Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 505

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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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505. A Butterfly’s Dream (4)
Someone in this place had heard Upia’s debut song more than a million times over, yet now it flowed out cheerfully, reinterpreted with a funky acoustic arrangement.
The guitar I held had once been condemned to gather dust in the corner of a room, destined never to see the light of day, yet the way I played it made me look like a seasoned professional. Despite receiving the song request on the spot, I continued performing without even a sheet of music.
‘This is the song Destiny members request every time during live broadcasts. If I couldn’t play it, I’d be an idiot.’
All those efforts of picking up a guitar and going live whenever I had a spare moment since my debut were finally bearing fruit.
It was just a little sad that the fans who would have loved this performance most weren’t here right now—or perhaps didn’t exist in this timeline.
Can’t you see it?
A soft yet firm baritone voice scraped roughly across my vocal cords as I opened the first verse.
I didn’t usually employ such vocal techniques to manipulate my tone, but in this modest busking performance with nothing but guitar accompaniment, I needed to capture the audience’s attention from the start.
And as intended, the moment the song began, the footsteps of passersby started to slow.
The moon and sun reversed
A new universe awakens
The first step I’ve already taken
Will soon become history
Brilliant, yet not burdensome.
Focusing on the rhythm itself rather than the message, while ensuring the lyrics came through clearly.
Though it seemed like I was singing carelessly and comfortably, in truth I was carefully attending to every detail—and people gradually began to respond to my performance. Camera lenses rising from various spots proved my skill.
Among them, the person who reacted most noticeably was, unsurprisingly, the one I’d chosen as my first audience member.
“….”
A hat, sunglasses, a mask.
The man had wrapped his face so thoroughly that anyone would think he was a celebrity, yet I still couldn’t read a single expression from him.
Since my song began, his only reaction had been a shift in posture.
His body, which had been leaning back with arms crossed as if to say “give it your best shot,” suddenly bent forward, arms draped over his knees—that was all.
Can you make it?
Yes, exactly that much.
That was precisely the reaction I wanted from Kang Ha-jin.
A stranger who’d been watching the busking area for nearly hours with earbuds in, seemingly disinterested, was now so captivated he didn’t even notice when his earbuds fell to the ground.
Can you come this far
My endless racing
-That racing part, flow the pronunciation a bit more. It needs to sound like it rhymes with ‘this far’.
My rendition of “Blue,” completed under direct direction from the famously meticulous original artist, had captured the night of Haeundae.
Noticing the crowd that had gathered in such a short time, I flashed my characteristic refreshing smile and checked the time on the clock above the pillar across from me. The hand had just passed nine o’clock.
[
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]
The gauge on the indifferent system window remained completely unmoved.
But I didn’t pay much attention to it. It’s not like this is the first or second time it’s been stuck like this.
‘Technically, less than a day has passed physically, so saying “a day or two” might be a bit inaccurate?’
Anyway, since becoming a professional returnee, this was the most troublesome thing. My sense of time had become a bit strange.
‘I’m constantly worrying about things I never would have thought to worry about in my previous life.’
Anyway, Ha-jin was fine with it. It was okay.
He wasn’t expecting to be satisfied after just one bite, and they’d only just started the first song.
Honestly, if even this method didn’t work, he had no idea what else to try next—the thought of it made him feel desperately lost.
But for now, all that remained was the desire to finish this busking performance as well as possible. The energy of performing after such a long time, and the audience’s reactions, seemed to lift his spirits a little.
At the end of this world
The era finally comes
Ha-jin’s soft yet firm high notes rang out as clear and refreshing as the sound of waves. Without even thinking, his fingers were already positioned for the next chord, and Ha-jin closed his eyes.
Still, I hope.
When all the songs I’d prepared were finished, I could see tomorrow’s sun.
* * *
Whether it was some kind of first-audience privilege or not, Seo Tae-il’s eyebrows, which had been sitting in the middle of the first row of stairs with the best view of the busking zone, flickered with interest.
‘He’s pretty good, isn’t he?’
The young man who introduced himself as Kang Ha-jin started with “Blue,” a Upia song that Tae-il himself had requested, and then showcased a diverse range of songs without regard to genre—from pop to old folk songs.
His guitar skills were clearly at a professional level, as if he’d lived with the instrument in his hands, and his way of keeping the audience engaged without losing focus during the performance wasn’t particularly rare among street performers, but what truly surprised Tae-il was the young man’s vocal ability.
‘Too skilled to be an amateur… and the name doesn’t feel unfamiliar either.’
From the moment he pinpointed the directional nuances of “Blue” with surgical precision—something even Han-sol, his own group’s main vocalist, had struggled to grasp at first—Tae-il had already sensed this was no ordinary performer.
But the more he listened, the more he marveled at the skill with which he controlled his breathing and volume using only the distance between the microphone and his lips, his exceptional handling of the final notes, and his rich emotional expression.
‘Good facial expressions, excellent song selection sense too… What is this guy doing?’
Seo Tae-il, who had no idea that all these skills were techniques he’d once learned while being thoroughly beaten down by this very person, inwardly criticized the hapless new artist development team at his company.
If you’re going to recruit someone, at least find talents like this.
Despite producing Upia-Endway, a massively successful group, his agency had ultimately failed to launch a follow-up group in time, and now it had become a company in name only. The weight of this reality pressed heavily on his heart.
‘If I’d met him about ten years ago, I would’ve made him a junior artist by any means necessary.’
Now, having stepped away from both company operations and music work, discovering such a rough diamond was nothing more than a pie in the sky—someone else’s fortune.
As Tae-il smacked his lips with lingering regret, Ha-jin finished another song and bowed briefly in acknowledgment as the audience applauded. His throat was getting dry, and he didn’t forget to take the last sip from the water bottle he’d brought.
“Thank you for staying so late. To be honest, I came here today prepared to sing lullabies to the fish, but I was surprised that so many of you stayed until the end.”
The audience, melting into his playful tone, let out pleased laughter in their own ways.
Ha-jin, as if speaking from the heart, wiped his chest with one hand and exhaled deeply with a ‘phew.’ Despite the theatrical gesture, his expression showed no tension whatsoever—it was masterful.
“It’s getting late, and the scheduled time is almost up, so I thought I’d finish with one last song for you.”
At Ha-jin’s announcement of the performance’s end, disappointed voices immediately erupted from various corners of the crowd. During the nearly hour-long performance, it became clear just how well Ha-jin had synchronized his rhythm with the audience.
Tae-il too rested his arm on his knee with an expression of regret. Ha-jin, who had been playing the guitar lightly like a background accompaniment, suddenly stared into the empty air.
“…Actually, I’m a singer. You know idols, right? That’s what I was.”
Ha-jin, who had been standing blankly lost in thought for a while, suddenly blurted out something rather shocking.
An idol? He didn’t seem like an ordinary amateur, but…
‘Was he really a junior?’
Tae-il couldn’t hide his bewilderment and furrowed his brow. Even in an industry where tens of thousands debut and hundreds of thousands disappear, he couldn’t believe he’d known nothing about someone with this level of skill.
He felt embarrassed for having just criticized the company’s new artist development team.
Ha-jin, wearing an awkward smile, continued speaking with a face tinged with nostalgia.
“Kairos—it ended up being a failure in the end, but anyway, I was in a team with guys who were better-looking and sang better than me, you know?”
At the mention of “guys who were better-looking and sang better than me,” the audience murmured. Some seemed to be quickly searching for Kairos on their phones.
At the more immediate reaction than expected, Ha-jin let out a hollow laugh and continued.
“I know, I know. I formed a team with guys who were better-looking and sang better than me, so you’re probably wondering how we managed to fail, right? I think that’s the most ridiculous part too. It’s something that shouldn’t have happened at all….”
Even as Tae-il listened to Ha-jin’s joke—whether self-deprecating or sincere, he couldn’t tell—the deep furrow between his brows refused to ease.
‘Kairos? I feel like I’ve heard of it.’
A vague connection flickered at the edge of his memory, but no clear answer surfaced. Tae-il mentally filed away the name “Kairos Kang Ha-jin.” He’d have to ask Da-woon about it once he returned to the Dormitory—the man was notorious for knowing everyone in the entertainment industry.
“Anyway, the reason I came here today was… because I wanted to go back to being Kairos Kang Ha-jin again? To do that, I needed a few miracles.”
Hoping for multiple miracles—something most people never experienced even once in a lifetime.
Though Tae-il thought the ambition excessive, he waited for Ha-jin’s next words. Even after singing over ten songs, Ha-jin’s voice seemed to tremble slightly at the edges.
“I’ve been singing here for nearly an hour, and so many people have listened to my songs… The wind is just right, the moon is beautiful, and since it’s night, the swelling in my face has gone down, so my face looks decent enough….”
“….”
“So I thought maybe, just maybe, I could witness that miracle today… but it seems like today wasn’t the day.”
Wasn’t this the perfect moment for some touching line like ‘Meeting all of you and being able to sing like this is the miracle’?
Tae-il was amazed at Ha-jin’s audacity—gathering such a large crowd for a simple street performance and yet saying ‘today wasn’t the day.’ Normally, Tae-il would have clicked his tongue immediately at such privileged talk, but not this time.
Because Ha-jin’s expression as he confessed to hoping for a miracle looked more earnest than anyone else’s he’d ever seen.
“Well… I’m about to sing the very last song now. So far, I’ve mainly performed songs you all wanted to hear, so this time I’d like to finish with a song I want to sing. Is that alright?”
“Yes~”
“That’s great!”
“Thank you. …You’ll love it. It’s a good song.”
Ha-jin, who had completely wiped away the shadow that had lingered on his face, clapped his hands together sharply. With just that small gesture, he shifted the atmosphere and flashed a bright smile.
“Before I sing the last song, there’s one thing I’d like to ask of you all.”
“….”
“If you’re able to, please record this song on video and share it all over SNS so more people can see it. I don’t have any issues with publicity rights.”
The audience, who had tensed slightly at the word “request,” quickly realized it was just a typical promotional ask and pulled out their phones with cheerful chatter. Occasionally, someone shouted out asking for his social media handle.
Tae-il also flinched at the thought of his own phone sleeping in his pocket, but he held back.
It had already been several years since he’d logged into his personal SNS account after his final 20th anniversary concert.
“You don’t need to tag my account. Just… if you could attach the word ‘Kairos,’ I’d be grateful.”
“….”
“I really want to leave a trace that I sang here like this.”
…Even though it probably won’t matter anyway.
The unspoken words that followed lingered only in Ha-jin’s mouth before fading away. The audience’s phones all turned toward Ha-jin in unison.
Tae-il simply stared at Ha-jin without moving.
“Then, let me sing the last song for you. It’s Kairos’s debut track, ‘Over the Night.'”
“…?”
Tae-il reacted involuntarily to the oddly familiar song title.
The intro and melody of a song far too familiar to be hearing for the first time set Tae-il’s mind spinning frantically.
Open your eyes
And the moment Ha-jin, his dark eyes suddenly gleaming with intensity, sang the first verse―
Tae-il remembered.
The connection between himself and the group Kairos.
“What is this….”
…Isn’t this a song I wrote?
Upon hearing the unbelievable story of his junior—who had debuted with an outstanding masterpiece he’d composed and written himself, only to face a catastrophic failure—Seo Tae-il couldn’t help but let his astonishment slip through, practically flinging off the sunglasses he’d been wearing.

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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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