From the car window, Seoul at night was a vivid spectacle — dazzling signs and multicolored lights bleeding across the avenues. In the passenger seat, Sol-woo couldn’t hide his excitement. He kept checking his phone every few seconds: in a matter of minutes, the YouTube count had jumped from fifteen to fifty plays. No flood of likes, no avalanche of comments — but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that strangers on the other side of a screen were giving their time to his music. That alone produced a warmth he couldn’t name.
Beside him, Min-ho glanced over every now and then, genuinely glad to see that look on his nephew’s face.
Back at the Mangwon-dong building, Eun-ji had dinner waiting. Sol-woo ate quickly, relaying the highlights of his afternoon in Hongdae with barely contained energy. By nine o’clock they were done — his uncle said goodnight and headed home, while his mother settled into the living room to rest.
Alone in the quiet of his room — the same spare space he occupied every time he came to Seoul on holiday — Sol-woo opened the app again. A new comment caught his eye:
"Great song. You should reach out to me — I could open doors for you in the entertainment world. 😊 @jopentretenimient"
Sol-woo frowned. It sounded too good to be real. He’d never been impulsive — he knew better than most that the world was full of people dressed up as good intentions. Despite having taken the step of posting the song, he still struggled to absorb the idea that building a real path as a singer-songwriter was actually possible.
He closed the app and opened the chat with his father. No new messages. Just the timestamp of his last connection, two hours ago. Sol-woo let out a slow breath.
Somewhere underneath everything, he admired his father. He understood the discipline and composure that came with being a prosecutor in the States — and precisely because of that, he knew he would never get his blessing to pursue music. No one on his father’s side of the family would accept it.
Trying to clear his head, he took a quick shower and unpacked his things. The weight of the journey finally caught up with him — he’d left the East Coast in the early hours of the morning and landed in Korea by sunrise. The moment his head hit the pillow, exhaustion won. He was out.
The night passed in silence.
At 4:35 a.m., he woke up abruptly. Still in the dark, he reached for the nightstand, grabbed his phone, and opened YouTube immediately.
He stared at the screen.
The play count had gone from fifty to over a thousand in a matter of hours. The comments section was mostly in English:
"This song is incredible. Where did this guy come from? Such a clean talent."
"He has a completely American accent — or am I wrong? Why does the account location say Asia?"
Among the wave of reactions, one comment in Korean stood out from the rest:
"Write to me at: [email protected]"
What caught his attention was the tone — cold, direct, professional, stripped of empty praise. Unlike the suspicious accounts promising instant fame, this felt almost corporate in its seriousness.
Just below it, he noticed another profile that had just appeared — a feminine avatar with a black heart icon.
Could it be her? Sol-woo thought, something shifting in his chest. She always used those hearts to sign her messages.
Driven by a mix of sleeplessness and curiosity, he got up, went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, and came back to sit on the edge of the mattress. He opened his email app and typed a few short lines, just to try his luck:
"Hi. I’m the author of the song on YouTube. Link attached."
He sent it and set the phone down on the sheet. There was no way anyone would reply at this hour — or so he thought.
To stop himself from obsessively refreshing the YouTube count, he turned to music. Spotify wasn’t officially available in South Korea yet, but his phone’s operating system was still set to a US region, which let him in without issue.
Scrolling through his saved playlists, his eyes landed on a shared folder with a very particular name: "D and M 🖤". The cover photo was a close-up shot that showed only her eyes — simple, candid, full of something unspoken.
He put his earbuds in and let the music start. The screen showed the title now playing: Last Dance — a track that had come out barely a month ago.
At first the melody felt comforting. Then Sol-woo’s expression shifted. Within seconds, a tangle of opposing emotions started pulling at the surface. He knew the backstory behind that song — what it actually meant, for both of them — but accepting it was something else. It was like pressing on a wound that had only just begun to close.
As he sank deeper into the maze of his own thoughts, a vibration cut through the room. A short tone in his earbuds — an incoming email notification.
Sol-woo checked the screen immediately. The sender’s address confirmed what he’d half-hoped: MNO Entertainment. He opened it without hesitating.
"Good early morning. I’ve listened to the attached file and reviewed the track on your channel. If you’re currently in Seoul, we’d like to schedule a brief evaluation meeting at our Cheongdam-dong offices today — if possible, at 2:00 PM. Please confirm your availability and we’ll send the exact location.
Sincerely, Recruitment and Development Team — MNO Entertainment."
Sol-woo read it five times straight through. He’d never imagined a real agency would bother responding at this hour of the morning — let alone to schedule a same-day meeting. It was a massive step forward. He knew MNO wasn’t one of the industry’s top names, but it was a real opportunity. Whether the proposal was actually serious and professional was something he’d have to judge in person.
After reading it a dozen more times, he managed to settle himself. He slipped out of his room and went to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. His mother had just gotten up — wearing comfortable pajamas, moving slowly toward the dining room — and their eyes met.
"Couldn’t sleep well, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice carrying that soft, maternal warmth, noticing the tiredness in his eyes.
Sol-woo looked at her and gave a calm smile.
"I slept. Just woke up early."
He took his phone from his pocket, pulled up the email, and held it out to her.
"Look, Mom... They’re calling me in for a meeting in person. What do you think?"
Eun-ji took the phone and read the email carefully. When she looked up and saw the quiet excitement in Sol-woo’s face, a wave of genuine happiness moved through her. What could matter more to a mother than watching her son smile again because of his own dreams?
Even so, she kept the clear-headedness that defined her, handed the phone back, and nodded.
"I have a friend who’s a lawyer here in the city. Before you even think about signing anything, you show it to him first. You know how things work in Seoul with these agencies."
Sol-woo nodded — he understood her caution completely.
"Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not signing anything on the first meeting. I’d rather take it slow and see what more traction the video picks up on YouTube first."
Eun-ji took in the maturity and patience in his plan, and let out a small nod of approval.
They stayed at the table sharing their coffee in a comfortable, easy silence. A few minutes passed before his mother spoke again, her tone carrying a note of careful restraint:
"Has your father written?"
Sol-woo shook his head slightly and took a sip before answering:
"I told him I was coming to Korea. But you know how he is. He just didn’t care. He hasn’t written since that day."
Eun-ji looked at him for a moment and could only sigh — keeping to herself the bitterness her ex-husband’s coldness always stirred in her.
By eight in the morning, the table was set for breakfast. They had just finished eating when the front door opened and Uncle Min-ho walked in with his usual energy.
"Sol-woo-ya!" he announced with a wide grin. "Am I your personal chauffeur again today?"
Sol-woo played along, letting out a quiet laugh.
"I’m going to need you, uncle. One o’clock. I have a meeting with MNO Entertainment."
At the word Entertainment, Min-ho’s eyes went wide and his face broke into immediate delight. He didn’t know agency names — but he knew exactly what that word meant for his nephew’s future.
His mother, watching her brother’s unbridled enthusiasm, cut in with a firm tone:
"Whatever fee you’re planning to charge for gas, you charge him. This boy has more than enough money to pay for his own rides."
Min-ho dismissed her with an amused wave of his hand. As if he would ever charge his own nephew for driving him toward his dream.