Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 12

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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12. The Trainee Who Refuses to Debut (3)
Dan Ha-ru, a trainee in crisis, found himself thinking.
‘Life really is about facing reality head-on.’
Of course, I’d learned this truth about life countless times before, but this situation was uniquely complicated. I held back my tears, thinking that crying here would mean true defeat, but that didn’t stop the pounding in my head.
‘What do I do? This can’t go on like this.’
My stress was reaching a breaking point. At this rate, I’d rather become shark food than be the shrimp caught in the crossfire of whales—at least then I wouldn’t feel cheated.
“But do sharks even eat shrimp?”
Even in my frustrated state, that absurd question surfaced, and it was then that Kang Ha-jin—the one who’d recently joined us—came to mind. The logic behind it was more sound than I’d expected.
-If you ever have something difficult to talk about, just ask me to go to the vending machine. I’ll buy you a drink.
He was an odd guy. From the moment we first met, he felt strangely familiar, without any distance between us. Before I knew it, I was spilling everything—from my hobbies to my current training concerns. He was the subject of rumors that had set the entire company abuzz even before becoming an official trainee.
-Miro’s Zhuge Liang.
-He’s close with Seo Tae-il from Upia, apparently.
-Team Leader Ji personally oversees him, I heard?
-His abilities are so exceptional that even Rene Entertainment wanted him.
-No, it’s because he comes from an impressive family, so they can’t treat him carelessly.
I couldn’t tell which of these rumors were true, but one thing was certain: his current standing, despite having just joined, was better than expected.
Because he was new, he had no stake in the existing power dynamics, and yet he was someone who could gain real influence just by listening to my story.
With that calculation in mind, Dan Ha-ru moved forward without hesitation.
“….”
“….”
And so, right now—after boldly shouting about going to the vending machine and causing the practice room to erupt in laughter, Kang Ha-jin, flustered, brought Ju Eun-chan and me to the empty break room.
What greeted us was awkwardness even deeper than silence.
[System Alert: It’s frigid.]
Shut up before you drive a dagger straight through my chest.
As I sat quietly, gauging the atmosphere, I shot a quick glance at the System, which was starting up with its commentary again.
“Hmm. If you’ve got nothing to say, should we head out?”
“Oh, I—, well!”
“Yeah?”
“That, you said before that if I had something on my mind, I should tell you!”
“Oh, right. What’s going on?”
Finally mustering the courage to speak, Dan Ha-ru appealed to me with his small face full of grievance.
“…The company keeps trying to make us debut!”
‘What are you talking about?’
Caught off guard by this unexpected statement, I lost my train of thought for a moment.
“Uh…well↗.”
I tried to keep my voice as calm as possible, but it cracked. Ugh, my dignity.
“Well, the company is supposed to push for debuts, right? We came here wanting to debut too.”
I tried to sound indifferent, but my confusion clearly bled through in my voice. Man, teenagers are complicated. I couldn’t fathom what this seventeen-year-old sparkplug was thinking.
“That’s… well, yes, but…”
The spirited trainee’s voice grew quieter. Ju Eun-chan, sitting beside me, simply watched with an unreadable expression. Eighteen-year-old Miro trainees are no joke either.
“There’s a parachute hire in the debut group that the Executive Director is pushing.”
“A parachute hire?”
“He’s trying to debut me and Ha-ru together to bury that parachute hire.”
“Why does it have to be you two?”
Something about this whole mess reeked of a catastrophic bomb waiting to explode, and my body leaned forward instinctively. Ju Eun-chan spoke in that characteristically flat, low voice of his, measured and composed.
“I’m from a wealthy family.”
“?”
What the hell was all this nonsense?
* * *
The story went like this.
Son Hyung-gu, the Executive Director of Miro, had been treated as a founding contributor for his achievement in debuting Upia. But after missing out on a promotion due to recent poor performance and several incidents, he’d grown anxious. That’s why he’d started showing his face frequently at drinking gatherings with the “right people.”
And apparently, one of those “right people’s” sons had recently taken an interest in idols.
“Everyone who knows about it already knows. The Executive Director takes money and pushes kids through.”
It was obvious to anyone that there were trainees gaining opportunities through corrupt means. But knowing that didn’t change anything—trainees, being among the weakest in this dog-eat-dog world of survival, couldn’t possibly voice complaints.
And the Executive Director’s greed became more blatant with each passing day.
“Because of that parachute hire or whatever, the special class got completely reorganized according to the Executive Director’s tastes.”
“Special class?”
“Class A. It’s called Class A, but it’s basically the debut group management class, so everyone calls it that.”
Hearing that brought back what Ji Su-ho had explained on my first day as a trainee.
-All new trainees start in Class B. At Miro, there are end-of-month evaluations and quarterly overall evaluations. Only trainees who rank in the top seven in the quarterly evaluation get separate classes in Class A.
-Is that like the debut group?
-Not exactly… but there are various perks and opportunities, and they get more consideration when forming the debut group.
When I first heard that, I thought they were raising ten-year-olds rather cruelly, but that was all. Once you set foot in this industry, you have to get used to it, and if I just grit my teeth and make the top seven, that’s all there is to it.
That’s what I thought.
“At first, it was just one voice actor hyung getting pushed out. He wasn’t in the safe zone originally anyway, so he couldn’t say anything outright. Then one of the Class A kids got called to the Executive Director’s office one day… and at the next evaluation, he suddenly ranked eleventh. He used to always rank fifth or sixth.”
After that, trainees in the existing special class who had uncomfortable relationships with the parachute hire were systematically eliminated one by one. Some dropped to the general trainee team, and others left the company on their own.
And then an unexpected name appeared.
“Min-seok hyung left the company too….”
“…Min-seok? Cha Min-seok from Rene?”
“You know Min-seok hyung?”
Ah. He hasn’t debuted yet?
I made an excuse to the sparkling-eyed Miro trainee, saying I’d heard about it in passing from Manager Jang at Rene, and changed the subject.
“Anyway, so.”
“….”
“Why does the Executive Director want to debut you two, and why do you hate it? Because the parachute hire is unfair?”
Frankly, after signing a seven-year contract, we’d all be on the same boat anyway. If I closed my eyes to conscience and thought about it rationally, having connections might actually be better than not having them. Parents powerful enough to move the Executive Director might mean the company invests more generously, and in an entertainment industry already rife with brutal power dynamics, they could become a weapon to protect the group.
‘Of course, if I were actually twenty, I would’ve been furious at society’s injustice and cursed up a storm.’
But I was far too much of a returnee—twenty-nine (plus change)—who’d lived through this bitter reality four times already.
Soon, Dan Ha-ru, who’d been thinking for a moment, opened his mouth.
“…First of all, I just don’t like the Executive Director.”
“That’s quite the seventeen-year-old thing to say. Next.”
“Doing it this way, all we’ll end up doing is playing backup for that parachute hire.”
“Capitalism really is a bitch, isn’t it? Next.”
“Honestly, I don’t want to ride the Executive Director’s coattails. Project W disbanded doing the same thing.”
Project W here referred to a four-member rock band concept that debuted with promise, only to spectacularly implode over lip-sync controversy at their own concert. So that was the Executive Director’s handiwork.
“That one I can understand. Next.”
“Still not enough!?”
“You’re trying to take down both a company executive and a well-connected parachute hire. You need something with more knockout power.”
“But—!”
“Honestly, once you debut with your eyes shut, everything after that is survival of the fittest. You have to make it on your own. The public isn’t stupid—they know who has talent and who doesn’t.”
“….”
“Refusing to debut just because you don’t like someone seems like privileged whining to me, frankly.”
My words, perhaps a touch too cold, made Ju Eun-chan’s eyes dim as he closed his mouth. He looked like a young rabbit caught in the rain, and my throat tightened, but I had no intention of taking back what I’d said.
There were people who, no matter how skilled or hardworking, never set foot in a broadcast station and gave up their dreams for life.
In an industry where years of preparation and desperate longing couldn’t guarantee a debut or success afterward, for a mere trainee—not even part of a debut group—to refuse a debut might be a betrayal to someone.
‘So that won’t be enough to move me.’
I was the same way. Having stepped onto this path to stop the regression, I had to complete the Quest, and that Quest was forming a ‘successful debut group,’ not a ‘conscientious’ one.
If that parachute hire turned out to be a ‘successful’ groupmate in some respect, then I had no reason to eliminate him.
“You said it yourself earlier. He’s trying to pin the parachute hire image on me.”
Ju Eun-chan, who had been biting his lip with a hardened expression, finally opened his mouth. I still couldn’t get used to hearing this guy’s voice.
“He’s a rich kid.”
“Yeah, well. That’s enviable. But you’re in Class B too, not Class A.”
“Exactly. At the Upia concert this time, I was the only Class B member who went up as a backup dancer. On the Executive Director’s orders. There were Class A members who couldn’t perform, but only I did.”
Wait, what?
“He knows Ha-ru and I are close, so he’s blackmailing me. Either I take the parachute hire rap, or I rewrite my contract and debut. I know my hyung can’t help me with this. But it’s just… this situation is too—!”
What?
“Hold on. Rewrite what? Your contract?”
“Because I have to debut… so I’d rewrite the debut contract….”
“Why would you rewrite your contract? You signed a trainee contract when you came to Miro.”
At my words, both their eyes widened simultaneously. See?
“I was wondering what it meant for a trainee to refuse a debut. He told you to rewrite your contract, right? And you two are refusing to sign that new contract.”
“…Yes.”
Beep beep.
An alarm went off in my head. I didn’t need some special ‘bomb detection’ skill to sense this instinctively.
‘That’s a bomb.’
Got you, you bastard.
‘The Executive Director was planning to line his own pockets.’
The so-called trainee poaching scheme. It wasn’t common in this cramped entertainment industry, but it happened often enough. And those frequent drinks with wealthy connections were probably to meet investors for his own company.
“Well, that changes things entirely.”
“…Can you help us?”
Ju Eun-chan, still wearing an expression of skepticism, looked at me and asked.
The face I’d initially dismissed as merely impassive now revealed itself in a different light. It wasn’t indifference or composure at all—it was the visage of someone exhausted by the world. The resignation etched into the features of an eighteen-year-old forced to endure injustice and wrongdoing, experiencing helplessness for the first time.
And in that moment, as the image of Kang Ha-jin from some distant memory flickered across his face, I no longer hesitated and opened my mouth.
“You pass.”
“…!!”
Now, how should I handle this?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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