Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Meeting and the Crisis
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Jiyeong stepped out of the house for the first time in ages.
“Man, how long has it been since I’ve seen sunlight?”
Ever since returning to Korea, she’d been cooped up at home, enchanted by Yeonwoo. This was truly the first time she’d gone out in ages.
Normally, she wasn’t the type to hole up at home like some capital-E extrovert.
If it weren’t for Yeonwoo, she would’ve met up with friends or colleagues ages ago and spent all night knocking back drinks.
“But how could I leave our Yeonwoo behind?”
Yeonwoo, the very embodiment of cuteness, was delightful just to look at. Touching his hands or cheeks felt wonderful, and hugging him tight was even better.
Because he smelled like a warm, comforting baby.
Her time in the U.S., which had been part study and part healing, paled in comparison to the healing she’d found since returning to Korea.
Thanks to that, her weary body and mind had fully recovered.
‘Time to get back to work.’
She had to dive back into the cutthroat industry.
Carrying her beloved nephew’s song, no less.
The first meeting she’d scheduled was with the one major agency that had reached out to her.
It was a company once known as Korea’s top agency.
Jiyeong often compared it to England.
The empire where the sun never set, the world’s greatest superpower.
But as time passed, it had been overshadowed by the U.S. and others, left with only echoes of past glory—yet still not a place to be dismissed.
That was Taein Entertainment.
They held an idol group over a decade old and had recently launched a female idol act worthy of being called Korea’s best, proving they weren’t dead yet. Word was they were pushing a new project.
Perhaps they wanted Yeonwoo’s song for that group.
With a touch of tension, the meeting began.
The person from the planning team was someone Jiyeong knew well.
“Jeong Yeongdo. You know me, right?”
“…Of course. Who in this industry doesn’t know Executive Director Jeong Yeongdo? Hoho.”
She smiled outwardly, but inside, Jiyeong’s enthusiasm was cooling fast.
And for good reason.
Jeong Yeongdo was hugely famous in the industry.
He’d once led Taein as the unrivaled top agency in Korea as a producer.
The problem was that it was all in the past.
These days—or rather, since a few years back when Jiyeong was active—he was just a has-been basking in old glory, the kind of old-school geezer everyone whispered about.
Churning out the same concepts and factory-made idols had been one of the reasons Taein fell from its top spot.
He needed to go for any real innovation, but right now, he was Taein’s number two.
No one could touch him.
And yet, this guy was interested in Yeonwoo’s song?
It didn’t make sense.
He was still obsessed with hook songs that might’ve been trendy a decade or two ago.
“Before Ellis left, she was really into your song. So I called you in just to see your face. Oh, wait—it’s not exactly your song, is it?”
“Yes, more like a collaborator of mine? They prefer to keep their face and details private, so I sent it as their agent.”
“Right, anyway. She said it was good, so I gave it a listen, and yeah, it’s solid.”
“Ah, I see.”
“But that chorus… it’s a bit weak on the punch, don’t you think? Maybe tweak the chord progression to make it more addictive…”
She’d hoped otherwise, but no such luck.
He wanted to rearrange it into a hook-song style. Exactly to his taste—the kind of copy-paste Taein special people talked about.
“What do you think? My idea?”
“Uh, um… Could I check with the composer first and get back to you?”
“Sure, of course. Talk it over. Do it my way, and it’ll be a massive hit.”
Jiyeong forced a smile.
But hold on.
Ellis had left?
Ellis was from that transitional era between second- and third-gen idols—call it 2.5-gen.
She’d composed and produced all her group’s songs during their active years, earning fame. After the group disbanded, she’d saved struggling Taein by creating ‘Navilen,’ a current top-five domestic idol, cementing her status as a top producer.
No wonder Jeong Yeongdo, of all people, was interested in a song like this.
He must respect Ellis at least a little, since she’d raised Navilen.
Where did she go, though?
Casually, as if mildly curious about someone of her caliber leaving, Jiyeong asked.
“Um, sir.”
“Yeah?”
“Where’d Ellis go?”
“Hmm? Oh, to BSK, I think?”
BSK.
Fate sure worked in strange ways.
The agency that had debuted Jiyeong as a producer—Ellis had gone there?
The mighty Ellis?
Did BSK even make sense for her? There were other big agencies.
Regardless, how had a thriving ex-idol genius producer like her heard Yeonwoo’s song and taken interest?
No direct connection, but now that someone successful was indirectly linked, curiosity bubbled up.
Yeah, curiosity alone meant she should head to BSK first, even if it meant postponing other meetings.
Leaving Taein, Jiyeong glanced at her smartphone wallpaper.
“Wait for me, Yeonwoo. Auntie’s gonna sell that song and come back!”
It showed Yeonwoo shyly smiling in her arms.
* * *
Meanwhile, Yeonwoo was pouring his soul into the piano in front of his grandmother.
At some point, Yeonwoo’s jazz had stopped fitting neatly into swing, bebop, cool, or any clear genre.
He simply played jazz with fluid, graceful hands.
“Beautiful.”
Heo Ok smiled warmly as she spoke.
Her grandson’s playing—pure and untainted, mirroring her own style—filled her with joy.
Seeing her like that, Yeonwoo flashed a shy grin.
“But it’s too much like me. What kind of music would you play? Even if it’s not jazz.”
Yeonwoo tilted his head at her words.
He’d learned piano by watching her, and the power of the Music Fairies born from her dwelled within him.
Though he played it, Yeonwoo saw his piano as his grandmother’s.
He pointed to himself, then her, then the piano, conveying his meaning as best he could.
Heo Ok looked at him and said,
“Just because you learned from me doesn’t make your piano mine. It’s just similar. You’ll have something that’s uniquely yours. Your compositions prove it, don’t they?”
Hearing that, Yeonwoo thought it over and turned his gaze.
Fairies stared back at him from the keys.
‘What’s my piano?’
At Yeonwoo’s question, the fairies rose in unison, starting warm-up stretches.
It was as if they were saying, *Let’s give it a try*. Yeonwoo adjusted his posture and placed his hands on the keys.
The fairies parted, making way. Listening to the music they offered, Yeonwoo instantly understood.
*This is my piano.*
Nodding as if he’d figured it out, he stopped the fairies and began playing his own piano, following their moods.
Yeonwoo’s piano started blending his grandmother’s jazz with the pop music his aunt had shown and played for him.
It felt like a children’s song with his young heart in it, but jazzy; jazzy, yet full of pop vibes—
On paper, it sounded chaotic and bizarre, but hearing it created a synergy so astonishing you’d wonder how it all fit together so perfectly.
Yeonwoo played with utter devotion, as if possessed by the gods.
Then he stopped, letting the afterglow linger.
*Perfect.*
He could confidently say it was his best performance yet.
*What do you think, Grandma?*
Yeonwoo turned to look at her.
His face froze.
Heo Ok, whom he’d assumed was listening quietly, had slumped forward in her chair, head bowed.
‘…Grandma?’
Yeonwoo approached cautiously and touched her.
In that instant, she slid off the chair and collapsed.
“…!!”
Panicking, Yeonwoo looked around.
Of all times, his aunt—who was always home—wasn’t there.
Dad was at work, as usual.
What do I do?
How?
He stared at his grandmother.
Her face was pale, motionless on the floor.
To Yeonwoo, it looked deadly serious. Fear welled up, tears spilling uncontrollably.
Through his tears, he spotted her smartphone beside her.
Kids this age have sharp eyes—they notice everything to learn.
He opened the phonebook.
‘Dad… Dad…’
Searching for Dad, he found “Shin Jihoon” plainly listed and called.
*Rrrrrrrrrrr…*
*-Unable to take your call right now…*
Dad didn’t pick up.
Yeonwoo checked the time. Oh, 3 p.m.—when Dad usually said he couldn’t answer due to meetings or other people.
Yeonwoo sent a message.
[Da...d... Yeon...woo...]
Using the few words he knew, he scrolled the contacts again.
Aunt’s name was right above. He called while glancing at Grandma.
No answer from her either.
Then he saw the emergency call button.
Right— he vaguely remembered from YouTube Shorts.
119, was it?
Having just emerged from isolation, Yeonwoo didn’t know exactly what 119 did, but he knew this number could help.
He dialed.
*-Hello, 119.*
“……”
Despair hit Yeonwoo.
He couldn’t speak.
*-Hello? 119. Please speak. Hello?*
“……”
His chest tightened.
His gaze turned to Grandma.
Over her, he saw another figure.
Mom, growing cold.
The painful memory of her losing her light while looking at him shook Yeonwoo to his core.
A wound too vast for a six-year-old to bear—was another one forming?
“…Uh…”
A crack formed in the sturdy barrier deep in his heart, starting to crumble.
*-Yes? Speak up!!*
“Gwandma… Gwandma fell down! Waaah!”
Yeonwoo burst into tears, crying out.
The voice emerging as the barrier shattered was hoarse and cracked from years of silence, but it carried his fierce will: he wouldn’t witness another loved one’s death.
“Gwandma… pwease save her!”
*-Yes, child caller—we’re on our way! Do you know the address?*
“N-not really.”
*-We’ve pinpointed the location. ○○ Apartments, right? What floor?*
“F-first fwoor! Huwy!!”
*-Got it. We’ll be right there. Stay with Grandma, okay?*
“Y-yes, sob.”
Ending the call, Yeonwoo wailed for his grandmother, tears pouring.
Ironically, riding on his voice, blue fairies began to appear.
Tiny, adorable baby fairies Yeonwoo had never seen before—ones resembling their owner, Yeonwoo.