Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 374

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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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374. Project Insomnia Annihilation (1)
The first half of the year swept past like wind, and before we knew it, summer had arrived—dragonflies now darting past the window.
We were consumed with comeback preparations, our days blurring together in a whirlwind of activity.
“Should we shelve this one for now?”
“Yeah, probably. I’ll develop it more whenever I get time. It doesn’t feel ready yet—even Si-woo said it was difficult.”
“Alright then. Let’s keep it on hold.”
Do-ha gulped down his iced coffee while working. My head was pounding from today’s stubborn creative block, so I drained my orange juice in one go—the one Eun-chan and Ha-ru had bought for me before heading to the company for their lesson.
As Do-ha saved his work, he caught me crunching through the ice at the bottom of my cup, and he suddenly opened his mouth.
“Have you thought about it?”
“About what? You always skip the subject and jump straight to the verb.”
“Writing a song.”
If this guy had played baseball, his coach would’ve beaten him senseless for throwing nothing but fastballs.
Faced with his usual blunt approach, I stayed silent and kept crunching ice until my teeth ached. Then Do-ha continued as if he’d been waiting for this moment.
“If you don’t want to do it, I won’t force you. Music isn’t homework.”
“….”
“But if it’s just a lack of courage, I still don’t understand.”
Let me correct that.
If this guy had played baseball, his coach would’ve adored him for throwing fastballs at 150 km/h every single time.
Regardless, faced with this ruthless friend’s relentless questioning—something he’d been doing since we first met—I finished the last of my ice and set the empty cup down on the table with a deliberate clink.
“Ugh, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, you bastard! I have no idea, okay?”
“No idea about what?”
“…I don’t know. I don’t know what song to write, I don’t know if I should write one at all. My head hurts.”
“….”
“Besides, do I really have to write my own songs? We’ve got a Beethoven on the team who jumps out of bed to produce beats, and among the seniors there’s a Mozart—a songwriting machine who can churn out hits no matter what concept we throw at him. So why? Why must I? Why do I have to?”
“….”
“What if I just keep doing what I’m doing now—tossing ideas from the sidelines, providing material, helping with development—and living the life of a parasite getting royalties? Honestly, I’m really satisfied with this. But do I really need to abandon this happy freeloader existence and start from the bottom, assembling the whole bus instead of just riding it? Do I really have to take that difficult, exhausting path….”
“Ha-jin.”
“Yeah.”
“You want to do it, don’t you?”
The 150 km/h fastball struck again, silencing me completely. Do-ha’s eyes held that same knowing look—the one from our very first monthly evaluation together. I could only spin my chair in circles and grumble.
“…Yeah, I want to.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
Do-ha nodded with genuine satisfaction and closed his mouth. He looked like he had nothing more to ask, and somehow that made me feel worse. I had to stop spinning my chair.
“What, that’s it?”
“As long as you have the desire to do it, nothing else matters.”
“That’s surprisingly generous of you.”
“Want me to push harder instead?”
“No, let’s talk about something else.”
“Sure then.”
“Yeah, okay then.”
Worried that Do-ha might circle back to the composition issue, I quickly shook my head, and as if he’d been waiting for that moment, Do-ha brought up the ‘next’ topic.
“What are you planning to do about Si-woo?”
“…You really do have this infuriating talent for pinpointing exactly the uncomfortable subjects I’ve buried away and shoving them in my face.”
Faced with his uncanny ability to extract uncomfortable topics like pulling out load-bearing beams from the depths of my mind, I grabbed the cushion beside me and hurled it instead of applauding. When I compared him to a baseball player, he caught the cushion lightly like we were playing catch, which only irritated me further.
Regardless, Do-ha systematically powered down all the equipment and spun his chair around to face me.
“Setting Tae-hyun aside, Si-woo is like a time bomb. He could awaken at any moment if the right button gets pressed.”
Unlike Yoo Gun, who had fortunately been successfully recruited after the Jeju Island trip and could now benefit from a mental care system, Si-woo was still stuck in place.
I’d blocked all memories from the timeline that consumed cash by using a workaround, but it was merely a temporary measure. Even the smallest trigger could cause Si-woo to witness his father’s death crashing down on him all over again.
‘Besides, recruiting colleagues isn’t something I can just do on a whim….’
Recruiting Yoo Gun this time had been pure dumb luck.
It was especially frustrating that Thirteen had gone silent at a time like this.
[System Administrator Absent….]
[System management will proceed in Auto mode for the time being.]
After the theme park incident, the System had reverted to that ‘inhumane’ true version of itself. Now I was wondering if it was ever right to expect humanity from a system in the first place, but regardless, the fact remained that this version was inconvenient for me.
I closed the bluish system window that I wasn’t fond of and answered Do-ha.
“I’ve handled the biggest problem for now, so we’ll just have to observe for a while. Seo Tae-hyun, who also hasn’t awakened, doesn’t seem to show any signs either.”
“…Could Si-woo’s recent poor condition be related to that?”
“Him? What’s wrong with him lately?”
“The recording doesn’t seem to be going well. He says it’s just a condition issue, but….”
Hearing about Si-woo’s poor condition for the first time made my senses sharpen. Ever since I realized he was just as stubbornly self-destructive as I was, I’d been paying special attention to this aspect.
I urged Do-ha to tell me more, and he rubbed his stiff neck and shared what he’d observed.
“You know his sleep pattern improved a lot recently, right?”
“Yeah. After he shared a room with the younger ones last year, things were fine.”
“I heard from Tae-hyun yesterday that he’s been having nightmares again lately.”
“…Nightmares? Again?”
“Tae-hyun said he’s seen him wake up a few times in the early morning and leave. Sometimes he cries or groans in his sleep without realizing it.”
….
“It could just be stress, but…. Either way, his ‘nightmares’ must be connected to his memories. Just in case.”
If Do-ha’s nightmare was ‘a life without music’ and Ju Eun-chan’s was ‘a dark, lonely small room,’ then Si-woo’s nightmare was ‘his father’s death.’
I tapped my fingers on the table, organizing my thoughts.
After catching Ju Eun-chan, the Returner had been captured, and since even this mechanical System had nothing to say about it, it didn’t seem to be in the fantasy realm. Because we’d been going to the hospital frequently due to Ju Eun-chan’s accident, maybe that had become a trigger.
“…?”
Then suddenly, a pebble of thought splashed up into the spring of my consciousness. My fingers, which had been tapping loudly on the table, slowed down.
“Do-ha.”
“Yeah.”
“Last year, when we did the four-round guerrilla concert at our Miro Maze, was that around this time?”
“Hmm…. It was a bit earlier. Our final stage was around the first week of July, I think.”
“I think he was like this around this time last year too.”
I recalled Si-woo, who during the time we were preparing for the four-round mission, had stayed up all night alone creating a mashup draft after going to the convenience store with me.
Back then, we weren’t particularly close, and I wasn’t paying him special attention, so I didn’t think carefully about it. But looking back, he clearly wasn’t sleeping properly then either.
Or rather, I should say I didn’t sleep.
“Even when that whole bloodbath incident happened in the restroom….”
That was also in the early morning, and while the trainee maknae could claim they lost track of time playing among themselves, Jeong Si-u had no real reason to be awake at that hour. Considering he even had a toothbrush in his mouth, he’d either been doing something and planning to sleep late, or he hadn’t planned to sleep at all.
As if understanding what I was getting at, Lee Do-ha, who’d been retracing memories alongside me, raised a question.
“What about when you two fought last year? That was autumn, wasn’t it?”
“That had a clear trigger. We’d been living together constantly since the Miro Maze days, and after debut, Seo Tae-hyun—who happens to be a heavy sleeper—became my roommate, so I had to keep watching him sleep by force.”
“You think the timing has an influence?”
“Just speculating. You know how some people are really affected by seasons? I’m one of them—autumn gets to me.”
I shrugged lightly to indicate it was just a casual thought, and Lee Do-ha nodded as if it made sense, sinking back into contemplation.
Since my hands were getting restless from just tapping the table, I grabbed a pen nearby and spun it around absently. After all that silence, Lee Do-ha suddenly lifted his head with a spark of inspiration.
“Then should we ask?”
“Ask? Who—Si-woo? Like he’d tell us anything. And honestly, I don’t think he knows either. He seems pretty clueless about his own state. When I got close to him last time, he turned out to be surprisingly scatterbrained.”
“Exactly. A direct approach won’t work, so what if we start by asking around his circle?”
“Hmm….”
I snatched the pen back from where it was spinning in my palm.
When you’re truly lost, seeking help from those around you is definitely the fastest method. I set the pen down on the table with a decisive tap.
“I’m in.”
I stood up to find someone nearby who could help.
‘Just wait, Jeong Si-u.’
This time, I’ll reinforce the barn door before the cow bolts—and lock him inside!

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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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