Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 457

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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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457. BUILD UP (3)
October and November, months spent preparing for year-end, were extraordinarily busy for Kairos.
Thanks to living diligently, we received more invitations to award shows and year-end stages compared to last year, and could be nominated in far more categories—but conversely, the massive buff effect of being a “rookie debut” had worn off by half, forcing us to prove ourselves anew.
Amid such chaos, we couldn’t afford to neglect preparations for the coming year.
Much like the pattern of ordinary office workers, odd-numbered years held tremendous significance in idol activities.
The first year after debut, the third year when one gradually enters a more “professional” phase, the fifth year when groups generally hit their “prime” or “golden era,” and the seventh year when contract renewals loom and the group’s very survival hangs in the balance.
Even-numbered years were essentially nothing more than the build-up process leading into these pivotal stages.
“Okay, done! Really done! Completely done! Final!”
“You think this is fine? I still feel like the B version might be better, honestly.”
“No way. Considering the performance volume, this is plenty. There’s such a thing as the beauty of restraint, you know.”
And naturally, Ha-jin and Do-ha, who handled Kairos’s songwriting and producing, found themselves equally swamped.
All the effort of organizing the Dormitory and selecting new roommates went to waste as we fell into a daily routine of huddling in the Studio for meetings and work sessions. It was much the same for Eun-chan and Yoo Gun, who’d been practically living in the Practice Room lately, actively throwing themselves into performance conceptualization and choreography creation.
“So now… we just need to lay down maybe three more guide tracks? We outsourced some of this, right?”
“Sae-on hyung said he’d handle that.”
“Then he’ll take care of it, I’m sure.”
At the mention of the A&R staff member we knew well, Ha-jin relaxed visibly, reassured, and stretched out languidly across his personal sofa.
Given how much I’d eaten, slept, and lounged here, the armrest that had once been plump and cushioned had become permanently molded into the shape of my head.
With the hectic work finished, it was time to clear my mind with something lighter.
Scanning the densely packed calendar hanging on the wall, I pulled a cushion close and opened my mouth.
“Hey, Do-ha.”
“Yeah.”
“You know any good songs for a wedding congratulations performance?”
“Wedding congratulations?”
“Yeah, a congratulations song. Come to think of it, I promised to perform one at Ha-jin’s wedding, and it’s coming up soon.”
“…You’re getting married?”
“What are you talking about? Kang Ha-jin, the athlete. Paralympics. That ‘Come Here and Hug Me.'”
“…Oh.”
Do-ha’s thought process had momentarily stalled at the mention of Ha-jin’s wedding, but upon hearing the explanation, he recalled a certain swimming athlete who shared Ha-jin’s name.
He was someone I’d met through “Come Here and Hug Me,” a project created to clean up the mess from another Ha-jin’s—a minor actor who was also a namesake—fabricated breakup scandal. Despite his disability, missing one arm and one leg, he’d boldly claimed a gold medal at the Paralympics.
Do-ha remembered how deeply moved Ha-jin had been by his story, recalling that he’d readily agreed to perform the congratulations song at his wedding, and shrugged with a somewhat lukewarm attitude.
“Well, I’m no expert in that department either.”
“Hmm, I think I’ve been asked to do congratulations songs a few times before… but I just can’t find that one perfect song, you know? Most of them are just confessions rather than actual congratulations.”
“Well, there aren’t many songs whose theme is actually congratulating a wedding.”
Agreeing with Do-ha’s point, Ha-jin turned his body and propped his face up with his arm, looking regretful. Do-ha thought Ha-jin’s movements—tapping the sofa cushion with his toes—were just like a cat’s.
“The few that do exist have lyrics that are way too familiar. They’re the kind you’d only sing for really old friends, you know? But I just met this guy because we happen to share a name, so doing something that cheeky feels off. And if I sing a melodic love song full of affection, that doesn’t feel right either. I really do want to congratulate him—genuinely congratulate him. You get what I’m saying, right?”
“Yeah.”
My same-age friend really did talk a lot.
Usually people either think deeply but speak little, or talk a lot instead of thinking deeply. But my friend seemed to be someone who thought plenty and needed to spill every single thought through words.
I knew well that among the members, he particularly liked to ramble to me because I found his stories entertaining and was the type who didn’t interrupt or rush to conclusions.
But that didn’t mean he was looking for solutions or methods from me either.
Ha-jin possessed a sharp mind and keen intellect, which meant he usually already knew the answer to most situations. It seemed he would often arrive at solutions by rambling through his thoughts aloud, or sometimes he’d been thinking about it from the start and would suddenly gain certainty through this process.
“Ah, something soft and fluffy yet beautiful, moderately uplifting and moving. You know, like a unicorn of a congratulatory song—where would I find something like that?”
So what was the situation now?
Do-ha watched Ha-jin intently as he now openly glanced at him sideways, feigning innocence.
When Ha-jin made that kind of expression, there were usually only two reasons.
One was when he had to make a difficult request but felt awkward saying it directly.
The other was when he had to make a difficult request but even he thought it was shameless.
“Ha-jin.”
“Hm? What is it, my friend Do-ha?”
“Why don’t you write it yourself?”
“…What?”
“A song. Why not try writing one yourself? You have enough time for that, don’t you?”
Do-ha usually—or rather, always—agreed to Ha-jin’s requests.
It wasn’t that Do-ha had been played for a fool by Kang Ha-jin; rather, he understood well that Ha-jin’s requests were always reasonable proposals that led to good outcomes for him as well.
But now the new year was approaching, and as they were entering a new age of twenty-one and approaching their third year of knowing each other, Do-ha had come to the conclusion that their relationship needed a new phase.
“Do you still need more time?”
Do-ha’s calm gaze turned toward Ha-jin, who was lying down.
A sudden—or rather, a topic that had actually emerged long ago but which he’d been avoiding—was now thrown before him again, and Ha-jin sat with a slightly flustered expression, his lips pressed firmly shut.
After a few seconds of silence, Ha-jin felt Do-ha’s sincerity and awkwardly pushed himself up.
“No, I mean… writing a song isn’t like pulling candy from a machine. You can’t just do it on the spot like that.”
“You know how to write songs. At least bring me a sketch on piano or guitar. I’ll help with the arrangement.”
“Hey, why are you suddenly… If you’re busy, just say you’re busy and refuse, you punk.”
“Right, I’m busy. But even if I weren’t, I don’t want to grant your request this time.”
“….”
What Ha-jin had been about to ask for was probably to create a suitable song from one of the numerous sketches stored on his hard drive.
Whether it was the aftermath of his awakening or not, Do-ha’s inspiration had been overflowing and even exploding lately, so that much wouldn’t have been difficult for him. But for some reason, Do-ha didn’t want to grant Ha-jin’s request this time.
Rather, he couldn’t.
“…Did I do something wrong?”
Faced with Do-ha’s firm demeanor—something Ha-jin had rarely seen since they’d become close—he felt a chill run through him.
Oh no, he hadn’t meant to scare him.
Unaccustomed to such matters, Do-ha himself had been tense, and now he relaxed the stiffness in his shoulders and shook his head.
“No. It’s not that.”
“Then why are you suddenly like this, scaring me? …I thought maybe you were upset because I pushed for the A version instead of the B version.”
“…I still think the B version is a shame, but that’s not it either. I trust your eye as a director.”
“Then why?”
In truth, it was Do-ha rather than Ha-jin who was unfamiliar with friendships between equals, unlike relationships with clear hierarchies like senior-junior or master-student.
Of course, Ha-jin had grown up as a sharp-edged person, getting knocked around here and there, but even so, he had better interpersonal skills than Do-ha, who had walked a path of complete solitude.
This meant that for Do-ha to show such a firm attitude toward Kang Ha-jin, his only friend, he must have gone through considerable deliberation.
Unlike his friend, he was the type who thought deeply precisely because he spoke little.
“Yoo Gun.”
“…?”
“Watching how you treat Yoo Gun, I’ve come to think a bit differently myself.”
Lee Do-ha fundamentally trusted his group members.
And the trust he spoke of meant believing that the other person would flawlessly perform, execute, and complete the role entrusted to them.
Just as a soccer player believes his teammates will run alongside him even as he drives the ball across the field until his lungs burn.
“I thought Yoo Gun was already doing his role well. Developing his potential and gradually raising his ceiling. Personally, I believed he was a good member in that respect.”
“….”
“But the last time, when I was sidelined by injury and Yoo Gun had to take my place…. I heard what you told him.”
Ha-jin’s mind raced as he tried to recall what he’d said to Yoo Gun.
‘What did I say to him?’
Fortunately, Ha-jin’s sharp mind meant he generally remembered conversations with his members.
The problem was, he talked so much that he couldn’t quite figure out which conversation Do-ha was referring to.
“The story about the Earth warrior who saved the world.”
“Ah.”
That one.
Only after Do-ha threw out that clue did Ha-jin tap his thigh sheepishly with his fingers. Even after understanding which conversation was in question, he still couldn’t quite grasp what Do-ha was trying to say.
“I think that was exactly what Yoo Gun needed to hear. He’s always been someone who questioned his own motivations.”
It felt strange seeing his friend speak so seriously, laying out so many words at once.
Because of that, Ha-jin had no choice but to stay silent, as if honey had been spread across his lips, until Do-ha finished speaking. For some reason, his instincts told him this wasn’t a moment for jokes.
“When I told Yoo Gun I’d entrust my part to him, it was because I thought he was capable.”
“…I know. I thought the same thing.”
“It’s a bit different. I thought Yoo Gun was capable, but you thought he could actually pull it off.”
“…Is that really so different?”
For a rapper, the guy had a knack for wordplay.
To Ha-jin, who was pondering that subtle difference in expression, Do-ha drove his point home decisively, as if the distinction barely mattered.
“Write a song. You do it.”
“…No, why do you keep pushing me toward that?”
“Someone among us needs to push your back forward.”
“….”
“And if that’s my role, then I’ll do it.”
Lee Do-ha calmly declared war.
Honestly, calling it war felt somewhat exaggerated, but at least that’s how Ha-jin perceived it.
It meant that from now on, I would stop being the hill you leaned against and hid behind.
“Try it, Ha-jin.”
You can do it.
At words of trust heavier than any threat, Ha-jin’s pupils lost their anchor and trembled wildly.

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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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