Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 136

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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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136
. A Small Catalyst (8)
I opened and closed my mouth several times, rubbing my thighs as if trying to ignite them through friction. It was a habit that surfaced whenever anxiety took hold.
Whether my thighs would catch fire from the friction or Si-woo’s eyes would burn out completely black.
In that precise moment when one of the two seemed destined to lose its light and combust within seconds, I barely managed to throw out an idea.
“Um! Ah, so… what about a mashup? You know, blending two different songs into one new track?”
“…A mashup?”
“Yes, well, the lyrics are depressing, but if you look at the core of it, doesn’t it feel like it’s posing a question? To this wandering generation, to these struggling young people, asking where we’ve come from and where we’re going…?”
For the record, the only lyric I’d actually caught from this song was the single phrase “Where are we?”
Not knowing the lyrics properly, I had no idea what I was even saying anymore and just started rambling whatever came out.
“So if this just ends with a question mark here, it becomes too sad, and the song itself feels a bit dull, right? So we pick another song from the youth genre—something that encourages us to keep going, or talks about what life really is—and we mashup it with this one!”
But as I kept talking…
‘…it actually makes sense?’
I found myself genuinely amazed at my own idea in real time as I continued.
“Then it becomes like a kind of youth dialogue, right? And with the arrangement element of mixing songs, it broadens the scope of the track, which could give that feeling of… wait.”
“…Why are you talking to yourself and then surprising yourself?”
I ended up covering my own mouth mid-sentence.
And I marveled.
“Wow. I might actually be a genius.”
“…”
Si-woo’s eyes, which had been about to regain a glimmer of light for a moment, returned to their lifeless, statue-like state.
Ah, that was a bit much. Sorry.
“Anyway, that’s my idea. Finding a good song for a mashup and mixing the two will take some time, but… since we’ve already cut down the choreography time, it seems worth investing in.”
“…I, I like it! I think it’s a great idea!”
Ha-ru, eager to breathe some life back into this meeting regardless, quickly raised his hand in agreement.
It wasn’t just that my idea wasn’t terrible either…
‘But still, he’s just agreeing without questioning anything?’
Once I started suspecting him of being a Seon-gwi, every action seemed suspicious.
I stared blankly at Ha-ru, who was raising his hand with bright, sparkling eyes.
Ha-ru felt my gaze and met my eyes.
Then I suddenly pinched those soft-looking cheeks of his.
“Ow! Why are you doing this, seriously!”
“Those cheeks just look too pinchable.”
I’m doing this because I’m annoyed with you, you fool.
If Ha-ru really is a Seon-gwi, then on the day I become certain of it, I’ll absolutely pinch both his cheeks without fail.
I released his cheek with that firm resolve.
“…”
As if organizing his thoughts, a black ballpoint pen spun around on Si-woo’s neat fingers.
The pen’s spinning motion, which had continued several times, suddenly stopped.
Tap—,
Si-woo tapped his pen against the notepad and let out a sigh before speaking.
“I think it could work too. If there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the message you want to convey, Seok-i, I’d like to try it this way. What do you think?”
“Oh, yeah. I like it. …Thanks. I’m sorry you’re going through all this trouble because of me.”
“….”
At Seok-i’s response, which dripped with self-doubt, Si-woo’s eyebrow twitched briefly again—a gesture laden with discomfort. His lips parted as if to say something, but ultimately he pressed them shut without uttering a word.
Si-woo, who had skillfully masked his expression and emotions, continued the meeting in a businesslike tone.
“Then we need to find a song to mashup with. Since we need to finalize this today and start laying out the framework tomorrow, let’s each do some searching right now.”
“Yes.”
“Got it!”
“Try to focus on songs that fit these conditions as much as possible.”
Si-woo organized the factors to consider when selecting a song for the mashup and posted them in the group chat.
We had to finish song selection today, no matter what.
Si-woo speaking with precision, and Gong Seok nodding in agreement.
Ha-jin noticed the subtle tension flowing between the two, but like Si-woo, he simply kept his mouth shut and nodded.
* * *
Blending two completely different songs into one sounds simple in theory, but in practice, even selecting the songs is far from easy.
This one doesn’t match in key, that one has a different tempo, this one’s lyrical message doesn’t flow into the other.
After discarding a dozen or so songs for reasons like these, a certain thought naturally begins to creep in.
‘…Maybe I should just forget about the mashup altogether and do something simple—just belt out some high notes and go for maximum emotional impact. That would be easier.’
A man in crisis, Kang Ha-jin, was now paying the price for speaking before thinking.
It was already past midnight, and the Production Team had left the Practice Room with only the selfie cam and fixed cam running. He stared at the empty space and quietly held his head in his hands. Today, for some reason, he was tiring more quickly than usual.
‘Did I overwork my brain trying to deduce who the culprit was….’
It wasn’t as if a system penalty had been applied, and the military-era stamina he’d absorbed before shouldn’t crumble under a schedule like this. The conclusion was clear: this was purely a matter of mental fatigue.
Ha-jin had a tendency to procrastinate whenever he faced a thorny problem, putting it off until a solution became visible.
He’d opt for methods like sleeping, eating something delicious, or immersing himself completely in something else to temporarily erase the stress factor from his mind.
Back when he was a PD, whenever he couldn’t figure out the editing angle, he’d pay a monthly subscription at a comic book café near the company and pull all-nighters there.
[System Alert: Ah, so that’s where it came from….]
[System Alert: No wonder….]
Thirteen, having realized the origin of Kang Ha-jin’s notorious obsessive fandom tendencies, displayed an exclamation mark emoji. This time, he didn’t even have the energy to press Alt+F4, so he just left it.
‘I want to go home.’
Ha-jin lay sprawled on the Practice Room floor, turning only his head to spy on the other team members’ situations.
Dan Ha-ru, unable to overcome fatigue, was asleep in a squat against the mirror.
Gong Seok, as if being chased by something, was desperately searching for songs and couldn’t tear his eyes from his laptop.
Jeong Si-u, occasionally glancing at Gong Seok but saying nothing, simply focused on his own work.
[System Alert: What’s going on between those two…?]
‘…Well, it’s obvious.’
Ha-jin interlaced his fingers behind his head, using them as a pillow.
The dynamic where Gong Seok found Jeong Si-u difficult to approach, and Jeong Si-u found Gong Seok uncomfortable in return, wasn’t particularly surprising.
‘It’s probably been like that since the second preliminary round.’
It just hadn’t been shown on broadcast.
Even during the second round of auditions when they were on the same team for “Cinderella,” the relationship between the two wasn’t exactly smooth.
In episode four, Gong Seok said in an interview,
‘Honestly, I’m acutely aware of my limitations. My confidence keeps wavering. The very fact that I have to compete is terrifying.’
…and all the trainees knew that Jeong Si-u was the reason behind those words.
‘Well, not all of them, maybe.’
I paused as two faces suddenly came to mind.
Then I quickly corrected myself—’all the trainees except Lee Do-ha and Ju Eun-chan.’
[System Alert: B-but then… shouldn’t you do something about it?]
[System Alert: After all, you’re on the same team right now!]
‘Me? What could I possibly do?’
[System Alert: This time too, shouldn’t we try some ice-breaking to improve their relationship…!]
Thirteen practically shouted at me as if urging, “Go, Kang Ha-jin!”
But unlike before, when I’d been anxious about mediating between Jeong Si-u and Lee Yu-gun, I simply closed my eyes.
‘I shouldn’t meddle in other people’s affairs.’
[System Alert: Σ(・Д・)!?]
[System Alert: You’ve been meddling in other people’s business this whole time and now you’re saying this!?]
‘…your vocabulary is getting stranger by the day, isn’t it? Plot development?’
[System Alert: Isn’t the foundation of #idol stories built on member conflicts, their resolution, deep friendships, loyalty! Growth and reconciliation! Shouldn’t you fulfill your duty as a returnee!?]
‘Right, sure. So now assigning and removing genres from other people’s lives is just routine, huh?’
If this were a fantasy novel, I would’ve grabbed the back of my neck at such nonsensical meta-commentary, but watching Thirteen spout it so casually, I just shook my head.
‘I think I’ve corrupted one perfectly normal Time Management Authority. I should’ve noticed from when I was searching through the comments on my performance video.’
[System Alert: So that’s why! Why! Why! Why won’t you solve our first hopeless problem!?]
[System Alert: Look how discouraged he is….]
Whether Thirteen had grown particularly attached to Seok-i or something,
even as Thirteen whined and complained like a spoiled child, I had no intention of moving.
I simply took in Gong Seok’s small, hunched silhouette once more and let out a quiet sigh.
‘It’s not as simple as it sounds.’
The relationship between Gong Seok and Si-woo wasn’t something that could be resolved just because someone else did something about it.
Gong Seok’s own sense of inferiority and the pressure he felt from competition were purely his own issues,
and the fact that Jeong Si-u didn’t approach him with special warmth or treat him with particular kindness was actually the maximum consideration he could show.
[System Alert: Treating him coldly is actually showing consideration?]
[System Alert: (° ヘ°) ??]
‘Jeong Si-u isn’t comfortable with this either. He’s just not showing it. He’s pretending nothing’s wrong.’
Jeong Si-u deliberately ignored Gong Seok’s inferiority itself and treated him the same as everyone else, thereby managing this conflict in his own way.
In that respect, I genuinely thought Jeong Si-u was remarkable.
‘If it were me, I would’ve called him over long ago and asked straight up what his problem with me was.’
How could he maintain such a clear separation between public and private, handle his emotions so skillfully, even in this unique situation of the Survival Program?
I was beginning to understand why I found Si-woo so difficult to grasp.
Jeong Si-u was like my ‘ideal’—someone I could never imitate, perhaps not even in a lifetime.
Composed, yet cold-blooded, and possessing a genuine understanding of people.
Someone who gives their all to their work and responsibilities, thorough and excellent in execution.
Yet when dealing with people, never leaning too far toward emotion or logic alone,
always possessing the strength of character to maintain their convictions.
‘…Isn’t that what true leadership really looks like?’
Jeong Si-u knows everything.
Whether Kang Ha-jin is lying or not.
Whether sincerity is behind those words or not.
The true purpose behind every action he takes, what he’s really hoping to achieve—all of it.
Because Ha-jin and Si-u were very similar, yet very different.
And that’s precisely why Ha-jin found Si-u difficult.
Just like when he first met Su-ho.
The way he’d felt uneasy, afraid that his own emptiness would be completely exposed by that pure passion.
“….”
Perhaps I was even harboring some inferiority complex toward Si-u, I thought, closing my eyes again and rolling onto my side.
Either way, the relationship between those two wasn’t something I should carelessly meddle in.
Gong Seok felt more comfortable with me than with Si-u, and depended on me emotionally.
But that didn’t mean I was as comfortable or close with Si-u as I was with Gong Seok.
If I tried to play mediator between them here, it would only make things worse.
Gong Seok would only grow more distant from Si-u,
and Jeong Si-u might end up feeling subtly alienated, leading to an emotional conflict.
‘It’s not like Eun-chan’s situation where he couldn’t handle it and asked for help…. If I mess this up, it could damage Jeong Si-u’s pride. Even if I were still the leader, I’d have to be careful, but right now he’s the leader anyway.’
[System Alert: Haa…. This isn’t easy, is it. #The life of an idol story protagonist….]
‘…Thanks for counting me as a protagonist. But if we’re being honest, isn’t the real protagonist that bastard Seon-gwi? I’ve got way too few buffs for a protagonist.’
As I grumbled about wanting some buffs, Thirteen, who’d been chattering away, hesitated for a moment before quietly disappearing.
Once things settle down a bit, I’ll have to go into the Unconscious Space and have a proper word with him.
Just as I was thinking that, someone approached and tapped my shoulder.
“Ah! Scared me! …Huff.”
Startled, I jolted up without thinking and nearly had a fit, quickly clamping my mouth shut.
Behind me, I could see Ha-ru and Seok-i, who’d finally succumbed to sleep, lying side by side.
Seeing that, I thought:
‘…Wait. Then who just tapped my shoulder…?’
I turned my head with a creaky, unlubricated-robot sound.
The Practice Room, dimly lit with scattered lights.
Past midnight.
Standing behind me was either Jeong Si-u or a ghost!
And either way, that was absolutely terrifying!

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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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