Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 63

—————

This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com

—————

63. Shouting to You (5)
Ha-jin’s decision to arrange this piece as city pop had its own reasoning behind it.
‘First of all, the kids’ vocal abilities are lacking.’
Dan Ha-ru was passable enough, but Seo Tae-hyun fell short of what it took to pull off “Shouting to You” in its original form, and Park Jae-young was beyond question. Jayden had always been pushing the rap position anyway.
If I’d showcased all of the original’s tremendous technical demands the way Seo Tae-hyun wanted, we’d be buried alive before we even debuted.
‘Unable to shout to you, just shouting—we’d end up as nothing but a fossil in Sarin’s collection.’
And Ha-jin had zero intention of becoming one of Sarin’s countless sacrificial lambs. (Zero, as in the balance of my bank account.)
‘So we just do what we do best.’
This is how we’re parting
It seems we really are breaking up
As Jayden handled his singing-rap section, everyone stopped moving in unison this time. Among the poses expressing different characters, only Jayden, who was singing his part, continued to move. Pair choreography connected each time he crossed paths with another member along his trajectory.
Just passing through ordinary days, and sometimes,
Grasping at time that flows only slowly, and sometimes,
The LED screen that once painted a sunset sky now displayed the dark cityscape of night.
The highlight repeating once more.
Transposed up a key, the high notes became even more demanding, yet Ha-jin sang with an ease that belied the difficulty.
‘I feel like I could probably push a few more notes higher.’
But excessive emotion on stage right now would only be poison. So Ha-jin exercised restraint, adding subtle variations only where needed to keep things from becoming stale.
Because….
‘It’s not time to unleash it yet.’
The next section followed immediately. That part Seo Tae-hyun had handled in falsetto.
Unlike the first verse where all instruments had been muted, this time the accompaniment was fuller and all the more melancholic for it.
At the same moment, Ha-ru and Seo Tae-hyun stepped forward together, facing each other at center stage.
Bye, Oh Bye!
With the key raised, the vocal range became even tighter for falsetto, but this time Ha-ru’s crystalline high notes—as if he’d never experienced a voice change—handled the part effortlessly.
Bye, Oh Good Bye!
Yes, our ending, barely arrived at
Over that pristine voice, Seo Tae-hyun’s slightly husky low harmony layered in. The bell sound’s top line from the intro rang out again, like a school bell chiming.
♪♬♬♪♪―♪♪♩―
And then the dance break began.
Seo Tae-il, who’d been tapping out the rhythm with his pen while listening to the familiar arrangement, laughed.
“They saved what needed saving. That’s the ticket.”
The rhythmic solos of brass instruments and the varied keyboard sounds supporting them.
The ‘jazz’ concept arrangement that had earned me nothing but criticism during the mid-evaluation. The trainees naturally formed their formations and stepped out briskly between the song sections.
Same steps, same expressions, same movements.
But the feeling coming across was different than before. Because now there was a clear emotion they wanted to express, not just an avoidance of the original.
“…Curious.”
Unlike the first verse where school uniforms had created a sense of unity, now each member’s styling was completely distinct.
Complete transformation on stage was impossible, so there were inevitably traces that remained.
But that made it more effective.
“Doesn’t it feel like old classmates meeting up after all these years?”
“You made good use of your head. The outfit change and all.”
Despite the melancholy lyrics, there was brightness in their faces and radiant smiles. Yet woven through it all was that lonely, wistful sentiment inherent to city pop.
The stage unfolded with Tae-hyun at its center—naturally gifted at emotional expression—and Ha-ru, radiating youthful freshness, driving the performance forward.
‘Unfortunately, my impression and style are completely ill-suited to this genre.’
Ha-jin was acutely aware that his own presence was far too intense to match the concept of “a certain memory that comes to mind with the sunset.” Pushing Tae-hyun as the main force while entrusting the center position to Ha-ru was an unavoidable choice born from that calculation. But,
‘Why would everything start and end with Seo Tae-hyun?’
Though the stage began with fulfilling Seo Tae-hyun’s wish, the thought of becoming Seo Tae-hyun and the kids held about as much appeal as his friendship with Han Sung-woo. (Which is to say, negative.)
And expressed differently, that meant,
Yes, the end we barely reached
‘I’m not about to just stand here as a backdrop because I look fierce.’
As the dance break neared its end, Ha-jin swallowed softly. The accompaniment, which had been maintained with steady composure throughout, grew richer with the jazz-inflected choreography.
The final highlight—Ha-jin began singing at precisely the right moment.
At the end of all those special days, we
At the end of all the time that’s already passed, we
Ha-jin, who had been lifting the chorus cleanly with appropriate falsetto, deliberately pushed power into his true voice, raising the pitch.
Capturing the original’s explosive emotional arc exactly as it was.
Like this, we
Really like this, we’re parting ways
The end of the love we shared
The poignant voice cracked slightly at the note’s end, yet even that felt like an expression. With a beautiful piano melody, the tempo slowed. Tae-hyun moved with fluid grace between the trainees, each gazing in different directions.
Bye, Oh Bye!
Bye, Oh Good Bye!
Yes, the end we barely reached
With the ending pose calculated down to the fingertips, the stage slowly darkened.
Hmm― hmmm―
With the humming that had appeared in the intro, the bell sound—now a signature—rang out monotonously like a music box.
The stage reappeared with the desk and mailbox.
Now, Ha-ru, no longer in his school uniform, walked slowly through the lighting and drew a letter from the drawer.
Hmm― hmmm―
Yes, the end we barely reached…
With a voice like a whisper to someone, Ha-ru placed the letter into the mailbox as the song ended.
Ha-jin, keeping his gaze fixed on the front of the stage, saw Seo Tae-il smiling quietly and thought,
‘It landed.’
Regardless of anything else, at least it felt cathartic. And it seemed that ‘colleague’ felt the same way.
[System Alert: Colleague ‘Seo Tae-hyun’ has gained enlightenment! (Congratulations Reward∥300 Cash)]
[System Alert: Your colleague’s enlightenment provides significant assistance to Quest progression!]
[System Alert: Colleague ‘Seo Tae-hyun’s past timeline (1) is now unlocked!]
‘Something else… activated, and it’s strange.’
[System Alert: The update was worth it, wasn’t it!]
Yes, how admirable indeed.
“Thank you, Sad Ending Team. We’ve seen your performance. Please come to the center of the stage.”
At Seo Tae-il’s lead comment, the trainees who had paused in their movements sprang into action in unison. Dan Ha-ru, who had faced the ending alone at his desk, turned around with a satisfied smile blooming across his face.
The stage performance of “Shouting to You” had come to an end.
* * *
“Ah, this is fun.”
“I’m a bit nervous too, the juniors performed so well.”
While the trainees briefly refreshed themselves and touched up their makeup, the mentors exchanged their individual evaluations. And among those assessments, there was one person who remained unusually quiet, organizing their thoughts.
“….”
Sarin, the original artist of “Shouting to You,” simply blinked slowly as she gazed at the stage. The trainees who had just reinterpreted and performed her song were patting each other’s shoulders, their faces bright with relief and accomplishment.
The satisfaction of having done everything they could, the composure that comes after pouring out all their energy.
‘Ah… I envy them.’
It was all something she had yearned for so desperately.
“…Noona, are you okay?”
“Huh? Oh, yes.”
Noticing the darkness in her expression, Tae-il asked quietly, and Sarin flinched before nodding. Then she glanced briefly at her evaluation sheet, which remained blank.
“Um, Tae-il.”
“Yeah, noona. You’re not feeling unwell, are you?”
“No, I’m fine. It’s just… about the evaluation comments.”
“Yeah.”
It seemed they would soon resume filming, as the lighting setup changed and an assistant director climbed onto the stage with a slate.
Sarin kept her gaze fixed on the stage, gripping and releasing her pen as she spoke to Tae-il.
“Could I go first? If there’s no major issue….”
At her cautious words, Tae-il nodded with a deflating laugh.
“Of course there’s no issue—you’re the original artist. Got it. I’ll ask you first when we film the comments.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Relieved by Tae-il’s ready agreement, Sarin smiled softly and steadied her breathing. She simply wanted to be the first to convey the significance of this stage.
* * *
“…Dan Ha-ru, why do you look like that?”
I’d taken a brief break to get water from a staff member and downed an entire bottle, then returned to find Dan Ha-ru, who had been standing at the center of the stage, with a slightly dejected expression.
Just minutes ago, his eyes had sparkled like a baby rabbit who’d achieved his goal—so why the sudden change?
“Are you hungry?”
“No… no one cried.”
“…?”
What was he talking about? It was an admirable self-reproach—he hadn’t forgotten my grand goal of making at least one person cry.
“Forget it. Making someone cry doesn’t necessarily have to be the mentors.”
“…Really?”
The goal itself wasn’t truly about making people cry in the first place.
‘It was about making people forget Sarin’s original version.’
If the people listening to this song could forget the original, even for a moment, and receive only the emotions we wanted to convey, that would be enough.
From the start, I’d prepared for this stage with the goal of just beating Han Sung-woo rather than aiming for first place, so I didn’t have any particular attachment to the score.
“You did well, Ha-ru.”
As I patted Ha-ru on the back for pulling off his role perfectly, he transformed back into a happy rabbit and smiled softly. The way his body bounced with joy was unmistakably that of a delighted bunny.
“Alright, Sad Ending Team. Line up single file and center yourselves on the stage.”
“Yes.”
“We’re rolling! Three, two―.”
And finally, it was time to hear the judges’ feedback.
“Sad Ending Team’s ‘Shouting to You’. Let’s hear the judges’ comments. First… Sarin, the original artist and mentor, what did you think?”
“Huh.”
The moment the original artist took the judge’s seat as the first to give feedback, Park Jae-young beside me let out a gasp. I subtly nudged his side and turned my gaze toward the mentor’s seat with the most respectful expression I could muster.
“…Hmm.”
Sarin grabbed the microphone as if she’d been waiting, but she couldn’t seem to open her mouth easily. It seemed like she was searching for the right words in her mind. Still, the silence wasn’t particularly long.
“I kept wondering how to even begin…”
“….”
“Thank you.”
Suddenly?
“Thank you for reminding me that a song can be sung this way, for making me feel it anew.”
I’d expected some moderate praise, but her voice was far more sincere than I’d anticipated. I’d only expected something like an affectionate smile toward her juniors for singing her song well, but….
Something about the way Sarin looked at us seemed unusual.
“Ah….”
“….”
“Ha, I really didn’t want to cry.”
In an instant, her eyes turned red and she began fanning her face with her hand, tilting her head toward the sky. Seo Tae-il quickly pulled out a few tissues from the floor and handed them to her, and she openly wiped away her tears. Wait, what?
“You’ve given me the courage to sing again. Thank you, Sad Ending Team.”
Well, I never expected it to go this far…

—————

This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com

—————