Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 50

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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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50. Daylight (6)
A few hours before the mentor evaluation.
“Hyung, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Hm? Me?”
“The third verse chorus is tough, right?”
“….”
“Would you want to switch with me?”
At my proposal, Seok hesitated. The third verse chorus that came immediately after the latter half of the dance break was certainly a demanding part for him. But between the simple fact that he was struggling and my suggestion to swap, there were clearly deeper issues at play.
‘Why would he suggest switching? Does he think I can’t handle the chorus properly? I mean, I can feel myself running out of breath and losing stamina by that point. But I still want to pull through my own part. What about Ha-jin’s part? Where is Ha-jin’s part again? Oh, the ad-lib. The ad-lib line is high, but I could manage it….’
Watching Seok’s thoughts unfold exactly as I’d anticipated, I cut him off preemptively.
“It’s because the ad-lib line is too difficult for me. It’s a bit too high for my range.”
“Ah. I… see?”
“Besides, we’d only need to swap the movements for that section between you and me, so it shouldn’t be hard. I was thinking it might work better if I sang the chorus and you handled the ad-lib instead.”
By making it clear that it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, but that I found it difficult and wanted to switch—and then explaining a viable alternative—Seok nodded without much deliberation. Yeah, that works! I’m fine with it. You’re the one putting in the effort, Ha-jin.
“Don’t mention it. So, shall we practice?”
“Yeah!”
I laughed along with Seok’s bright response. Since I’d already committed to handling the early sections solo, I needed results that showed development from the mid-point check. I already had a hint verified by Lee Do-ha, the next copyright top-ten producer, so not attempting it would be foolish.
Moreover, I calculated that Seok would actually benefit—unlike the rapid-paced chorus, the ad-lib section would let him showcase his vocal range freely. With that reasoning, I made the decision to swap parts without a shred of guilt or hesitation.
And the result was, needless to say, a success.
“Ha-jin is… overwhelming.”
Regardless of how many or few parts one had, no one could deny that I was the one driving the stage forward. Team A had performed “Daylight” with a tender, wistful fresh concept, but with my solid vocal foundation, overwhelming volume, and distinctive crisp belting technique, the song transformed into a powerful fresh sound that surged ahead with force.
‘It’s like an anime OST.’
Someone watching the stage thought. Like the opening to a shounen manga, Team B’s “Daylight” delivered a thrilling sensation that made something hot surge within. And as all the songs drew to a close, finally the last verse approached.
I, who had started the first verse, stood at center. And once again, I performed the choreography in reverse so I could see all the trainees’ movements behind me, smiling as if greeting an old friend.
Hello, ‘me’.
I’m so glad we finally met.
“…Ah.”
And the moment I slowly walked backward and back-to-back with my pair to finish the ending, Lia caught the subtle nuance I’d conveyed.
“…I’ve met another me.”
It wasn’t introducing myself by saying “Hello, I’m OOO.” It was greeting another ‘me’ that I’d finally encountered. All the pair concept emphasis throughout the stage had been for this. Lia found herself acknowledging Tae-il’s comment that Team B’s stage was entertaining, impressed by the song’s interpretation.
“It’s exactly the kind of stage you’d love.”
“Right?”
“You wrote the lyrics like that on purpose, didn’t you? Kind of intentional.”
“What does my intention matter now? It’s their song. How they interpret it becomes the original.”
Tae-il shrugged and finished writing on the evaluation sheet before setting down his pen. To some, it might be nothing more than a subtle nuance difference, but from that single small difference, a worldview emerges, a narrative develops, and the direction changes. And those small details created by such differences were something Miro valued very, very highly.
Watching those who discovered the hidden stories within the songs I created perform on stage filled Tae-il with pride every time. Tae-il picked up the microphone with joy.
“To be honest, I had a lot of second thoughts after making this song. Like, maybe we should just use it ourselves.”
“You regretted giving it away after making it?”
“Yeah, I really did regret it. And our fourth member sings so well, you know? But after seeing this stage today….”
“….”
“I really think you did well. Thank you for creating such a beautiful song.”
“Thank you!”
The original artist’s sincere praise had a remarkable effect on the trainees who had just finished their stage—it seemed to double their depleted lung capacity. Team B’s trainees bowed deeply with loud expressions of gratitude. Tae-il watched Ha-jin from among them, standing with impeccable posture and hands clasped together, listening intently to the feedback.
‘Ah… I was going to let it slide because I was worried it might look like favoritism if I said more.’
But after a performance like that, not mentioning it would actually look like reverse discrimination. In the end, after all the mentors finished their evaluations, just before Team B left the stage, Tae-il picked up the microphone again.
“Ha-jin.”
“Yes?”
“You were a bit greedy, weren’t you?”
At those words, Ha-jin responded with a slightly embarrassed smile, that characteristic refreshing grin of his. And that single moment was more powerful than any other clumsy explanation could have been.
“Yes, everyone please return to your seats. The results of the first mission will be announced shortly.”
The score tabulation that would determine our fates had begun.
* * *
Recording was halted for score calculation, and the cast members were given a brief break. While everyone else chattered about predicting their results and headed back to the Dormitory to rest, I went in the opposite direction and found Ji Su-ho standing at one end of the Filming Studio.
“Oh, Ha-jin. Why aren’t you in the Waiting Room?”
“What about Park Jae-young? Is he okay?”
“Huh? Ah, you were quite startled. His fever’s come down now—he’s getting an IV and resting. I got a message about it.”
Ji Su-ho, who had completely decided to speak informally with me despite the cameras rolling, nodded and patted my shoulder. Even with his reassurance, I couldn’t easily find relief.
And then Ji Su-ho glanced around before carefully continuing.
“But it seems like he might have to drop out of the survival show.”
“…Why? Because he couldn’t participate in the mission?”
“Well, that too… but it seems Jae-young’s parents were quite shocked by him collapsing today. Anyway, this is still being discussed, so don’t worry too much and just focus on the recording.”
The moment I heard those words, my breath caught.
[Qu███ Quest!]
: I gave you an opportunity. Seize it.
Penalty for failure: Mental Care System Destruction -1000000000000000000000000000000%
The crimson window still flickering. Park Jae-young’s sudden collapse.
“Ha-jin?”
“…If Jae-young contacts you, let me know.”
I left only that response before hurrying out of the Filming Studio. An inexplicable nausea was rising from deep within me.
‘This damn…’
I wanted to grab the system window by the collar right then and there, but there were people everywhere. Swallowing my rage, I went to the Restroom at the far end of the lower floor where few people ventured, and locked the door.
And I stared at that damned system window still flickering.
“Was it you? Did you do this right now?”
The system window, which had been annoyingly flickering, gave no response. But I had no intention of backing down easily either.
“Hey, say something like you did before. Got scared and ran away? I’m asking if you’re the one who did that to Park Jae-young.”
Then the system window, which had been sparking with static, seemed to sigh as if exasperated, and text appeared and disappeared in the window like errors several times. And soon, that same rude message I’d seen before appeared.
[Does that matter?]
[What matters is that you got attention because Park Jae-young dropped out.]
“I didn’t need something like this.”
[Really?]
“What are you? You’re not that system. Are you that bastard from back then?”
[I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you even know about this ‘system’ in the first place?]
My precious system couldn’t possibly be this pathetic. Anger still pulled at the back of my skull, my throat raw, but I fought desperately to maintain composure.
“Fine, whatever. Why Park Jae-young? What did that bastard do wrong? He was the one grinding through practice like his life depended on it because he ranked 19th and needed to improve. Who the hell are you to eliminate him?”
[Hahahahahahahahahaha.]
“What are you laughing at, you bastard.”
[Hahaha, you still see the world so naively.]
With those words, the text paused. At the same moment, the lights in the clearly renovated restroom flickered, then began strobing.
[Ha-jin.]
“…What the hell.”
[Stop worrying about others. Focus on yourself.]
The erratic flashing stopped, and with a sharp bang, the surroundings flooded with brightness.
“Those who reach for the sun, soar to greater heights. Begin your journey to become Miro’s Icarus!”
I stood in the center of the studio where recording was in full swing.
“What… what is this?”
“Ha-jin, what’s wrong since earlier? Are you hurt somewhere?”
“….”
What is this? A regression? Did I just regress? Fear crashed over me as I frantically scanned my surroundings. No, this wasn’t a regression….
“Now then. The first mission of Miro Maze, Daylight! I will now announce the results of both teams!”
…I’d come to the future. And it was obvious who orchestrated this.
[Why? Should I have gone back a day or two instead?]
I thought it only rewound, but it could fast-forward too? I desperately pulled my sleeves down over my hands clasped behind my back to hide their trembling.
“Miro Maze’s first mission, Daylight! Which team will emerge victorious in this opening challenge? Here are the results!”
What was this bastard’s angle? What was it trying to say? While I glared at the system in endless suspicion, the scoreboard alternated between Team A and Team B’s profile photos lighting up. This would drag on for over five minutes anyway.
[Really? Then let’s ‘fast-forward’ through that too, shall we.]
What?
The studio strobed again. In what felt like less than three seconds, the scoreboard flashed with a bang and the results appeared.
【TEAM B Win!】
“Yes, with a total of 472 points out of 500 versus 486 points, the Feather Class has won! Congratulations!”
“This can’t be real!”
“We won! We actually won!”
I couldn’t smile freely at the cheers of those around me. The crimson system window fractured and glitched several more times, then appeared before my eyes once more, ominously.
[Ha-jin. Do you really think you would have won without this ‘opportunity’?]
And it flickered again. The scoreboard now displayed the individual scores and match results of the battlers.
【Lee Yu-gun(83.75) WIN! VS Kim Won-ho(82.49)】
And it flickered once more.
【Han Sung-woo(93.15) WIN! VS Kang Ha-jin(92.99)】
‘…What?’
“…Trainee Han Sung-woo won the battle with 93.15 points, surpassing trainee Kang Ha-jin by 0.16 points. Congratulations.”
[I told you, Ha-jin.]
[Just focus on doing your own thing.]
Did I lose?

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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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