Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 235

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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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235. When a Workaholic Leader Takes Power (4)
Silence, at times, becomes affirmation.
And Seo Tae-il seemed to accept my silence as his answer.
“Looks like it, then.”
As if troubled, Seo Tae-il scratched his forehead with his fingers.
His expression suggested he was searching for words, but I maintained my silence still.
Seeing my face, Seo Tae-il exhaled a short sigh and shifted the subject.
“Well, anyway, if I’m talking about my case… our maknae did the same to me. You know? Our maknae.”
Seo Tae-il’s gaze naturally drifted toward the group photo of Upia pinned on one wall of the studio. Among the five members wearing identical hoodies, Kwon Sang-rok—the maknae of Upia, notably taller than the rest and with an expression more stoic than anyone else’s—drew a faint smile from Seo Tae-il’s face, though a shadow soon darkened his features.
“Do you know how old Rok was when he debuted?”
“…I’ve heard he was quite young.”
“Fifteen. He was fifteen. I was twenty. So can you imagine how awkward we were with each other? And on top of that, his adolescence hit him hard? I really couldn’t even talk to him.”
Kwon Sang-rok’s adolescent anecdotes were fairly well-known even at Stone Board.
His shyness was so severe that they’d barely grown close by Friday after starting on Monday, only to have everything reset when he returned from home on weekends and they’d have to start over from scratch,
Once dormitory life began, he found eating with the other members so awkward that he’d always pretend to eat first, then sneak off to the convenience store for a solo meal in the middle,
When his roommates Nam Da-down and Chung Han-sol were too loud before bed, he got so fed up that he locked his door, forcing the two of them to sleep in the living room instead….
‘Wait, listing it all out like this, he actually seems like the most intense type among the members?’
And the fact that Seo Tae-il had kept such a Kwon Sang-rok properly in the group for thirteen years, and had even wrapped him so completely that he earned the nickname “the leader’s shadow,” made him seem all the more remarkable. Seo Tae-il, reading the light in my eyes, leaned forward as if to say, listen to this.
“Rok’s debut was a bit rushed, to be honest. We picked him based on his height, visuals, and potential, but his singing and dancing were still at a level where he needed much more training. He debuted about one or two years earlier than we’d originally planned.”
“…Was it because of the company’s circumstances?”
“Well… I can’t say it wasn’t. But getting into that would take all night, so I’ll skip it.”
Seo Tae-il waved his hand dismissively and continued.
“Anyway, the company pushed us as skilled, self-produced idols, and honestly, I thought Sang-rok fell a bit short of that standard. But our Rok has strong pride too, so he couldn’t accept that himself. And he couldn’t ask the other members for help either.”
“….”
“As for me? Even though he was young, he was genuinely capable, you know? A bit stubborn, and had this old-soul quality to him. Compared to the other kids in our group, he was rather dignified, if anything.”
As if recalling Kwon Sang-rok from that time, Seo Tae-il smiled softly and gazed at Upia’s group photo once more.
Certainly, standing beside the unleashed-puppy-like Nam Da-down, the nature-loving Yoon Ji-nu, and the excavation-expert Chung Han-sol, the shy, old-soul Kwon Sang-rok looked like dignity itself.
“…So I just… let him be. Let him figure it out on his own. I thought he was the type who could.”
Seo Tae-il’s face darkened terrifyingly as he rubbed the handle of the now-cold coffee cup.
“It was a stupid decision.”
Recalling “that time,” not a trace of a smile remained on Seo Tae-il’s lips.
Only then could I sense what incident would appear at the end of this story.
-Yeah. I just couldn’t sleep much, but everyone’s being so overprotective.
-I get it. We had a kid at our company who almost went under like that.
As a conversation from some day flickered vaguely into memory, Seo Tae-il set his coffee cup down on the table. His now-empty right hand trembled slightly.
“It was during a provincial event or maybe a university festival… we were in rehearsal, and suddenly the kid just swayed. At first I thought he’d just slipped for a moment, but… right after that, he just collapsed. Right in front of my eyes.”
“….”
“It happened to be a stage with a step, so when Sang-rok fell, he rolled hard. I tried to catch him but missed. …I jumped down right away to check on him, and his eyes wouldn’t open. Ha, at that moment… I was so terrified.”
“….”
“People thought Sang-rok collapsed because of the company. They said we weren’t letting the kid sleep and were treating him like a dog.”
“…isn’t that right?”
Kwon Sang-rok’s fainting incident was something I’d also come across in the news.
At the time, Kwon Sang-rok had suffered severe injuries and underwent multiple surgeries, requiring months of rehabilitation. I remembered the media making a fuss about “excessive labor exploitation of idols” and “inevitable injuries from grueling schedules.”
Since Miro had actually released a statement taking responsibility for the incident and prioritizing artist care, I’d simply accepted that narrative at face value….
Seo Tae-il shook his head firmly, his tone self-deprecating.
“We didn’t really start making a name for ourselves until our second or third year after debut. Before that, there was no work even if we wanted it. Sang-rok collapsed less than a year after we debuted. So what schedule are we even talking about?”
“Then….”
“…Kwon Sang-rok, he was doing dawn practice sessions alone without us knowing. Every single day.”
“….”
“He didn’t want to fall behind us, so day and night, he’d go practice. He couldn’t go to the practice room without being noticed, so he’d do it alone in the park in front of the Dormitory. Every day since debut. On that hard ground. Don’t you think our Rok is a bit crazy?”
Seo Tae-il ran his hand through his hair, still incredulous at the memory. Yet for a brief moment, his eyes squeezed shut—clearly, just recalling those times brought pain.
I tried to understand Seo Tae-il’s intention in bringing up a story from over a decade ago.
‘Is he warning me? That Si-u might collapse from sleep deprivation too?’
But Jeong Si-u was someone who was exceptionally sensitive about “health.” His father’s death had likely influenced that.
While he claimed he couldn’t sleep, he didn’t go without sleep entirely, and from the Special Class days before I joined Miro, through Miro Maze until now, he had an iron constitution—not a single cold, not a single bout of illness.
Therefore, it was obvious that Si-u wouldn’t listen even if I tried to interfere with him simply out of “health concerns.”
‘He’d probably just deflect by saying it’s better for me to care for my own dizziness than waste time worrying about his health while smiling.’
Jeong Si-u was fundamentally someone with soft boundaries and a passionate heart, but he equally possessed a cynical attitude toward treating others as “others.”
And as if Seo Tae-il understood even my worries, he quickly delivered the conclusion to this story.
“What I felt after that incident was this.”
“….”
“We’re all ultimately the same kind of person.”
The moment I heard that, my thought was,
‘Then are we people, or are we monsters?’
…My 51% F tendency only failed to work properly at times like these. In fact, my sugar was running low, and my half-baked T side seemed to be asserting itself.
I hastily took a sip of the cocoa Seo Tae-il had prepared to replenish my glucose. Then Seo Tae-il added in a calm voice,
“Actually, back then I treated our Rok like some kind of incomprehensible monster.”
“…Cough.”
“It doesn’t seem like the kind of shocking statement that would make you spit out cocoa….”
Seo Tae-il—what, do you have omniscient narrator perspective? Why do you read people’s minds like that?
Unable to voice such meta commentary, I pulled a tissue from the “Kang Ha-jin Tear Bomb Emergency Tissue Set” that Seo Tae-il had thoughtfully prepared and wiped my mouth. Seo Tae-il kindly pulled out a wet wipe and handed it to me with a shrug.
“You always use tissues when you leave. It’s rewarding to have prepared them.”
“…There’s no need for someone as accomplished as you, senior, to find reward in tissues…?”
…Though I myself once came close to earning the nickname “tissue fairy” of the practice room.
But since that’s not really important, I’ll move past it.
I threw the tissue I’d used to wipe the cocoa into the trash bin beside the sofa and asked Seo Tae-il honestly.
“Do you think it’s right for me to discuss this issue directly with Si-u?”
Then Seo Tae-il shook his head.
“No. I’m talking about something more fundamental. Ha-jin.”
“…To be honest, I don’t quite understand. Whether it’s because I’m lacking or not.”
“Didn’t I tell you? You’re just like me.”
“….”
“We’ll figure out who’s been chipping away at your self-worth like that soon enough.”
Seo Tae-il pointed back and forth between us with his hand, his gaze fixed directly on mine.
“No matter how much you deny it, you’re like me. Sure, we’re not identical—we’ve lived different lives. But still, I genuinely believe we share quite similar tendencies in how we treat people.”
“….”
“That’s why I’m giving you this advice, hoping you won’t repeat the same mistakes I made….”
“….”
“See Si-u for who Si-u is, Ha-jin. No matter how impressive and perfect he seems, don’t forget he’s still just a twenty-two-year-old kid. Remember—he’s only lived through his twenties twice, just like you.”
Despite having experienced my twenties roughly five times over, I couldn’t grasp Seo Tae-il’s conclusion immediately and instead turned his words over in my mind. Seo Tae-il added one more thing lightly to me as I deliberated.
“No matter how much we’re alike, or how they call you Little Seo Tae-il, in the end, you’re Kang Ha-jin.”
“…This is too difficult, Senior.”
“Yet you always find the answer anyway, don’t you?”
So I hope you do this time too.
With encouragement that felt almost like a prayer, Seo Tae-il’s shabby counseling office closed its doors.
* * *
‘See Jeong Si-u as Jeong Si-u?’
On my way back to the Dormitory.
I replayed Seo Tae-il’s words over and over, struggling to find the answer hidden within them.
But like that old drama line where a persimmon tastes like a persimmon so you call it a persimmon, I couldn’t quite understand how I was seeing Jeong Si-u any differently than simply as Jeong Si-u.
‘Besides, what’s this about being like Seo Tae-il but still being Kang Ha-jin?’
So I’m Kang Ha-jin, not Seo Ha-jin?
I’d gone to get counseling from our house’s lazy visual member, sub-vocalist, sculpture, speaking nonsense, crown prince strategist, god with insomnia, and ended up shouldering a few more riddles I needed to solve.
‘Still, I can’t let him collapse from overwork like Kwon Sang-rok….’
That man had no schedule and pushed himself too hard, but our situation came with a grueling schedule on top of everything else. I didn’t know how many hours Jeong Si-u was sleeping each day, but if things continued like this, before we could even celebrate winning the rookie award at year’s end, our precious main vocalist might collapse on stage.
“…I’m back.”
“You’re here? You’re a bit late.”
Sure enough, the moment I stepped into the Dormitory, the one greeting me was Jeong Si-u, sitting on the living room sofa in pajamas as always.
Dressed perfectly in warm brown-beige pajamas, Jeong Si-u was tapping away at his tablet without a hint of drowsiness in his eyes.
“Ah, I was coming back from visiting Senior Seo Tae-il. …What are you doing here, hyung? Not sleeping?”
“I took a long nap earlier, so I can’t fall asleep now. Figured I’d finish up some arrangement work on LET US while I’m at it.”
“I see….”
I nodded and checked the clock hanging on the living room wall.
It was just past 11 PM at night, that hazy boundary barely before midnight struck.
Confirming it was the right time to use ‘that chance,’ I maintained maximum tension to avoid seeming awkward and casually broached the subject with Jeong Si-u.
“By the way, hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“I noticed when I got home that the protein drinks are almost completely gone. And there’s no instant ramen either.”
“Ah. Tae-hyun said he’d order delivery, but it looks like it hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Oh no. But right now I’m really craving a small bowl of spicy beef soup and some chocolate protein milk.”
“…? What’s with that tone all of a sudden? Are you messing with me?”
Even I had to admit my voice sounded unnaturally strained, but I brazenly pretended ignorance and broached the real subject.
“Why don’t we head to the Convenience Store for a bit? You’re not going to sleep anyway.”
The ultimate technique that never failed.
It was time to borrow the power of Grrrowl once more.

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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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