experiencing Yeonwoo’s lifelong masterpiece for the first time, reddened her eyelids before tears spilled unbidden.
Only when sorrow had saturated every corner of the studio did Yeonwoo’s performance end.
Yeonwoo lifted her head and met Himari’s spirit’s gaze.
‘Well?’
The spirit stared at her with rapturous awe, as if completely spellbound.
Yeonwoo tilted her head.
Her grandmother had claimed to play better than her.
So why this reaction?
If she’d outperformed her grandmother, the piano shouldn’t respond this way.
In truth, her grandmother’s spirit had only ever smiled contentedly nearby—never with this reverence.
Why?
Yeonwoo looked at the fairy's true form.
Himari was also looking at Yeonwoo. Wiping her moistened cheeks and eyes, Himari asked,
"Who... wrote this? No, who made this?"
At the faltering question, Yeonwoo shot his hand up.
"Me!"
"...Huh?"
Himari glanced at Heook again.
"[Our Yeonwoo is quite good at composing.]"
"Hmm..."
As Himari’s expression turned puzzled, Heook stroked Yeonwoo’s head and said,
"Now, Yeonwoo. Shall we listen to Aunt Himari’s performance?"
"Yes!"
Yeonwoo stepped back from the piano.
Himari shot him a sidelong glance.
The intensity of his gaze felt like a challenge—Let’s see how well you can play.
Sensing it, Himari gulped involuntarily.
Is the legendary me actually nervous?
Himari, Japan’s top jazz pianist, the world-renowned "Himari of the Globe," whose confidence was praised even when called arrogant—now tense under a six-year-old’s stare.
No.
It wasn’t just the child’s gaze.
Heook stood beside Yeonwoo, her hand on his shoulder, watching Himari too.
Ah.
Their resemblance went beyond the piano.
The eyes fixed on her were strikingly alike—sharp gazes radiating the same rare charisma.
Under their combined scrutiny, Himari recalled her college days, first playing piano before Professor Heook during her entrance evaluation.
Tension clawed at her throat.
Would she even manage to play properly like this?
Impossible.
If she couldn’t, she’d never have earned her global fame.
Himari thrived under pressure.
She’d proven herself during Heook’s grueling evaluation, earning the title of protégé.
Had she not embraced that thrill, she’d never have risen from jazz bars—enduring mockery for her Japanese-accented English—to become "Himari of the Globe."
She played Fuyu no Umi [Winter Sea], her debut album’s title track and Japanese jazz fans’ favorite hit.
The song had dominated Oricon charts (Japan’s then-equivalent of Billboard) for weeks, cementing her as a composer.
As the first notes sounded, blue light burst from her body, summoning countless fairies.
Whether from the title or the song’s melancholy, the light felt piercingly cold.
The blue-hued fairies mirrored this sorrow.
Unlike Yeonwoo’s playful companions, they hovered around Himari with mournful expressions—as if comforting her through the mournful melody.
Yeonwoo recognized this.
When he’d first created "Mom," his own fairies had been just as somber.
Together, they’d comforted each other until their grief hardened into strength.
But Himari?
Are you still carrying that sadness?
The sorrow woven into this song seemed to linger in her still.
So Aunt Himari remains sad, even now.
The unfamiliar name didn’t ring a bell, so Yeonwoo referred to Himari as “Auntie from Japan” and listened intently to her performance.
It was truly a good song, a good performance.
But something felt oddly off.
In a split second, a red fairy flickered before her eyes.
Yeonwoo’s ears caught something too.
Yeonwoo stared at Himari’s fairy.
The fairy pointed to its own hand with a pained expression.
Seeing this, Yeonwoo strode forward and seized Himari’s hand mid-performance.
“Huh?”
Startled by the interruption, Himari jerked her head toward Yeonwoo.
“Your fingers hurt. Don’t overexert yourself, Auntie from Japan.”
Himari froze in shock.
“H-how did you…?”
“Yeonwoo, what’s this about? [Himari, your fingers… Are you in pain? Could it be tendonitis?]”
Tendonitis was both common and perilous among pianists.
Robert Schumann, the German Romantic composer, had abandoned his piano career due to tendonitis. Countless others had suffered or retired from it.
Heo-ok studied Himari gravely. Himari raised her hands in reassurance.
“[It’s not severe. Caught early—no surgery needed. Nearly healed now.]”
Fortunately, her condition was mild.
Nearing full recovery, it barely hindered her playing.
The real astonishment was…
“[How did you detect my tendonitis?]”
…that Yeonwoo had noticed.
“[Well?] Yeonwoo, how did you know?”
“Auntie’s fingers made weaker sounds on the keys.”
Yeonwoo lifted her middle finger. Only Ji-young flinched at the gesture.
“You heard that?”
Heo-ok addressed the gaping Himari.
“[Yeonwoo’s ears surpass even my go-to piano tuner’s. He admitted it himself.]”
Himari knew the tuner—an analog loyalist in a digital age, respected despite his antiquated methods.
“[If he acknowledges her, that’s remarkable.]”
Himari clicked her tongue and thrust a thumbs-up at Yeonwoo.
“Piano, composing, ears—all superior to mine.”
The admission was unavoidable.
Six months of training paired with innate talent…
What had Himari achieved at six?
Basic drills.
Had she even touched Czerny’s 100 études then?
The comparison was humbling.
‘This child is the real genius.’
Himari faced true prodigy for the first time.
Heo-ok’s genes had conjured a once-in-a-millennium talent.
A fearsome lineage indeed.
“[I sound like a doting grandparent, but isn’t she extraordinary?]”
“[Undeniably. One can’t help boasting, Teacher.]”
“[My visit isn’t mere bragging.]”
“[Oh?]”
“[Teach her. Show her the world.]”
But what could be taught to someone already complete?
Himari studied Yeonwoo helplessly.
The girl’s earlier intensity had melted into wide-eyed innocence.
“[I’ll… do my best.]”
Well… She was adorable. Himari decided keeping her around wouldn’t be half bad.
