Yeonwoo's world began in a small kitchen, extending to her grandmother's apartment complex, kindergarten, large supermarkets, the zoo, and amusement parks. That was about it.
At just six years old, even processing all of that was challenging.
For Yeonwoo, Japan felt like an alien planet.
The Korean letters she’d painstakingly started learning were nearly absent from street signs. The language swirling around her was incomprehensible, and the crowds dwarfed even those in Korean megamarts.
Even the weather defied expectations.
In Korea, autumn vanished overnight as winter barged in, making coats essential for evening outings. But Fukuoka, Japan, played by different rules.
The humid warmth made her Korean winter coat feel stifling, something to shed rather than wear.
Not that Yeonwoo cared.
Cold never bothered her anyway—unusual for a child. She relished the simplicity of her light layers here compared to Korea’s bulky winter uniforms.
Better yet, Japan was a treasure trove of strange new foods for this devoted foodie.
"Yeonwoo, how’s the sushi?"
Take this sushi, for instance.
Who put raw fish on rice? Yet here she was, devouring it.
She nodded vigorously, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s. "Mm! ’S yummy!"
"Really? We’ll eat sushi lots when we go home, then."
"Sushi in Korea too?"
Jiyoung nodded as Yeonwoo shoveled in another piece. "Of course."
"Then why never?"
"Good question. Why didn’t we?"
Heo-ok interjected from the side, "Because your dad hates fish."
"Ehh? Oppa did?"
"Since childhood. Wouldn’t touch raw fish, stews, grilled, steamed—nothing. Once I made mackerel, he didn’t even look at it."
"Oh." Jiyoung blinked. "Didn’t know that."
Yeonwoo scrunched her nose at her aunt. "What do YOU know, Auntie?"
"Excuse me? I’ve got a bachelor’s! A master’s! I know things!"
The child tilted her head, unfamiliar with academic titles but certain of one truth.
"You know less about Halmeoni and Dad than me."
"N-no I don’t!"
"Quiz time!" Yeonwoo declared, ignoring the stammer. "Halmeoni’s favorite thing?"
"Pfft, easy." Jiyoung smirked. "Jazz. Duh."
"Wrong!"
"Piano then?"
"Nope!"
"Then what? What else does Mom like?"
"ME!" Yeonwoo turned triumphantly to the old woman. "Right, Halmeoni?"
Heo-ok’s smile outshone the restaurant lights. "Absolutely. My Yeonwoo’s my favorite."
Jiyoung gaped at the pair—now demoted behind jazz, piano, and this sudden grandchild. They’d already moved on, accepting fresh sushi from the chef.
"Fukuoka mackerel’s the best. Never tasted it this fresh."
"Grilled’s good but raw’s awesome too!"
Jiyoung’s exasperated look lasted precisely three seconds before the melting fish on her tongue made her eyes flutter. "...Why’s this so good?"
Three days in Japan. Three days since meeting Himari.
Their Fukuoka tour—light on actual sights—had concluded rapidly. Today began with dawn patrols between Hakata and Tenjin’s shops, punctuated by famed eateries.
"Sushi was great, yeah?"
"Mm!"
"Now what? Mom, wanna go anywhere?"
"Not really."
"More shopping then? That huge robot place... Lalaport?"
As the adults debated, Yeonwoo piped up: "Aunt Himari said meet at her studio."
"Oh right."
Mother and daughter steered toward Tenjin’s studio district, Yeonwoo in tow.
"[Ah… Heavenly.]"
Himari’s manager sighed as the empty bowl clinked down.
She had devoured five servings of tonkotsu ramen, three servings of fried rice, and four servings of gyoza at the ramen shop she loved so much that she’d rented a studio building right across the street.
Yet she stared at the ramen bowl with a vaguely dissatisfied expression.
Then, suddenly.
“Ah! I forgot to add garlic to the ramen!”
The first time, she ate it plain. The second time, she added shichimi (seven-spice blend). The third time, she heaped on ichimi (chili pepper) and sesame seeds. The fourth time, she piled up chashu and added pickled ginger. But on that fourth serving, she’d forgotten the garlic.
Having broken her usual routine, she frowned and muttered,
“Well, might as well add garlic and have another bowl. Sir!! One more ramen, please…….”
Her manager cut in.
“Um, Uesugi-san. Didn’t you schedule a meeting with Yeonwoo?”
“Ah! Look at me spacing out. The reminder… just popped up. I need to hurry back and prepare for our guest.”
Himari left the shop humming, pushing aside her lingering regret.
Her trailing manager hid his surprise. This was the first time Himari had stopped eating mid-meal yet looked so cheerful.
“Hey… Himari-san?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you… alright?”
“What? Is there something wrong with me?”
“Ah, no.”
Himari knew exactly why he’d asked.
She’d never once been in good spirits after stopping mid-meal before.
Her sensitivity and sharpness bordered on unmanageable.
She’d even deliberately interrupted meals to harness that irritability for performances or songwriting.
But today, she couldn’t suppress her excitement.
She was genuinely thrilled.
Being with Yeonwoo made negativity impossible.
Just watching the small, lovely child play piano felt therapeutic—like her soul was being nourished.
But more than that, his genius pulled her deeper.
Without exaggeration, his skills grew daily.
Yeonwoo had absorbed nearly all the experience and techniques Himari had built on global stages—in mere days.
Her entire foundation was being drained, yet his effortless absorption left no room for resentment.
It was awe-inspiring.
But even more terrifying was Yeonwoo’s composition skill.
He created music as naturally as breathing.
Whether long or short, he composed without pause.
No—his hours of freeform play were composition.
To be fair, any composer, Himari included, could churn out songs nonstop using basic chord progressions.
But Yeonwoo was different.
Every piece was fresh.
How did his brain produce such novel, polished works ceaselessly? The mystery was maddening.
Yet even Yeonwoo had flaws.
Today, she’d address one.
“Yeonwoo-chan! Come out!!”
Now close enough to use “-chan,” she entered the studio. Heo-ok and Ji-young were absent, leaving Himari’s company director listening to Yeonwoo’s performance.
The piece wasn’t jazz.
By now, Himari knew Yeonwoo was behind the hits currently dominating K-pop.
“Idol songs today?”
“Yes. I’m making idol songs.”
“Why? Fun?”
“Fun, and profitable.”
This genius knew exactly what sold.
Wouldn’t sticking to jazz alone be greedy for someone like him?
Himari sat beside him.
“It’s good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah. But something’s missing.”
Yeonwoo’s eyes widened as he turned to her—unbearably adorable.
Himari pinched his plump cheek and rested a hand on his chest.
“Emotion.”
“Emotion?”
She nodded.
This era’s unparalleled genius, already a proven professional, needed one thing to ascend further.
Emotion.
Sure, factory-made tracks could make global stars nowadays.
But how many would be remembered?
There are songs that once dominated an era but are forgotten by people as if they were lies, while there are also songs that, even after dominating their time, are remembered for a long time and continue to be heard.
Himari was convinced the difference lay in the emotions embedded within the songs.
Yeonwoo’s songs were so technically polished that she hadn’t noticed it at first, but after listening carefully, she realized.
Yeonwoo’s songs lacked emotion.
Ah, except for one.
“Yeonwoo-chan, can you play ‘Mama’ for me?”
“Okay.”
Yeonwoo nodded and began to play “Mama.”
It was a masterpiece no matter how many times one heard it.
So much so that her own song, Fuyunoyumi, felt embarrassingly lacking in comparison.
This piece undeniably showcased Yeonwoo’s genius, hinting at her future mastery across any genre.
It was because the longing and emotions for her mother, now understood through shared stories of the past, were woven into every note.
“This one has emotion,”
Himari said after listening to the end.
Yeonwoo paused, then replied,
“Now that I think about it, I just… made it. I only focused on creating something pleasant to hear.”
“Exactly. So let’s start putting real emotion into your music now.”
“Emotion…”
Himari continued, seeing Yeonwoo’s hesitation,
“It doesn’t have to be sadness. Joy, delight, fun—those are emotions too. Anger, grief, fear—they all count. Understand?”
“Ah.”
Yeonwoo nodded thoughtfully.
Truthfully, she hadn’t felt sad, angry, or afraid lately.
But there had been countless moments of happiness and excitement.
Especially recently.
Mostly involving food.
Eating never failed to lift her spirits.
The thrill of trying new dishes, beyond her usual favorites, was beyond words.
Yes, like the sushi she’d eaten today.
That’s when it happened.
The moment Yeonwoo recalled the sushi, fairies swarmed across the piano keys.
As if sharing her culinary joy, they transformed the memory into music through dancing notes.
Entranced, Yeonwoo found her hands drifting to the keys.
She began mimicking the fairies’ playful taps, then gradually infused her own flair into the melody.
Himari and Heo-ok watched, eyes wide, as Yeonwoo performed.
The music was buoyant and bright.
Sensing the emotions radiating from it, Himari asked,
“Joy? Excitement?”
Yeonwoo smirked and answered,
“This song is called ‘Sushi.’”
“Sushi? You mean… sushi??”
“Yes! I tried it for the first time at lunch today. It was so delicious, I loved it!”
But—no matter how good sushi tasted—
Who could compose such intricate music about sushi?
The piece was so complex that even Himari, a world-class musician, couldn’t replicate it after one listen.
Yet the lively rhythm did evoke the fluttering of fresh fish,
and the cascading notes resembled tumbling rice grains.
As Himari lost herself in analyzing “Sushi,” Yeonwoo launched into another performance.
One hand hammered deep, resonant notes while the other flew across high-pitched arpeggios.
“And this one?”
“Ramen!”
“…Good grief.”
