Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 45

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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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45. Daylight (1)
“Excellent work. I was honestly worried about Team B.”
Seo Tae-il’s satisfied applause echoed through the practice room. The featherweight trainees, having just finished their mid-evaluation, exhaled heavily and shouted their gratitude. The camera zoomed in on Ha-jin, who stood at the center of the group. His slightly grimaced face as he caught his breath appeared clearly on the monitor.
“But Kyung-ho needs more practice. He’s falling behind on his own.”
“…Yes, sir!”
“Overall, though, the energy is fantastic. Maybe because they’re young, but everyone’s got real drive.”
“Thank you!”
Tae-il, unaware that this drive stemmed from someone’s ruthless intimidation tactics, smiled and opened the trainee profile file in his hand.
“Who’s the leader here? Ha-jin. You’ve got a good grip on the atmosphere.”
Ha-jin laughed modestly, shaking his head at the consecutive praise.
“The members followed along well.”
“Come on, too much modesty is annoying.”
“Apparently everyone recognized my outstanding leadership.”
“Now that’s a new kind of annoying.”
Quiet laughter leaked out among the production staff who were filming the smooth back-and-forth. Watching the warm atmosphere unfold, I felt certain.
‘This will edit beautifully.’
In survival broadcasts where narrative matters, an underdog uprising is always welcome. Especially when it’s a program produced by Kwon PD.
‘It would be perfect if there were a higher-ranked team to compare us against.’
I smiled with relief, hoping that Team A’s evaluation happening in another practice room right now would be anything but positive. (Sorry, guys, but could you mess up just a little?)
“But Ha-jin.”
“…?”
“You didn’t get greedy this time either?”
At Tae-il’s unexpected question, alternating his gaze between the part distribution sheet and me with a meaningful expression, I hesitated. Why does this guy keep singling me out? And this time, I hadn’t even deliberately excluded my own parts like before.
‘I’m doing the sub-vocal and standing center for the dance break—what more could I possibly want?’
“The part distribution was… decided after consulting with the team members. If I’m given a solo stage opportunity next time, then I’ll be more ambitious.”
At my carefully considered answer, Tae-il’s eyebrows twitched again. What does this guy want from me? What answer is he looking for?
As I barely managed to keep my expression in check, growing increasingly frustrated, Tae-il, who had been wearing a contemplative look, soon nodded.
“Right, well. Anyway, everyone worked hard, and I’m looking forward to the mentor evaluation.”
“Yes! Thank you.”
As Tae-il made a motion to stand up, wrapping things up, Kwon PD nodded. Alright, we’re cutting here. Let’s do the slate. At those words, the camera directors all simultaneously positioned their cameras in the center of the practice room.
“Hey, where did Seon-jae go?”
“PD Yoon went out earlier to settle the dinner bill at the restaurant.”
“Ah, he went there. Then… Ha-jin, sorry, but could you clap the slate for us?”
“Oh, yes.”
Kwon PD realized that the assistant director who should have clapped the slate happened to be away for the next schedule, so he asked me. There was nothing particularly special about it. It was just that Kang Ha-jin happened to be standing in the very center of the practice room where all the cameras were gathered.
Responding instinctively to Kwon PD’s call, I quickly stepped forward and raised my hands.
“Clapping the slate!”
“….”
“March 2nd, 8:42 PM, Team B mid-evaluation, one, two, three!”
“…?”
Clap—!
A sharp, precise clap rang out loud enough to be picked up clearly by all the rolling cameras and microphones. And with it came an inexplicable sense of déjà vu that settled over the practice room like a strange hush.
And the one who’d delivered that clap was the first to notice it.
‘Oh no, I didn’t even think about it.’
I’d snapped the slate with such practiced ease and naturalness!
From a trainee I’d assumed would just awkwardly clap from the middle came a crisp, resonant vocal delivery. At that, Seo Tae-il who’d been heading for the door, Kwon PD who’d been directing the next shot, and all the trainees with sweat-dampened shirts blinked and stared at me.
In that brief moment—barely one or two seconds—I thought to myself.
‘This is definitely going to make the behind-the-scenes cut.’
I could see Kwon PD’s expression shift with interest in real time! I quickly let out an embarrassed laugh, scratched my shoulder with an awkward voice.
“Um, well, last time you did it like this, PD. …Is this not right?”
The trainee who’d just been answering confidently now looked flustered, breaking into a grin that showed his molars, and only then did laughter erupt from Kwon PD and ripple through the practice room. Six cameras, instinctively sensing something entertaining was happening, continued capturing me from multiple angles.
Kwon PD, finding me increasingly entertaining as I created perfect editing moments, shrugged and spoke.
“Haha, what is this. If you don’t make it through the survival show, you could work as my assistant director! You really know how to snap that slate perfectly.”
Of course I did. I’d learned it from him while getting my shin kicked.
‘So telling an idol to quit the survival show and become a PD—is that an insult or a compliment?’
I just laughed along with the main PD, my former boss (now like the heavens above) who was trying to give me a second career (literally a second career).
Of course, I never gave an answer saying it was good, even as a joke.
* * *
After the mid-point evaluation ended, the featherweight-ranked trainees headed to the dormitory floor to shake off their fatigue. Perhaps because I’d earned a fairly good evaluation from Seo Tae-il, the awkward and uncomfortable atmosphere that had lingered from the series of events had long since dissipated.
And when someone spotted Shin Kyung-ho walking ahead, everyone voiced the question they’d been curious about.
“Hey, so why was that guy reborn?”
“No idea. He just suddenly changed his mind.”
When I’d brought Shin Kyung-ho back after lunch, the Team B trainees couldn’t hide their bewilderment. They couldn’t believe that the Shin Kyung-ho who’d been acting like a thug until yesterday and the Shin Kyung-ho now bowing respectfully and apologizing right before their eyes were the same person.
I mean, we all did a complete 180 like hotteok in just a day, but wasn’t he on a different level entirely? And within this incomprehensible shocking situation, plausible hypotheses began to bloom.
“You don’t know? Seok-i apparently begged Ha-jin to forgive Kyung-ho. Said it was his fault as the older one for not taking responsibility.”
“Nah, they just had it out and Shin Kyung-ho lost. I saw Ha-jin go looking for him at lunch.”
“Both are right, but it wasn’t a fight—he went to persuade him. I saw those two talking in the corner of the restaurant. Kyung-ho looked like he was crying and Ha-jin was just patting him, saying he understood everything.”
“Right, I saw it too. He pulled him in and hugged him and everything.”
Within the gossiping noise, the heartwarming story (the misunderstanding) only grew. They never imagined that within that affectionate display lay my ruthless threat: if you don’t want to die, get your asses up to the practice room right now.
And these innocent boys soon began to feel a surge of respect for me, who’d generously forgiven the insubordination, successfully led the practice, and achieved hope for the first mission they’d thought was doomed!
“Wow… isn’t that guy basically an angel? I mean, he’s younger than us and we were openly defying him yesterday.”
“Honestly, we all… almost got screwed. Ha-jin really just gave us one chance, seriously.”
These earnest boys then fell into self-reflection. Looking back, they realized how weak and complacent they’d been, and how close they’d come to being the concentrated target of malicious comments if not for me!
And Park Jae-young, who’d been listening to all of this, spoke up.
“…Ah, I actually heard something about that guy from Tae-hui.”
“Tae-hui? What did he say?”
All eyes focused on Jae-young. But Jae-young’s gaze, receiving all that attention, was now directed at me—just coming out of the shower, casually draping a towel over my head as I wandered past in the distance.
“…He said that guy’s really scary, so don’t mess with him.”
“Ah.”
At that single word, everyone nodded in understanding.
…I shouldn’t dwell on it. This was a moment when a precious lesson was being etched into my very bones.
* * *
“The opening seemed to go pretty well, at least.”
Meanwhile, unaware that various anecdotes (?) about me were sprouting up like weeds, I passed by the source of my controversies (?) and strolled along the Walking Path on the Dormitory level—which was oddly luxurious for a company building. I was letting my hair dry naturally (I’d always preferred the wind) while organizing my thoughts.
The early schedule for Miro Maze that I’d organized on my phone was roughly as follows:

Which meant,
‘From today on, I’m dead.’
Since they said the first broadcast would be in early May, I figured we’d probably have to tackle two more missions before then. It was already March, so I could safely assume the next month would be hell. Whether I’d been grinding away as an assistant director or buried in an entertainment company, this period had always been the most brutal. Being a participant wouldn’t be any different.
“If I can just get through the mentor evaluation, I think I’ll be fine.”
Things seemed to be unfolding roughly as I’d anticipated, but something felt off. The words I’d heard from Seo Tae-il earlier kept nagging at some corner of my mind.
Ambition? I was already handling leader, sub-vocalist, and dance simultaneously—what more could I possibly want?
“…It sounded like there was some kind of hidden intention behind it….”
“Hey.”
“Jesus, you scared me! Who are you!?”
“Oh, sorry.”
Just as I was about to sink into contemplation, a massive shadow suddenly appeared beside me, and I nearly fainted from the shock. My startled reaction startled him just as much, and he stumbled backward, flailing his long arms.
“Lee Do-ha?”
“Sorry, I’ve been calling you since earlier, but you didn’t answer.”
Lee Do-ha, decked out entirely in black, had a black scarf wound tightly around his neck. When I asked why he needed a scarf in March, he answered, “I get cold easily.”
‘Wow, he really does look like a winter bear.’
If that guy ever debuted, there’d definitely be a bear emoji next to his name in reality show captions. That’s industry instinct right there.
“I was taking a walk too.”
“Bundled up like that?”
“…I get cold easily.”
Lee Do-ha showed me the paper notebook he was holding as proof. Apparently it was a lyric sketch—there were countless words and sentences scribbled across it in pen, pressed down hard. Right, he was a genius artist. Remembering that fact, I nodded.
“But you write on paper too?”
“Writing like this somehow makes me feel freer to write more.”
“Doesn’t it get hard to find things later?”
“Oh. I organize everything I’ve written and transfer it to my laptop later. I back it up to the cloud too.”
“…Backup. Backup’s important. Backup.”
Suddenly, memories of my past life flashed back—whenever someone in the office would cry out in alarm, everyone would simultaneously hammer Ctrl+S. I quietly rubbed the goosebumps that had risen on my forearms.
‘Wait. Should I ask him?’
I was thinking about heading back inside soon since we didn’t really have much to talk about, but I found myself staring at Do-ha. He was still just a rookie, but Lee Do-ha was someone who knew how to produce. Maybe he could help me understand what Seo Tae-il meant?
“Hey, Do-ha. Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“What do you think he meant by saying I wasn’t being greedy? I heard it from Seo Tae-il during the mid-check earlier.”
I felt a bit embarrassed bringing this up to someone so talented, but at this point I was genuinely frustrated. Maybe because Lee Do-ha wasn’t even on the same team, nor one of my younger trainees—once I started talking, the words just kept flowing.
“It seems connected to what he said during last month’s evaluation. I have a lot of parts this time, you know? I’m singing the opening of the pre-chorus too, I’m center for the dance break, and there’s even ad-libs in the third verse.”
“….”
“But I wasn’t sure what he meant by not being greedy. Since you do producing too, I thought maybe you’d see something from a different angle.”
Lee Do-ha stared intently at me as I laid out my worries. People always say the most important thing in counseling is listening, but when he just kept staring without saying anything, I furrowed my brow and flicked his forearm. Hey. What do you think about it?
After thinking a bit longer, Lee Do-ha carefully opened his mouth.
“…Can I be honest?”
“…? Of course. Just say it comfortably.”
Wondering what he was getting at, I crossed my arms as Lee Do-ha spoke.
“If I were a producer, I absolutely wouldn’t have given you those parts you just mentioned.”
“…Why?”
“They don’t suit you.”
“What the hell, you bastard?”
I blinked both eyes, as if I’d been hit with his words.

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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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