Yoo A-yeon, Becoming Even Cuter?
Lee Dong-hyun had been waiting endlessly for nearly a month for contact from someone.
Even while handling other work, the moment a text came in, he'd drop everything to check it—he was that obsessed.
Ding-dong-.
The bell rang, and as always, he immediately pulled out his phone to read the message.
'Sender... Sender...'
Sender: Han Seol-ae.
"Okay!"
The contact he'd been dying for had finally arrived!
Lee Dong-hyun hurriedly checked the contents.
He read the text three times over, savoring it.
Then he sprang up from his seat and headed straight for the editor-in-chief's office.
The editor-in-chief of the media company—who also served as president—was a man in his early sixties.
His motto: Never act rashly on uncertain information. That principle had gotten him to where he was today.
His butt was glued to his chair as a result, and he knew better than anyone the value of reliable intel.
Knock knock-.
"Come in."
Lee Dong-hyun opened the door and stepped inside. The editor-in-chief glanced at him over his glasses.
"Sir."
"Hey, Dong-hyun. What's up?"
"Yoo A-yeon's solo lecture is happening."
The editor-in-chief's hand paused over his documents.
"When."
"Confirmed for Saturday, October 11. Venue is Seoul National University Cultural Hall Auditorium."
Lee Dong-hyun sat down and continued.
"No other media has this info right now. We need to move first before the official announcement—secure the front row, get the broadcast camera team in early, prep for live streaming the second the lecture starts."
"..."
The editor-in-chief fell silent for a moment, then let out a deep sigh before speaking to Lee Dong-hyun.
"It's just too fishy."
"Sir?"
"Listen. You said you scored the exclusive interview with Yoo A-yeon. But you've never even seen her face."
"That's..."
"Nobody knows who Yoo A-yeon is. No photos, no identity. You're the only one who's contacted the sole link, Han Seol-ae, but even she's been hiding Yoo A-yeon's details. Someone who's kept their identity secret this long suddenly shows up at SNU's auditorium for a lecture?"
"That's right."
"And you expect me to buy that?"
"I do."
"On what grounds."
"I met co-author Han Seol-ae in person. She promised the exclusive interview herself."
"Didn't that strike you as odd? Why would Han Seol-ae guarantee someone else's interview rights? What's your proof Yoo A-yeon will honor a promise Han Seol-ae made on her own? Ever consider Han Seol-ae might be lying?"
Lee Dong-hyun paused briefly.
The editor-in-chief pressed on.
"You got the lecture date from Han Seol-ae too, right? The exclusive is shaky, and whether the lecture even happens is shaky. If we commit camera crews and send official requests to SNU based on unverified info, and it turns out to be nothing—who covers the costs and the hit to our credibility? Can you?"
Lee Dong-hyun met the editor-in-chief's gaze.
What he said made sense, in a way.
Prioritizing reliable info, with employees to protect—he couldn't afford to leap on shaky leads.
Lee Dong-hyun started weighing his options.
The conversation that day had plenty of suspicious holes, no doubt.
Would the lecture really happen? Would Yoo A-yeon actually show? Was the exclusive truly valid?
All uncertain.
But...
One scene flashed in Lee Dong-hyun's mind.
A cute kid at the café, polishing off a strawberry cake, then shooting him a confident look.
And Han Seol-ae had accepted every word from the five-year-old.
— I'll do as this child says.
Recalling the mother and daughter, he wanted to follow their lead.
No hard evidence. Pure gut feeling.
Lee Dong-hyun looked the editor-in-chief straight in the eye.
"If it's fake news, I'll resign."
The editor-in-chief's eyes narrowed.
"What? Dong-hyun, you serious?"
"Yes, sir. Dead serious. Let's contact SNU now, lock in camera spots, prep live streaming."
"Dong-hyun."
"Sir."
Lee Dong-hyun didn't back down.
"The proof of the Riemann Hypothesis is a global scoop. If we wait for ironclad confirmation, another outlet snags it. I'd regret that forever. It's just a hunch. Could be wrong. But this time, I want to trust it."
The editor-in-chief stared at him for a long while. He'd been covering academia for over a decade.
Not the type to get hyped rashly or claim certainty without proof. And here he was, staking his job.
The editor-in-chief pondered deeply, leaning back slowly before speaking.
"How many broadcast cameras do you need?"
"Sir...!"
"Just say it."
"Minimum three. Wide shot of the whole board, close-up on the speaker, audience reactions. Plus live stream line."
"Foreign press?"
"Got a contact at CNN. I'll reach out."
The editor-in-chief went quiet again.
"...Fine. It's your scoop—you do it your way. But I won't take the fall."
"Thank you, sir! I'll head out now."
As Lee Dong-hyun stood to leave, the editor-in-chief added,
"Don't submit that resignation."
"Pardon?"
"If it's a bust, we'll deal then. Don't mention quitting yet."
Lee Dong-hyun looked at him a moment, then bowed his head.
"...Thank you."
Lee Dong-hyun stepped out and pulled out his phone, scrolling for his foreign press contact as he walked the hall.
Movement had begun for Yoo A-yeon's Riemann Hypothesis proof lecture.
Around the same time, I was drilling English pronunciation like mad.
Right in the middle of the living room, scribbling the familiar expansion of the Riemann zeta function on a cute animal-themed whiteboard.
"Hellooo, I'm Yoo A-yeooon! Hello, ladies and gentlemen! I'm A-yeon Yoo!"
"Whoa! Sis looks like a total foreigner!"
"A-rin, you ever met a foreigner?"
"Nope!"
"Then how do you know?"
"From the TV Daddy watches!"
The paper was in English, and big-name overseas mathematicians would attend too.
Plan was to present in Korean and the academic standard, English, simultaneously.
A five-year-old girl lecturing on proving the Riemann Hypothesis to pros? Total abnormality.
To boost credibility, I had to flaunt my genius—even a little.
Flawless bilingual delivery was step one.
"Today, I'll present the proof process of the Riemann Hypothesis! Today, I will present the proof of the Riemann Hypothesis!"
"Ooooh-!"
A-rin clapped wildly.
"First off, a Hilbert space is a complete vector space with an inner product defined! A Hilbert space is defined as—"
"A-yeon."
"Yeah?"
"What're you wearing for the lecture?"
"Huh? Can't I just go like this?"
"No way, A-yeon. We need cute clothes, plus hair and makeup."
"Eeng?"
Makeup...? Truth be told, I'd never once touched cosmetics to my face in this life.
Makes sense... I'm only five.
"Eeng. We gotta worry about that too?"
"It's your debut to the world, introducing Yoo A-yeon. We gotta make you even cuter and prettier for the stage."
Mom said that, then pulled up Belistar on her smartphone to show me.
Child actors, kid models.
I glanced and thought without meaning to.
Super pretty and cute...
Could I get even cuter with clothes, hair, and makeup...?
"Of course, you're already super cute and lovable as is, but a little extra effort? You'll be even prettier and cuter, promise."
Mom was suddenly all hyped on beauty talk.
Say what you will—Mom's got way more experience as a woman than me.
"Yeah... got it. I don't know this stuff... Can you teach me, Mom?"
"Heehee. Sure. Before your debut, I'll teach you what it really means to be a girl."
A big kids' clothing specialty store in downtown Seoul.
Eye-catching outfits from the entrance: pink dresses, yellow sundresses, floral blouses. All flashy and adorable.
I wandered, scanning the racks.
Too flashy might not work.
With scholars worldwide, something dignified like black tones fit better.
Passing racks, my eyes locked on a black sailor suit.
Crisp, elegant black. White trim at the cuffs. Red neck ribbon.
I stared, mesmerized.
Prettyyy...
I drifted over like a moth to flame, brushing the collar lightly.
So soft and smooth—felt amazing. I tugged Mom's skirt.
"Mommy."
"Yes?"
"This. I want this one."
Mom eyed the sailor suit and rolled her eyes a bit.
"Nice fabric. Super pretty, huh?"
She held it up to me.
I raised my arms to match the lines, posing in a T.
Yoo A-yeon is now T-shaped. Beep. Unnecessary emotions uninstalling.
Mom nodded.
"Yeah, looks good. Wanna try it on in the fitting room?"
"Yup!"
Swish-. I slipped into the changing room, stripped, and donned the sailor suit.
The mirror showed an even cuter Yoo A-yeon standing there.
"Is that... me...?"
The black base with the red ribbon really popped the cuteness. I spun around once.
Flutter flutter~ The skirt billowed up to my waist then settled softly. Too pretty.
"Fuheheeng."
I stood there, admiring myself.
"How's it?"
Mom called from outside the curtain.
"Perfect!"
Outfit done, next was the hair salon. A famous spot in Gangnam.
The vibe hit different from the entrance. Idols and child actors came here, I'd heard.
I looked up at Mom.
"Mommy, this place is suuuper expensive, right?"
I voiced my worry, and she flashed her card.
"Daddy's covering it."
"Daddy?"
"Thanks to you, we made bank on coins. He said spend freely to make you prettier."
"Hng~. Okay then."
No guilt—time to splurge.
The stylist sat me in the chair. Face-on in the mirror.
She handed over a pamphlet.
"What style for you?"
Mom opened it and passed it to me.
Flip-. I turned pages.
My eyes drilled into the wavy perm. Loose waves cascading past the shoulders.
The model's hair caught the light like ocean waves sparkling under starlight.
Prettyyy...
"Mommy."
"Yes?"
"This one."
I pointed. Mom checked, then framed my face with her hands in a square, peeking through.
"Mm... looks good."
She glanced at the stylist.
"Can we do wavy perm on a kid?"
"Yes, with minimal damage."
The process began.
Dr yer hum, rollers winding, chemical smells. Head itchy—wanted to scratch, but held still.
About an hour later.
Final blow-dry done, stylist swiveled me to the mirror.
I stared at mirror-Yoo A-yeon.
Swish-. Waves flowed naturally past my shoulders, sparkling under the lights.
Damn... how much cuter am I supposed to get...? Yoo A-yeon...! Cuteness index already over 530,000...!
"Uwaaaheng~."
"Like it?"
The stylist asked.
"Yesss-! Thank youuu~!"
I beamed and bowed brightly. Mom smiled behind me.
"Our A-yeon's insanely cute."
I tilted my head side to side in the mirror.
Swish swish-. Waves danced with the motion.