A Child's Melody
Go Chang-ho began by filtering out all private math competitions and any contests that spanned from elementary to middle school.
He had a solid grasp of Chul-jun's mathematical abilities by now.
Winning an award in some mediocre competition against peers his own age would hardly give the boy any sense of achievement.
Chul-jun simply lacked official experience; his actual skill level far exceeded the Korean Junior Mathematical Olympiad (KJMO).
Honestly, even if he were to enter the International Junior Math Olympiad (IJMO), a kid like Chul-jun would easily sweep a gold medal.
Sigh, when I factor in Chul-jun's level, there really aren't many competitions worth entering...
Besides, winning trophies wasn't Chul-jun's goal.
According to his guardian, it was about finding a sense of accomplishment and satisfying his need for recognition.
With that in mind, the only competitions that fit the bill were the KJMO in August, or, if they pushed it a bit, the KMO (Korean Mathematical Olympiad) in November.
Well, that's his math level sorted...
Chang-ho stared blankly at the other competitions on his screen.
There were plenty of competitions targeted at elementary schoolers, and a carefully curated shortlist of them was displayed on his monitor.
Art?
Come to think of it, he had never seen Chul-jun draw or paint.
I'll have to keep an eye on him during art class tomorrow.
Wait, didn't someone say Chul-jun was also an incredibly fast runner?
The PE teacher had mentioned it just the other day.
He said the boy's form was completely unrefined, yet he was astonishingly fast.
Go Chang-ho began browsing through athletic competitions.
He needed to gather as many options as possible.
That way, Chul-jun would have a wide variety to choose from based on his interests.
He had been a bit hesitant at first, but picturing Chul-jun running circles around the other elementary schoolers filled him with immense anticipation.
With a warm, satisfied smile, Go Chang-ho eagerly compiled his list.
He had no idea that, at that very moment, Chul-jun was occupied with an entirely different train of thought.
Chul-jun was thinking about Mozart's Minuet.
At five years old, Mozart probably didn't know much about music theory or mathematics.
He had simply expressed his emotions through the most beautiful sounds he could produce.
Yet, when analyzed mathematically, the exposition, development, and recapitulation of his pieces came incredibly close to the golden ratio.
An analysis of the pitch range revealed a highly ideal distribution, and the average melodic intervals resolved with perfect precision.
Without a single calculation, purely through intuition, he had achieved those exact values.
Just as Si-woo had reached his level in Baduk purely through instinct, without any reliance on mathematics.
It's incredible.
It was fascinating how two completely different domains could start from opposite ends and meet at the exact same point.
Of course, they didn't align with absolute, flawless numerical precision.
But trying to prove art perfectly through mathematics was an act of sheer arrogance to begin with.
He had known that such a perfect proof was impossible ever since he first understood the concept of irrational numbers.
After all, what Chul-jun was seeking right now wasn't a rigorous logical proof.
This was why he had first started researching idols, why he had fallen in love with music while learning the piano, and why he had analyzed the Minuet.
He needed to confirm for himself that no matter how hard he tried, mathematics could never provide the ultimate answer.
And now, he had his conclusion.
Music was a realm that could only be reached through emotion.
It had to be heard as music, and felt as music.
Playing the piano himself had only made this realization clearer.
Even though it didn't align perfectly with formulas or calculations, the feelings were conveyed with much greater clarity.
The fact that his piano teachers had confirmed they felt those emotions made him even more certain.
As I thought, with music, it's right to just focus on the emotions you feel.
A piece of music didn't have to be mathematically brilliant to be beautiful.
Chul-jun smiled brightly and tapped his phone screen.
Then, he opened his social media app.
Arin's mind was in a complete tangle.
She no longer had to go to that hellish practice room, and she was free to just sing for fun, yet a corner of her heart felt persistently empty.
Realizing she wasn't a special child after all had thrown her into deep confusion.
Did I really have no talent at all...?
She loved singing, and she loved composing.
Whenever she sang a song she had written, her friends would smile and hum along with her.
When Fine Entertainment contacted her, she had truly believed she was special.
But it had all been a scam.
She wasn't special in the slightest.
Accepting that reality was incredibly painful and terrifying.
Because she had dared to dream such a massive dream.
A dream that had grown far too large to simply cast aside...
Sigh...
Arin slumped back onto her bed.
She idly tapped her phone screen.
Her social media feed, which she hadn't opened in ages, loaded onto the screen.
After scrolling down a few pages, a video of her and Ha-eun singing together began to play.
The video was muted, but she could hear their voices ringing clearly in her ears.
It had incredibly childish lyrics and an incredibly childish melody.
It was a song she had composed when she was nine years old—one that Fine Entertainment had praised to the skies at first, only to later dismiss as garbage.
You ask me again, "Did you eat?"
You ask me again, "It's cold, are you okay?"
I'm nine years old now, I know!
I know that much!
I pack my own bag.
I choose my own friends.
Why do you keep checking on me?
I'm really not a baby anymore...
Mouthing along to the lyrics, Arin buried her face between her knees.
She no longer had the confidence to write songs.
She didn't have a friend to sing with anymore.
Nor did she have anyone to cheer her on and tell her they liked her music.
It was incredibly painful and lonely.
Ugh...
Now that she was overwhelmed with emotion, new lyrics were starting to pop into her head again.
I should just go to sleep.
Arin quickly lay down and pulled the blanket over her head.
But sleep felt very far away.
Chul-jun was listening to the song Arin had written, playing it over and over again.
His foot tapped along to the rhythm.
He had first heard this song on Arin's social media page when he found out she dreamed of becoming an idol.
Their homeroom teacher had printed out and distributed everyone's social media handles during the first week of school.
Back then, his priority had been helping her escape Fine Entertainment because he knew it was a shady place. But at the same time, a question had lingered in his mind: What about Arin's dream?
Once Fine Entertainment collapsed and Arin was freed, she had said she was giving up on her dream of becoming an idol.
Because of that, Chul-jun felt a slight sense of responsibility.
That was the real reason he had started studying music.
He needed to understand music to judge whether the song he was listening to was actually good.
At the very least, he wanted to know if it was pleasing to the ear.
He couldn't go encouraging Arin again without being absolutely sure she had talent.
Unlike how he had handled things with Si-woo, he was taking a highly cautious approach this time.
It all stemmed from the thought that Arin might possess genuine talent without even realizing it.
It felt terribly unfair for someone to abandon a dream they loved so much, especially if they actually had the gift for it.
When he first heard the song, he had simply thought it sounded nice.
But Chul-jun knew his own musical experience was far too limited to make a proper judgment.
Lacking experience, he had initially attempted a mathematical approach.
Since it was a simple, repetitive melody, he could easily translate it into mathematical formulas just by listening.
Chul-jun closed his eyes.
He brought Arin's music to mind.
First, the mathematical analysis.
The imbalance index was quite high.
The melodic pitch leaps in the chorus were larger than the expected values found in typical popular music.
Yet, despite being an anomalous value, it didn't sound jarring or unpleasant at all.
It felt free and joyful, much like the B section of Mozart's Minuet.
The R-value was slightly low.
The harmonic equalization index was low.
The chords weren't neatly organized.
The tension remained unresolved as it transitioned into the chorus.
This was a matter of emotional structure; if intentional, it was remarkably unique, but if not, it was an area that needed refining.
The entropy spiked in a highly unusual place compared to standard pop music.
It dropped noticeably and became complex in the first verse, only to suddenly grow calm in the second.
From a purely musical standpoint, it was a very peculiar transition, but when aligned with the narrative of the lyrics, it fit perfectly.
It represented a phase of venting frustration and grumbling in a disorganized way, followed by a second verse where those messy complaints were internalized as the child tried to understand their parents.
Chul-jun snapped his eyes open.
The structural analysis was complete.
Up to this point, he had only mapped out the structure mathematically.
Now, it was time to experience it through emotion.
Even setting aside all mathematical calculations, Chul-jun genuinely loved Arin's song.
Slipping on his headphones, he began to press the piano keys.
Closing his eyes, Chul-jun imagined the emotions Arin had poured into the music.
Listening with that perspective, the song grew more beautiful with every repetition.
Now, he needed someone to confirm if his feelings were correct.
I should ask Aunt Yeon-mi!
Chul-jun smiled brightly.
"Hey. She's not going to make it. Cut her and run through it again."
"Ah... Yes, Director!"
"The choreography looks messy in that section. Put the tall girl in the center."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Playground Music (PGM) Entertainment was currently planning a new idol group.
Because of this, the office was in absolute chaos.
Choi Yeon-mi had practically been living at the company for days.
Deciding the fate of young children's dreams demanded an immense, heavy sense of responsibility.
That was why the debut lineup selection was always the most tense period.
A single decision of hers could turn this place into heaven for one child and hell for another.
No matter how many times she did it, it was always a nerve-wracking, soul-draining process.
"Can that girl over there actually sing?"
"Ah, she's currently in training. She's still a bit lacking..."
"Hmm. Shortlist a few of the stronger vocalists. Let me see their profiles."
"Yes, Director!"
Watching the trainees with sharp focus, Choi Yeon-mi suddenly arched an eyebrow.
Her phone was vibrating on the table.
...Hm?
Checking the caller ID, her expression softened instantly as she swiped to answer.
"Oh, my baby! What's up?"
The trainee management team leader, who had been sweating bullets under the suffocatingly tense atmosphere, nearly jumped out of his skin at her sudden change in tone.