Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 27

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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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27. Do You Want to Become Special? (5)
Shifting perspective to Lee Do-ha for a moment.
Lee Do-ha was simply delighted to encounter a friend his own age with compatible tastes after so long.
He was aware that Seo Tae-hyun carried some deep wound (though he didn’t know the exact details) and had packed his belongings at the Dormitory with the intention of quitting as a trainee. (After all, they’d been roommates) And he’d also noticed that Kang Ha-jin played a significant role in his return. (Since Seo Tae-hyun had been glued to Ha-jin’s side ever since)
Though Seo Tae-hyun appeared affable to everyone, he actually drew clear lines between those who were “his people” and those who weren’t. Watching Kang Ha-jin handle such a Seo Tae-hyun like a devoted servant taming a cat, Lee Do-ha’s mind became consumed by a single thought.
‘I want to get close to him!’
Kang Ha-jin had never been a stranger to Lee Do-ha in the first place. Even before Ha-jin joined Miro, the staff members who’d seen Do-ha had each offered their own commentary.
‘This time a friend your age is coming, and he’s supposedly incredibly talented.’
‘Seo Tae-il vouched for him and the Team Leader personally scouted him, so his skills are…’
‘His position is vocals, right? Do-ha, did you finally find someone to do guide vocals with besides Si-u?’
Among the countless stories, one phrase had lodged itself in Lee Do-ha’s ears.
Guide vocals….
Guide vocals…?
Guide vocals…!
‘I want to get close and ask him to do guide vocals for me…!’
Though he’d been fortunate enough to have his self-taught skills recognized and was now learning production and composition at Miro while working on tracks, Lee Do-ha was regrettably a true hip-hop boy who’d never even attempted the trendy singing rap that was popular these days.
When creating tracks with only rap, it didn’t matter, but now that he’d committed to becoming an idol, he couldn’t keep writing rap-only songs. Until now, he’d been asking Jeong Si-u, the best singer in the Special Class and his closest friend, but he was beginning to feel it wasn’t quite right to keep relying solely on him.
And then appeared this new guide vocal candidate!
‘If Seo Tae-il endorsed him, his skills are beyond question.’
Moreover, since this was the vocalist coveted by Seo Tae-il—the very senior he respected most (the person who’d led him to shift his career from real hip-hop to idol work)—his desire only intensified!
Which was why.
“So anyway, I was hoping I could listen to your works sometime.”
When Kang Ha-jin suddenly showed up at his studio and demanded to hear his works, Lee Do-ha caught a whiff of that unmistakable aura—the scent of a Cafe Owner grinding down a new employee for showing up with an unprepared proposal!
“….”
“…Lee Do-ha?”
“Oh, y-yeah.”
“Hey, be careful!”
Uncharacteristically nervous, Do-ha fumbled helplessly. Despite the studio being so familiar he could navigate it blindfolded after spending hundreds of hours there, his panic caused him to knock over a shelf while spinning a chair, sending stacked albums cascading down.
“Sorry, I’ll pick them up.”
“No, I’m the one who barged into your cramped studio, so…”
After restacking the albums, an awkward silence settled over them. Do-ha was consumed with curiosity and anxiety about Ha-jin’s reaction when he heard his work, while Ha-jin had his own circumstances to contend with.
At this very moment, Kang Ha-jin’s mind was occupied by a single thing.
‘What exactly is this guy?’
It was because of the information panel that had appeared before his eyes.
[Lee Do-ha (Affiliation: Miro)]
Vocals: 17% (Rap 64%)
Dance: 47%
Expression: 35%
Special: Composition, Production (34%)
Appeal Points:
‘A Strong Heart’
-Delivery, Stage Presence, Performance Realization (80%)
‘What kind of garbage numbers are these? How is Lee Do-ha squeezing into the Special Class with stats like this?’
Excluding that special performance realization nonsense, there wasn’t a single metric above 50%. This made no sense. Either Miro had gone insane or the system had malfunctioned—there was no other explanation.
I decided to listen to Do-ha’s work first. If his output was as mediocre as the numbers suggested, I’d immediately assume Lee Do-ha’s Special Class placement was the Executive Director’s scheme and would need to revise my strategy.
“It’s fine, just play me your most recent work. Since you’re in the Special Class, I don’t know much about you, so I want to get a sense of what kind of music you usually work on.”
After I rattled off my explanation, Do-ha finally moved his large hand to grab the mouse. He seemed nervous, repeating “So this isn’t the final version…” about eighty-two times, and I had to reassure him roughly twenty-one times before I could finally hear Lee Do-ha’s first piece of work.
♬♪♬♩―
Over an emotional piano melody, a grounding drum beat layered in sequentially. Without lyrics yet, a soft voice hummed in a pronunciation that was neither English nor Korean.
“Is that you singing?”
“No, it’s Jeong Si-u. He always helps me with my guide vocals.”
Over a crisp, bursting sound, a low voice and precise rap layered in. The lyrics still seemed incomplete, with gaps throughout, but I already felt it.
‘This is fucking incredible.’
I couldn’t imagine this fresh, crisp sound coming from Miro’s cramped studio. This was made by a trainee who hadn’t even debuted yet? I’d chain him down and never let him leave.
But I still couldn’t ignore the disconnect between the numbers in front of me and what I was hearing.
“Sorry, but could I hear another song? Preferably one with the full lyrics.”
“…Didn’t you like it?”
No, it’s so fucking good that it’s weird, damn it.
…I couldn’t say that, so I shook my head again, wearing my professional smile.
“No, it’s good, but hearing more will help me understand your musical taste better. Your rap style and all. If possible, I’d like a song with the rap fully completed.”
Lee Do-ha’s sharp gaze, which had been staring at me with wide eyes, softened slightly again.
This kid, worried I’d say his song was bad, so he gave me that look. I’ll say it again—Miro trainees had such intense impressions that when they stared like that on purpose, it was genuinely terrifying.
“Hmm… then this one.”
Do-ha seemed to deliberate before playing a different file.
A beat that sounded like it was coming from underwater, faint at first, grew louder, then dropped with a heavily effected, shredding electric guitar sound. Then came a burst of high, fast-paced melody.
Hwweeeeeo―!
Followed by an easy-to-catch whistling sound and a band sound crashing in. The song’s structure made you imagine a well-synchronized male idol group’s synchronized choreography just from listening. As the tempo accelerated and the beat fractured, leaving the listener breathless,
Shhhh―,
all sound disappeared again, as if submerged in water, followed by a slow-paced bass and a heavy voice layering over it.
A night that collapsed in an instant, melodies shattered beyond counting.
The lyrics were more poetic than expected. A low voice with neither fast nor slow rap. Delivery that never faltered even in that heavy tone, paired with lyrics studded with appropriately pleasant wordplay.
Here, I became certain.
‘This crazy bastard is fucking talented…?’
This was definitely a system error.
* * *
‘Let me think about this.’
I left Do-ha’s studio in a daze and ended up returning to Ju Eun-chan’s place instead of Room A, lying on the sofa that had practically become mine, thinking.
‘Yeah, there were definitely some questionable numbers.’
Now that I thought about it, Seo Tae-il and Seo Tae-hyun’s numbers weren’t easy to accept either. In the first place, it was strange that they were expressed as percentages. Usually, wouldn’t it be grades like high, middle, low? Or absolute evaluation like A, B, C, D?
“Lee Do-ha’s dancing is in the 30% range, but Seo Tae-hyun only has 67%? That doesn’t make sense.”
Ha-jin had already received all the regular practice videos of his group members and completed his monitoring. Lee Do-ha’s dancing wasn’t as terrible as he’d anticipated, but it certainly wasn’t merely twice as inferior to Seo Tae-hyun, who had competed all the way to the survival show finals.
“What’s the standard? The standard.”
The system window remained stubbornly silent at this critical moment. With a fleeting thought about how he wished he could punch it just once, he spread out the data for all three trainees again.
[Seo Tae-il (Affiliated Group: Upia)]
Vocal: 93%
Dance: 83%
Expression: 91%
Special: Composition, Producing (63%)
Appeal Points:
‘Everything is in my hands!’
-Leadership, Charisma, Stage Command
[Seo Tae-hyun (Affiliated: Miro)]
Vocal: 45%
Dance: 67%
Expression: 52%
Special: Acting, Natural Charm (82%)
Appeal Points:
‘Eyes are drawn, eyes are drawn!’
-Tone, Dance Lines, Stage Expression
[Lee Do-ha (Affiliated: Miro)]
Vocal: 17% (Rap 64%)
Dance: 47%
Expression: 35%
Special: Composition, Producing (34%)
Appeal Points:
‘Strong Heart’
-Delivery, Stage Adaptability, Performance Realization (80%)
Ha-jin studied the system window carefully, comparing it against their actual abilities, formulating and erasing countless hypotheses. When percentages are typically used—around the seventh hypothesis, a line was drawn through it.
“Ah, right. Battery. I should have charged it.”
As the alarm kept blaring, Ha-jin picked up his phone to check the messenger, only to notice the battery was nearly dead. Recalling that he’d left his charger at the practice room, he was about to get up from the sofa to grab the spare charger at Eun-chan’s place when—
“…Percentage.”
Another hypothesis flashed brilliantly into his mind. A benchmark worth expressing in percentages.
“It’s showing how much they’ve realized. It displays what percentage of their inherent abilities they’re actually demonstrating.”
And as if waiting for those words, a fanfare sounded and a hologram of glittering gold cascaded before his eyes.
[System Alert: (≧∇≦)/Correct―!]
[System Alert: Understanding of Skill 【Gaze of the Dragon】 (LV.1) increases.]
[System Alert: Skill 【Gaze of the Dragon】 (LV.1) ▶ (LV.2) Level Up!]
[System Alert: Penalty incurred from creating Skill 【Gaze of the Dragon】.]
[System Alert: Replace the penalty for Skill 【Gaze of the Dragon】 with Cache?]
[Existing Penalty: Mental Care System 5% Decrease / Replacement Cache: 300 Cache]
“The prices keep going up?”
[System Alert: The system shakes its head, saying it’s operating at the level of digging holes to do business.]
[System Alert: I guarantee there’s no other system that offers rates this good!]
“It seems like the reality patch keeps getting weird too….”
For a moment, my body trembled with the illusion of meeting a fruit vendor at a traditional market.
300 cash. It was expensive, but I couldn’t burst into tears like last time, so I reluctantly paid the cash with a bitter smile. Soon, a cheerful settlement sound rang out.
I examined the stat window spread before me once more. By the way,
“…these bastards are really insane.”
Now that I knew a clear reference point, my entire perspective on data analysis had shifted. As a result, new truths began to reveal themselves, and I.
“How am I supposed to beat these guys?”
I lost my motivation. Damn it all.

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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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