Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 143

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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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143
. Cheongchun Bulpae (2)
“To be honest, I had a lot on my mind while preparing this song,” Dan Ha-ru began, speaking in a measured, thoughtful tone.
He opened up about his feelings gradually and deliberately.
“Parting with my older brothers is so heartbreaking, and while it’s sad, there’s been so much pressure preparing for the stage… But then I encountered this song. ‘Where am I’ was recommended by Seok-i hyung, and when I read the lyrics, I felt such a deep resonance with them.”
As Dan Ha-ru naturally turned the conversation toward Gong Seok with a gesture, the broadcast screen caught Gong Seok adjusting his violin strings and bow. Startled by the mention of his name, Gong Seok’s expression grew flustered as his gaze darted uncertainly around the stage.
“That song alone conveyed so many emotions, but when we added this other piece left behind by Si-woo hyung’s father, I believe the message we wanted to deliver became even more complete.”
Dan Ha-ru spoke with such eloquence and fluency that it was hard to believe he was so young.
Everyone present—including the older members seated behind him—hung on his every word.
Aware of this, Dan Ha-ru gripped the microphone firmly without trembling, his sunset-colored eyes gleaming as he addressed the countless spectators.
“My older brothers said they wanted to send this song to many Destiny fans. But I want to sing this song for myself and my brothers.”
“For your brothers?”
“Yes. For my teammates here, for the friends watching us from the waiting room right now, and for the other hyungs. I learned the stories in these lyrics through my fellow trainees and older brothers.”
Dan Ha-ru’s voice was remarkably steady.
In that moment, Kang Ha-jin found himself reconsidering his own suspicion that this child might be the Chosen Regressor.
How could someone so resolute have needed to flee for so long? What could possibly frighten such a child?
Watching Dan Ha-ru’s silhouette against the crimson sunset, Kang Ha-jin added another question mark to the mystery in his heart.
And at the same time, he remembered.
The simple truth that encouragement and comfort don’t always require words to convey their meaning.
‘…Thirteen.’
[System Alert: Yes?]
‘What is Kim Won-ho doing right now?’
[System Alert: Ah… Just a moment!]
Thirteen vanished briefly with a soft whoosh, but returned not long after.
[System Alert: Won-ho is in the waiting room! Thanks to his teammates comforting him, his emotions seem to have settled a bit.]
[System Alert: He said he was suddenly afraid of singing earlier.]
[System Alert: But he seems much better now.]
[System Alert: Thank goodness… (╯︵╰,)]
Hearing Won-ho’s situation from Thirteen, Ha-jin fell into quiet contemplation.
Without another word, he carefully placed his long, delicate fingers over the keyboard—an instrument he hadn’t played in a very long time.
The memory of his first piano performance as a child surfaced, inspired by the Piano Academy Director’s single comment that he had hands made for playing piano.
While waiting for his working parents to return home, Ha-jin would often listen intently to the piano pieces the director played, his younger brother Ha-won’s hand held gently in his own.
Some pieces he wanted so badly to play later that he’d ask for the sheet music; others he wanted to perform for his parents, so he’d memorize their titles.
When his family’s circumstances grew difficult, Ha-jin had to quit the Piano Academy before he could learn the piece he’d always wanted to master…
But now, Ha-jin knew how to play that piece.
Whenever he had the chance to play piano as he grew older, he would practice it.
So there were such things.
Things you could understand without words.
Things that brought me comfort simply by being heard.
Things that played like background music to every moment of life.
Those small things that transform a gloomy day into something bearable.
“Then, please listen to our song.”
Kang Ha-jin hoped this song would become that kind of song for Won-ho.
And for me as well,
for Seok, for Ha-ru, for Si-woo.
For anyone who had come here, leaving behind the complexities of reality to see us perform.
Fortunately, Kang Ha-jin was now someone capable of delivering such comfort.
“Yes. Then, let’s experience the stage of the Cheongchun Bulpae Team.”
Kang Ha-jin thought that was truly….
a blessing.
* * *
The sound of wind could be heard.
At the end of that pleasantly cool breeze, Jeong Si-u’s bangs, bearing a color like café au lait, fluttered softly.
Beneath a white shirt with a couple of buttons casually undone, a white short-sleeved tee with small lettering was visible.
Jeong Si-u, dressed in loosely-fitting pale denim, sat cross-legged atop a tall stool, an acoustic guitar in a tan-brown hue—inherited from his father—slung across his body.
Wearing thin silver-framed glasses slightly larger than his face, Jeong Si-u possessed a visual so striking that one could believe he’d stepped straight out of a 1970s-80s youth drama.
Of course, his refined appearance made him seem far too contemporary to belong to that era, and each time his face appeared on the display screen, exclamations erupted from various corners of the plaza.
Yet that lasted only a moment before the sculpture from that bygone decade began his stroke with the pick in hand.
♩♩♬― ♪♪♩♬―
The emotionally evocative acoustic guitar performance filled the evening plaza completely.
For some, the melody naturally conjured scenes from a drama, and over that melody, Kang Ha-jin’s piano accompaniment now layered in.
As if matching their harmony, Jeong Si-u and Kang Ha-jin gazed at each other, adjusting the tempo and rhythm of their performance.
Though metronome clicks and pre-recorded rhythm instrument sounds from the in-ear monitors provided the foundation, it transcended mere timekeeping.
They calibrated their playing with consideration for the emotion they sought to express, the timing of dynamic shifts, ensuring neither performance hindered the other.
♬♬♩♪♪―
Over this, Dan Ha-ru’s xylophone sound wove in once more.
Like a song of innocence, Ha-ru’s voice—clear and crystalline as his instrument—merged to form a singular melody.
Ha-ru and Kang Ha-jin sometimes played the same notes, and sometimes responded to each other’s melodies as if in conversation.
In that soft and tender performance, reminiscent of a sunset, people found themselves captivated.
Gong Seok, his black hair neatly styled, a beige knit vest layered over a crisply buttoned white shirt, carefully took hold of the microphone. The first verse belonged to him.
I’m not sure
This single sentence had once made Gong Seok weep with piercing anguish.
So Seok, recalling the emotions of that moment, bit out each syllable with deliberate care.
How are you doing these days?
Whenever someone asks me that
My answer these days is
I’m not sure
The competition had been overwhelming for Seok.
Truth be told, he didn’t harbor any particularly grand dreams.
Singing was simply the one thing he did reasonably well,
I had simply received a casting offer by chance and joined the Company.
Surrounded by trainees more talented and hardworking than myself, I gradually lost confidence,
but the reason I couldn’t quit was fear.
If I didn’t do this, I felt I would become a failure who had accomplished nothing at my age.
As long as I remained a trainee, I could convince myself I was doing something, and that gave me a sliver of breathing room.
Small hands clasped together
A little sandcastle built so carefully
Against the pure white waves crashing in
Did we all crumble away?
Playing guitar, Si-woo closed his eyes tightly and continued into the next verse.
Seok watched Si-woo like that.
Despite being the same age, Si-woo was truly remarkable.
The reputation and achievements Si-woo had already built before even debuting were things someone like me could never even dream of.
Beyond mere ability, Si-woo seemed far more mature internally than I was.
Watching Si-woo like that, I felt myself becoming increasingly insignificant.
Even knowing that Si-woo was being considerate of me, I didn’t know how to hide or conceal my own sense of inadequacy.
-Seok.
-Huh? What?
-Can you listen to me sing this part here?
-Me, me?
-Yeah. Last time I noticed the way you hit those high notes was really comfortable and clean. I want to learn from you.
-But… you’d definitely sing this much better than me.
-Everyone has their own style. If you don’t mind, teach me how to sing.
Yet Si-woo asked to learn from me without hesitation.
And so I had to admit it.
This path wasn’t meant for me.
Once I accepted that, a new question awaited me.
I’m not sure
Where I should go
Where I’m heading
Where the sandcastle once stood
Have we accomplished nothing at all?
Now, what’s left for me?
Where am I?
I just ran with the current
Not knowing where I’d arrive
Wandering and walking aimlessly
Over a white short-sleeved shirt with an English sentence printed on it, Ha-jin wore a shirt with light blue stripes, and his voice burst forth. Expressing his characteristic explosive emotions raw and unfiltered, Ha-jin poured that same helplessness and fear he had once experienced into the song.
Ha-jin’s emotional line flowed directly into Ha-ru.
Where are we, now?
I cannot find the way back home
Grasping the microphone fitted into the stand with both hands, Ha-ru gazed into the distance and sang the lyrics as if posing a question to the world. The yearning inquiry of a young boy stirred the hearts of the audience.
On nights when dreams fade and stars refuse to shine
Do we simply come to a halt like this?
What becomes of me if I’m eliminated from the Survival Program?
Do I become a failure?
Does everything end like this?
What am I supposed to do now?
The worries that had kept Seok awake through countless nights were not, in truth, his alone.
Everyone had harbored such thoughts at least once.
All of us.
Woo― woowoo―
Si-woo hummed a melody the audience had never heard before.
‘Where am I’ was Si-woo’s question, and simultaneously, it was the question his father had wrestled with throughout his entire life.
And the song he was about to sing now was the answer his father had arrived at after a lifetime of that struggle.
Si-woo sang with even greater deliberation than usual, carefully selecting each note.
It was his father’s song—one he wished to sing with more tenderness than any other.
On those days when I could not love myself and suffered
A single beautiful flower that bloomed against all odds
Si-woo, who always sang with grace and composure, raised his voice for the first time, pouring out all his emotion.
Unlike his usual restraint, Si-woo’s voice cracked at the edges,
His head ringing so intensely that veins stood taut in his neck,
His hands pressing harder against the guitar strings,
Yet he sang freely, unconcerned with any of it.
In the hours when I too could not love myself and ached
That small breath that wove happiness into being
Was the song he had yearned for so deeply,
His father’s song.

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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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