Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 29

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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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29. First Month-End Evaluation (1)
Beep, beep—.
Thud, thud-thud!
One, two, again!
The sound of shoe soles scraping and striking the wooden floor echoed repeatedly. In this Practice Room filled with nothing but ragged breathing, footfalls, and voices counting beats—devoid of even a single melodic note—someone soon collapsed onto the ground with a whimper.
“Ah, please! Stop! Stop!”
Yun Tae-hee, who’d never lost to anyone in terms of stamina, thrashed his arms and legs in protest. The others were equally spent, bracing themselves on their knees or lower backs as they wiped sweat and caught their breath. Tae-hee’s gaze, brimming with resentment, fixed on the architect of this entire ordeal.
“You said to trust only in yourself! You demon! You absolute demon!”
“My brother goes to church.”
The culprit, Kang Ha-jin, casually wiped sweat from his neck with a towel and answered with cynicism. Tae-hee shrieked and collapsed onto his other side, wailing anew. *Ugh… how did I end up in this group…?* Of course, it was a refrain he’d been repeating ever since the month-end evaluation practice began, so no one paid it any mind.
…So here’s how this all came about.
* * *
“I’m sorry, but.”
“…?”
“We’re not doing this song for our month-end evaluation.”
“Pardon?”
“What?”
At Kang Ha-jin’s resolute declaration, everyone stared at him in disbelief. Lee Do-ha was hit the hardest—he’d never even imagined his own song being criticized (though logically the possibility always existed, he’d simply forgotten such an option was available after years without it actually happening).
And what Kang Ha-jin said next was even more absurd.
“We’re going to.”
“…”
“Dance. Hard.”
“…”
“Synchronized formation dancing. You’ve heard of sharp, precise choreography, right? We’re doing that.”
At those words, Lee Do-ha dropped his phone. Kim Won-ho bit his tongue involuntarily, and Yun Tae-hee choked on water, prompting Gong Seok to pat his back. As the group descended into chaos in real time, Kang Ha-jin remained unmoved.
“Hyung. That… ah, of course, I’d love it if dance was my main focus, but is it possible?”
Even when Kim Won-ho, the only one pushing dance as his primary position, asked with his tongue half-extended and still tingling, Kang Ha-jin stood firm. His reasoning was clear.
‘Because we can.’
The system window floating before my eyes served as proof.
[Gong Seok (Affiliation: Miro)]
Vocals: 92%
Dance: 53%
Expression: 81%
Special: Wide Vocal Range (89%)
Appeal Point:
‘Teacher, I have a question’
-Academic diligence, educational passion
[Kim Won-ho (Affiliation: Miro)]
Vocals: 89% (Rap 34%)
Dance: 62%
Expressiveness: 92%
Special: Choreography Creation (86%)
Appeal Points:
‘A TO Z’
-Quick Learning Ability
[Yun Tae-hee (Affiliation: Miro)]
Vocals: 85% (Rap 49%)
Dance: 63%
Expressiveness: 75%
Special: Choreography Creation (76%)
Appeal Points:
‘Strong Heart’
-Delivery, Stage Adaptability, Performance Realization (91%)
The three of them shared one striking commonality.
Their dance stats were significantly lower compared to their vocal abilities.
‘Surprisingly, their vocal numbers are quite high. They’ve all trained their skills to a respectable level.’
Yet despite this, none of the three received particularly high praise for their vocals. Even Gong Seok, who was being pushed as the vocal position, fell short of being truly elite—at best, he was someone with genuinely good singing ability among ordinary people.
On the other hand.
‘These guys can dance better than they’re doing now.’
Three weeks. If I could push those percentages up by even 10% in that time.
Trainers who watched trainees day in and day out would notice immediately.
That difference. That growth.
‘And there’s someone I can rely on for performance.’
I watched Kim Won-ho still talking with the other team members, his expression uncertain. Every time I’d watched his practice videos, I’d wondered why my eyes kept drifting to him despite his awkwardness—now I understood. It was because of that 92% expressiveness.
“I don’t mind if you don’t write my song. …Honestly, I’m not confident about the dancing either. Of course, I’m working on it, but achieving the results I want in such a short time won’t be easy.”
Lee Do-ha was so anxious that he raised his hand and rambled more than he had in all our previous conversations combined.
‘He admits his shortcomings without hesitation.’
I, who understood better than anyone how difficult it was to acknowledge what you couldn’t do, found myself genuinely impressed. I shook my head at Do-ha.
“I’m not saying I’ll do something incredible right away either. But this song won’t work. The song itself is good, though.”
“I wish you’d give me more specific feedback.”
“It shows in the song. Like you’re saying, ‘I’m not confident about dancing.'”
“…!”
“But from what I can see, I think you can dance better than this. That would also bring out your rap better.”
Do-ha’s stat window appeared before my eyes once more.
[Lee Do-ha (Affiliation: Miro)]
Vocals: 17% (Rap 64%)
Dance: 47%
Expressiveness: 35%
Special: Composition, Producing (34%)
Appeal Points:
‘A Strong Heart’
-Delivery, stage presence, performance realization (80%)
‘Lee Do-ha is the opposite of the others.’
His potential for vocal improvement is far higher, but unless he suddenly jumps over 40%, it’s a hopeless figure.
‘On the other hand, if I work on his dancing even a little, I can probably push him past 50%.’
Why would I bother elevating his vocals when he can already dominate every Miro trainee with just his rap? His choreography skills aren’t terrible as they stand, so it made more sense to emphasize that instead.
“….”
Lee Do-ha fell silent at my words, his expression visibly shaken. He seemed lost in thought. The feedback was blunt yet struck at the heart of the matter—so much so that the other members couldn’t easily find their voices either.
Watching the deflated atmosphere, I instinctively realized it was time to offer some encouragement.
“I’m not saying we need to scrap everything. But I’d like you to be bolder than you are now. You need to feel absolutely certain that you can pour everything you’ve got into your rap. You’re our only rapper, after all.”
“Then….”
“We don’t have much time, and the melody is solid, so can we develop it from here? Kim Won-ho has the lowest vocal range among us, so we need to set the key to the highest one he can comfortably sing. Gong Seok can handle pretty much any key.”
“Ah, no. I’m not really that….”
Gong Seok’s ears flushed red at the unexpected praise. But to me, who’d already seen his trait of ‘wide vocal range,’ it wasn’t praise—it was simply fact.
Lee Do-ha, who’d been listening intently to my words, tapped the floor with his finger two or three times before speaking.
“Three days.”
“…!”
“I need three days. To rearrange it the way you described.”
“That’s enough.”
The deal was struck. Lee Do-ha immediately gathered his things and stood. Everyone in the room understood that he was signaling his departure to begin the arrangement work. And by extension, that this month’s evaluation would unfold exactly as I’d envisioned.
“What? So we can’t do anything until the song is finished?”
Yun Tae-hee, whose attitude was decisive and whose responses were quick, asked with wide eyes. His gaze seemed to sparkle with the faint hope of rest, but I—having calculated the arrangement timeline—offered my practiced ‘social etiquette’ smile.
“Of course we can.”
“…? But we don’t have the song….”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“…?”
“At your current level, you couldn’t match it even if we had the song. You all know that, right?”
“Then…?”
The moment Lee Do-ha left the Practice Room, I stood up. The three hopeless brothers finally noticed it then—that my outfit today was anything but ordinary.
A black short-sleeved shirt that wouldn’t show sweat stains, lightweight training pants with good ventilation and a snug fit to the wooden floor, practice sneakers with excellent grip, and an elastic headband to keep my hair in place through the sweat.
“Ever heard of a hellish boost camp?”
“….”
“From now on, we’re dancing until you’re ready to puke, so brace yourselves.”
Thus began the prologue to hell. Welcome to dance hell!
* * *
“…Hey, Ha-jin. We’re really… okay with this, right?”
During the brief pause in training—after Yun Tae-hee’s threat that he’d actually vomit if we continued (
or rather, practice)
—Gong Seok cautiously approached me as I lay stretching on the side, loosening my muscles. I sat up and looked at him.
“No, it’s not that I don’t trust you… I just mean, is this really the right approach?”
“Hmm… it would help if you could be more specific about what’s making you anxious.”
I shifted slightly to make room for Gong Seok to sit, speaking with deliberate courtesy to ensure he felt comfortable. After all, he was the only adult in our group and the oldest among us, and since he seemed to lack confidence in certain areas, I was doing everything I could to keep his motivation from wavering.
“I mean… we decided to focus more on dance than singing, right? That’s why Lee Do-ha is working so hard on the arrangement.”
“….”
“I’m just worried whether it’s okay for us to keep doing only the basics like this.”
The boost camp I was running.
Its primary focus was ‘fundamental choreography’—that basic foundation everyone learns when they first join an agency and start dancing.
-Do you know what’s most important when dancing? Angles. And lines.
-Angles! Get your angles right! Go deeper!
-Follow the line of sight to your fingertips. Fix your eye contact.
-Your arms need to be straight. Right angles, not obtuse angles!
It was no wonder the team members were bewildered, having prepared themselves for difficult choreography. I nodded enthusiastically at Gong Seok’s words.
‘We’re spending a precious week out of three doing only this, so it makes sense they’re getting anxious now.’
Even Lee Do-ha, who was pulling all-nighters on the arrangement, made time in between to have them run through these routines three hundred times. Seo Tae-hyun, who shared a room with Lee Do-ha at the Dormitory, was now at the point of being horrified that Lee Do-ha extends his arms with his gaze fixed on his fingertips at perfect right angles even when opening a door.
“I was actually thinking we should move to the next phase soon.”
“Ah… really? The next phase….”
“Should we talk about it once everyone’s here?”
Just then, Yun Tae-hee and Kim Won-ho, who had stepped out for a break, returned to the Practice Room. I called them over and had them sit down. The four of us, excluding Lee Do-ha, formed a circle in the center of the Practice Room.
“First, thanks for grinding through this week.”
“I know, hyung.”
“Ugh, Tae-hee, quiet.”
“But it really has been rough. Especially for you and Won-ho.”
My casual tone helped thaw the slightly tense atmosphere, and laughter rippled through the group. Sensing the shift in mood, I smiled and pulled out my phone.
“Alright, I have a major announcement.”
“…? Wait, don’t tell me…?”
“The song is ready. Finally.”
One week after the first meeting following the end-of-month evaluation.
At last, the song had been decided.

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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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