Chapter 50
Chapter 50
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Differences Among the Fairies
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Yeonwoo, who had welcomed several singers' fairies, was now able to discern the differences between these avatar fairies.
The fairies obtained by meeting the original body(?) directly and those met indirectly through videos had differences in their abilities.
For one, there was a difference in the light they emitted, but the avatars created indirectly couldn't grant Yeonwoo any power.
No, then how had Wes Montgomery's fairy given him power?
The dilemma didn't last long.
It was because Wes Montgomery no longer existed in this world.
Because of that, traces like videos served as the main body of Wes Montgomery in this world.
But indirect avatars of living main bodies were different.
It wasn't certain yet, but if he met the main body singers directly, wouldn't their fairies evolve like Yoo Jaehyuk's or Kim Beomsin's?
And most importantly, there was a difference in intelligence between avatars that came directly from the main body and others.
They couldn't properly express what they knew through gestures or sounds.
They would just clap if they liked it, sing along, or show displeasure if something was wrong, but couldn't pinpoint it exactly.
But having them versus not having them made a huge difference.
Even a blank sheet of paper is better when held together, so he could catch what Yoo Jaehyuk and Kim Beomsin's fairies missed through the expressions of the other fairies.
Especially Yoon Yohan's fairy, called the textbook, was a tremendous help.
Even without developed intelligence, it would frown and get angry as if to say that's not right whenever Yoo Jaehyuk used incorrect vocalization.
That was enough.
Once Yeonwoo noticed it, Yoo Jaehyuk and Kim Beomsin's fairies would jump in to correct it like ghosts.
With the help of these fairies and his own ears, Yeonwoo guided Yoo Jaehyuk to the correct vocalization.
And what came after was Yoo Jaehyuk's domain.
As a vocalist who had already made his mark, even without systematic training, crafting his own voice came naturally from the so-called experience and vibe built over the years.
And so, Yoo Jaehyuk's voice was taking shape.
At this point, his head voice was completely damaged, leaving him unable to use falsetto.
But the vocal cords for chest voice had nearly recovered—not quite to his peak where he uniquely held a song reaching 4th octave D (D6) in chest voice domestically, but he could now hit 3rd octave F (F5).
Even among active singers, few male vocalists had this range.
Moreover, having channeled his singing urges into exercise while his voice was ruined, he had no issues with stamina or lung capacity.
However, he still had to refrain from using his voice for long stretches at a time.
A bit regrettable, but Yoo Jaehyuk was satisfied with the current situation.
Being able to sing at all— even if it was an ugly, ferocious sound.
But anxiety lingered. Would there be... a song that suits this voice?
He didn't think his voice was good.
“I think so too.”
And Yeonwoo agreed.
Yoo Jaehyuk, who had entered the recording studio as usual and shared his concerns, looked at Yeonwoo with startled eyes.
“It sounds bad just speaking normally.”
Children are innocent, which makes them cruel in a way.
Yeonwoo's words stabbed cruelly.
Unfazed, Yeonwoo continued.
“And it’s picky with songs too. You can’t sing just anything. Um, Uncle Kim Beomsin might pull off a children’s song, but if you sang it, the kids would cry.”
“Mm...”
“But on the flip side, that means it’s unique. Find a song that suits it, and it’ll be that much better.”
“You sure know how to talk.”
At Yoo Jaehyuk's words, Yeonwoo held up a book from the corner of the recording studio.
“I’m reading hard because I want to write my own lyrics later. Grandma said reading a lot makes you good at talking.”
“Reading, huh. A fine habit.”
Yeonwoo struggled with math like multiplication, but oddly, humanities stuck in his head easily.
“Alright, guess it’s time to give you the track. But we need Aunt Jiyeong for this. We have to record.”
Yeonwoo rarely recorded alone. He didn’t know how to operate all the equipment in the studio.
Though Jiyeong just sat beside him silently handling the machines while he produced, she was always there.
Hearing this, Yoo Jaehyuk said.
“Your aunt isn’t always free. How about hiring an engineer while we’re at it?”
Engineers—more precisely, engineering producers—were people who handled recording equipment more professionally; they were like the heart of any studio, indispensable.
Jiyeong, who could manage the machines decently if not perfectly, was the exception.
“Guess we should.”
Truth be told, Yeonwoo had been pondering this too.
He wanted to keep his identity hidden thoroughly, but he couldn’t avoid hiring necessary help forever.
“Know anyone?”
“...Not really. Better tell your aunt.”
Yeonwoo nodded at that.
Anyway, that left him with nothing to do.
Should he keep practicing?
As he pondered, the sound of the studio front door's lock opening came.
“Aunt’s here!”
Yeonwoo dashed out of the recording studio.
The visitors weren’t his aunt.
“Teacher!”
It was Chae Hayeon, off work, and Jo Soyeon.
“Teacher Jo Soyeon’s here too?!”
“Yeah, it’s video shooting day today.”
“Oh, right. What song today?”
“I was thinking of the one Yeonwoo arranged into jazz last time... What do you think, Yeonwoo?”
“That sounds good...”
Yeonwoo was nodding when.
Yoo Jaehyuk emerged from the recording studio. Chae Hayeon and Jo Soyeon, glancing indifferently at the door thinking it was a guest, stared for a long time before freezing.
“Y-Yoo... Yoo Jaehyuk?”
Jo Soyeon cried out like a scream.
“I-It’s really Yoo Jaehyuk?!”
Chae Hayeon gasped too.
“Do you know me?”
Yoo Jaehyuk asked, and Chae Hayeon flinched at his voice but played it cool.
“Of course. My brother was a fan.”
“Not your dad?”
Yoo Jaehyuk spoke self-deprecatingly, and Chae Hayeon replied.
“My brother’s ten years older. Anyway, he played you every day till I was grown... Ah... I mean, hello, sunbae!”
Realizing mid-reminisce, Chae Hayeon bowed 90 degrees to Yoo Jaehyuk.
“Mm.”
Yoo Jaehyuk bowed back.
He might use casual speech, but he wasn’t one to ignore polite respect.
Then Yeonwoo said.
“Uncle, want to shoot a video too?”
“Video?”
Yoo Jaehyuk frowned at Yeonwoo.
“What video?”
“There’s this Wanbui Challenge. You do it too, Uncle. Then we upload it to our YouTube!”
“Mm, I’m not good at that stuff...”
“Uncle Kim Beomsin did it, and Sung Jun-ho, Kim Jae-beom, Yoon Yohan too.”
“Did they?”
“But no one succeeded!”
What did that mean?
Jo Soyeon explained to the tilting-headed Yoo Jaehyuk.
“So, Yeonwoo made a song no one can sing along to?”
“Yes. Want to hear it?”
“Sure.”
Jo Soyeon immediately played Wanbui 1: You Are Me.
Yoo Jaehyuk looked at Yeonwoo in disbelief.
“You made this to sing? I can’t do it either. And like you said, it doesn’t suit me.”
“Right. It doesn’t suit you, Uncle. But what if you rearrange it to suit you?”
“To suit me... But the video’s kinda...”
Yoo Jaehyuk, out of touch with the world for years, seemed embarrassed about filming.
“Who says that? Didn’t you want to return to your fans? Or not? Look at the comments—lots of people talking about you.”
“...”
“You’re coming back soon anyway. How about it as a gift to the fans?”
“Right, even movies drop teasers or trailers before release. Singers can post one saying ‘I’m coming back soon,’ no?”
Chae Hayeon chimed in after hearing Yeonwoo. Yoo Jaehyuk glanced at her, and she added sheepishly.
“My brother still talks about you, sunbae. Hopes you’ll come back someday.”
Hearing that, Yoo Jaehyuk stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Jo Soyeon quietly entered the recording studio, either sensing something or prepping Chae Hayeon’s video, setting up the camera.
Yeonwoo, watching Yoo Jaehyuk, went to his room and tinkered with the computer.
As everyone found their tasks, Chae Hayeon, who’d been eyeing the sky-like sunbae and legendary singer Yoo Jaehyuk, slipped away to Jo Soyeon.
Once everyone retreated, Yoo Jaehyuk sank into thought.
Filming a video was honestly a bit—no, very embarrassing.
Showing himself so suddenly felt disconcerting, and a bit scary.
How would people judge his changed voice?
Would fans be disappointed and leave, calling it weird?
“No.”
He hadn’t hidden for over a decade out of that fear.
Yet he’d come this far because he missed the stage so much he’d sing even with this voice and get back on it.
Backing out now from the same fear would be ridiculous.
“Yeah, to make more fans remember and seek me out again, a teaser should be fine.”
Yoo Jaehyuk stood up.
“That song. I’ll sing it. Arrange it.”
At his words, Yeonwoo grinned from his room.
“Just finished! Head to the studio!”
Seeing Yeonwoo’s bright smile, the heavy-hearted Yoo Jaehyuk soon chuckled.
The kid’s smile lightened his mood. He’d sing better relaxed than tense.
“Use that song you heard earlier just as a guide reference. No need for fancy techniques like AI vocals, Uncle. Just sing like Yoo Jaehyuk.”
“That’s the plan. Can’t do otherwise.”
Standing in the booth, Yoo Jaehyuk listened to the rock version of You Are Me that Yeonwoo played.
He grasped the melody from the original, then took the sensibly prepared lyric sheet from Chae Hayeon and stood before the mic.
“Ready? Starting?”
-Yeah.
Yeonwoo started the track.
Jo Soyeon adjusted the camera for a good shot of Yoo Jaehyuk, while Chae Hayeon clasped her trembling hands and stood by Yeonwoo.
Amid the low intro, Yoo Jaehyuk’s voice emerged.
Still rough, but no longer the strained, squeezed sound from before.
It exuded the beastly, raw wildness Yeonwoo wanted.
Yeonwoo widened his eyes, perked his ears, watching the fairies popping from Yoo Jaehyuk while listening to his voice.
Red fairies still emerged, but Yeonwoo’s own ears told him this was right.
Yeah, it’s right.
As Yeonwoo regained confidence from his initial doubt, sparks suddenly flew around Yoo Jaehyuk in the booth.
What’s that?
Sparks bursting through the red light from the red fairies were blue.
A blue fairy struggled into view amid the red light, then began wandering alongside the red ones.
As their numbers grew, the displeased red fairies soon blended with the blue ones as if becoming one, the red and blue lights mixing into purple.
As if telling Yeonwoo, See, you were right.
And the song built toward climax.
Yeonwoo had arranged the climax to fit Yoo Jaehyuk’s current limit of 3rd octave F (F5).
Yoo Jaehyuk raised his voice like a tiger roaring, approaching the peak.
That’s when.
‘Huh?’
Yoo Jaehyuk’s fairy nudged Yeonwoo. Looking puzzled, Yeonwoo saw the fairy point at Yoo Jaehyuk with a puppy-wanting-to-pee expression.
‘You want to go? Want to sing together?’
Yoo Jaehyuk’s fairy nodded.
Yeonwoo wondered.
What happens when this one returns to its body? Like how other fairies give him powers, could it give powers to Yoo Jaehyuk?
No, more than curiosity, he understood the fairy’s heart.
The heart of this fairy that had waited over a decade somewhere in Yoo Jaehyuk’s body for him to sing again.
‘Yeah, you waited a long time. Go join him.’
Yoo Jaehyuk’s fairy smiled brightly, flew to its body, and merged into him.
Soon, blue energy enveloped Yoo Jaehyuk.
“……!!”
“……!”
The three unintended audience members gaped at his stunning performance.
He soared far beyond the melody’s marked 3rd octave F.
To Yeonwoo’s ears, it hit exactly 3rd octave A (A5).
In this moment, Yoo Jaehyuk wasn’t a pitiful tiger lost and wandering—he was the mountain lord roaring from the peak.
* * *
That night.
[Wanbui Challenge – SSHIN Official
You Are Me Rock ver.
song by. Yoo Jaehyuk]
The emperor of Korean rock vocals, still talked about, had returned to his fans.