After realizing that the fairy I thought would teach me guitar was actually a fairy well-versed in adult matters.
Yeonwoo understood that even the best music doesn’t guarantee making money.
Yeonwoo fell into deep thought.
Should he keep making songs that churn out yellow fairies led by Shunji’s, or should he continue creating songs that summon blue fairies like he does now?
Yeonwoo pondered this and eventually called his dad.
Hey, son! Having fun in Japan?
“Yeah, it’s nice.”
Don’t you think it’s about time to come back? Your dad misses you a lot.
“I want to come back too. I’ll talk to Grandma about it. But Dad…”
Yeah?
“How much money is in my account?”
Your account? Hmm, hold on.
A moment later, after hearing his account balance from his dad, Yeonwoo felt relieved.
There was an unimaginable amount of money—enough that his dad claimed they could soon buy the apartment they lived in if they saved a little more. But to Yeonwoo, those words meant nothing concrete.
“Could I buy over a hundred Invincible Force Robots with this?”
Regardless, Yeonwoo grasped that he had more than enough money to get anything he wanted.
If that’s the case, why bother being greedy for more?
I should just focus on making the music I love.
With that resolve…
“I don’t want to make an album.”
[“Why not? What’s the reason? You could earn so much money!”]
Yeonwoo firmly rejected Shunji’s suggestion, who’d been pretending to teach guitar while pushing money talk.
“If I release an album, my face will be everywhere.”
[“You think there are only one or two faceless singers or musicians out there? Just don’t promote it!”]
Himari chimed in, relaying Shunji’s argument:
“Yeonwoo, an album is something you can cherish forever. Money isn’t everything. Plus, you won’t have to play the songs yourself—others can listen to them anytime.”
Yeonwoo shook his head.
He could always ask the blue fairies to play his songs for him whenever he wanted.
A private concert just for Yeonwoo, one no one else could hear.
As the album debate dragged on, Yeonwoo changed the subject:
“Aunt Himari, how’s your composition going?”
“My composition? Ah, well…”
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Himari’s face clouded as she clamped her mouth shut, while Shunji stared at her in confusion.
“Is it hard?”
“Well… I finished it, but it wasn’t easy.”
“Can’t you show me?”
Himari hesitated at Yeonwoo’s request.
Truthfully, the piece had turned out exactly as she’d envisioned. But the thought of showing it to this young genius terrified her.
She feared his criticism after pouring her entire musical life and philosophy into the composition.
[“What’s wrong? Why are you like this?”]
[“She’s asking me to play the tribute song I composed for her.”]
[“A tribute song? Don’t push it. Heeok would hate that sort of thing.”]
[“It’s a tribute song, but how I make it is my choice!!”]
[“Fair enough. So what’s the issue? Just play it for her.”]
[“Sigh…”]
The businessman seems to have no understanding of an artist's sensibilities.
"[Alright, give it a try. I was planning to come here because of you anyway. At this rate, you'll be known as the reclusive Himari instead of the world-renowned Himari.]"
The problem is that he's the CEO.
He's one of the two people even the great Himari finds hard to defy.
"Sigh……."
Himari sighed but sat down at the piano in place of Yeonwoo.
"Yeonwoo, keep this in mind before you listen. It’s not finished yet, okay?"
"Yes."
After her earnest reminder, Himari closed her eyes and took a short, deep breath.
Then her performance began.
A melody flowed out—grand yet punctuated by moments of sharpness.
It truly felt as if Himari had channeled her perception of Heook directly into the music.
Yeonwoo listened silently to Himari’s piece while watching the fairies’ reactions.
The blue fairies were thoroughly enjoying her composition.
What about Shunji’s fairy?
It emitted a yellow glow but seemed indifferent.
Was it truly so grudging toward jazz?
No—that couldn’t be.
After all, it had radiated brilliantly for Himari’s chart-topping hit on the Melboard.
Regardless, Yeonwoo disliked this piece.
"Auntie."
"Hmm?"
Himari flinched mid-performance and glanced at Yeonwoo.
"The song is good, but it feels awkward because your image of Grandma is so different from mine."
That was it.
Yeonwoo couldn’t sense Grandma in this piece.
Though intended as a tribute to Heook, it seemed to portray only a cold, unfamiliar version of her past self—a disappointment.
"O-oh… really?"
"Yes. Grandma’s warm to me, but this song makes her seem intimidating."
"Hmm……"
"What if we try this? Please play it again."
At Yeonwoo’s request, Himari readily restarted her performance.
A few measures in, Yeonwoo joined her at the piano.
The moment Yeonwoo added her notes, the piece began shedding its cold severity for warmth.
As Himari faltered in confusion, Shunji spoke to her:
"[Gradually soften your sound and let the kid play alone.]"
"[…Yes!]"
Himari obeyed, fading her notes until she withdrew entirely.
What lingered was a melody brimming with tenderness.
Himari finally understood—this was Yeonwoo’s Heook.
Yeonwoo finished playing and met Himari’s gaze.
"Now Auntie and I share the same vision of Grandma."
"…So we do."
"[Heh, splendid—how it captures Mother’s strictness transforming into boundless warmth for her grandchild. Isn’t this Heook herself?]"
"[You’re absolutely right, CEO.]"
Himari agreed while studying Yeonwoo anew.
She could no longer doubt Heook’s claim that Yeonwoo had mastered the piano in half a year.
In their brief time together, the child had improved at a terrifying pace.
Expressing emotions, viewing themes from various perspectives, and even composing and arranging them.
With this level of aptitude, how extraordinary a musician will she become by the time she’s an adult?
Ah, so this is why the teacher didn’t confine her to jazz.
This child isn’t meant for jazz alone.
Perhaps one day, every music genre will bow in gratitude to her.
Feeling jealous or inferior?
Such things only arise when there’s something to compare.
If you’re the earth, this child is the universe beyond the sky.
Inferiority?
That’s just the delusion of someone who can’t grasp their place.
“But what do I do? Yeonwoo composed such a masterpiece that I’m too daunted to create one for my teacher.”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“I made this with Aunt Himari.”
“Is that so?”
“I couldn’t have done it without her.”
“Honestly, I’m at a loss…”
Himari hugged Yeonwoo tightly. From within her arms, Yeonwoo murmured,
“Aunt Himari should release this.”
“Me?”
“Yes. As a gift. And…”
Yeonwoo played a medley of songs she’d composed in Japan—ramen, udon, sushi, eel—and declared,
“This is also a gift.”
“…All of it?”
“Yes. Please release it.”
“Wouldn’t you rather put out an album yourself?”
“No. Besides, I set aside some good finished tracks for you. Payment for teaching me!”
“This is too precious to call ‘payment.’”
“Hehe.”
Yeonwoo beamed.
Himari’s eyes prickled with tears at the sight.
“If I release an album… I’ll include these. I promise.”
“Yes. But credit the composer as Yooin—my nickname.”
“Of course.”
Shunji scowled at their whispered embrace.
[“What’s this performance? Why are you two huddled like that?”]
[“Yeonwoo gave me a song as thanks for teaching her composition.”]
[“What? A song? What about me? I taught her guitar!”]
Yeonwoo shook her head firmly.
[“She says she didn’t learn much from you. But thanks for the electric guitar intro.”]
[“No way! I’ll keep teaching her—how about a song as an advance?”]
Shunji stared at Yeonwoo with hyena-like hunger, but she stood firm.
[“She says she won’t take more lessons.”]
[“Why?! What’s that supposed to— Korea… Kankoku?”]
[“Yes. She’s returning to Korea.”]
Shunji bolted upright.
She’s leaving Korea? Just like that?
[“No!!”]
As he shouted, Yeonwoo ducked behind Himari.
[I can’t let you leave like this…!]
Shunji charged toward Himari and Yeonwoo with such fervor, it seemed he might kidnap them right then.
Just then.
Thwack!
Shunji stumbled from the sharp blow to his skull.
[What lunatic—!]
He whirled around with a demonic glare, only for his expression to shift instantly.
[Who the hell are you to refuse me? Going senile in your old age?]
The one who’d struck him was none other than Heo-ok.
[Himari, I’ll finish shopping and return. Let’s have dinner together tonight.]
“Y-yes, ma’am!”
Heo-ok strode past a dumbfounded Shunji, grabbed Yeonwoo’s hand, and exited the studio.
[Ugh… That damned woman still packs a punch.]
Shunji rubbed the back of his head without anger, prompting Himari—her fear forgotten—to ask:
[Boss, why do you always freeze up around her?]
[What? Since when?!]
[You just took a hit to the head and didn’t even yell!]
Shunji’s fingers drifted absently to the long scar on his forehead.
[Because crossing her means losing.]
[Huh? What does that—?]
[See this scar?]
Himari nodded.
The scar across his brow had become Shunji’s trademark. Rumors swirled about its origin—some claimed it was a trophy from brawling with a yakuza who once ruled the entertainment world, others insisted he’d earned it fighting American gangs or mafia.
[…That damned woman gave it to me.]
Himari gasped, slapping both hands over her mouth as she uncovered the truth behind the scar no one dared ask about.
[There’s a reason they called her the Black Widow in America.]
Shunji gazed past Himari, memories flooding back.
He recalled a younger Heo-ok—the woman who’d roared “Damn Jap!” in Korean after being called Joseon-jing, shattering a beer bottle over their head.
[Back then… she was terrifying.]
Heo-ok had arrived in America with nothing: no family, no money, only sheer resolve. Now, reflecting on it, that version of her felt like a fever dream from his youth.
Was that why?
[Call the manager. Book my flight to Korea.]
[What?]
[I won’t let this prize escape—not Datemura Shunji. We’re going to Korea.]
His declaration rang with the solemnity of a general marching to war.
