Chapter Text
The rain started coming down harder around eight.
Not enough to empty the streets, but enough to send people crowding beneath awnings and hurrying toward the subway entrances with their shoulders pulled tight against the cold. Water ran in thin streams along the curb, reflecting neon signs in smeared reds and blues every time headlights passed.
Seoyeon rubbed her hands together once before tucking them beneath her thighs. The blanket underneath her was thin and scratchy against the pavement, but she didn’t complain. Her father was still playing beside her like the cold didn’t exist, though she could tell from the stiffness in his shoulders that his hands probably hurt worse than hers did. The smell of hotteok drifted through the street every few minutes whenever the wind shifted. Seoyeon stared down at the notebook in her lap. The same line sat in the center of the page surrounded by crossed-out words and scribbled arrows.
You stand beside me like you already left
She frowned at it.
“It’s the ‘already,’” her father said.
Her head snapped up immediately. “What?”
“That’s why you keep changing it.”
“I didn’t even say it out loud.”
“You mumble when you’re frustrated.”
“I do not.”
“You wrinkle your nose too.”
Seoyeon immediately relaxed her face, her father laughing quietly to himself as he adjusted one of the tuning pegs on his guitar.
“I hate when you notice things.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
She rolled her eyes and tried to snatch the notebook away before he could grab it, but he leaned over faster and plucked it out of her lap with one hand.
“Appa.”
“You’ve crossed the line out 6 times now.”
“Because it sounds wrong.”
“It sounds honest”
“It sounds plain.”
He handed it back to her after another second.
“Not everything meaningful has to sound poetic.”
Seoyeon looked back down at the page.
Adults always said things like that, but she never fully believed them. Songs were supposed to feel beautiful. If the lyrics sounded too simple, people stopped listening. Her father watched her for a moment before shaking his head.
“You think too hard for an eleven-year-old.”
“You say that every day.”
“And every day I mean it.”
The rain picked up again, drumming against the awning above them. A few people slowed nearby when her father started playing another song. Most recognized him by now. He’d been performing around this station long enough that regular commuters sometimes stopped specifically to listen before heading home. One older man tossed folded bills into the open guitar case and pointed at Seoyeon.
“You singing tonight too?”
Her father sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”
Seoyeon kicked his leg hard enough to make the man laugh.
“She’s good,” the man said before disappearing down the subway stairs.
“She’s terrifying!” Her father corrected, the man’s chuckle could be heard from below.
Seoyeon pouts, “I’m literally sitting here.”
“And criticizing my music.”
“Because your chord progression last week sounded emotionally constipated.”
A nearby group of university students burst into laughter. Seoyeon buried half her face in her scarf immediately while her father looked far too pleased with himself.
“You said artists should be honest,” she muttered.
“I regret teaching you anything.”
One of the students crouched slightly to Seoyeon’s height.
“You really write songs?”
Seoyeon nodded once.
“She thinks she’s already a producer,” her father added.
“I am.”
The students laughed again.
Another girl smiled warmly, “How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
That got an even bigger reaction. Variations of ‘no way’, ‘she looks so much older!’, and ‘that’s awesome!’ came from the group.
Her father nodded toward Seoyeon with mock seriousness. “Tiny dictator.”
“I’m not a dictator.”
“You told me my bridge arrangement was embarrassing.”
“Because it was.”
The college students looked delighted by that answer.
“Sing something!” one of them said.
Seoyeon immediately looked at her father.
He tilted his head toward the guitar. “Your choice.”
She thought for a moment before naming an older ballad quietly.
His eyebrows lifted. “Again?”
“I like it.”
“You only like sad songs.”
“They sound more real.”
Something in his expression softened at that, though it disappeared quickly when he started playing. The opening chords drifted softly beneath the awning while people passed by outside in the rain. Seoyeon waited through the intro before joining in. Her voice was still young, still small in some ways, but people noticed anyway. Conversations nearby quieted little by little, a couple slowed near the crosswalk, someone stopped halfway down the subway stairs. Even the college students stopped smiling and just listened.
Her father noticed the woman across the street before Seoyeon did. Dark coat. Expensive heels. No umbrella despite the rain. She’d stopped walking entirely.
Industry
His stomach tightened immediately. Seoyeon kept singing, unaware.
The song ended quietly. For a second nobody moved, then applause broke out beneath the awning. The college students clapped loudly enough to embarrass her. Her father bowed politely from his seat.
“Thank you for tolerating our bickering until we could actually perform again!” Seoyeon said with a giggle, not realizing her dad was still focused on the woman across the street
“You were amazing,” one of the girls told Seoyeon.
Before she could answer, the woman across the street finally approached, bowing first.
“Excuse me.”
Her father’s posture changed almost instantly- polite, guarded even. The woman reached into her bag and handed over a business card.
“I work with a company down the road from here, we specialize in performing and musical acts.”
This meant nothing to Seoyeon, but father recognized what was happening immediately. Small company, barely stable, but real.
“We’re currently scouting trainees,” the woman continued. “Your daughter has a very unusual voice.”
Seoyeon blinked up at her.
“Trainees?”
The woman smiled. “People who train professionally to become singers.”
“Like idols?”
“Sometimes.”
Her father took the card before Seoyeon could.
“She’s eleven.”
“Of course,” the scout said smoothly. “This wouldn’t be immediate. We’re simply holding auditions next month.”
Seoyeon looked up so fast her scarf slipped off one shoulder.
“Auditions?”
Her father didn’t even hesitate.
“No.”
“Appa.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I did. The answer is still no.”
The scout laughed awkwardly.
“There’s no pressure,” she said carefully. “Just an evaluation. Vocal training, performance classes-”
“She’s a child.”
“And very talented.”
Seoyeon stared at the logo on the card in her father’s hand, something nervous twisted low in her stomach. Nobody had ever looked at her like that woman just had- like she was worth noticing.
“What’s an audition like?” she asked quietly.
Her father sighed through his nose before the scout could answer.
“Stressful.”
The woman smiled again. “Not always.”
“Yes always.”
“Appa.”
The scout looked between them before crouching slightly to Seoyeon’s height.
“If you decide you’re interested, all the information is on the back. The auditions are next month.” Then she handed the card directly to Seoyeon instead, offering a soft smile. Seoyeon took it carefully with both hands. The woman bowed one last time before disappearing back into the crowd.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Rain hammered against the awning overhead. Her father started packing the guitar away too quickly.
“Appa.”
“No.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“You already decided.”
He zipped the guitar case shut harder than necessary.
“You’re eleven, Seoyeon.”
“You keep saying that like it explains everything.”
“Because it should.”
“It doesn’t.”
The frustration in her voice surprised both of them. Her father finally looked at her properly.
She looked hurt. Not just childish disappointment, something deeper.
“What if I’m good enough?” she asked quietly.
His expression softened immediately.
“You already are.”
“No, I mean for this.”
He looked away first, and suddenly Seoyeon understood this wasn’t really about the audition. Her father crouched in front of her slowly.
“You know why I like hearing you sing?”
She shrugged.
“Because I’m good?”
“No.” He smiled faintly. “Because it makes you happy for a little while.”
Something about the way he said it made her chest ache unexpectedly. He reached over and brushed damp hair away from her face.
“You love music now,” he said quietly. “I don’t want people teaching you to hate it.”
Their apartment smelled like kimchi stew and laundry detergent when they got home. Warm. Small. Safe. Her aunt was standing in the kitchen the second they walked through the door.
“You’re late.”
“Customers,” her father answered immediately.
Her aunt narrowed her eyes.
“You only say ‘customers’ when something happened.”
Seoyeon held up the business card before either of them could say anything else.
Her aunt blinked.
Then blinked again.
“What is that?”
“A company scout talked to us.”
“A scout?”
Her aunt snatched the card out of Seoyeon’s hand so quickly it almost bent. The longer she stared at it, the wider her eyes got.
“She got scouted?”
“Apparently,” her father muttered while taking off his coat. Her aunt looked between both of them.
“Wait- seriously?”
“She sang one song.”
“She sings all the time.”
Her father paused.
“That’s different.”
Seoyeon dropped onto the floor cushions dramatically, saying “I think I’m famous now,” into the pillows.
“You are absolutely not famous,” her father said immediately. Her aunt ignored him completely.
“They want her to audition?”
“Next month,” Seoyeon looked up to answer before her father could.
“Absolutely not,” he cut in.
“Oh my god, let her breathe first.”
“She’s ten.”
“She’s talented.”
“She’s a baby.”
“She writes better lyrics than most adults.”
“That’s because something is deeply wrong with her emotionally.”
“Appa!”
Her aunt burst out laughing. Seoyeon groaned and buried her face in her arms while the two adults kept arguing over her head.
“You know she’s been obsessed with music since she was little,” her aunt said.
“I know.”
“She got that from you.”
“I know.”
“So why are you acting like this is horrible?”
Her father fell quiet for a moment after that. The humor drained out of the room slowly. Seoyeon looked up.
“I know what that industry is like,” he said finally.
Her aunt’s expression softened.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough.”
He sat down heavily at the table, rubbing tired hands over his face. Seoyeon watched him carefully. Her father almost never talked about before her. Not ever.
“You’re scared,” she said quietly.
He looked up immediately, “Of course I am.”
“Why?”
For a second he didn’t answer. Then he looked at the business card sitting on the counter.
“Because strangers looked at my daughter tonight and immediately started deciding how valuable she could be.”
The apartment fell silent, Seoyeon stared down at her hands. Her aunt leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely now.
“She loves music,” she said more gently this time.
“I know.”
“And she’s good.”
“I know.”
“She deserves the chance to decide for herself.”
Her father looked over at Seoyeon then. Really looked at her. The notebook in her lap, ink stains on her fingers, the nervous excitement she was trying and failing to hide. And underneath all of it, something hopeful. That hope seemed to hurt him more than anything else.
“What if they ruin it for you?” he asked quietly.
Seoyeon frowned slightly. “Ruin what?”
“The part of you that loves this.”
She didn’t know how to answer that. Maybe because she’d never considered it before. Music had always just been there. Like breathing, like home. Finally, after a long silence, her aunt sighed and pointed toward the kitchen.
“Before anybody has a life crisis, eat dinner.”