As soon as Jiyeong returned to Korea, she sent the song Yeonu gave her to every agency and created a list of companies proposing collaborations, which she showed Yeonu.
“Yeonu, around ten places have contacted us about working together. What do you think?”
Yeonu looked at the list from his aunt and said,
“Auntie, I wouldn’t know what to do with this even if you gave it to me.”
“I just want you to get the gist. Seven want new albums for existing artists, and three want us to produce debut songs for new idol groups.”
Deep down, Yeonu wanted to provide songs for new idols.
The process of creating Hadas had been fascinating.
But he disliked that they wouldn’t be his artists.
If he was producing, he wanted to commit fully to his own songs.
“What about Grandpa Shunji’s investment offer?”
Yeonu had resolved not to engage in producing idols or artists unless it was through their own company.
In that context, Shunji’s proposal felt like rain in a drought—a shortcut to his goals.
Respecting Yeonu’s stance, Jihun agreed to accept Shunji’s offer.
Jiyeong felt the same.
“We’ll start properly once their people arrive soon.”
“Okay. Then until then, I’ll focus on making new albums or supplying songs.”
“Really? Which one for the new album?”
“Do they have YouTube videos?”
“Obviously.”
Jiyeong turned her computer on and played their YouTube videos one by one.
Six were idol groups; one was a solo artist.
As Yeonu watched, he monitored the fairies’ reactions.
No team stood out overall.
The blue fairies’ responses were equally lukewarm.
Normally, Yeonu would’ve made the final call himself, but this time was different.
He focused on the yellow fairies instead.
They, who understood the industry’s financial realities best, would reveal who’d be profitable.
“The first idol group’s the most famous, right, Auntie?”
“Yes. They’re from a major agency—top-tier. The most popular here.”
Perhaps because of that, they glittered brightest, swarmed by yellow fairies.
After a quiet moment, Yeonu said,
“Auntie, can you mute the video and play my song over it?”
“Sure.”
When Yeonu’s track played, the idols’ movements synced with the melody.
New yellow fairies bloomed, bathing the room in golden light.
He tested the other six teams the same way.
The results surprised him.
The group emitting the brightest glow and most fairies wasn’t the top-tier idols.
“I’ll pick these guys.”
It was the team Jiyeong had introduced last.
“Really? They debuted after Hadas, and their debut song flopped.”
“Yeah, figures.”
Their original video had summoned the fewest fairies—even red ones flickered due to the song’s poor quality.
Yellow fairies had been sparse too.
But paired with Yeonu’s new track, their video blazed brighter than the top group’s.
Countless fairies surged forth, leaving no doubt: this song was theirs alone.
“Let's go with these guys, Aunt.”
“Are you sure it's okay?”
“You don’t like them, Aunt?”
“Hmm… Actually, I was drawn to them too. This agency isn’t small—it’s mid-sized, but since their self-produced projects flopped with their last group, they’re eager to fully delegate now. Plus, the kids’ visuals are solid.”
“Then let’s go with them. Oh, I’ll rearrange the song and send it back to you, Aunt.”
“Is there even room to rearrange this song? It already seems perfect.”
“No, after working with Aunt Himari, I noticed some flaws. I’ll fix them quickly and send it over.”
“…Okay.”
Jiyeong clicked her tongue, impressed by how much Yeonwoo had improved in such a short time.
Yeonwoo retreated to his room and finished rearranging the song in minutes before sending it to his aunt.
“Now, let’s make more songs.”
After hearing that creating his own idol or singer required money, Yeonwoo felt a surge of motivation.
He wanted to compose endlessly, earn cash, and build the idol or artist of his dreams.
“Fairies, let’s work.”
Blue fairies began dancing wildly, while a yellow fairy nearby assessed how marketable Yeonwoo’s song would be.
Yeonwoo crafted two types of tracks: one that provoked an extreme reaction from the yellow fairy and another that ignited the blue fairy’s passion.
Though their responses seemed contradictory at first, they were nearly identical in intensity.
The difference lay in style—the blue fairy’s picks were deeper and complex, while the yellow fairy’s favorites were catchy and straightforward.
Yeonwoo realized popularity and profit were intertwined.
Most adults would’ve grasped this immediately, but Yeonwoo had taken a winding path to the conclusion:
‘Aren’t you less skilled than I thought?’
He decided the yellow fairy’s input was unnecessary—the blue fairy and his own instincts sufficed.
Shunji’s fairy, the yellow leader, waved its arms indignantly, protesting it wasn’t being unreasonable.
‘Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean it that way.’
Yeonwoo pacified the fairy and stared at his monitor.
Now that he thought about it, these yellow fairies also reacted to people through screens.
Maybe their true purpose was evaluating individuals?
But why didn’t Shunji’s fairy react to his aunt, Aunt Himari, or his grandmother?
‘You’re impossible to understand.’
He wished he could just talk to them.
Frustrated, Yeonwoo searched for Datemura Shunji on his tablet.
If he uncovered the fairy’s origin, maybe answers would follow.
No dedicated TriviWiki popped up, but a few news articles did.
“Datemura Shunji… identifies music trends… potential… potential?”
Maybe he only reacts if established artists lack a song?
Or because everything they touch turns to profit anyway?
“Hmm…”
Yeonwoo set the tablet aside.
He could churn out hits effortlessly, but adult complexities like this baffled him.
“Yeonwoo, let’s head out.”
Jiyeong opened the door, snapping him from his thoughts.
Was it already time to leave?
“Yeah, let’s go.”
He sprang to his feet.
“What’s for dinner? Wanna guess on the way home?”
“Yeah! Bet Yeonwoo’s craving bulgogi or stir-fried pork!”
“Then I’ll pick kimchi stew.”
“Kimchi stew sounds amazing.”
“Is it not spicy?”
“Even if it’s spicy, I like it.”
“That’s cool! Our Yeonwoo is such a manly boy.”
The aunt and her nephew held hands, chatting warmly as they headed home.
Three days after returning from Japan.
Yeonwoo woke up early and busily got ready.
Today was his first day back at daycare after returning from Japan.
Having stayed in Japan for half a month and then being unable to attend daycare for over a week due to internal construction and the weekend, Yeonwoo was thrilled at the thought of playing with his friends after so long.
Because of this, he barely ate his favorite meal, brushed his teeth diligently, washed his face, quickly put on his uniform, and repeatedly checked his already packed bag.
Seeing this, Heo-ok smiled and said,
“Are you that excited?”
“Yes, I’m going to play the song I made for my friends.”
“Is it about farts or boogers?”
“Yes!”
Seeing Yeonwoo’s bright smile, Heo-ok chuckled.
At times like this, he’s undeniably just a kid.
Seeing Yeonwoo, who couldn’t read an analog clock and kept checking his smartphone for the time, Heo-ok got up, tightly wrapped a scarf around his neck, and tucked a small hand warmer inside his jacket.
Whether it was because he had just come back from relatively warm Japan or because this winter was unusually cold, Yeonwoo’s face turned red and froze as soon as he stepped outside.
It didn’t seem like he felt the cold much, but his grandmother thought otherwise.
Worried he might catch a cold, she made sure he was bundled up tightly.
After wrapping Yeonwoo up snugly, Heo-ok checked the time and said,
“Shall we go now?”
“Yes!”
Yeonwoo stepped out ahead of Heo-ok. A cold wind blew fiercely, but Yeonwoo paid no mind and held his grandmother’s hand as he bravely headed to daycare.
“Yeonwoo!!”
“Wow, Yeonwoo’s here!!”
“Yeonwoo, play the piano for us!!”
As soon as he entered the daycare, children from his class swarmed around him as if they had been waiting eagerly.
Yeonwoo looked around behind the crowd of kids surrounding him.
“Kids, where’s Teacher Chae Ha-yeon?”
“She said she’d be late today. What did she say again?”
“Something about having to film for YouTube?”
“YouTube?”
Yeonwoo tilted his head in confusion. Why would Teacher Chae Ha-yeon suddenly be filming for YouTube?
“Yeonwoo, play the piano for us, okay?”
He didn’t know. He might as well just play the piano.
In fact, he had been looking forward to today—the moment he would play the sonata that made kids laugh for his friends.
“Guys, I made a song. It’s about poop, farts, and boogers.”
As soon as Yeonwoo spoke, the kids burst into laughter, shouting “poop!” and “farts!”
And then began Yeonwoo’s performance.
Amazingly, the kids guessed what Yeonwoo intended and started mimicking poop and fart sounds along with his music.
Of course, laughter never stopped.
The laughter was so contagious that even kids from the younger class came over to watch.
And soon enough, the laughter spread everywhere.
“I’m back.”
Around that time, Chae Hayeon, who had just arrived at work, heard the children's laughter erupting as soon as she entered—so boisterous it sounded like they might burst out of the room. With a puzzled expression, she asked the director who had come to greet her.
"Director, what's going on here?"
"Yeonwoo has returned."
"Yeonwoo? But..."
To Chae Hayeon, Yeonwoo's piano skills had always been transcendent, capable of making even the most fidgety child sit still in awe.
So what was this commotion now?
"Yeonwoo's playing a piece he composed himself—about poop, farts, and boogers."
"...What?"
"Ugh, kids lose their minds the moment anyone mentions poop or farts. Decades of teaching, and I still don't get it."
"Tell me about it."
Chae Hayeon chuckled and headed toward the older kids' classroom where her beloved students gathered.
The older kids' room was so crowded it spilled into the younger kids' area. There, Yeonwoo sat at the piano, playing with all his might, his back visible through the chaos.
Overjoyed, Chae Hayeon called out:
"Kids, your teacher's here!! Yeonwoo!!"
Yeonwoo turned at the sound of her voice.
"Teacher!!"
He flashed a smile so radiant it gave Chae Hayeon goosebumps—and made her heart skip a beat.
Yet Yeonwoo himself flinched, glancing nervously to his side.
"Huh?"
Why was he acting like that?
As Chae Hayeon frowned in confusion, Yeonwoo stared at the fairy trembling beside him—none other than Shunji's fairy.
'What's wrong?'
The moment the thought formed, Shunji's fairy began to glow. The light enveloped Chae Hayeon, and yellow fairies materialized around her.
Yeonwoo gaped at Shunji's fairy, who—unusually animated—thrust a triumphant thumbs-up into the air.
