Chapter 14
“The Idol I Raised”
“So this time it’s Cha Eun-gyeol, huh.”
Yoon Tae-jin’s eyes gleamed — not with suspicion this time, but with a strange flicker of anticipation.
“‘Cold-faced handsome guy, Cha Eun-gyeol’… What do you think? You like your nickname?”
Ruha tapped Eun-gyeol’s profile with his back scratcher as he asked.
“I like it! It’s a compliment, after all, right?”
“Well, looks-wise, sure. But as a singer?”
“As a singer?”
Yoon Tae-jin fell silent for a moment.
“You monitor reactions, right?”
“Of course I do!”
But despite his confident voice, his gaze shifted awkwardly toward the window.
He used to monitor them — a lot.
When they first debuted, fans’ comments were full of love and anticipation for the “visual genius group.”
But as time went on, the comment section filled with icy criticism instead.
He forced himself to read them because he had to keep up with public opinion, but facing harsh words toward “his boys” was never easy.
“‘Cold-faced’ sounds nice, but what they really mean is ‘looks uninterested.’”
He was hit right in the weak spot. Yoon Tae-jin flinched.
Sure, some fans fell for Cha Eun-gyeol’s mysterious charm — his silence, his stoic face.
But they were a minority. Most people didn’t see “charisma,” they saw “apathy.”
“But living with him, I realized something — he’s actually better than I thought.”
“Yeah?”
A faint light returned to Tae-jin’s eyes.
“He’s got a great tone, stable breathing, strong projection. Wide vocal range — and especially…”
Ruha raised his back scratcher high into the air.
“His high notes are really refreshing.”
“Eun-gyeol’s?”
“Hard to believe he’s been hiding that kind of skill…”
Ruha clicked his tongue in disbelief.
“When a solid vocalist like Cha Eun-gyeol leads a song, the whole track changes. A shaky stage suddenly feels firm.”
Yoon Tae-jin slowly nodded.
“You know what’s even more interesting?”
“What?”
“He uses his jawline a lot when he sings. So even though he’s usually expressionless, when he hits the high notes — he shows tons of emotion.”
A mischievous grin crept onto Ruha’s face.
“When he gets the main part, the camera will naturally zoom in. Then the public will see it too.”
Ruha waved his back scratcher through the air as if sketching something invisible.
“That moment when the cold, emotionless robot becomes an artist pouring his soul into the mic.”
“…!?”
“That’s what you call…”
He jabbed the air dramatically, stressing each syllable.
“Re-verse. Char-is-ma!”
“Ha!”
Yoon Tae-jin let out a short gasp of awe.
“That’s exactly the kind of thing fans love. Ever heard of ‘gap moe’? That contrast between how someone acts normally versus on stage. That alone could double Eun-gyeol’s fancam views.”
Thud!
Ruha tapped the table with his back scratcher, smiling in satisfaction.
“Not ‘Apathetic Cha Eun-gyeol,’ but ‘Stage Tyrant Cha Eun-gyeol’ — that’s who he’ll become.”
At that moment, Yoon Tae-jin didn’t see a five-year-old boy — he saw something far greater.
Jin Do-hyun’s insight wasn’t mere intuition. It came from sharp observation, analysis, and years of experience.
“The Genius Producer, Jin Do-hyun.”
That nickname wasn’t for nothing.
“Anyway, we’re just getting started. Next.”
The Next Day — Clef Entertainment Conference Room
Yoon Tae-jin relayed every word of his conversation with Ruha from the day before.
“Hah, the kid talks well.”
“So that’s what he’s been up to.”
“Well, at least he’s not just playing around.”
The staff’s voices carried hints of sarcasm, but their expressions told another story — they looked relieved, almost refreshed.
‘As expected… genius producer Jin Do-hyun.’
A new image of LUMIS was beginning to form in their minds — a group redefined through careful strategy, bringing out each member’s hidden charm.
There was a reason every group Jin Do-hyun had touched reached the top.
“So when’s PD Jin coming back?”
The sharp voice of PR team leader Han Su-jin cut through the air.
Once, Jin Do-hyun had been her favorite idol. And now? He’d suddenly shown up with a kid.
No — to be exact, the kid had shown up alone. And the father had disappeared.
‘To think my favorite idol was this irresponsible!’
She wanted to grab him and yell, “You can’t raise a child like this! Look, he’s already so cheeky!”
‘Still… he is handsome, just like you…’
“Uh… that might take a while.”
Tae-jin brushed it off vaguely. Truth was, even he didn’t know when Jin Do-hyun would return — or rather, when he’d return to his own body.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
He took a deep breath.
“We’re pausing comeback preparations — until RE:VIVAL ends.”
“What!?”
The room erupted.
“Sir, that’s too sudden!”
A&R team leader Seo Ji-won stood up.
“We’ve already scheduled with distributors and notified the publishers!”
“Producer Jin’s suggestion. He says it’s better to decide on the concept after the show.”
“Sir, even if it’s him, this is—”
Yoon Tae-jin raised his hand to silence them, his face equally troubled.
Then, one staff member timidly raised their hand.
“Uh… sir, what exactly does it mean that Jin-woo’s producing?”
“Yeah, isn’t he just the rapper? Suddenly he’s composing?”
“Toplining maybe, sure. But producing?”
“Even if he’s not goofing off, just learning the program would take him at least a month!”
Opinions split across the room.
Tack, tack.
At the corner table, Ruha casually tapped his back scratcher against the desk.
“Why don’t you all just listen first, hmm?”
He spoke lazily.
If he were still in Jin Do-hyun’s adult body, his charisma would’ve completely dominated the room — but now…
“Oh my god, he’s too cute.”
“Look at those tiny hands moving!”
“Why’s he always carrying that back scratcher?”
The limits of a five-year-old were clear.
Smiles spread across everyone’s faces — except one.
“Ruha, what did you just call him? Ha Jin-woo?”
Han Su-jin’s voice turned sharp. She wasn’t the type to tolerate rude kids.
“Eh~?”
Ruha tilted his head, his eyebrows and lips drooping into a perfect “八” shape.
Oh boy…
Yoon Tae-jin sighed inwardly.
Ever since he’d been stuck in that little body, Ruha had developed a new habit — when something displeased him, he’d frown and pout, trying to look intimidating.
But instead…
“So cute!!”
“My heart!”
“Ruhaaa~!”
The reaction was always the same.
Tae-jin dug into his pocket and pulled out a black USB stick.
“What’s this?”
Seo Ji-won asked as he accepted it.
“Jin-woo’s song.”
“What?”
“No way~”
“You’re kidding.”
But as soon as the first beat came through the conference room speakers, everyone fell silent.
The day after Ruha and Tae-jin met Ha Jin-woo at Nakwon Music Market.
“Ruha, this place is…”
Jin-woo looked puzzled as he stared at the studio door.
After practice, Ruha had brought him to one of Clef’s private studios — the one meant for Jin Do-hyun’s personal use.
“Come in.”
Ruha went in first, flipping the light switch with his back scratcher.
The room lit up — and Jin-woo gasped.
“Wow…”
The acoustics were perfect.
Diffusers lined the walls, the decor was sleek but cozy, and a solid wood MIDI desk sat before triple monitors and high-end Barefoot speakers. Instruments of all kinds surrounded them.
It was the kind of studio he’d always dreamed of.
“No time to waste, let’s get started!”
Ruha waved his back scratcher impatiently.
“Ah, yeah!”
Jin-woo booted up the computer and plugged in his external hard drive.
As he searched for his files, Ruha asked,
“So, where do you usually work?”
“Hmm… on my laptop at the dorm, or at home when I can. Just whenever there’s time.”
“Oh? You even have time for that?”
“You don’t have time — you make it.”
“Doesn’t it tire you out?”
“Sure it does. But… it’s fun.”
Jin-woo’s smile was bright — pure and genuine.
“Wanna hear something?”
He pointed at a file shyly.
“My best one.”
Ruha unfolded a small stool, wriggled his tiny butt onto it, and sat down.
Click.
Music began to play.
The mellow tone of a Rhodes electric piano filled the room — smooth and vintage, as if slightly dulled at the edges.
‘He even mixed the sound himself?’
Soon, a deep 808 bass rumbled through the floor. The drums joined in, and the verse began.
“Arariyo, oh today it is~
Yo hello baby, maybe not~
Where you going, bae-bae-bae~”
Ruha’s eyebrows twitched.
‘He had this kind of talent?’
They say even pearls need stringing to shine — and Ha Jin-woo’s composing skills were far beyond expectations.
It was completely different from the ballad he’d played at the music store yesterday. This track was steeped in R&B mood.
Sure, the guide lyrics were nonsense, but that didn’t matter.
The pads blanketing the background, the smooth chord progression, the catchy melodic phrases, the groovy drum patterns — everything worked.
“I love ‘cause ahhh~ hoo~
You and me, you and me please~
Once in a lifetime, you you you~!”
‘Not bad at all… even structured well?’
Ruha crossed his arms, resting his tiny hand on his chin.
The bridge began — the kick and snare dropped out, leaving soft percussion to fill the emptiness. Strings crept in, building tension.
And then, just as the chorus hit—
“Bae-bae-bae-bae, we party liar~
Woo~ woo~
So I love up, up~!”
The chorus burst open.
‘Ha! This kid…’
Ruha couldn’t help but chuckle, his left lip curling upward.
It hit him like a bell — ding!
Ha Jin-woo’s song wasn’t amateur work. It was professional.
The groove that made your head nod on its own, the melody that felt simple but addictive, the hook that stuck in your ears after one listen.
It was exactly Jin Do-hyun’s favorite kind of track.
“I can smell it… oh yeah.”
From Ha Jin-woo’s song, Ruha could smell it clearly —
The scent of success. The scent of money.
