Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 44

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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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44. Special Mission! Shine Brightly (5)
It was that trainee who’d spewed harsh words about not showing off if you didn’t make it to the end.
‘His name was Shin… something.’
Once I lost interest in something, I lost it completely. I knew his face, but I couldn’t quite remember what he did.
“Um, Ha-jin. The Writer is asking if we should start practice… What should we do? Should I go find Kyung-ho?”
“No, let’s just start practicing.”
Ah, Shin Kyung-ho. That was it.
I waved my hand dismissively at Gong Seok, who’d approached hesitantly, and stood up. Then I walked over to the production crew who were busy setting up cameras on one side.
“Writer, Kyung-ho seems to be in a bit of rough condition right now. Would it be okay if we just did a practice run with the rest of us for now?”
“Oh, of course, of course. Just proceed naturally as if the cameras aren’t here.”
“Yes, understood.”
While the Writer discussed today’s shoot with the PD who’d come along and prepared, I approached the remaining seven trainees who were awkwardly warming up. I had my microphone on, but the camera slate hadn’t rolled yet.
‘If I’m going to say something, it’s now.’
I pulled out the words I’d been thinking through and organizing ever since coming to this practice room today.
“Hey, guys.”
“…?”
“I’m an ENFP, you know. You know how ENFPs really hold onto hurt feelings and emotional wounds in their hearts. Honestly, I was really hurt yesterday.”
Some of them rolled their eyes, watching my expression. I deliberately made eye contact with each one of them as I continued.
“But I’m just going to be straight with you. I want to debut. Genuinely.”
‘Well, technically I have to.’
Looking at these guys wondering what I was getting at, I asked them with complete sincerity in that moment.
“Don’t you?”
Tension rose in the awkward atmosphere. I heard the assistant director running over from far away and loudly snapping the slate in the center of the practice room. Everything said from now on would be on the record.
“Let’s beat those Team A bastards.”
That’s perfect for a teaser, isn’t it, assistant director? Please find this audio and use it.
I smiled and clapped my hands, hoping no one would hear my thoughts. It was the signal for the first practice.
* * *
Trainees weren’t as impressive as I’d thought.
Park, an assistant director three months into the job who’d successfully debuted on her first broadcast through Miro’s next survival show, thought this to herself.
She’d come with high hopes and desires for eye candy, having heard they were idol trainees (and Miro’s next ones at that!), but the trainees she actually met looked like ordinary teenage boys you’d see on the street.
The only difference was that they were a bit taller and more handsome than average.
When she mentioned this impression to the senior who was leading today’s shoot, he laughed for a while and said this.
-Of course. They’re just kids in their mid-teens standing in front of a camera for the first time. They need a few years even after debut to really look like idols~.
That’s true. Seo Tae-il, whom I saw during yesterday’s opening shoot, really did look like a celebrity!
‘Ah. Is that why I’m not impressed? Because the level is different?’
Park nodded, thinking that could be it, and resolved to definitely take a photo with Seo Tae-il before this program ended. And in that moment, cutting through the song blaring loudly in the practice room, someone’s sharp command rang out.
“You’re messing up here again! Focus properly!”
“Wow, that startled me.”
What power.
It was loud enough to reach Park clearly even in the corner of the practice room. The owner of that shout was the Team B leader trainee standing in the center of the practice room leading the session. His name was Kang… or something like that.
“Line! Pay attention to the line, line!”
“Get the angles right! Everything’s off right now!”
“Who still hasn’t memorized the lyrics?”
Without cracking a single expression, the relentless barrage of instructions reminded Park of our main PD. She pouted her lips. That was when it happened.
Another sun rises, shining on you and me
Let’s hold hands so we don’t lose our way
I’ll walk with you so night never comes
Perhaps it was his part, because the trainee continued singing live at full volume even while executing the group choreography. Park found herself instinctively drawn to that raw, unfiltered voice. With such powerful vocal projection, his voice came through crystal clear even over the pre-recorded AR track.
‘…He’s good?’
Park’s gaze, which had dismissed the trainees as unremarkable, gradually fixed itself on the one wearing the baseball cap pulled low. As the song rushed toward its finale, she realized she was finding herself anticipating his parts.
His appeal didn’t end there!
“Let’s take it slow, one, two.”
“Right, but we need to give it a softer feel than this.”
“Everyone picked up the moves quickly. We’re halfway there.”
“No, you can ease up on that part. If you hit it too hard, it’ll look tacky.”
The practice led by the baseball cap leader (a nickname that had formed in no time) was undeniably efficient. He’d bark out encouragement with a loud voice, then offer gentle, detailed explanations when nuanced direction was needed. It was like—
‘Like he understands everything the person who created this song wanted to express.’
The only disappointment was that the other trainees seemed unable to keep up with the baseball cap leader’s directions.
Suddenly curious about the baseball cap leader’s background, Park turned to the youngest writer sitting beside her, frantically scribbling preview notes.
“Writer, how old did you say that leader is?”
“Who, Ha-jin? I think… nineteen? Or maybe twenty?”
‘Nineteen? Not twenty-nine?’
No matter how she looked at it, this was a maturity and worldliness no South Korean high school senior could possess! The fact that beneath that baseball cap lay someone who had actually lived nearly thirty years—a max-level group project veteran—was something she would never know.
* * *
During the break after the first practice session, I drained an entire bottle of plain water in one go and reflected.
‘The stamina from my military days is really paying off here.’
The soldier-era physical endurance I’d hastily acquired through a skill yesterday proved far more helpful than I’d anticipated. The lung capacity built from daily running and singing military marches had been absorbed along with it, making it effortless to perform live while dancing!
[System Alert: Ahem (Proud)]
‘Yeah, thanks.’
I thanked the system with genuine gratitude this time as I tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin, surveying the atmosphere in the practice room.
‘The filming’s wrapped. The kids… they’re not bad.’
The awkwardness that lingered until this morning had long since shattered under my intense practice regimen. As the production crew filed out one by one, saying they’d see us this evening, I bowed respectfully and thought to myself.
‘So the only problem left is… that one guy.’
“After lunch and a rest, let’s run through it once more at two. Everyone did great work.”
At the mention of rest, everyone groaned and cheered in equal measure, rolling around on the practice room floor. Watching them, I grabbed another water bottle and quietly slipped out.
Shin Kyung-ho. (Wrong.) It was time to retrieve the lost lamb.
* * *
Shin Kyung-ho (eighteen years old, Kang Ha-jin’s lost lamb number one, not Shin Young-ho) felt something had gone decidedly wrong as he came down to the basement cafeteria for lunch.
“Traitors. Leaving me out…”
Had it been a mistake to ignore Seok’s message last night about having something to say, instead getting absorbed in the gaming device that Sung-woo brought to their shared room? The moment he heard that his teammates had all gone to practice with Ha-jin without him (and they’d even been filmed!), Shin Kyung-ho felt his anxiety spike.
“I wasn’t listening to what Sung-woo said!”
The problem was that I’d been swayed by Sung-woo’s words—he’d told me that since Ha-jin, as leader, would monopolize all the spotlight, if I demonstrated superior leadership compared to him, I’d stand out better on the broadcast.
Not only had Ha-jin, who arrived much later than me, grown close to people I’d envied, but when he received a higher ranking than me, my jealousy and inferiority complex exploded, leading to yesterday’s incident.
-Hyung! What do I do, they’re filming right now without me!
-…Kyung-ho. I was telling you to show me working harder and better than Ha-jin. I heard about yesterday too, and I’m disappointed in you. You made excuses and blamed me, didn’t you?
This morning, when I confronted Sung-woo about the situation and asked what we should do now, I watched him back away, spouting something about being disappointed. That’s when I realized it.
‘I’m finished.’
As I imagined my future—mocked by the entire nation, flooded with malicious comments, unable to even dream of becoming an entertainer, let alone debuting—Kyung-ho clutched his head in despair.
And then, someone set down an ion drink in front of him with a decisive thunk.
“…?”
“Hey, Young-ho.”
“…!”
Without waiting for a response, Ha-jin pulled out the chair across from Kyung-ho and sat down, flashing that ‘kind and gentle older brother smile’ he used when he wanted to appear virtuous.
“Let’s talk for a bit.”
“….”
Clinging to his last shred of pride, Kyung-ho refused to answer, but Ha-jin continued regardless.
“Seok-i told me. You’ve never made it to the Special Class since joining Miro.”
“That’s, well…”
“You’ve been a trainee for a long time, but you kept losing to Haruna and Eun-chan even though they joined later than you. When I heard that, I thought about it. I understand. But seeing me get better results than you might’ve hurt your feelings too.”
“…Yes.”
‘What’s this? Isn’t he angry?’
Kyung-ho felt the wariness he’d built up inside beginning to crumble at Ha-jin’s unexpectedly gentle tone.
‘Is this guy more of a pushover than I thought? If I play this right, maybe I can smoothly get to a reconciliation route?’
As Kyung-ho spotted an opening for survival, his lips curved into a smirk. Ha-jin, his eyes and voice dripping with sentimentality, even patted Kyung-ho’s arm reassuringly.
“I might not be to your liking. Like you said, honestly, we’re all still young. We fight a lot, we’re sensitive. I think it’s understandable that emotions get out of control sometimes.”
As Ha-jin’s words continued in that wistful tone, Kyung-ho’s guard dropped completely.
Thunk.
“But even kids know the difference. What you can say and what you can’t. Courtesy and rudeness. Common sense and thoughtlessness.”
Huh?
Ha-jin’s grip on the arm he’d been patting tightened, yanking Kyung-ho forward. As his body lurched with a loud crash, Ha-jin smiled and showed him a photo on his phone.
“This, this is…”
“Life is practice, Young-ho. Why’d you leave evidence lying around?”
The photo contained screenshots from a group chat Kyung-ho had created without Ha-jin—messages primarily consisting of insults about Ha-jin, criticism from other trainees, and Kyung-ho’s messages urging everyone to skip practice.
And the recipient of those photos was…
【Miro_Ji Su-ho Team Leader】
“Choose. End your trainee career, or crawl back quietly.”
A lost little lamb?
[System Notification: 777 Cash has been added as a bonus! (Reason: Satisfying)]
I never said I’d bring him back nicely.

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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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