Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 459

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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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459. Boy’s Supremacy (1)
“Hello, teacher!”
No matter how many times I heard it, the title felt strange.
Seo Tae-hyun, who still didn’t believe he held a position worthy of being called “teacher” by those around him, offered a humble smile as he made his way toward the center of the Practice Room.
He’d gathered courage from the Main Writer’s words about needing his relevance and seizing an opportunity to quell the PD Pick controversy, and had accepted the overblown position somewhat hastily, but even now, with the finals just ahead, Tae-hyun harbored doubts about whether he was truly fulfilling the same role as the “teachers” who had once instructed him.
“Hello, everyone.”
In his rolled-up sleeves, he carried a thick file folder exclusively for Tae-hyun.
Based on the participants’ practice videos that uploaded to the cloud daily, these were the analysis journals he had meticulously recorded since the first filming session.
Normally, he wouldn’t go this far and would simply use the practice reports prepared by the production team, but lacking experience in coaching, this was the only way Tae-hyun could offer the participants even one more meaningful piece of advice.
“Maybe it’s because the finals are right around the corner, but everyone’s expressions look so dark. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
“…Yes.”
“Haha, I was like that back then too. During my time, some of the older guys were having nightmares and crying….”
True to the program’s name, Boy’s Supremacy, most of the participants were either younger than the twenty-year-old Tae-hyun or only a year or two older.
Yet Tae-hyun never spoke casually to the participants, even in jest. It stemmed from memories of his time as the youngest participant, when everyone had looked down on him simply because of his age.
Having entered society at such a young age, Tae-hyun knew better than anyone that the moment speech becomes casual, attitude follows suit.
“Even though losing a friend who was beside you yesterday might seem trivial, in a situation like this, it becomes a major factor that can shatter your mental state.”
“…”
“Every time you see an empty spot, you’re tormented thinking it could be your place tomorrow, but eventually you find relief knowing it wasn’t you—and then you despise yourself for that relief.”
“…”
At Tae-hyun’s words, several faces visibly darkened.
With the final lineup decided just three days ago, it seemed many had been struggling emotionally.
Watching them, Tae-hyun briefly recalled the countless farewells he had experienced.
Some had entered better companies after their eliminations, while others had the opposite experience—their failure to be eliminated then became a poison.
As for his own case, he fell into both categories.
He’d missed countless debut team recruitment offers because he’d advanced all the way to the live broadcast, and he’d wasted a full three years consumed by image exploitation under the Cherry Boy frame.
But simultaneously, it was precisely because of that he’d entered Miro, encountered the Miro Maze survival program, and debuted as the group Kairos.
“Ah, I didn’t mean to suddenly bring up depressing topics. I just wanted to tell you, as a senior, that the emotions you’re feeling right now are completely natural, and they’re feelings you might continue to experience even after the finals end.”
Tae-hyun now understood better than anyone that this survival program wasn’t his entire life.
And at the same time, he understood well that desperate feeling of treating this program as one’s last chance.
Beneath his insufficient qualifications for accepting this position lay genuine sincerity—a desire to help, even slightly, those walking the same path he had walked.
“Sometimes effort doesn’t yield results, and there may be no karmic justice where good people win. This is a survival program to select ‘idols,’ not a boy’s manga where the protagonist endlessly grows and succeeds.”
“…”
“…But still.”
Tae-hyun glanced at the time.
The off-the-record time he’d promised the Writer was nearly up.
He’d wanted to share this conversation before today’s practice began, so he’d requested a few minutes from the Writer before official filming started. It was likely to be edited out since it was too dark for broadcast, but that didn’t matter since it wasn’t meant for air anyway.
“…Still, believe in yourselves.”
“…”
“Because not a single thing you’ve accomplished so far came from anything other than your own abilities.”
Tae-hyun’s gaze turned toward a young boy standing in the center of the front row among the participants.
The boy, whose expression had been grim ever since Tae-hyun arrived, was now openly weeping as Tae-hyun met his gaze and spoke. Without even checking the camera angle, it was obvious the camera director was capturing a perfect close-up of the child, nodding in satisfaction.
‘…I’ve told him so many times that it’s better to hide emotions in front of the camera.’
I worried those tears would become another piece of bait for some manufactured controversy, but regardless, we were in the middle of filming, and I stood here as the MC and coach for all the participants.
Showing special concern for an individual participant wouldn’t be fair to the others.
Deliberately looking away, I shifted the atmosphere by affixing a soft, natural smile to my face.
“That was inspiring, wasn’t it? But unfortunately, those words weren’t mine.”
“…?”
“The person who delivered that touching speech, and the special teacher who will coach all of you alongside me today—let me introduce them now. Everyone enjoyed the coffee and desserts from the snack truck earlier, right?”
“Whoa, seriously?”
“Yeah!”
“…Really? For real?”
The moment I mentioned the snack truck, those who’d guessed the special teacher’s identity erupted into excited chatter. With so many young people here, their emotions recovered just as quickly as they’d crumbled.
I pictured Ha-jin, who was probably outside the practice room right now frantically memorizing the participants’ faces and names.
He’d initially panicked at the idea of being a special teacher, but the moment I’d opened the trainee files and started laying out concerns and feedback about the participants, he’d instantly shifted into producer mode and listened intently—that was the Ha-jin I saw.
‘…It’s just his nature, I guess.’
I was beginning to understand why Do-ha, who’d been obsessed with work—cycling between the studio, home, studio, home—had even declared a strike and pushed Ha-jin so hard.
Now that I’d become a teacher myself, I realized there was nothing more frustrating than watching a talented participant sink into a slump due to lack of confidence.
‘Once I cool my head a bit watching these kids, something should improve.’
From what I’d observed, Kang Ha-jin was the type whose mind and heart grew rigid the more he rested.
A workaholic who needed to stay frantically busy, colliding with obstacles and moving constantly—only then would his strengths sharpen and refine themselves.
There was no real disagreement about his dedication to work, but the problem was that he also escaped into work whenever he was stressed.
Ha-jin himself claimed he’d been so busy these past few days that he hadn’t even returned to the dormitory because of Do-ha’s strike, but….
‘Are the company employees working for free? If one singer’s absence brings operations to a halt, the company’s workflow system is the real problem.’
In truth, everyone—the company and the members alike—knew he was taking on every task, real or invented, because he didn’t want to think deeply about the composition issue.
They simply let it slide, understanding it was his own way of managing stress and finding refuge to calm his mind.
“Our group member, the reliable leader and producer of Kairos—you’ve probably heard that many of you listed him as a role model during your pre-interviews.”
Undoubtedly the most talked-about figure among 【Miro Maze】 participants,
the architect of legendary survival stage performances that are still regularly bumped up on Stone Board,
who debuted as runner-up and seized the leader position among formidable members,
and who instantly became a blue-chip talent in variety entertainment by standing out in every show and broadcast he appeared in after debut,
a hexagonal all-rounder with unparalleled mastery of dance, vocals, rap, stage presence, and talk ability.
I let out a hollow laugh thinking of the descriptors the trainees had used to evaluate Ha-jin during their pre-interviews.
Kang Ha-jin was someone who received such evaluations.
Yet the man himself had gotten terrified over a single comment—”write us a song”—and fled all the way to the edge of Gyeonggi Province. But I knew Ha-jin was far from being an inadequate role model for these boys.
‘In fact….’
He might actually be more deserving of the title “teacher” than I am.
Along with a thought Ha-jin would’ve rebuked as “your humility has crossed into arrogance,” I stretched my hand toward the practice room door and called out cheerfully.
“Let me introduce our special teacher, Kang Ha-jin! Please give him a warm welcome!”
“Woooow!”
“Oh my god, no way, this is insane…!”
“Oh man, I’m so nervous. What do I do?”
“Hey, don’t say things like that…!”
“Wait, so I have to do this in front of both Tae-hyun and Ha-jin today? Wow….”
Uncontrollable nervous chatter erupted from every corner of the room.
In the midst of that commotion, the Practice Room door slid open, and Ha-jin, who had been waiting outside, finally appeared.
A hastily procured baseball cap and the ever-present black-framed glasses he always carried in his bag.
His casually hip and clean monochromatic casual outfit—the kind that frequently trended in search results among male idols—lent weight to Tae-hyun’s claim that he had been recruited in a rush.
“Wow, seriously…. This is really embarrassing.”
Ha-jin, who had hastily applied only a tint from Tae-hyun’s pouch, walked slowly to stand beside Tae-hyun with an expression of utter mortification, a folder tucked under his arm. After just a few steps, Ha-jin reached the center of the Practice Room and cleared his throat with a soft sound.
Watching the participants’ eyes light up at even that small gesture, Tae-hyun deliberately took a quiet step back. The perceptive Ha-jin noticed this and flinched, but with the camera rolling, he maintained his composure.
“Um, well…. Yes, hello.”
Ha-jin, who appeared uncharacteristically awkward, seemed to have accepted that he had come this far and there was no turning back now.
Lowering the hand that had been pressing down on his baseball cap, he faced the final participants of Boyhood 2 in proper posture. His dark pupils, revealing their natural color without contact lenses, met each person’s gaze one by one.
Within the Practice Room, Ha-jin’s trustworthy and steady voice resonated through the space.
“I’m Kang Ha-jin, leader of Kairos.”
“….”
“I’ll do my very best. Thank you.”
See, I knew you’d do well.
Watching Ha-jin return to his usual self, Tae-hyun couldn’t hide his proud smile and ended up covering his mouth with the document folder.

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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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