Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 187

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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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187. Welcome to Your First Debut (4)
Lee Do-ha had lost his most powerful means of appealing to Kairos as a group.
And the fallout was far greater than anyone had imagined.
“Do-ha! That’s facial cleanser! Not toothpaste…!”
“Oh.”
Lee Do-ha had completely lost his grip on reality.
The shock of his own song being rejected must have been quite severe.
‘If only they’d kept it as a backup track, it wouldn’t have been so bad….’
When the fact that ‘Deon = Lee Do-ha’ was revealed belatedly, both the company and the members were left speechless in astonishment.
The song that Lee Do-ha had submitted under the name ‘Deon’ had been ultimately rejected for the reason that it was ‘too difficult to showcase the members’ strengths.’
In other words, there was no possibility we would ever perform that song. The company had even suggested considering handing the track over to Endway, who were scheduled to make their comeback right after us—that’s how serious it was.
‘I can’t even argue since I agree with them.’
The song itself was flawlessly excellent given how much effort Lee Do-ha had poured into it, but listening to any part of it, I couldn’t imagine the members performing it.
Even I couldn’t figure out which part of the song I should be humming.
“D-don’t swallow it! Ugh, hyung, spit it out!”
…Chaos had erupted.
Hearing Ju Eun-chan’s screams echoing from the restroom, my eyes and Jeong Si-u’s met simultaneously in the living room.
‘What do we do?’
‘I have no idea either.’
We understood the gravity of the situation, but there was no solution!
Damn it, this is my first debut too. And across every timeline I’ve experienced, this is the first time I’ve ever dealt with a member’s mental breakdown right before debut because his own song got rejected!
‘What are we going to do?’
With the debut track recording coming up soon and an endless schedule ahead, once the choreography for the debut song dropped, Do-ha’s mental state would inevitably sink into an even deeper abyss. I had to lift his spirits as quickly as possible.
I sat down on the living room sofa next to Si-u, put on a deliberately serious expression, and quietly asked him.
“Hyung, do you have any ideas? I don’t think we can leave Do-ha like this.”
“His own song being rejected is already shocking, but especially since it was rejected for failing to express the members at all. Do-ha’s never received that kind of evaluation before…. Since joining Miro, he’s only ever gotten praise for his compositions.”
“Is it like getting an F after getting straight A’s all semester?”
“Something like that, I’d say…. Especially with a comment saying he completely failed to understand the subject matter.”
At least with an F you could retake the course, so that wouldn’t help him feel any better, would it?
“We can’t accept this.”
Jeong Si-u stood up from his seat with grim determination. The way he placed his hands on his hips almost reminded me of an imperial crown prince who’d just conceived a brilliant stratagem to protect Earth from an alien invasion….
‘Stop romanticizing this.’
My old self from my days as a PD editing idol content was acting up again.
Anyway, with an extremely solemn and serious expression, Si-u looked down at me and spoke.
“Let’s get help.”
“…From whom?”
“From an expert.”
“An expert?”
Which expert?
Despite my bewildered response, Si-u’s eyes simply sparkled with clarity and confidence.
* * *
“So, am I the expert?”
There it was—an expert, indeed.
I unleashed a storm of vigorous nodding toward our precious expert who would solve our troubles.
“Please help us, senior. Or rather, teacher. Our kid is so devastated by heartbreak that he can’t think straight.”
“Since you have far more producer experience, I thought you’d know well how to overcome a situation like Do-ha’s.”
“Hmm. That’s a cute worry.”
Seo Tae-il, our expert who dismissed such a serious crisis as merely a “cute worry”—the same Lee Do-ha with an iron mentality and stone-cold composure who brushed his teeth with face cleanser—simply smiled and spun his chair around with a spin.
Right. Is this what a top idol leader looks like, managing wild animal members for thirteen years without incident? Damn, that’s cool.
“So to summarize: Do-ha felt like he was burdening the group because he couldn’t dance well, so he wanted to at least help through composition. But he spectacularly botched that in this blind test and is currently digging himself deeper?”
“Exactly right.”
Seeing how he pinpointed only the essentials, I felt confident we’d come to the right person.
Truth be told, he was normally someone we could barely get face time with, but having just wrapped up Yupia’s thirteenth-anniversary concert, he was dedicating his time to focusing solely on our group’s work for the foreseeable future.
Moreover, Seo Tae-il bore some responsibility for how this situation had spiraled!
“Well… I do feel a bit sorry about that. It seems like it happened because of me.”
“…Is this perhaps the right moment to applaud and thank you for giving us such a good song?”
“While you’re at it, throw in some flattery that’s nice to hear.”
After all, our debut track that was finally selected had pushed out Do-ha’s song—it was this guy’s.
“You won’t?”
“What do you mean…?”
“Applause and flattery. You’ve got to pay the consultation fee.”
“Ah.”
I thought he was joking, but Seo Tae-il genuinely extracted applause and flattering praise from both Si-woo and me. We found ourselves delivering brain-dead flattery like “Wow! Senior, you’re the best! You flipped the blind test with that insane debut track!” while clapping so hard our hands burned.
‘This guy really is Yupia after all…’
As I felt my blood circulating and rubbed my tingling palms, Seo Tae-il lightly tapped the armrest of his chair and spoke.
“Anyway, I get what you’re saying. …Could you call Do-ha for a moment? He needs to come by for a quick demo recording of the debut track.”
“Ah. Yes.”
At Seo Tae-il’s words, Si-woo quickly pulled out his phone and sent a message to Do-ha. Lee Do-ha, who was holed up in the Company Practice Room for intensive choreography training today, replied shortly that he’d come right away.
And shortly after.
“…Hello, senior.”
“Yeah. Do-ha’s here?”
Lee Do-ha opened the studio door and stepped inside. He paused for a moment upon seeing Si-woo and me, but quickly regained his composure, apparently assuming we’d come for similar reasons.
Seo Tae-il greeted Do-ha with a natural smile as if nothing was amiss.
“I thought it’d be good to lay down a rough vocal for your debut track. Figured I’d check the details too. Have you practiced much?”
“Not yet, not a lot.”
“Yeah, makes sense. The song was just decided not long ago. I’ll keep that in mind when I listen.”
Do-ha walked over to the microphone set up as a simple workstation in Seo Tae-il’s studio. Reading through the lyrics he’d downloaded on his phone, Do-ha cleared his throat, seeming a bit nervous.
“Want some water? Want to take a sip before you start?”
“Ah. Yes, thank you.”
“Ha-jin. Could you grab some water from the refrigerator over there and give it to Do-ha?”
“Yes.”
Seo Tae-il’s studio even had a mini refrigerator. When I opened it, the interior was lined with bottled water and canned beer arranged in neat rows. I grabbed a bottle of water and brought it to Lee Do-ha, who had grown noticeably gaunt over the past few days. He bowed his head in gratitude.
“This is just to check how you’re preparing, so don’t be too nervous. Take it easy while looking at the lyrics. Even if you mess up the words, it’s fine.”
“…Yes.”
By the way, for this debut track, Lee Do-ha wasn’t making the rap himself—we’d decided to go with exactly what Seo Tae-il had written. (I suspect this also contributed to Lee Do-ha’s mental breakdown.)
So right now, Lee Do-ha had to perform the rap written by this senior who had composed, written the lyrics for, and arranged the entire song. Even for someone like Lee Do-ha, it was impossible not to feel the pressure.
“Then I’ll start.”
The MR for the debut track, which I’d been hearing nonstop for the past few days, flowed through the high-quality speakers. Jeong Si-u and I held our breath and sat rigidly in our chairs, afraid we might somehow distract Lee Do-ha.
Soon, Lee Do-ha’s rap was supposed to begin.
“….”
“…?”
It should have started.
The section where Lee Do-ha was supposed to come in passed anticlimactically. The vocal track displayed on the monitor showed no waveform at all.
After about three seconds, Lee Do-ha, realizing he’d missed his cue, belatedly bowed his head toward Seo Tae-il.
“I’m sorry. Let me try again.”
“Sure. I’ll play it again.”
Seo Tae-il replayed the MR without any sign of displeasure.
And at the same section, Lee Do-ha again couldn’t open his mouth.
“Let me try again.”
Seo Tae-il played the MR once more.
This time Lee Do-ha started the rap on time, but anyone listening could feel that his tone wasn’t properly controlled—he was floundering.
“Again.”
This time the lyrics were off,
“Let’s go again.”
This time the rhyme was wrong,
“Again. Focus and try.”
This time the rhythm was off.
“….”
The word “again” repeated countless times.
Seo Tae-il stopped saying “again” around the time Lee Do-ha was drinking his third bottle of water, and even that wasn’t enough—his voice was starting to give out.
And even through all of that, Lee Do-ha hadn’t produced a single satisfactory result…
No. He hadn’t even managed something passable.
“Do-ha.”
Seo Tae-il called Lee Do-ha again in an emotionless, steady tone. Lee Do-ha, well aware of his own shortcomings, turned toward Seo Tae-il without properly lifting his head.
To Lee Do-ha, who now looked so pitiful and desperate—standing at the edge of a cliff—Seo Tae-il asked in an impossibly light voice.
“You’ve been out of it lately, haven’t you? Because you failed the blind test.”
What is this guy doing?! How can he just blurt that out like that?
Seo Tae-il, who had carelessly tossed aside the basic principle of confidentiality and thrown it in the trash, calmly brushed his hair back. With an expression that revealed nothing of his thoughts, he rested his chin on his hand and spoke gently to Lee Do-ha.
“I’m not angry. I just want to hear what you have to say. As a producer, understanding an artist’s condition is fundamental.”
“….”
“Could you tell me what’s been the hardest part?”
Seo Tae-il tapped the chair beside him with a gentle smile, gesturing for me to sit. Lee Do-ha, who had been standing before the microphone like a condemned man, slowly walked over and took the seat next to Seo Tae-il.
Facing Jeong Si-u and me, Lee Do-ha averted his gaze slightly before speaking.
“It’s true I’ve had a lot on my mind lately… but it’s not because I failed the blind test.”
“Then?”
It wasn’t because of that?
‘Miro rejecting me was a first.’ Wasn’t that the route?
At his unexpected answer, Jeong Si-u and I simultaneously lifted our heads to look at Lee Do-ha. He glanced at us briefly before lowering his gaze back toward Seo Tae-il and continued.
“When I first heard your song during the blind test… it was honestly shocking. I naturally assumed that song would be selected. Just from the guide, I could picture which parts each member would sing.”
As a professional composer who had remained active for thirteen years, Seo Tae-il had presented a song completely stripped of his own style, focusing entirely on Kairos. It was entirely different from the style of Upia that he had worked on countless times before, and the song clearly demonstrated how well he had utilized each member’s strengths, just as Lee Do-ha had said.
“And then when I listened to my song… I felt strange. Even though I had clearly given it my best effort, I couldn’t stand listening to it.”
“Hmm… would it be alright if I asked you to be more specific about why you felt that way?”
“Just like the other staff members said, I immediately felt that I hadn’t considered the singers at all. I couldn’t even understand how I made such a basic mistake myself… but I just saw my own shortcomings so clearly.”
Once his lips loosened, Lee Do-ha’s pent-up emotions spilled out like a confession, and he laid bare all his worries to Seo Tae-il.
“I… I’m not sure. I wanted to create music that we could share together, but when I think about how that didn’t work out, I feel anxious….”
Lee Do-ha’s once clear and unwavering convictions and beliefs were wavering and crumbling.
Like spilling a bucket of water over a watercolor painting, Lee Do-ha seemed to be walking through a hazy, murky fog.
“I see. So that’s how it was.”
Seo Tae-il, who had been listening intently to Lee Do-ha’s words, gave a small nod.
Still supporting his chin with one hand while gazing at Lee Do-ha, Seo Tae-il spoke to him in a flat voice.
“Do-ha.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think your mindset is a bit too arrogant?”
“…What?”
“That’s how it feels to me. What you’re saying right now. You’re still a rookie who hasn’t even debuted yet.”
Is this guy insane?
At the doctor’s provocative prescription, everyone in the studio froze in shock.

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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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