Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 47

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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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47. Daylight (3)
The moment I heard that Park Jae-young had collapsed, only one thought consumed me.
‘Did this bastard do this?’
An incomprehensible crimson system window. Was it calling this an opportunity—Park Jae-young falling ill and collapsing? Or had it made a perfectly healthy person fall ill just to test me alone?
[Now’s not the time to worry about that.]
[It’s not.]
“Hyung, hurry! The PD is looking for you!”
Before I could even process what was happening, the trainees grabbed and dragged me along. We arrived in front of a practice room on the 5th Floor.
“Ah, Ha-jin.”
“Ha-jin’s here?”
“Yes. Jae-young? What’s going on?”
The moment I saw Ji Su-ho standing there, I asked, but he stretched out his hand as if telling me to calm down first. Not that it would help.
“It’s just a seasonal cold. Nothing serious, but he’s running a high fever. He’s at the Emergency Room getting an IV and resting right now.”
“Ah….”
“More importantly, it’s because of the mentor evaluation. We’ll probably have to proceed without Jae-young.”
I noticed a camera rolling. In that instant, my mind spun into overdrive. My brain was already auto-playing a preview of how this moment would be edited.
【Team B of Miro Maze—gathered underdogs! They shattered everyone’s expectations with their mid-check evaluation and earned rave reviews. But on the day of the mentor evaluation, a shocking crisis strikes them!? Redistribute parts in three hours! How will Team B overcome this crisis!?】
[Wow, that’s well-written.]
I’d quit being an assistant director and even did some part-time work writing subtitles. But that wasn’t the point right now.
“We need to quickly reorganize everything, including Jae-young’s parts, and come back. Even if we keep the performance video in the version with Jae-young, for today….”
“…Yes, I understand. Should I gather the members, have a meeting, organize things, and then report back to you?”
“Yes, yes. Please do. We’ve set up this practice room, so if you want to practice more, go ahead, and just let the Writer know about the changed parts.”
“Yes.”
My expression cracked under the weight of complicated thoughts. Where was Park Jae-young’s part again? What were his choreography and movements? My brain automatically replayed our team’s practice videos over and over, searching for who could cover for him.
“Hyung, what do we do? We have less than three hours left….”
“When do we change the movements?”
“Hey. Be quiet.”
But there was no time to stand around uselessly.
“Call everyone. Gather them all. Now.”
* * *
At least Park Jae-young was a sub-vocalist 3, so the volume of parts I needed to redistribute wasn’t that large.
‘I should be grateful he’s not a key member like Gong Seok.’
As I cross-read the part lyrics sheet and movement reading sheet over and over, frustration flared up again. Even if narrative was important in a survival show, I didn’t need or want this kind of sudden plot twist.
And on top of that.
‘There’s no one suitable to take his place.’
If I reorganized by movements, the parts would become too heavy for some to manage their breathing. If I reorganized by skill level, the movements would require massive reconstruction.
“First… I have to make a choice.”
“….”
“Whether it’s faster to overhaul the movements or to have someone handle the parts. But from what I can see, the movements would be better.”
I could see Team B gathered in a circle around me visibly shaken by my words. But my judgment had its reasons.
“We’ll have to redo all the formations anyway. We’re changing from an odd number to an even number composition.”
Changing from a nine-member to an eight-member group was harder than changing from nine to seven—the entire formation structure had to shift. And on top of that headache, they wanted to hand out new parts? It was absurd.
‘I’m not even sure if they can memorize all the lyrics yet.’
“Let’s try reworking it so it doesn’t interfere with the choreography direction or anything like that—”
“Hey, Ha-jin.”
“Yes? What is it, Seok-i? Speak up.”
“Um… what if you did it?”
I was about to voice the composition I’d wracked my brain over, but Gong Seok’s interruption made me forget my next words. Silence settled over the Practice Room. The one who’d spoken seized that quiet moment to add a few more words.
“You already know all the lyrics anyway. You’ve been singing along and matching us every time we practice. You have the fewest parts right now. If you just take on all of Park Jae-young’s parts… that seems like the fastest solution right now, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t think of anything to say in response. And as if to rush me, that damn system window appeared before my eyes again.
[Sudden Quest!]
: I gave you a chance. Take it.
Penalty for failure: Mental Care System destroyed -1000000000000000000000000000000%
This bastard.
“Yeah, it’d be better if Ha-jin did it.”
“Ha-jin, you do it. Honestly, who else would do it if not you?”
Whether they trusted me or just wanted to dump the responsibility, my teammates’ words came pouring in. I looked at the system window floating before me and at the faces sitting in front of me.
“Ha-jin. Please.”
“Please, hyung. We really don’t have time to change the formations.”
“Ha-jin, haven’t you finalized all the parts yet? We’re running out of time!”
Pressure came from all directions. My head throbbed.
“…I’ve decided everything now.”
“Yes, yes. Then if you could organize and give us the changed parts…”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m doing it. All of Park Jae-young’s parts.”
I’m destroying everything after this is done, seriously.
* * *
The mentors for Miro Maze arrived in succession for the mentor evaluation. The trainers from Miro, along with MC Seo Tae-il and the celebrity faces he’d recruited for the first mission, gathered at the Filming Studio for script reading.
“Hey, Seo Tae-il~ I’m really going to become a great-great-grandfather at this rate.”
“Great-great-grandfather? Our kids call me hyung.”
“Don’t you have a conscience, someone in their 13th year of debut?”
“That’s not something for the matriarch of girl groups to say, is it? The kids these days don’t even know you’re from Themis.”
“Yeah. A post came up recently. ‘Did you know Lia’s from a girl group?’ it said.”
Lia, the main vocalist of Rene Entertainment’s girl group Themis, was also one of those celebrity faces. Though she was junior to Seo Tae-il’s Upia in career, they were one of the rare same-age peers in the music industry and had built a long friendship.
“Anyway, thanks. For saying yes right away.”
“What are you talking about? It worked out well since I was bored. I just felt a bit bitter thinking I’ve reached the level where I appear as a mentor on these kinds of programs now.”
“The kids are good. Not because they’re our kids, but they’re genuinely talented. Today will be fun.”
At Tae-il’s confident words, Lia nodded. Ah, I already read through the evaluation criteria on the way here anyway.
“By the way, there was a kid who auditioned at our company before, right? Seo Yoon’s noona brought them?”
“Ah, Ha-jin.”
“Seo Yoon mentioned when you were coming in—she really emphasized watching you closely. Are you really that good?”
Seo Tae-il paused thoughtfully at Lia’s question.
“He’s talented, but… how do I put it…”
“What? Don’t leave me hanging.”
“You’ll see when you watch. He got the smallest part last time too, so I said something about it. I’m not sure if he revised it.”
Seo Tae-il shrugged, recalling the recent evaluation. Though Lia didn’t know the details, it was clear that Seo Tae-il cared for this junior—which struck her as surprisingly unexpected. She then flipped through the evaluation sheets on her desk to get a look at the trainee in question.
“Really? I hope he does well. He sang my song at his audition, you know.”
“Your song?”
“Yeah. Seo Yoon kept emphasizing how there’s even a fan of mine in the New Artist Development Team, telling me to watch him closely today. So I was curious, but…”
Lia’s cheerful chatter stopped as she studied the revised lyrics sheet and evaluation form on her desk. She tilted her head and spoke to Seo Tae-il.
“Wait, his name is Ha-jin?”
“Yeah, Kang Ha-jin.”
“He has the biggest part?”
“…? What are you talking about?”
Confused by Lia’s sudden remark, Seo Tae-il flipped through the papers in front of him again. And he confirmed it—Ha-jin’s name scattered throughout the entire lyrics sheet.
“Huh?”
“Right? Ah… someone must be sick and dropped out. Wow, if he’s taking on all those parts alone, he’d have to be incredibly talented.”
“That’s true. Jae-young must have dropped out…”
Seo Tae-il’s brow furrowed as he grasped the situation. One wrong move and viewers would nail him as a power-abusing leader who greedily ruined the team mission. It was the perfect angle for criticism.
‘Best case, we break even. Worst case, we crash and burn. This is a complete bomb.’
Seo Tae-il, who secretly—or rather, openly—hoped for Ha-jin’s debut, sighed with worry as he watched the trainees entering the filming studio. They looked gaunt and swollen from the grueling, exhausting practice, clearly stressed and unable to eat properly.
‘Still, with the weight loss, his proportions look even better than before.’
Unaware that Kang Ha-jin’s physique and build came from the tears and desperate sprints across the training grounds of his third life, obsessed with re-enlistment, Seo Tae-il nodded and observed Ha-jin carefully.
‘Does the covered hair suit him better? Something feels different today…’
He looked more handsome. As the puffiness vanished, the sharp allure of his monolid eyes was maximized. Even without heavy makeup, he stood out distinctly among the other trainees around him.
“Who’s that? Kang Ha-jin?”
“Yeah. Third one over there.”
“His visuals are decent too. But now I get why our company didn’t recruit him.”
“And now you get why we tried so hard to bring him in, right?”
“Yeah, you guys really do love faces like that.”
“Seo Tae-il, we’re starting the recording now… if you could take your starting position.”
“Ah, yes.”
At the staff member’s words, Seo Tae-il stood up with his cue cards and headed to the MC position—the center of the mentor’s seat. Soon the surroundings quieted and the lighting was set. Following the prompter’s cue, Seo Tae-il delivered his opening remarks.
“Those who reach for the sun, soar to greater heights. The journey to become Miro’s Icarus! The first mentor evaluation has begun. Trainees, are you ready to show us your first light?”
“Yes!”
“I can’t hear you. Are you ready?”
“Yes―!”
Satisfied with the resounding answer, Seo Tae-il nodded and continued with the next question. It was directed at Ha-jin.
“Team B leader Kang Ha-jin. You finished the first monthly evaluation in 10th place, unfortunately missing entry into the Wings Rank. How was the practice as Team B’s leader?”
“….”
Watching Ha-jin struggle to respond, Seo Tae-il sighed inwardly. The production crew really was cruel. He’d done broadcasts several times himself, but every time they asked questions like this, he felt genuinely embarrassed.
In a situation like this, the trainee had unfortunately missed out on the Wings Rank, but they’d made good friends in the Feather Rank and could practice well together—there was nothing to say except that they’d show something impressive.
“Ugh.”
Huh? Ugh?

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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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