“Are you heading home?”
“Yeah, I need to go to the studio and practice.”
“You’re working hard too.”
“It’s something I enjoy, so it’s fine. We’re filming tomorrow, right?”
“Yep, see you tomorrow!!”
Cha Ha-young exchanged greetings with Jo So-yeon with a bright smile before leaving the daycare.
Her destination was SSHIN.
On the same day she met Ji-young and ‘Yuin,’ she became a trainee under SSHIN.
Once the company’s conditions were fully set, she would soon become SSHIN’s official first singer.
How long would it take?
Well, who cared?
Ever since she’d dreamed of becoming a singer, she’d struggled for a full 10 years.
Even while filming YouTube videos, she’d desperately chased that goal. Now, at least, she felt she’d taken a few steps closer.
“I’m here, bosses!”
“You’re here? Want some snacks?”
“Teacher!!”
Over the past few days at the studio, Cha Ha-young had noticed Ji-young and Yuin always ate snacks at this time.
“Should we give some to Ha-young too?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Then, Teacher, let’s head to the recording studio.”
“Oh, okay.”
Yeon-woo, having just finished his snacks, rose from his seat.
At this moment, he was undeniably a child.
But once inside the recording studio, Yeon-woo became a completely different person.
Here, he wasn’t a child but a cool-headed producer meticulously analyzing Cha Ha-young’s singing.
Under Yeon-woo’s sharp gaze—her pretty face belying those piercing eyes—Cha Ha-young took a deep breath and began singing to the rising accompaniment.
Today’s song was Rising, the track that had earned Hadas first place and was currently Yeon-woo’s biggest hit.
Cha Ha-young poured her heart into every note.
After listening to the full song, Yeon-woo stared intently at Cha Ha-young before burying himself in work.
This had been their routine for days, so Cha Ha-young waited calmly in the booth. It never took long.
Sure enough, after about three minutes, Yeon-woo pressed the talkback button.
“Let me replay the song. Sing it again!”
“Okay!”
The familiar melody of Rising returned—but transformed.
The rearranged accompaniment flowed, perfectly tailored to Cha Ha-young’s androgynous tone.
In moments like these, Yuin’s “genius composer” title felt inadequate. No—it fell short.
At just six years old, his abilities eclipsed everyone’s.
With this custom arrangement, Cha Ha-young sang freely, like a fish returned to water.
After finishing, they stepped out of the booth to review the recording.
“How was it?”
“Much better.”
“Yes, but Teacher, in the second verse here, the note…”
Yeon-woo tapped a sound from his keyboard.
"You should have sung this note, but here you sang it a bit higher."
"Ah."
"And this part can’t be explained with a keyboard, but during the climax, you sang slightly lower than the original key. Considering your vocal range, you could’ve sung it higher than the original key."
At this moment, Yeonwoo’s eyes resembled those of a professor scrutinizing a music student before an exam. Come to think of it, his sharp gaze mirrored his grandmother’s. Yes—Yeonwoo’s grandmother had also been a professor.
"I’ve been thinking—Teacher, you lack core strength in your abdomen. What should we do about this?"
If you criticize, you must offer solutions.
Sometimes, he still acted like a child.
"I-I’ll focus on strengthening exercises! Or I’ll consult CEO Jiyeong to brainstorm solutions."
"Yes, please do."
Afterward, Chae Hayeong practiced a few more songs before heading home.
"Teacher, have a safe trip!"
"Yeah, see you tomorrow!"
Yeonwoo waved cheerfully as Hayeong left.
Once alone, Yeonwoo retreated to his room, opened a diary app on his tablet, and began writing:
[Today, Teacher Chae Hayeong sang multiple songs. Her tone was good, but the tempo dragged slightly. Still, there’s potential.]
Yeonwoo—no, more precisely, the fairy of Kim Beomshin within her—knew Hayeong’s abilities didn’t end here. This fairy could instantly correct vocal techniques upon hearing them and, through prolonged observation, assess hidden potential.
"Potential" here didn’t mean suddenly gaining new talent. It meant unearthing abilities buried under poor habits and flawed techniques—something Kim Beomshin’s fairy could detect and nurture through specialized training.
With this guidance, Yeonwoo steadily refined Hayeong’s skills. Simultaneously, he arranged existing songs and composed original pieces tailored exclusively for Hayeong’s voice—harmonizing the blue fairy of melody, the yellow fairy of performance, and the singer herself.
Would the day come when Hayeong debuted as a monstrous rookie like Hadas, shaking the music industry?
"Yeonwoo, time to go home."
Jiyeong entered the studio as usual, urging her nephew to wrap up.
"Okay, Auntie."
Yeonwoo tidied his workspace and left with Jiyeong. As they walked hand-in-hand, Jiyeong remarked:
"Hayeong mentioned starting a YouTube channel, right?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Random thought—didn’t Mr. Shunji say she resembles that Japanese singer?"
"Nakagami Ayuna?"
Yeonwoo had already watched Ayuna’s videos multiple times after hearing Shunji’s obsession with recruiting her. While not identical, Hayeong’s voice and aura were similar enough to evoke comparisons.
"Exactly. Why?"
"What if she covers Ayuna’s songs on YouTube?"
"On YouTube?"
"Just an idea since she’s putting effort into it. Should I suggest it?"
"Maybe?"
It was a casual notion—nothing more than offering a small tip to a diligent junior.
But the person receiving it was serious.
“Wow… Is that really Shin Ji-young? She’s something… Yeah, she’s amazing. She really gives off a similar vibe to you.”
“That much?”
“Her voice isn’t exactly the same, but her androgynous tone is similar, and so is her appearance. If she styles herself well, people might mistake her for you.”
“Really?”
Chae Ha-young’s eyes sparkled at Jo So-yeon’s words.
“Then should we try covering one of her songs like you suggested, sunbaenim?”
“Well, people here don’t really know her. At least recently, her rival Mitsuda Seriko has gotten famous.”
“But since they’re similar, I still want to try singing it.”
At Ha-young’s insistence, Jo So-yeon paused thoughtfully before nodding.
“Alright, let’s try it.”
So-yeon and Ha-young combed through Nakagami Ayuna’s videos.
The song they settled on was Passion, one of her defining hits from her peak era.
So-yeon edited the video to evoke that period’s aesthetic and uploaded it.
They’d wanted to sing it anyway, and covering a foreign song seemed worth attempting once.
But they had no idea this would become the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.
A week later…
[Passion 情熱
Nakagami Ayuna
Cover by. Hyungnimban Teacher]
Views: 350,000.
“…Why is this trending?”
“No clue. Why is it blowing up?”
Ha-young and So-yeon stared dumbfounded at their smartphones, watching their YouTube channel.
The Passion cover had barely garnered attention for the first few days.
Then, four days after upload, views began skyrocketing.
Subscribers surged too—jumping from a stagnant 30,000 to 70,000 overnight.
At this rate, the Silver Button seemed within reach.
“The algorithm’s terrifying, Ha-young.”
“Right? I never expected this much traction from Japan. She must’ve been an incredible singer.”
“Well… She was one of the top divas splitting the spotlight in the ’80s… Japan’s bubble economy era. Maybe nostalgia’s pulling people in?”
“Retro’s in these days.”
“Should we film another while we’re at it?”
“She has plenty of hits. Let’s do it.”
They picked another Nakagami Ayuna song and uploaded it.
The second video hit 200,000 views in a day. Days later, the first video hit a million views, the second 650,000. Subscribers leaped to 140,000, securing their Silver Button.
Ha-young shared the news with Ji-young and Yeon-woo.
“Wow, really? That’s awesome!”
“The Silver Button! I want to see it, Teacher!! Where is it?”
“We’ve applied, but it’ll take time to arrive.”
Ji-young checked the channel. “Speaking of, Datemura Shunji—that old man’s got sharp instincts. His judgment wasn’t off, huh? Even if we rode the algorithm, I never thought a Korean channel would get this reaction from Japan. Maybe debuting there like he suggested wouldn’t be bad? Yeon-woo, reconsidering Japan?”
Yeon-woo crossed his arms. “No. But if Teacher wants it, she should follow her wishes.”
His aunt and nephew both turned to Ha-young.
“But Yeon-woo, why oppose it?”
“Because then Teacher would just become ‘the second Ayuna’ and nothing more.”
At this, Ji-young and Ha-young froze, eyes wide as they stared at each other.
Of course, some wouldn’t mind being someone else’s shadow—especially those desperate to debut.
But—
“I… want to stay as Chae Ha-young.”
She refused. However badly she wanted to debut, she wouldn’t live as a substitute.
“Even without becoming ‘the second Ayuna,’ I trust you—no, both CEOs—to debut me and make me succeed.”
“Ooh, faith!! Good. I never wanted to mold someone into a copy anyway. I got too fixated on success—my bad.” Ji-young grinned. “But since we’re here, why not leverage YouTube further?”
“How?”
“How?”
“By adding the SSHIN official trainee title and involving Yoo-in.”
“Yoo-in?”
“Cover rearranged songs. It’ll promote Yoo-in, our company, and boost Ha-young’s profile.”
“Oh, that sounds solid.”
“Rearranged?”
Yeon-woo perked up.
This world had too many flawed songs—ones where a red-haired fairy could’ve burst forth with just one tweak.
