Yeonwoo, inspired by the roar of a beast, busily played the keyboard.
As Yoo Jaehyuk's fairy, who had been watching from the side, began humming along with the accompaniment, blue and yellow fairies started popping up everywhere.
Normally, Yeonwoo would have smiled warmly at the sight, but not today.
This was because the person meant to sing this song could only summon red fairies.
What would happen if Yoo Jaehyuk sang this song?
-“Hey…?”
How much time had passed? About 10 minutes?
Yoo Jaehyuk, who had been awkwardly standing by during the song’s creation, finally spoke up from behind the booth.
Just then, Yeonwoo, having finished the draft, looked at him.
The low, rough vocal technique resembling a beast’s roar was known as growling.
In English-speaking countries, it was often called death metal vocals—a method that strained the throat by scraping the voice.
But Yoo Jaehyuk was different.
He hadn’t intentionally learned growling; his vocal cords had been damaged during recovery, leaving his voice naturally beast-like.
Even now, his throat wasn’t fully healed.
What he needed wasn’t to restore his original voice (an impossibility) but to repair his vocal cords and develop a technique suited to his current voice.
Yet he couldn’t rely on the red fairy that flickered during negative tones or the opposing blue fairy for help.
Moreover, Yeonwoo knew little about the medical aspects of vocal cords.
His only allies were Kim Beomshin and Yoo Jaehyuk’s fairies—and his own ears.
The fairies would find the right technique, while Yeonwoo judged what sounded best amid the red fairy’s interruptions.
It would take considerable time.
But without immediate reassurance, Yoo Jaehyuk wouldn’t endure the long process.
Yeonwoo felt it—he sensed Yoo Jaehyuk’s mother in him.
Like her, trapped in a cage-like world awaiting death…
His mother had given up on life with little time left.
Though Yoo Jaehyuk wasn’t terminally ill, he seemed equally resigned.
If Yeonwoo failed to persuade him…
“Huu.”
Yeonwoo took a short breath and glanced at the two fairies.
Can we do this?
They nodded vigorously.
“First, relax your vocal cords and focus on singing from your diaphragm,” Yeonwoo instructed through the talkbox.
The music resumed as Yoo Jaehyuk cautiously began singing—far better now that he wasn’t straining.
“Push more air! And open your throat as wide as possible!!”
Though abstract, like most producers’ instructions, Yoo Jaehyuk followed them skillfully.
Then something miraculous happened.
At the moment he maximized his throat’s openness and diaphragmatic force…
“…!!”
A voice erupted—one even he hadn’t imagined possible—roaring a pitch he’d thought unattainable.
Yoo Jaehyuk stopped, stunned, and looked at Yeonwoo.
Yeonwoo grinned and thrust a thumb up.
“Mister! You sounded like a tiger just now!!”
-“A tiger…”
Truthfully, Yoo Jaehyuk had never liked growling’s harshness, typical of death metal—a polarizing sound.
He respected it but didn’t prefer it.
Yet this was different: not a strained screech but a tiger’s full-throated roar.
Could this technique…?
A spark of hope flickered in his chest.
Then Yeonwoo’s voice came from behind the booth:
-“It’s not complete yet, mister.”
“…Not yet?”
-“To truly make this your voice, you need to go to the hospital.”
“Hospitals can’t fix me. This voice is irreversible.”
-“How would you reverse it? You know better than that!”
At Yeonwoo’s bold words, Yoo Jaehyuk unconsciously touched his throat.
-“I hear lingering pain. If you want to keep practicing and singing long-term, you must go. Only then—”
Yeonwoo played a song for Jaehyuk.
It was a song she had just created after hearing his voice.
"……!!"
As Jaehyuk listened through the headphones, his eyes widened.
It was rock.
The rock he’d yearned for.
The song blended classic and modern rhythms seamlessly. Whether due to its intense sound or unique atmosphere, it pierced straight to his core.
Yeonwoo stopped the track, noticing Jaehyuk’s involuntary trembling.
"I’ll give it to you once you fix your vocal cords. We’ll refine your technique then too."
Jaehyuk squinted and glared at her.
Cheeky brat.
No—judging by how she’d crafted this song after one listen, she was a genius. No, a demon.
This track was undeniably irresistible. An unrefusable temptation.
Or… an angel?
A savior appearing to pull him back from the cliff’s edge?
He didn’t know.
But Jaehyuk realized the only person he could lean on now was this brat before him.
"...I’ll fix them. And return."
"Good. Now come out."
Jaehyuk exited the booth like a tamed beast, following Yeonwoo out of the studio.
"Did it go well?" Jiyeong asked immediately.
Jaehyuk simply stared.
Yeonwoo cut in: "Auntie, know any good American doctors?"
"What? For vocals?"
"Yeah."
"Grandma would know better. Or Grandpa Shunji?"
"Right. I’ll call Grandma."
As Yeonwoo dialed, Jaehyuk stiffened.
Wait—can Grandma handle this?!
Before he could protest, she hung up.
"Grandma says wait here."
"Your mom? Why?"
"No idea. She’s expecting you."
"Odd. Mom’s not into rock… Was she your fan, sunbae?" Jiyeong wondered before shrugging. "Wait a bit. Our house is nearby, and Mom has music industry connections. She might find you a good specialist."
"Hmm…"
Jaehyuk stood frozen until Yeonwoo returned from the pantry with a mug.
"Yuja tea. Drink, mister."
"Th-thanks."
"Stop hovering! Sit properly!"
"R-right."
Jiyeong bit back laughter at the legendary Jaehyuk obeying like a pet. It reminded her of druids taming wild beasts in old games.
The office door soon opened.
Jaehyuk jerked upright, eyes bulging at the entering figure.
Heook smiled coldly.
"Small world."
"...Hello, Professor."
"You know him, Mom?!"
"When I first taught," Heook mused, "there was a student with such raw talent that we passed him despite his lack of training. He quit after three weeks, claiming our institution lacked ‘his music.’"
"No way—"
Heook nodded at Jaehyuk.
"Him."
The man in his mid-forties stayed silent, honey-tongued no more.
"Didn’t you say rock requires discipline to endure?"
"...My apologies."
Jaehyuk scratched his neck.
Jiyeong gaped at the scene, her earlier amusement replaced by shock.
“Mom, Mom, where did you go to college back then?”
“Toho.”
In Japan, Toho was a prestigious university renowned for its rigorous focus on practical skills, akin to Korea’s Korean National University of Arts. It rivaled the traditional top-tier Tokyo University of the Arts as one of Tokyo’s leading institutions.
That meant…
“Senior, you must’ve been an excellent student. And your family seems well-off too.”
Yoo Jae-hyuk remained silent.
It was baffling—someone with such a feral, untamed aura, who seemed more likely to be a street thug or athlete than a musician, had graduated from Japan’s elite music school.
Especially in that era, Japan was overwhelmingly regarded as Asia’s musical powerhouse, far surpassing Korea or China.
“Your voice has deteriorated severely.”
“…I’m ashamed.”
Amid the tension, Heo Ok clucked her tongue in pity before speaking.
“You can manage the expenses for your trip to America and the hospital fees, yes?”
“…My voice…”
“Uncle, tighten your throat!!”
Yeonwoo interjected as Yoo Jae-hyuk struggled to speak. Startled, Yoo nodded and cautiously opened his mouth again.
“I may have wasted my voice and my life… but I’ve never wasted money.”
“Good. I’ll refer you to a hospital I know. The director is an acquaintance—mention my name, and you’ll skip the wait. No place in the world handles vocal cords better.”
Yoo Jae-hyuk’s eyes widened as he stared at Heo Ok.
Was this concern for a runaway disciple? Or something else?
“Don’t misunderstand. There are conditions.”
“Conditions…?”
Heo Ok called Yeonwoo over, patting his head as she spoke.
“First, obey my grandson’s wishes unconditionally. Second, after recovering, sign a lifelong contract with his company—until your retirement.”
Though unaware of the full context, Heo Ok could guess Yeonwoo’s musical obsession with Yoo just from the boy’s gaze.
Yoo Jae-hyuk nodded.
“So you have a grandson… Understood. And thank y—”
“Save the thanks. This is for my grandson.”
Heo Ok gestured toward the door, signaling the end of the discussion.
Yoo Jae-hyuk smiled inwardly.
The Iron Queen of Toho.
Her reputation hadn’t faded.
Well, except for her newfound role as a doting grandmother.
Now that he thought of it, their sharp eyes were identical.
Was she passing her “throne” to her lookalike grandson?
Remembering the cold, shrewd kid in the recording studio, Yoo bowed deeply.
“I’ll return once my throat is healed. Wait for me, kid.”
“I’m not a kid! Yeonwoo!! Shin Yeonwoo!!”
“Right. Yeonwoo.”
Yoo left the office.
The studio, chaotic as if a wild beast had stormed through, soon settled back into its usual calm.
