Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 62

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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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62. A Shout to You (4)
“Kang Ha-jin, when you first started preparing this song, I gave you quite the scolding, didn’t I?”
At Seo Tae-il’s immediate dig into his past mistakes, Ha-jin quietly pressed his lips together.
Tch—I knew he’d ask about that, but did he really have to open with this?
Suppressing his inner complaint, Ha-jin nodded.
“Yes. Thanks to that, I gained profound insight and was able to prepare for a new leap forward.”
“I had originally planned to give you separate coaching yesterday, but I couldn’t due to fairness concerns. That’s why I’m looking forward to this so much right now.”
“Mentor, I’m at a loss for words regarding your unwavering expectations and interest in all of us.”
“Ah, is that so? Then I can expect even more?”
“But have you ever heard the saying that sometimes people feel far more in moments they didn’t anticipate?”
“Who said something like that?”
“My mother.”
“Ah, your mother….”
At the unexpected response, Seo Tae-il’s expression faltered, and laughter erupted once more throughout the studio. It was genuinely rare to see a trainee stand their ground and parry answers without flinching before Seo Tae-il.
Seo Tae-il nodded with an expression that suggested this wasn’t going to be easy.
“I have a question too.”
Filling the studio’s audio as the laughter subsided was Choi Yeon-woo from Endway. Holding the microphone, he openly fixed his gaze toward where Seo Tae-hyun stood and posed his question.
“To be honest, I thought Seo Tae-hyun would perform our song. You had a choice, right? Why didn’t you pick our track?”
“….”
“It would’ve really suited us.”
His voice carried a hint of curiosity and anticipation, with a subtle undertone of competitive spirit.
Ha-jin carefully scanned Choi Yeon-woo’s expression from where he sat. Seeing Endway’s Choi Yeon-woo and Boy Heaven’s Seo Tae-hyun together naturally brought another figure to mind.
‘That bastard Cha Min-seok was in Endway’s debut lineup.’
Even in my previous life, Cha Min-seok and Endway had made a show of their connection. The fact that two groups with a considerable generation gap were frequently mentioned together owed much to that camaraderie.
Ha-jin studied Choi Yeon-woo’s expression once more, wondering what genuine intent lay beneath that question.
Meanwhile, Seo Tae-hyun, having steadied his breathing, picked up the microphone.
“I think I would’ve felt the same way.”
“….”
“Doing well with something you’re already good at—I figured you’d probably seen plenty of that already.”
His bold yet utterly unpretentious demeanor sent the studio’s atmosphere soaring. Whistles and laughter erupted from the mentor’s section.
“I see. Then please give us a brief introduction to this new stage you’ve prepared.”
Seo Tae-il’s lead commentary continued amid the elevated energy. Ha-jin picked up the microphone again.
“We’ve prepared ‘A Shout to You’ by senior Sarin.”
“The original is such a famous song—you must’ve felt some pressure?”
“Yes, quite a bit.”
Ha-jin nodded lightly.
“At first, I was putting in tremendous effort because I thought I had to master a masterpiece. But after receiving a mid-check from Mentor Seo Tae-il, I reconsidered my approach.”
“How so?”
“What Tae-hyun just mentioned is our new motto.”
“…?”
“What you do well, you’ve already shown many times. We decided to sing our own version of farewell.”
“…I see. I look forward to it. Prepare the stage.”
At Kang Ha-jin’s confident words, Seo Tae-il nodded. Soon, the trainees could be seen heading downstairs to prepare the stage.
As props and sets were being arranged, one of the mentors reviewing the evaluation sheet let slip a comment.
“It’s really going to be difficult to surpass the feeling of this original song.”
Everyone nodded at those words, and I felt their eyes flicker toward Sarin.
What kind of performance would they show?
Would these poor trainees become sacrificial lambs to Sarin once again?
Amid those familiar gazes, Sarin simply watched the stage in silence.
* * *
‘What are they planning?’
Sarin, the original artist of the song, pondered as she scanned the lyrics sheet before her.
‘You’ve already seen what you do well done well?’
It was a cryptic statement.
Were they saying they’d do well with what they can’t do? What kind of contradiction was that?
Just as her curiosity grew, the lights dimmed and then illuminated the stage.
Hmm― hmmm―
‘…Humming?’
In the silence, a clear, pure humming resonated through the air.
The spotlight illuminated one corner of the stage.
A boy with light brown hair sat at a desk, writing something down while humming softly.
The pleasant scratching sound of pencil on paper filled the gaps like background music.
‘His name is… Dan Ha-ru. The youngest one.’
The trainee Ha-ru, with his round, gentle features and clear eyes, carefully set down his pencil as he finished the letter.
At that moment, another spotlight illuminated a different section of the stage.
A solitary red mailbox. Yet the boy hesitates.
♪♬♬♪♪―♪♪♩―
The top line of “A Shout to You” flows through, rearranged as a bell.
The familiar instrument sound evoked memories of school bells from their youth.
Over soft pad sounds, the boy carefully folds the letter, places it in an envelope, and tucks it into the desk drawer where he sits.
Darkness again.
Then, with purple lighting, an unexpected genre intro burst forth.
‘City pop?’
Sarin’s eyes widened at the flashy synth sounds and rhythmic electric bass.
On the LED screen, cherry blossom petals scattered wildly across a sunset sky.
Five boys in different school uniforms moved in unison to the music.
This is a letter to you, the one I loved
With the falsetto chorus, the boys moved their bodies lightly.
Seo Tae-il, carefully observing each movement, recognized that the choreography borrowed from the jazz performance they had prepared before.
‘Given the short timeframe, it would have been difficult to drastically change the choreography.’
The one thing that had changed was the subtle acting elements woven throughout the light and cheerful choreography.
The boys displayed a carefree spirit—laughing at each other while dancing, exchanging high-fives when changing formations—as if they were genuinely high school students fooling around.
Just like real high schoolers laughing and chattering.
This is a love letter I once wrote,
A letter sent to you
Are you listening?
Ha-ru, the youngest trainee who had written the original letter, opened with his youthful voice delivered in a calm, measured tone. Despite being the youngest, his introduction was remarkably polished.
Then, someone casually swept their hair back and walked to center stage.
A boy with a cool, somewhat chilling impression—Kang Ha-jin—wore only a loosely draped school uniform shirt and necktie, his expression remaining composed as he lifted the microphone.
I seem to be doing well somehow
Even those memories of our beginning
Don’t hurt anymore
Kang Ha-jin effortlessly navigated the rather complex rhythm, instantly elevating the song’s emotional resonance.
[System Alert: The caster of skill 【What Makes Me, Me?】 gains a 24% boost to ‘Vocal’ proficiency.]
[System Alert: Skill 【As I Speak】 (LV.6) ▶▶▶ (LV.10) has leveled up!]
[System Alert: The passive effect of skill 【As I Speak】 (LV.10) deepens the caster’s ‘persuasiveness’.]
The power of a skill that had cost 9,000 cash to activate was unmistakable.
The verse, which had been extremely slow, met the bright tempo of city pop, breathing new life into the song’s atmosphere. Sarin found it remarkable that her signature track—which she’d sung thousands of times—felt surprisingly fresh with this arrangement.
Usually, artists maximized the ballad’s characteristics to showcase their vocal prowess, but this approach deliberately pulled back, stripping away the excess.
Maybe this is what it is(Maybe this is what it is)
Maybe this is what parting feels like(Maybe this is what it is)
Our ending, met without warning,
Has become so familiar(Become so familiar)
Park Jae-young and Jayden’s exchange continued, their voices weaving together. The other members added their voices through harmonies and choruses.
The genre’s nature meant there were no difficult or strenuous choreography sections—making this possible.
‘…But when does Seo Tae-hyun come in?’
Seo Tae-il’s gaze, which had been contentedly watching the stage, shifted toward Seo Tae-hyun, who was creating formations at the edge of the formation.
Seo Tae-hyun, with his broad appeal and commanding stage presence, had always received his part just before the first chorus.
It had always been that way since Boy Heaven.
But today, even as they approached the first chorus, Seo Tae-hyun showed no signs of stepping to center stage.
“Why did you give the B section to Jae-young? Tae-hyun could’ve handled it.”
“Well, it’s more about the arrangement… The first part is fine, but the chorus needs to explode outward, doesn’t it? With this arrangement, that’s going to be difficult.”
“Still, it feels fresh so far, doesn’t it? I never expected them to bring city pop.”
As the mentors exchanged these observations, the song continued to flow.
Woo― woo― woah―
The rhythm shifts with the harmony of five voices.
Boom, boom, boom―, the drum beat building the atmosphere, and the lights converge to a single point.
Passing through ordinary days, and sometimes,
Grasping at time that flows only slowly, and sometimes,
Kang Ha-jin, wielding the expressive power and persuasiveness of 【As I Speak】 at level 10, controlled the dynamics of his voice and cleanly hit the high note.
That’s all I’ll miss you for,
Just that much—I’ll try to long for you that way
The brilliant end of us
A series of movements followed—rapid and intricate, weaving across the stage.
Like the passage of time and scattered cherry blossoms taking form, their fluid motions crossed and reconnected with one another in seamless harmony.
And stepping through that space, grabbing the microphone, was…
“Is that Seo Tae-hyun?”
The moment Seo Tae-il spotted Seo Tae-hyun with his bright dyed hair now covered in a dark brown-black, he let out a hollow laugh.
No matter how decent Seo Tae-hyun’s ability to create stage immersion was, tackling this difficult chorus…
In that instant, all the instruments fell silent, leaving only the synth pad and bass rhythm.
Bye, Oh Bye!
Bye, Oh Good Bye!
And again, the end we drew
Instead of the high note that was bound to burst, Seo Tae-hyun’s clean falsetto effortlessly handled the note an octave higher.
Just by turning his head and extending his arm diagonally, all eyes converged on him.
Seo Tae-hyun grasped the end of his necktie with his other hand and carefully brought it to his lips. As he placed a brief kiss on the necktie’s end, the instruments that had vanished suddenly burst back to life.
Bye, Oh Bye!
Bye, Oh Good Bye!
And again, the end we drew
Seo Tae-hyun’s falsetto repeated once more. This time, not just Seo Tae-hyun but everyone moved in unison, placing a brief kiss on their necktie ends.
The top line of “A Shout to You” that we’d heard at the very beginning rang out.
And a brief interlude followed.
“My goodness, what are these kids doing?”
At the Dance Trainer’s words, everyone’s attention focused on what was happening on stage. The trainees moved about the stage, weaving back and forth within formations that didn’t interfere with one another.
Watching the trainees’ movements, Sarin suddenly realized something and let out a small gasp of recognition.
“…Time.”
“Pardon?”
At Sarin’s exclamation, Chung Han-sol from Upia, who was sitting beside her, asked for clarification. Sarin laughed in surprise and pointed at the stage with her finger.
“Time passing—look. That one becomes a company employee, that one’s a college student…”
“Ah… yes, you’re right.”
Hearing Sarin’s words, Chung Han-sol also realized it then, his voice filled with surprise.
The trainees who had been weaving across the stage one by one removed their school blazers or put on glasses and swept back their hair. It wasn’t a dramatic transformation, but it was clear enough to see what had changed.
With a rhythmic drum beat—boom, boom—Kang Ha-jin burst into the center this time.
In that moment, the song naturally modulated up a key along with the brass band.
This is what I loved,
A letter I send to you
With a few buttons of his shirt left undone, Kang Ha-jin fastened them neatly up to his collar, rolled up his sleeves halfway, and pulled his necktie all the way up—then naturally caught the modulated note as if it were nothing.
‘Is this my song?’
Sarin laughed hollowly and set down her pen.
And she gazed at Kang Ha-jin, a twenty-year-old trainee who had absorbed a remarkable seventy percent of the physique he’d so diligently maintained during his military days, wearing a suit that fit him almost suspiciously well.
You’re listening, aren’t you?
With Kang Ha-jin’s gentle bass introduction, the second verse of “A Shout to You” began.

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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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