"[Are we there yet?]"
"[...We just got in the car, sir.]"
"[Is this all your driving skills amount to? Hey, whose payroll are you on? Can’t you go faster?]"
"[Ah, understood, sir.]"
Shunji Datemura barked at Himari’s road manager before pulling out a cigarette and clamping it between his lips.
The manager, horrified, stammered, "[Um, sir... Uesugi dislikes smoking in the car.]"
"[What’s it to you?]"
Shunji Datemura lit the cigarette defiantly.
He was the epitome of a terrible man.
Within JOP, he was called a tyrant—or even the Seventh Demon King, a title borrowed from Oda Nobunaga’s legacy—and not without reason.
Yet no one dared oppose him.
He was the visionary behind JOP—JAPAN OF PRIDE—a distribution agency he’d built into one of Japan’s corporate giants.
Despite Japan’s idol industry being the world’s most lucrative, JOP famously avoided idols altogether.
His instincts were razor-sharp.
He scouted amateurs from underground scenes in neglected genres, molding them into successes.
Rock. Hip-hop.
While Heo Ok might have trained Himari, it was Shunji Datemura who catapulted her to global fame.
Every genre he touched turned to gold; every talent he endorsed soared.
The Midas touch—this was how Japan knew him.
Even now, nearing 80, his vigor remained undimmed, leaving no room for defiance.
"[Long time no see, brat.]"
"[You came?]"
Himari mirrored the tension.
Her posture and face radiated her usual arrogance, but beneath it, she trembled.
"[Hiding Heo Ok’s visit? Cute trick.]"
"[Ah, about that—]"
"[Relax. You’re not the type to betray your mentor. I am. Heh.]"
Shunji erupted in a gravelly laugh.
The others strained to keep their expressions neutral, but failed.
His habit of weaponizing self-mockery as humor baffled them.
But it fit.
He was unhinged.
A man who’d once set Japan ablaze with his antics long before earning the “tyrant” title.
Age had merely diluted his madness to mere tyranny.
"[Where’s Heo Ok?]"
"[S-sensei already left Japan—]"
"[Himari. Your face screams liar. Didn’t they teach you that?]"
"......"
"[Out with it. Where is he?]"
The air grew suffocating.
Himari glanced at the manager for help, but he’d already shut down.
Useless...!
She wiped cold sweat from her forehead, cursing him inwardly, when Shunji—irritated by her hesitation—stalked toward her.
His face defied benevolence.
A bald, scarred head more fitting a yakuza patriarch than an octogenarian. A vertical scar split his forehead like a battle mark.
In short: terrifying enough to choke the air from a room.
Himari staggered back under the weight of his glare, gulping.
Salvation came from the very man Shunji sought.
"[Don’t you think that’s enough?]"
Heo Ok.
"Oh—!"
Shunji’s eyes raked over Heo Ok before he smirked.
"[Twenty years, huh? Time’s been cruel to you too.]"
"[Twenty-two. Since you stabbed our band in the back and left.]"
True.
They’d once played together in a celebrated U.S. jazz band.
Until Shunji’s abrupt departure shattered it.
Heo Ok had never forgiven him.
Shunji’s grin twisted at “stabbed in the back.”
"[I betrayed you?]"
His voice dripped with mock outrage as he glared, murderous.
Pure menace.
Himari and the manager froze, but Heo Ok stood unfazed.
In contrast to his fiery demeanor, she simply gazed at him with a cold expression, as if a wintry north wind swept through.
“Ha, hahaha!!”
It lasted only a moment.
Then, Shunji burst into laughter. It was a hearty, unrestrained laugh, as though he had never been angry.
“[Still the same. No wonder I like Heo Ok.]”
“[That’s exactly why I dislike you.]”
“[Even so, you’re still acting cocky toward someone ten years your senior.]”
“[And you still don’t act your age.]”
“[You never yield an inch, do you?]”
Shunji shook his head.
“[When have I ever lost to you?]”
At those words, Shunji shook his head, snorted a laugh, glanced around, then dragged a chair over and sat down.
“[Enough chatter. Let’s catch up—it’s been years.]”
Himari and the manager were stunned.
They had never before seen the legendary Shunji relent like this.
In the past, it was common knowledge in Japan’s jazz scene that Heo Ok and Shunji had a rocky relationship.
But the two of them, having only heard rumors, hadn’t realized it was this volatile.
What shocked them most was that the tyrant Datemura Shunji had conceded to Heo Ok.
For a man who feared nothing in this world to back down so easily—it was unheard of.
“[I have nothing to say to you. If Himari hadn’t told me last minute, I’d have left Japan ages ago.]”
“[I merely wanted to hear your piano again. In decades, I’ve never heard another that stirs my heart like yours.]”
“[Or was it the stench of money you smelled in my piano?]”
Shunji erupted into raspy laughter.
“[Caught me, did you?]”
“[Obviously.]”
Heo Ok held up her fingers as she spoke.
“[Beautiful hands.]”
Shunji remarked bluntly, without pretense. They were indeed beautiful—not because of their shape, but because the melodies they created made them so.
“[No plans for a comeback? You’re as sharp as ever.]”
“[I’m not who I used to be. If I wanted a comeback, I’d have gone to the U.S. long ago.]”
“[Not the same? I heard it clearly.]”
“[No. That wasn’t me.]”
Shunji’s voice dropped to a growl.
“[Liar. It had to be you!!]”
Heo Ok scoffed.
“[Your ears are as dull as ever. I was a fool to meet you on a whim.]”
“[…Truly, it wasn’t you?]”
“[No.]”
Heo Ok spoke while thinking. Truthfully, she had planned to return to Korea.
Her reason for staying to meet Shunji was simple.
Though most now saw him only as JOP’s leader, he had once held the title of “World” before Himari—a musician and guitarist without equal.
Even Heo Ok acknowledged Shunji as the greatest guitarist.
Just as she’d wanted Himari to teach composition, she wanted Yeonwoo to learn guitar from Shunji.
No other reason.
After piano, the guitar was Yeonwoo’s greatest interest.
But she couldn’t let this seem like a request.
The moment Shunji sensed any leverage, he’d pounce like a starved wolf.
She had to remain the subordinate.
“[Then who? Himari? No—she idolizes you, but her piano has limits. She’ll never be you.]”
Behind them, Himari bristled but bit back her retort.
Shunji noticed and stared at her.
“[She stifled her temper after being insulted? So there is someone else.]”
Himari’s pride in her piano skills was monumental.
Even Shunji, fearsome as he was, acknowledged no one but Heo Ok in that realm.
Shunji scratched his bushy mustache, eyes locked on Heo Ok.
“[Who? Who is it?! Why won’t you say?!]”
“[Still blind to everything but money, I see. Look right in front of you.]”
Shunji frowned, his gaze—previously fixated on Heo Ok—suddenly widening.
There, peeking from behind Heo Ok, was a child staring boldly back at him.
A child of striking beauty.
But what shocked Shunji wasn’t her looks.
The fact she stood behind Heo Ok.
That the ice-cold Heo Ok, whose aura once made children weep, now had a child clinging to her—it was unthinkable.
“[This kid? She plays your piano?]”
Shunji’s eyes met Yeonwoo’s. She didn’t look away.
Oh my goodness.
The child wasn’t crying while looking at him—instead, he was staring right back.
A little startled, Shunji stared back at Yeonwoo and flinched.
He couldn’t make out much else, but those eyes…
“[Is he… your son? No, judging by his age, he must be your grandson?]”
“[…That’s right.]”
Was it because he sensed Heo-ok through the phone that he assumed the child was hers?
No.
It was the piano playing—unbelievably masterful.
“[I can’t believe this.]”
To this, Heo-ok responded:
“[Once you hear this child play, there’ll be no turning back.]”
“[What do you mean, ‘no turning back’?]”
If it were Shunji, who cared only for talent and the wealth it could generate…
“Yeonwoo, show him your piano.”
He’d cling to Yeonwoo for life.
He’d pour every resource into producing even a single album.
Once again, Yeonwoo sat before the piano to prove himself to someone.
Before coming here today, his grandmother had told him:
‘It might not reach Wes Montgomery’s level, but you’ll learn proper guitar.’
She’d said recognition from this man would grant him guitar lessons.
For Yeonwoo, who had only ever taught himself, this was welcome news.
But something felt wrong.
If he were truly skilled at guitar, his fairy should have appeared.
Sure enough, the moment he faced the man, a fairy emerged.
Yet this fairy was unusual.
Neither blue nor red.
‘Why are you yellow?’
It was a yellow fairy, of all things.
‘Do you even know how to play guitar?’
The yellow fairy simply stared at Yeonwoo in silence.
‘Are you here to listen and judge me too?’
Another test.
Why did adults love testing him so much?
Yeonwoo shook his head and began to play.
Soon, even the stern-faced grandfather and the fairy were gaping at him, eyes wide.
That same night.
[That boy is a genius.]
[Have you considered releasing an album?]
[Hiding such talent is a crime.]
[He needs to debut immediately.]
[He’d make a fortune, you know.]
Heo-ok sighed at Shunji’s barrage of messages and typed her reply.
[Focus on preparing to teach him guitar.]
He’d been tiresome in the past, and nothing had changed.
‘I should block him.’
She longed to sever ties and walk away, but…
“Starting tomorrow, Grandpa’s teaching me guitar!”
Seeing Yeonwoo lying beside her, glowing with excitement, she couldn’t do it.
“You’re that excited?”
“I had teachers for piano and composition, but I only learned guitar from YouTube. It’s great, but… I have so many questions I can’t ask anyone.”
Normally, Yeonwoo would’ve succumbed to sleep by now. But tonight, restless as a sparrow, he chattered on, too thrilled to rest.
Heo-ok smiled and gently stroked his hair.
“Grandma, what are we eating tomorrow? Something tasty again?”
“Hmm. Should we try eel tomorrow?”
“Eel?”
“Japan takes eel seriously. I think you’ll love it.”
“Yes!!”
Buzzing about the new food, Yeonwoo kept talking until he suddenly dozed off in her arms.
Heo-ok drew him closer, breathing in his scent—
That sweet, milky baby smell.
The scent she’d ached for daily, steeped in years of regret.
Inhaling deeply, Heo-ok closed her eyes and followed him into sleep.
Even in slumber, she refused to loosen her hold.
As if clinging tight enough could erase the foolish choices of her past.
