Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Hadas and the Studio
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Yeonwoo’s second song for the idols was quickly delivered to Ellis.
Though she had commissioned a track for their second digital single, Ellis hadn’t expected it to arrive so soon. She played it right away.
She already knew he was a genius and thought nothing could surprise her anymore.
Yet here it was—a completely unexpected new style of song that left her stunned.
A fast, unique beat assaulted her ears, but the melody refused to follow it.
It was bizarre, like some weird tune, but good—addictively good.
Ellis immediately headed to BSK after listening, bringing along CEO Kim Beomsin, executive director Park Sangcheol—the number two—and all the debut members to play it for them.
“…….”
“Why is everyone so quiet? What do you think?”
The roughly three-minute song ended, and silence filled BSK’s recording studio.
Ellis broke the silence.
Kim Beomsin followed, responding to her question.
“What do I think? Seriously… where did Yuin pop out from? It’s insane.”
“You like it, right?”
“Of course. Wow, how does he come up with stuff like this? It’s always something fresh. This is what a real genius is like. Sangcheol, what about you?”
“Even someone musically illiterate like me can tell it’s good. Super catchy.”
Kim Beomsin and Park Sangcheol were beaming. Their idol’s song showed signs of being a massive hit—who wouldn’t be thrilled?
The members felt the same.
Break it down, and it was complex and tricky, but taken at face value, it was simple and addictive.
“This… well, we’d have to try singing it, but I bet everyone—guys, girls, young, old—would love it.”
“Kids and adults alike, right?”
“Yeah, somehow. Wait, doesn’t this beat feel kinda familiar?”
Ellis smiled at that.
“It’s got a trot base.”
“Tro… what? This is trot?”
Kim Beomsin stared at Ellis in disbelief before chuckling.
“This is like… taking fast food, fancying it up, and serving it at a fine dining spot.”
“Anyway, everyone agrees on this for the second single, right?”
Kim Beomsin answered Ellis firmly.
“I gave you full authority. I trust whatever you do.”
“You trust Yuin, not me?”
“That too. Anyway, full delegation!!”
“Got it. Still, we need to report when money’s required. Give me some funds.”
“Funds? For what?”
“I’m commissioning Jabwork to choreograph this one too.”
“Already?”
“No choice. Gotta strike while the iron’s hot.”
After hearing the second song, Ellis planned to drop the debut album’s first digital single, then release the second one a week later.
These days, promotion cycles for new songs had shrunk to two or three weeks, but dropping albums back-to-back with just a week in between was rare.
With Taein pulling strings behind the scenes, though, they couldn’t afford to rest on one track.
She aimed to showcase her self-produced idol as a true powerhouse: a debut album highlighting vocals, followed by a second proving their song and dance chops.
That said…
What about the lyrics?
“By the way, sunbae-nim, do you know any good lyricists?”
“Why? You’re great at it, Ellis. You wrote Flying High, and it was solid.”
“Still, I want to hand this one off to someone else.”
Kim Beomsin didn’t know.
He couldn’t grasp that feeling of being put to the test in front of a six-year-old genius.
“Anyway, what’s the team name for the kids? You’ve even recorded—don’t tell me you haven’t decided yet?”
At Kim Beomsin’s question, Ellis recalled what Yeonwoo had said while watching the debut kids.
“Someone said they looked like fairies.”
“Did they? Good eye. My babies do have that fairy vibe.”
“So I named them ‘Hadas.’”
“Hadas?”
“It’s Spanish for ‘fairies.’”
“Nice. Fresh, and meaningful.”
Hadas.
Fairies.
The name for the kids debuting with Yeonwoo’s songs was set.
Soon after finalizing the name, they received choreography from Jabwork and dove into full practice.
It was high-difficulty stuff—orderly yet featuring distinct individual dances to express freedom.
But the kids, prepped for years for this debut, picked it up fast, focusing on syncing up.
With the debut showcase date locked in and launch right around the corner, they practiced late into the night, sacrificing sleep, without a single complaint.
The dream of becoming idols was so close they didn’t even feel the hardship.
Once the choreography clicked, they shot the music video and concept photoshoot.
Teasers hit BSK’s official channels in order: Dahyun, Ayoung, Yoonseo, Somin, Chaewon. Now, a week from the showcase, it was already October—autumn had slipped in.
Meanwhile, our Yeonwoo spent his days as steadily as ever.
Up in the morning to kindergarten, fun all day, home to play with music.
“Yeonwoo-ya.”
“Yes?”
“Um… aren’t you interested in anything else these days?”
“Nope.”
Heo Ok scratched her head at Yeonwoo’s firm reply.
Steadfast Yeonwoo was still hooked on trot.
Though at this point, it barely qualified as trot anymore.
That said, he hadn’t abandoned pure trot entirely—while composing, tourist bus-worthy sounds would occasionally drift from Jiyeong’s room.
Watching Yeonwoo pioneer unknown genres from trot, Heo Ok decided not to care if he stuck to classic trot medleys or chased something new—the issue was the noise.
To protect his young ears, no earphones or headphones allowed. With his sensitive hearing, they kept speaker volume minimal for work. Fine during the day, but as sessions stretched late, noise became a real concern.
She couldn’t just tell him to limit it to an hour or two.
At six, sure, but Yeonwoo was a pro earning from music.
As a musician herself, Heo Ok felt she had to respect that.
Jihoon disagreed a bit here, but even he left Yeonwoo alone until bedtime around 10 p.m.
Making music wasn’t bad, after all.
After much thought, once Yeonwoo was asleep, Heo Ok pulled aside Jihoon, who’d come home late.
“What’s up, Mom?”
They weren’t as estranged as before, but awkward stiffness lingered.
Not resentment, but decades of emotional distance didn’t heal overnight.
“About Yeonwoo. How about setting up a studio for him?”
“A studio?”
“Yeah.”
“No, for a kid…?”
Heo Ok gazed calmly at flustered Jihoon.
“He’s just barely six, but what he does isn’t kid stuff anymore.”
“That’s…”
Jihoon trailed off.
Yeonwoo’s work was beyond a six-year-old’s.
He was generating real income as a composer.
A few days ago, as Yeonwoo’s guardian, Jihoon had been shocked reviewing Cold Night royalties.
In just over three months, it matched a salaryman’s annual pay.
Jiyeong said more was coming next quarter from unsettled streams.
“Restricting his composing time feels wrong, but letting him work late at home means noise issues.”
“Yeah… you’re right. It’s a miracle we haven’t gotten complaints.”
“Can’t keep using Jiyeong’s gear forever. She’s gearing up for her own work now, too.”
Jihoon nodded at Heo Ok’s words.
“Then I’ll scout a spot suitable for a studio.”
“…No need.”
“Huh?”
“You know that three-story building next to the kindergarten? Convenience store on the first floor.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s mine.”
“Oh…”
He’d thought Mom just holed up with this old apartment, but she owned a building too.
Not exactly shocking.
“The third floor’s just emptied out. Perfect to fix up as Yeonwoo’s studio.”
“Yeah, that works. Right by the kindergarten.”
Jihoon nodded readily.
He might’ve stubbornly insisted on handling it himself back then.
But not now.
He still couldn’t read how Heo Ok saw her son, but he knew exactly how she felt about grandson Yeonwoo.
Jihoon didn’t want to stand in the way of a grandma trying to do something for the boy she truly loved.
Especially since Yeonwoo adored his grandma more than anyone.
“I’ll handle the interior and gear, though.”
Couldn’t let Grandma do everything.
“You sure?”
“I’ve got this much pull. A dad’s gotta deliver for his kid chasing his passion.”
Heo Ok looked at Jihoon.
After abandoning husband, son, and daughter to obsess over music for nearly 30 years, returning only to keep distant—listening from afar until recently living together—her son wasn’t hers anymore.
He was a father.
Not just any father.
One who’d lost his wife and infant son, sent her off yet fought relentlessly to reclaim his boy—while holding down a job the whole time. A tough, unyielding dad.
Unlike her, who’d ditched everything but music and fled.
“Mom?”
“Hm?”
“Why’re you staring? Something on my face?”
“No, nothing. Let’s do it. Talk to Jiyeong, and it’ll come together quick. Interior, gear, all of it.”
Jihoon chuckled.
“Tell her about Yeonwoo’s studio, and she’ll pout—‘Why not me?’”
“Will she? Wait, why not let Jiyeong share it? Better than leaving him alone—having her nearby wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’ll float that. She’ll love it.”
Just then, as they mentioned Jiyeong—
*Beep beep.* The door lock chimed open.
“Jiyeong’s done for.”
“I’m hooomeee… agh!”
Jiyeong stormed in, stomping dramatically, then shrieked.
“You’ll wake the kid!!”
“What’s with you?”
At her mom and brother’s protests, Jiyeong plopped down beside them, face grim.
“Not the time. Big trouble.”
“What?”
Jiyeong sighed, then spoke.
“Taein, well…”