Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 493

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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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493. Mission: Impossible! (2)
Osaka, Japan.
The final rehearsal venue for NMA, held at a dome stadium located there.
While every artist and staff member rushed about frantically attending to their tasks, silence alone filled the small waiting room tent tucked away in one corner.
“We need to decide now.”
Jeong Si-u’s plain voice sounded like a judge pronouncing a sentence.
The Kairos members, the choreography team director, and the A&R team representative had all gathered, yet no one dared speak first—they merely exchanged nervous glances.
Jeong Si-u’s dissatisfied gaze turned toward the person seated across from him.
Kang Ha-jin—the leader who always held first priority in voicing opinions whenever such matters arose within the group, and the one ultimately responsible for everything unfolding.
“Do we go with Do-ha even if we’re uncertain? Or do we stick with Yu Gun as planned?”
One of Kang Ha-jin’s cheeks had hollowed inward.
As his eyes, lost in contemplation, darkened, everyone held their breath awaiting his decision.
Lee Do-ha had ultimately failed to complete the choreography even by the moment the final NMA rehearsal ended.
To be more precise, a particular section that had stubbornly refused to stick during practice had tripped him up again. Whether his confidence had wavered from the repeated failures, careless mistakes emerged not only within that problematic section but also in the moments just before entering it and immediately after leaving it.
In terms of score: eight out of ten points.
In terms of completion rate: exactly eighty-five percent of one hundred.
“…Honestly, I don’t know.”
An ambiguity that allowed neither pushing forward nor retreating.
Kang Ha-jin’s answer, standing at this crossroads of choice, was simply “I don’t know.”
“Ha-jin.”
At the first vague answer to emerge from Kang Ha-jin’s lips, Jeong Si-u’s brow furrowed terribly.
Jeong Si-u always pursued only enjoyment and treated everything like a game—but if that affected ‘real work,’ the situation was entirely different.
“What kind of childish games are you playing right now?”
Jeong Si-u was someone who pursued perfection when it came to the stage.
The reason he hadn’t opposed Ha-jin’s somewhat reckless attempts until now was because he believed what Kang Ha-jin brought forward was the ‘best’ and ‘optimal’ choice. Even when Ha-jin’s decisions seemed forced, they always had solid reasoning; even when they seemed like gambles, there was actually something to trust in them.
‘I don’t bet on things that won’t work.’
That phrase, which Kang Ha-jin habitually carried on his lips, was never mere empty encouragement meant to instill confidence in others.
“You’re the one who kept going on and on about how important this NMA is. Everyone here knows this is the starting point for our group’s plans for next year. We’re talking about the opening of that stage right now. This isn’t like choosing who gets to draw the first fortune slip at New Year’s.”
But this time was different.
The current Kang Ha-jin was extremely impulsive and emotional.
Changing the solo performance composition three days before the show had been absurd enough, but to give an answer of merely “I don’t know” when it hadn’t even been completed by the day before the performance?
“Everyone here said okay trusting in your one decision. So now you’re saying you don’t know—what are you trying to do?”
“Your voice is too loud.”
Lee Yu-gun urgently signaled to Jeong Si-u, whose voice had risen somewhat, then gestured toward Manager Kwon Wook standing near the entrance. Kwon Wook quickly drew the tent’s entrance curtain tighter.
A single curtain wouldn’t block all sound, but caution never hurt.
“Well… if I’m being honest about my position… I want to support Do-ha too. But with the time constraints and the situation as it is… pushing through something that doesn’t work in practice to succeed in the actual performance isn’t support—it’s avoidance, I think.”
Seo Tae-hyun, who had been gauging the atmosphere, interjected at just the right moment.
His tone was gentle, but the meaning was negative.
“Then… what if we just changed the choreography for that section? Everything else is fine, it’s just that one part that keeps causing problems. Honestly, it seems like a shame to give up just because of that one thing.”
“I’ve thought about it too, but since it’s a movement that connects before and after, creating a replacement move is tricky. Whether the newly changed movement will stick to the body is also uncertain. And honestly….”
“…Honestly, if we keep modifying it like this, I need to reconsider whether this is even a stage worth doing. If the difficulty gets flattened that much, there’s no point in Do-ha doing it in the first place.”
With the conversation flowing through Ju Eun-chan, Lee Yu-gun, and Dan Ha-ru in turn, silence fell over the tent once more. Only the bustling noise of staff members outside filled the desolate atmosphere.
Everyone’s opinion, including the staff, was split exactly down the middle.
Half thought it was worth attempting, and half insisted it was far too dangerous.
Faced with such a difficult decision, time simply passed as everyone hesitated to speak.
“….”
Kang Ha-jin, who had been listening to the members’ thoughts while only brushing his lips with his hand, slowly lifted his gaze.
Lee Do-ha, the other party involved, sat in his chair like a condemned man, quietly awaiting judgment. It bothered me that someone usually so composed and taciturn appeared intimidated for the first time.
“…Where are you going?”
“Just ten minutes. I need to think for a bit.”
“….”
“Honestly, you’re all as conflicted as I am. …Please, just give me a little more time to think.”
Caught between those fierce opinions, Ha-jin eventually rose from his seat. Then, releasing a small sigh, I stepped outside the tent.
I needed to clear my head a little.
“Right, okay. Let’s take a break for a moment. …Oh, Lee Yu-gun. Didn’t you say earlier there was something we needed to coordinate about the Main Stage?”
“The Main Stage? Me?”
“….”
“…Yeah, me. Right, I did. There was. Hey, Ju Eun-chan, come here. We need to go over the blocking with me again.”
“Huh? Where?”
“…Just come on.”
When quick-witted Seo Tae-hyun urgently opened his mouth and glared at Lee Yu-gun with burning eyes, Yu-gun—scratching his cheek with a “what nonsense is this” expression—fortunately caught the message in those eyes and hastily called Ju Eun-chan.
Jeong Si-u clicked his tongue softly in disapproval and turned away, while Dan Ha-ru, who had been watching the tent entrance where Ha-jin had left, grabbed his phone and stood up.
“Ha-ru, where are you going?”
Ironically, the first to react to Dan Ha-ru’s movement was Lee Do-ha, who had been sitting quietly all along.
He must have felt as miserable as a fish on a cutting board by now, yet Do-ha seemed to be worrying about Ha-ru’s wellbeing as always.
To think he still had the presence of mind to care for others in this situation—whether that was admirable or just a stubborn compulsion, I couldn’t say. Dan Ha-ru simply stated his destination matter-of-factly.
“I’m going to follow Ha-jin hyung. When he’s thinking hard like that, if you leave him alone, he’ll dig a hole.”
“…Ah. Okay.”
Still, he was noticeably more downcast than usual.
Was this the first time Lee Do-ha, whose emotional fluctuations were minimal, had withdrawn his presence so completely and hidden himself away? Dan Ha-ru exhaled softly.
It would have been nice if I could offer some comforting words at a time like this….
“…I’ll be back soon.”
That’s more the specialty of the ‘other’ Ha-ru anyway.
Just as Kang Ha-jin had said, personality dissolution would happen naturally as days passed, and lately I could feel my personality gradually blending with Ha-ru’s. But that didn’t mean a person changed overnight.
From Dan Ha-ru’s perspective, the one who needed ‘this’ Ha-ru right now wasn’t this side, but the leader who had just rushed out.
Dan Ha-ru turned and chased after Kang Ha-jin.
Or rather, tried to.
‘Since this is all because of Kang Ha-jin, if I just make sure he keeps his wits about him, the rest of them will handle their own mental care through him.’
But even thinking that, Dan Ha-ru found he couldn’t just pass by Lee Do-ha.
So before stepping forward, Ha-ru grabbed Do-ha by one shoulder. Then, as Do-ha lifted his head with a bewildered expression, I added one more thing flatly.
“Do-ha.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t look so dejected. This isn’t a matter of life and death.”
“…What?”
“Whether you perform a solo or not, no one dies, no one gets hurt, no one gets sick, right? There’s no reason to be so gloomy about it.”
“…Yeah, you’re right.”
“I’m heading out.”
The genuine words that spilled out unbidden seemed far removed from comfort.
A peculiar confusion flickered across Lee Do-ha’s face. He appeared to be momentarily considering how to respond to that remark.
Regardless of his reaction, Dan Ha-ru cynically patted Lee Do-ha’s shoulder a couple of times before walking out of the tent and heading in the direction Kang Ha-jin had disappeared.
After all, that too was not a matter of life and death.
* * *
The area around the NMA Dome Stage was packed with people, but finding Kang Ha-jin proved not particularly difficult.
All I had to do was locate the red hair atop a frame standing 182 centimeters tall with an absurdly perfect build and physique.
‘Doesn’t he ever get tired of that red?’
Kang Ha-jin often maintained that deep wine-red hair color even during inactive periods.
Fans were always saying things like “Kang Ha-jin’s hair should grow in red if it has any conscience,” and they genuinely loved it, but it seemed Kang Ha-jin himself was most fond of it.
Though starting next year, he’d have to part ways with the red hair for quite some time due to new album concepts and such….
“….”
So would the last time I see Kang Ha-jin be with that red hair?
Along with the sudden sentiment, Dan Ha-ru slowly approached Kang Ha-jin’s side. Kang Ha-jin stood alone in an open field near the Backstage Parking Lot.
“…What, why did you follow me?”
Sensing a presence, Kang Ha-jin turned to look at Dan Ha-ru with a surprised expression.
He seemed to have expected someone to follow him, but hadn’t anticipated it would be Dan Ha-ru.
“….”
Dan Ha-ru paused to consider.
Honestly, whether Lee Do-ha performed a solo or not didn’t really concern me, and I wasn’t particularly curious about why Kang Ha-jin was being so stubbornly insistent about it.
I had experienced nearly every kind of event that occurred in this world, and with only a few weeks left before I completely disappeared from that world—or more precisely, was reborn—whether Lee Do-ha danced on stage or not seemed rather unimportant.
So the reason this entire situation felt so uncomfortable was likely because Ha-ru’s personality synchronization with these hyungs had progressed considerably.
After all, Ha-ru cared deeply for these older brothers.
“Kang Ha-jin.”
“There are too many eyes watching, man.”
“…Hyung.”
The reason I followed Kang Ha-jin out was because there was one thing I wanted to confirm.
Dan Ha-ru, awkwardly adding the honorific, continued plainly.
“Do you need an avatar?”
“What…?”
At the sudden mention of an avatar, Ha-jin’s face twisted oddly.
Dan Ha-ru posed another question to Kang Ha-jin with an expressionless face.
“You’re being abnormally obsessed with Do-ha’s solo right now.”
“Hey, obsession? That’s a pretty harsh word….”
“Are you saying you’re doing this because you need some catharsis to compensate for your past failures?”
“…?”
It was still an unkind accusation. As Ha-jin’s face twisted even more pathetically—as if asking what on earth that meant—Dan Ha-ru let out a deep sigh and looked up at him intently.
“You said last time when you collapsed, it was because a trigger was pulled by a karmic connection you encountered in your past life. You also said that while you were unconscious from the collapse, you recalled memories from that previous life.”
Right after awakening from the Memory Flood, Ha-jin had shared some details about it with Dan Ha-ru. After all, Ha-ru was the senior when it came to regression, so I wondered if he might know something that could help.
Of course, the two of them had experienced the same regression, but what they’d gone through was completely different, so it hadn’t been particularly helpful….
Still, Ha-ru had gained new information from it.
That Ha-jin’s past life had been deeply depressing, and he was now remembering it as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.
“Right before you collapsed, you’d been arguing with Do-ha for quite a while over composition issues. I don’t know what Do-ha was thinking, but either way, I imagine that was causing you some stress.”
“Hey, what are you—”
“Then right after you woke up, the Boy’s Supremacy problem exploded. In the end, Tae-hyun managed to overcome it in his own way, but ultimately nothing really changed. It’s incredibly frustrating and irritating.”
“….”
“And then, unexpectedly, Do-ha’s solo performance appeared….”
By that point, Ha-jin thought he understood what Dan Ha-ru was trying to say.
“Just thinking about it—how thrilling is it? The member who was always the weakest dancer explosively improving in a short time and succeeding on a stage everyone opposed. Isn’t it dramatic enough to blow away all the gloomy sense of failure you’ve accumulated in one stroke?”
“….”
“So, think carefully for ten minutes and answer me. Ha-jin.”
Dan Ha-ru’s gleaming eyes held the chill of a winter wind.
“Is your push for Do-ha’s solo performance really your instinct as a planner? Or….”
Within those eyes lay a stern warning: don’t repeat the same mistake I made.
“Or is it your own greed to find a breakthrough by any means necessary?”
In that moment, Ha-jin’s gaze drifted toward some point in empty space.
Ever since collapsing from the Memory Flood days ago and waking up, notifications had been flickering before his eyes at regular intervals.
[(Fixed) The Returner’s body is still under the influence of the Memory Flood.]
[(Fixed) The remaining Memory Flood in the Returner may cause minor side effects.]
[(Fixed) The Returner is affected by the timeline that has passed.]
Was I, once again, trying to compensate for my own failures through someone else?
Unable to answer with a quick denial, Ha-jin’s hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white.
Five minutes until the NMA solo performance decision.
Now was the time to make a choice.

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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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