Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Shin Jiyeong's Reputation
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Shin Jiyeong.
Yeonwoo's aunt, who got treated like a fool by him for not being able to play the keyboard or piano properly, but in the entertainment industry—especially among musicians—she was somewhat well-known in her own right.
She started out as a composer, hitting mid-to-big successes with a string of hits, then took a mid-sized agency's idol debut album and pushed it into the Mango chart's top 20, proving her chops. From there, she nailed several more album productions, showcasing her talent.
She hadn't yet launched an idol group from scratch on her own, but as an album producer and composer, she had a solid standing in the industry.
Well, that must've been why she could spend years in the States living it up without a steady income.
The key point was that no planning agency worth its salt ignored a track she sent their way.
"Shin Jiyeong sent a song?"
Anyone, any agency— the moment they heard that name, they'd think, Yeah, at least give it a listen.
You had to at least play it once, and if it didn't click, maybe make a call. That's the kind of pull Shin Jiyeong had.
"Should I play it here, Director?"
"Nah, it's from Shin Jiyeong—of course we take it straight to the bosses first. Hand me the track. I'll bring it up."
"Ah, right. I'll get it ready for you."
BSK Entertainment was no exception.
If anything, they were even more enthusiastic.
Founded by Kim Beomsin—a ballad singer who dominated the '90s and 2000s—and his longtime manager, the company had deep ties to Shin Jiyeong.
The first idol album she produced was for their group, Daydream.
There hadn't been much contact since, but whether it was chief producer Kim Beomsin or the CEO—who'd been his manager—both would drop everything to listen if her name came up.
It was Daydream's breakout success as a small-to-mid idol act that had elevated them to a mid-tier agency.
"Here you go, Director."
The director took the track and headed to chief producer Kim Beomsin's office.
"Who'd have thought the guy who barely shows up would get wind of Shin Jiyeong sending a song? And he actually comes in today, after all this time."
Muttering to himself, the director opened the chief producer's door.
The chief producer's office was set up like a recording studio.
Not a single spot for actual desk work, and there, lounging on the sofa in one corner, was the company's owner, Kim Beomsin, scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper.
"I'm here, sir."
"……."
"Bro?"
"...Hey, can't you see I'm writing a song?"
"A song? You?"
When was the last time this guy—who'd once ruled the music scene and earned the title Prince of Ballads—had written anything?
They'd decked out the place fancy, but he hardly ever produced anything himself.
The director gave him a puzzled look, and Kim Beomsin grinned sheepishly.
"You know, been off too long. Just squeezing out whatever inspiration's left. What? A singer can't write songs?"
"People think you've retired these days."
"Who the hell said that? I'm not even sixty—what retirement?"
"You will be soon, though."
Already?
Kim Beomsin—who'd long ago tossed out any sense of his age—touched his face in shock.
At least his skin, meticulously maintained at the dermatologist, was still firm and plump.
"...Anyway, what's up? You coming in here yourself?"
"...Feels backwards, doesn't it? You're never around, so no reason to drop by."
"You're such a punk. Never seen you lose an argument since our Road days. Where'd you sell that attitude—old stuff market?"
"We use Garage Sale these days, not the old marketplace."
"……."
"Anyway, Shin Jiyeong sent some tracks."
"Jiyeong?"
Kim Beomsin shot up from his seat.
"If it's from our Jiyeong, I gotta hear it."
Kim Beomsin shot up from his seat.
"Perfect timing—we're prepping a new debut group. Can't pass this up."
"Right?"
"Yeah. If she delivers another Daydream-level hit, we'll soar again. But she's been out in the States forever—hope she hasn't lost her touch."
"We'll know once we listen."
Kim Beomsin nodded and loaded the track.
Five piping-hot songs.
No titles—just labeled 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. He stared at them, pondering.
"What're you doing? Hit play."
"Start with 5 or 1?"
"...Don't people usually go from 1?"
"I wanna hear the best one first."
"See that star by 1? Looks like the killer track."
"Oh, yeah."
1☆.
Kim Beomsin played track 1.
It was the very song Yeonwoo had brought to life through imagination, empowered by the Grandmother Fairy.
Jazz-based, yet impossible to peg as mere jazz—that song.
As the track played, the eager expressions on Kim Beomsin and the director's faces gradually stiffened.
Kim Beomsin stopped the music and looked at the director.
"Hey, call her... No, I'll do it."
He pulled out his phone, scrolled to Jiyeong's contact, and dialed.
Busy.
He tried a few more times—still busy.
Normally he'd shrug it off, but this time, he felt antsy.
"Gotta Kakao her too."
[Jiyeong, it's sunbae Beomsin. Song's killer. Wanna meet?]
A reply came soon after.
[Kept getting calls, couldn't pick up ㅠ Still on now ㅠ Got prior commitments, so I'll meet them first and catch you after!!]
"Prior commitments?"
She wasn't the type to bail without reason.
Must be a bigger fish than BSK.
"Ah... damn, we gotta snag this."
It'd be easy to give up, but the songs were too good.
Forget trends—this was something special. A sensation. A track that could spark a whole new wave. Rare find.
"But did Shin Jiyeong ever write in this style?"
"Nope. Always super trendy stuff. More business-savvy than artistic, you know?"
"Hmm... Must've evolved in the States. Or mentored some new composer. She's big enough to run a team."
"Could be."
* * *
"Ah, yes. Of course. Album producing? Sure. This is Shin Jiyeong speaking—Shin Jiyeong. Oh, the songs? Did I write them? Nah, more like a business partner? Anyway, not me—someone very close. Haha, yeah, that's it. Oh, sure. I'll handle the talk. Yep! Go on in!!"
Hanging up, Jiyeong let out a huge sigh.
"No way..."
Eight agencies already calling. One was a top-five mega-agency in Korea.
The rest were solid players in the biz.
Even great songs flop without the right timing and luck all too often.
Honestly, Jiyeong had figured Yeonwoo's tracks would meet the same fate.
This industry loved clichés and hook-driven bangers—if it strayed from trends, it got the boot, no matter how good.
Best case, some indie or startup label with vision might bite.
Otherwise, it'd float around quietly until someone scooped it up at the right moment.
But no.
Calls started pouring in the second she sent them out.
Sure, her rep got them to listen once, speeding things up—but not every track of hers got a yes.
She'd been rejected way more.
Yet her nephew Yeonwoo's five tracks? All buzzing.
Some wanted just one standout; others vowed to build a whole album around them.
"Man... who even knows anymore."
She sounded baffled, but Jiyeong had a pretty good idea why.
Trends don't last forever.
While she'd been in the States, Korea's scene had shifted at breakneck speed, mirroring America's wild changes.
Plus, K-pop—some idols especially—were driving the trends now.
Opening doors to more musical variety, maybe.
The important thing was...
"Our Yeonwoo's got the luck and timing."
An era tailor-made for turning jazz—outdated swing, even—into trendy gold.
Glancing out, she saw Yeonwoo at the piano, playing away.
Tiny hands swinging along.
"Is it really luck and timing?"
Wasn't that for adults who waited around?
"Daddy's home!"
The boy, who just loved music, dropped the piano at his dad's voice from the entryway and bolted over.
Oh right—she needed to loop in her brother about Yeonwoo's songs.
Guardian consent and all.
"Skipped some steps there."
"What's that mean?"
Stepping out as Jihoon eyed her curiously from her mutter.
"Oh, nothing. Or is it?"
Jiyeong explained about the songs and the agencies.
Jihoon looked at Yeonwoo with a grave expression.
"That big? Our Yeonwoo... he's only six?"
"They wouldn't believe it if you told 'em the composer's six."
"That good?"
"Agencies are all over it. Wanna hear?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Jihoon felt a pang of guilt—he'd been too busy with work, shortchanging his son.
And now the kid had written songs.
Not just piano whiz level, either.
Led by Jiyeong, he scooped up his son and headed to her room.
The music started playing.
Jihoon's eyes went wide at the sound.
He had perfect pitch—one in maybe 20,000. But unused, it dulled.
He'd drifted from music, but raised on classics and jazz, he instantly clocked this as high-level jazz masquerading as pop.
"Whaddya think? Good, right?"
"Hmm... like an old guy getting plastic surgery and trendy clothes? But it doesn't feel off?"
"What kinda nonsense review is that?"
Jiyeong scowled, and Jihoon grinned, hoisting Yeonwoo high.
"It's a compliment, son. Our boy's music rocks. Yeonwoo, you're amazing. My kid really made this?"
Nod nod.
Beaming at his happy dad, Yeonwoo nodded vigorously.
Jihoon gazed at him.
Yeonwoo's talent was clearly extraordinary.
But far from music himself, he couldn't quite grasp major agencies buzzing over a six-year-old's songs.
Still, he worried.
"It's great and all... but exposing Yeonwoo to those people... isn't that too much?"
Rescued from a dark past, just starting to see light and love—dragging a kid into the adult world? Jihoon wondered.
Jiyeong shrugged at him.
"There's faceless singers—why not a faceless composer?"
"That work?"
"'Course. Minor's a hassle, sure, but high school composers exist. Hide the age... use a pseudonym."
"Pen name? Yeah, Yeonwoo—what pen name you want? Like, a nickname people call you. YouTubers use handles instead of real names, right? Got it?"
Yeonwoo got the gist from Dad's explanation.
A pen name...
What to pick?
One name popped into his head.
By Yeonwoo's measure, the best pianist after Grandma—but faded away due to the mean great-grandma and uncle.
Tentatively, he mouthed it to Dad.
'Yuin.'
Jihoon's face hardened instantly.
Yuin. Kim Yuin.
Yeonwoo's mom—his beloved wife.
"Yeah, let's do that. Yuin—perfect."
While he'd pushed her away, trying to bury the grief, Yeonwoo remembered and cherished her.
Jihoon hugged his son tight, proud.