The dining room carried a warm, familiar feeling. The three Kangs ate in silence until Eun-ji fixed her gaze on her son, taking in the man he had become.
"Have you had a girlfriend in the States?" she asked, with a disarming tenderness.
Sol-woo nearly choked on his rice. He’d forgotten how direct his mother could be. He was about to answer, but she didn’t give him the chance.
"So you were seeing that British girl. Why didn’t you tell me anything?"
Sol-woo looked at her, trying to sidestep the subject.
"Mom... let’s not talk about that, please."
"So you came to Korea to get away from her," she concluded, letting out a small sigh. "What a shame." A brief pause, then a shift in tone. "And what do you plan to do here?"
His uncle Min-ho considered stepping in, then thought better of it — he knew his sister’s disposition well enough. Sol-woo knew it too: his mother was always kind, but her unfiltered honesty was both her most relentless quality and her greatest virtue.
"Mom, I want to stay for a month," the young man said. "I need to figure out what to do with my life. You know I don’t want to study Law, but my father—"
She cut him off before he could finish:
"You’re still worried about what that bitter man thinks? It’s time you started thinking about yourself."
Sol-woo nodded in silence.
That’s what I get for being so dutiful, he thought.
His uncle, who had kept himself on the sidelines, spoke up again:
"Sister, Sol-woo has everything it takes to make it in the entertainment world. I really think you should support him." He winked at his nephew under the table.
Sol-woo could only sigh. He’d expected his mother to shut the idea down immediately. Being a singer was his most buried dream — something that back in the States, under the shadow of the Vance family, had been simply impossible. So in his quieter moments of fantasy, he’d let himself imagine that maybe in Korea there was a place for him.
Even so, he knew the darker side of the industry, and how unforgiving Korean society could be toward people of mixed backgrounds. He didn’t consider himself fully Korean — but to say he didn’t love this country would be a lie. For his mother’s sake, and for what "home" meant to him, he felt a deep attachment to this place. What terrified him was how people might react to who he was.
To his surprise, Eun-ji didn’t object.
"If that’s your dream, I’ll support you," she said, holding his gaze. "But you know very well that in that world you’ll have to make it on your own. One mistake — no matter how small — and you could lose everything." A beat of silence, then: "You’ll also need luck on your side to find the right people. Neither your uncle nor I have any contacts in that industry."
Min-ho nodded enthusiastically and added:
"Sol-woo should go to Hongdae. Just walk around that area for a bit. I’ll bet you anything that within minutes some talent scout stops him on the street."
He said it with full conviction, taking in his nephew’s presence. After all, the boy had inherited the best of Kang genetics — a compliment his uncle was indirectly extending to himself.
Noticing his sister’s stern look, she stepped in:
"He needs to be careful not to run into the wrong people." Then she turned back to her son. "Sol-woo... do you really want to try?"
Eun-ji knew her son well. He tended to be reserved and distant, but he had a natural magnetism. Since childhood, he’d always attracted trouble — and people who felt a genuine impulse to help him. It was like an unconscious gift.
The entertainment world had never appealed to her, but watching the spark in Sol-woo’s eyes, she had nothing to lose by letting him try. What did it mean to lose a year at nineteen? Nothing that couldn’t be fixed.
For the first time in his life, Sol-woo felt truly backed. That fantasy he’d kept under lock and key finally had room to breathe.
"Mom... I’ll try," he answered, something restrained and full in his voice at once.
He finished eating quickly, pushed back from the table, and headed to his room to get ready.
Watching him so energized, the weariness on his mother’s face softened. Eun-ji knew all too well the sadness her son had carried for years, and the dreams he’d been forced to keep hidden. She would support him no matter what — even if it meant going up against Thomas Vance.
The mere thought of her ex-husband sent a flash of anger through her, but she reined it in immediately. She turned to her younger brother and said:
"Go with him. Keep an eye on him. You know how that boy gets when he loses focus."
Sol-woo arrived in Hongdae with his uncle around six in the evening, just as the sun began to sink behind the buildings. The streets were alive — groups of students with backpacks, couples walking hand in hand, foreign tourists with cameras around their necks. And above all else, music. It came from every corner, every pocket of the neighborhood: a boy strumming an acoustic guitar on the sidewalk, the electronic bass lines thumping up from underground bars.
One young man caught Sol-woo’s attention — playing guitar with his eyes closed, completely lost in his own melody. A few meters ahead, a group of girls was running through a K-pop choreography in the middle of the street, laughing and completely unbothered. The energy got to him. A vibrant, alive feeling he had never once experienced on the quiet streets of Newport.
Min-ho, noticing how absorbed he was, decided to give him room.
"I’m going for a coffee," he said, nodding toward a nearby café. "If you need anything, call me."
Sol-woo nodded. He had no intention of performing or standing still in one place — he just wanted to walk, take it in, observe. The best way to start.
As he moved through the crowd, the stares came quickly. The girls who’d been dancing paused their routine for a second to watch him, hands flying to their mouths. His presence stood out in a way he couldn’t suppress — he moved through the crowd like a gold fish in a tank of ordinary ones.
The attention wasn’t new to him, so he didn’t dwell on it. He kept walking until something caught his eye: a boy sitting on a wooden bench, headphones on, nodding along to an electronic track in English. Sol-woo approached, curious.
The boy looked up — visibly caught off guard by Sol-woo’s height and presence — and spoke with a slight stammer:
"What — what do you need?"
Sol-woo smiled, trying to put him at ease, and answered in an unhurried tone:
"Good music. If you’re into that sound, you should check out The Chainsmokers."
Hearing him say the name in English with effortless fluency, the boy blinked.
"Are you a foreigner?"
Sol-woo sat down beside him on the bench.
"Yeah. Just got to Korea. Didn’t expect to find someone listening to Western music this soon."
The boy let out a shy laugh, relaxing a little.
"It’s hard to find people with the same taste around here," he said, adjusting the headphones around his neck. "How old are you?"
"Nineteen. You?"
"Ah, so you’re hyung," the boy said, using the informal title for an older brother. "I’m Ji-hoon. Seventeen."