Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut - Chapter 7

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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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07. The Madman of This District Is Me (2)
My strike lasted exactly ten minutes.
[System Alert: The system declares a strike as well….]
“Fine. Let’s all go down together, then.”
[System Alert: You madman….]
“I’ll take it as a compliment.”
I could feel the system window trembling, but from my few days of experience, it seemed this thing had no choice but to cooperate with me one way or another. After all, it was something that Voice had given me to help me, so it was only natural.
‘Whatever happens, I’ll squeeze out everything I can from this thing.’
The system window kept displaying “Inputting…” as if it were endlessly calculating something. From experience, it was wise to make a show of backing down at moments like this.
“Listen carefully, system. Ah, is it okay to call you system? There’s no other appropriate name for you anyway.”
[System Alert: …. (Wary of the Fixed Regressor)]
“Look, I’m not asking for anything omnipotent or anything. I’m a pretty reasonable person, you know? But reasonably speaking, you’re being way too uncooperative right now. What’s the difference between this and when you didn’t exist?”
[System Alert: …. (Remains vigilant)]
“Let’s find a reasonable middle ground. That’s what negotiation is, right? After all, me clearing this Quest well is the path that benefits everyone, isn’t it? So here’s the thing.”
I relaxed the tension and smiled slightly, interlacing my fingers. The system window distorted with a crackling sound.
“You have them, don’t you? Skills?”
[System Alert: …W-what do you mean?]
“Usable ones. …That Chosen Regressor has them.”
In response to my rather thuggish demand for something—anything—the system answered clearly.
[System Alert: The (Fixed) Regressor is not provided with separate skills…]
“Not ‘they don’t exist,’ but ‘they’re not provided because I’m a Fixed Regressor’? Ah, that Fixed Regressor listening to this must feel so disappointed. I even resolved to stake my life and become the Chosen Regressor’s mentor. So this is the regressor discrimination I’ve only heard about in stories. This really should be on the news.”
The system window trembled even more violently. I smiled pleasantly, crossed my legs, and rested my chin on my hand. Kang Ha-jin’s Negotiation Principle Number 27: Always be the one in control. It always begins with a relaxed posture and attitude.
“Anyway, the fact that a skill ability stat exists means we can discuss quite a lot about it, right? From multiple angles.”
[System Alert: …The system is terrified of the (Fixed) Regressor’s madness!]
“Right, the fact that I’m a madman—let’s slowly discover that together from now on.”
* * *
Another ten minutes later.
After finishing my ‘negotiation’ with the system, I was just rolling my stiff neck when I noticed the contents displayed on the system window, which had lost almost all of its original blue light and now appeared sickly pale, were being updated anew.
[System Alert: Skill System (Update!) has been registered.
– The (Fixed) Regressor ‘Kang Ha-jin’ can ‘self-generate’ skills necessary for Quest completion.]
[System Alert: This is not a system patch provided to the user by default! (Error)]
[System Alert: Until the system patch stabilizes, a price will be required when generating and executing skills. (Penalty)]
[System Alert: Do you wish to generate a skill? (Y/N)]
I’d managed to pry the skill system loose by going all-in with the madman concept, but since I was forcibly pulling in authority I didn’t originally have, there was no avoiding some kind of ‘penalty’ being imposed.
‘Still, this is worth doing.’
Thinking of it in game terms, if the Chosen Regressor was the ‘player,’ then wasn’t I closer to the concept of an ‘NPC’? That was the logic I’d used to obtain this result.
Unlike players who ‘acquire’ skills through tutorials and such, NPCs usually have skills set from the beginning. I couldn’t receive skills provided by the system, but couldn’t I make the skill system itself into my own settings? That was the logic.
I pressed the skill generation button and immediately thought about what skills I’d need tomorrow. I’d already received advance notice of the audition content involving recording, so I could roughly narrow down what would be useful.
A bomb detector? It would be convenient to know which ones to pick and which to leave behind. But this felt like cheat-level ability, so the price would likely be steep. Putting that on hold.
What about idol stats? Not bad, but I wasn’t even a trainee yet, so it wasn’t a skill I could use immediately. Hmm. Putting that on hold too.
After much deliberation, I entered the skill that came to mind.
“Can you even do that? A skill that lets me express whatever I think or say exactly as is?”
[System Alert: More specific criteria are needed to create a skill.]
“Like an expression booster. Whether abstract or concrete, I want a skill that lets me express exactly what I think and imagine through song or dance.”
[System Alert: Measuring skill creation probability….]
The ‘skill to create skills’ was definitely broken, so whether for balance patches or not, it seemed I couldn’t create just any skill. I watched the numbers spin and waited patiently, then a series of alarms sounded in succession.
[System Alert: Skill content is effective for Quest progression! Creation probability increases. (Measuring….)]
[System Alert: Skill creation is possible!]
[System Alert: Create skill 【As I Speak】? (Y/N)]
Why did it keep asking me anyway?
I mashed Y without hesitation.
* * *
Seo Tae-il, Upia’s leader and famous among fans as the crocodile PD, was thinking.
‘What is this guy?’
The Executive Director, who had personally cast Upia’s members and was their manager during their rookie days, had pestered him so much to come that he’d shown up, but truthfully his heart hadn’t been in it even before arriving.
This test was a method the Executive Director frequently used when he wanted to drive out trainees he didn’t like.
‘I didn’t want to come because I’m tired of him using me as an excuse to chase kids away every time.’
But unfortunately, Tae-il, who harbored a desire to one day nurture Miro’s next idol with his own hands, took considerable interest in these future junior candidates.
‘They might end up receiving my songs someday, so I can’t just pick anyone.’
For that reason, Tae-il was prepared to walk out of the recording studio at any moment if today’s recording didn’t satisfy him, regardless of whether this trainee was a precious one barely brought over from Rene Entertainment.
Can’t you see it?
The reversed moon and sun,
A new universe awakens
The first step already taken
Will soon become history
Can you make it?
Can you come this far?
My endless racing
At the end of this world
I’ll eventually become the era
That changed when he watched this trainee pull off his debut song flawlessly, the very song that had taken even Upia’s main vocalist time to grasp.
‘Well, our fourth member’s skill is still way better though.’
Comparing a top-tier main vocalist with twelve years of debut experience to a trainee—no, not even a trainee but a trainee-hopeful—was something he should apologize to their fourth member for. With that thought, Seo Tae-il, a self-proclaimed and universally acknowledged homebody, turned on the talkback mic while (privately) expressing regret toward Upia’s main vocalist, who had become a studio fixture after claiming to have lost his touch since discharge.
“For that racing part, try flowing the pronunciation a bit more. It needs to sound like the rhyme matches with ‘come this far.'”
“Ah, yes. I’ll try again.”
But praise had to be given where it was due.
The basic tone and skills were decent, and the vocal range was quite wide. But if it had stopped there, Tae-il would have mercilessly sent him home with taxi fare. The tone wasn’t particularly distinctive, and the skills weren’t exceptional.
‘But he’s taking direction really well.’
The point was that he expressed my directing almost perfectly with those materials. He nailed my direction in one take—’intense but not burdensome, maintaining rhythm while biting off the pronunciation precisely’! Watching Ha-jin like that, Tae-il laughed dryly wondering if this was what talent looked like.
After watching the recording go through several times, the Executive Director left with a chewed-up expression. Once he’d completely left the room, Tae-il playfully nudged the man sitting next to him with a mischievous face.
“Congratulations, hyung. You won this time?”
“Won what.”
“Don’t play dumb. She’s the one you brought, right?”
Seo Tae-il shrugged his shoulders as if telling me not to feign ignorance. Ji Su-ho, the Team Leader standing beside Seo Tae-il, barely exhaled a deep breath and wore an expression of relief at those words.
“Does anyone not know things are bad between you and the Executive Director? It was obvious he rigged it because he wanted to drop the one you brought, but whatever.”
“Manager Jang is here too, and you’re still spouting nonsense.”
“Oh, I don’t know anything. I didn’t hear a thing. Please have your conversation as if I’m not here.”
As the political dynamics of Miro—the hottest topic in entertainment lately—came up, the quick-witted Manager Jang Seo-yun turned her head away and feigned ignorance. Su-ho, wearing an awkward smile at her antics, quickly composed his expression and asked Seo Tae-il with a rather serious face.
“So, what do you think? Is he okay?”
“How could he not be okay? Don’t show him to our fourth. He’ll bury himself again.”
“Han-sol’s been doing this for 12 years and still acts like that?”
“With 12 years of experience piled up, imagine how well he digs. That kid was ranked first in his unit for shoveling when he was in the Military.”
Though Seo Tae-il shook his head with an exasperated expression, a smile still played at the corners of his mouth. Yet his gaze remained sharp as he looked into the booth, offering Su-ho earnest words of caution.
“You have to bring him in, hyung. For the next generation, I want to see the ones you produce, not the Executive Director’s.”
“Tch, keep it down, man.”
Su-ho chuckled at Seo Tae-il’s serious words and turned on the talk-back. Inside the Recording Booth, Ha-jin, who had just finished the song cleanly, was looking this way. His expression seemed to say, ‘I know the recording is completely fine even without you saying anything.’
“Yes, Kang Ha-jin. Thank you for your hard work.”
Finally, the audition was over.
* * *
[System Notification: The proficiency of skill 【As I Say】 (LV.1) has increased.]
[System Notification: Skill 【As I Say】 (LV.1) ▶ (LV.2) has leveled up!]
[System Notification: A penalty has occurred from creating skill 【As I Say】.]
[System Notification: The penalty temporarily reduces the Mental Care effect.]
Demonic Seo Tae-il.
Professorial Seo Tae-il.
During the break after finishing the recording and before the meeting ahead, I downed plain water and hurled every vicious epithet that came to mind at Seo Tae-il.
‘Pig is pig, pig but not pig, making pig into not-pig by repeating pig over and over….’
He wasn’t even actually monitoring the recording, yet he made me repeat one single word a hundred times. The fact that Upia keeps re-contracting him as the leader despite pulling this stunt every album proves those bastards are insane.
‘…Should I look into other entertainment companies again?’
No matter how I thought about it, if I debuted here, I’d have to go through that guy’s hands one more time, and I didn’t think I could handle this twice.
[System Notification: No further Quest destruction is tolerated!]
“Not doing it, not doing it. That’s more of a hassle anyway.”
[System Notification: The system regains peace.]
This thing’s getting more chatty as time goes on….
I glanced down at the system window and switched screens with a look, checking the penalty I’d glossed over earlier.
[System Notification: The penalty temporarily reduces the Mental Care effect.]
‘I don’t feel anything right now.’
I still firmly believed that I had regressed to my fourth life cycle, and my mental state—except for the parts that had been beaten down by Seo Tae-il and left scarred—was still intact.
“Ha-jin. I think you can head in now.”
“Ah, Manager Jang.”
Manager Jang, who had been conversing with the interviewers from Miro after sending me out under the pretense of adult talk, was now walking toward me.
“I need to head back to the company now. I think Kim Director will probably give me a ride home.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. Thank you for today.”
“No, Kang Ha-jin. You did really well.”
Manager Jang looked at me with eyes brimming with reluctance, then quickly returned to his usual expression and offered me a handshake.
“…? Oh, yes.”
“No, I meant hold out your hand.”
“Oh.”
I thought that’s what he meant, but I was wrong. I quickly released the hand I’d grasped and politely opened my palm, whereupon Manager Jang smiled and carefully placed something wrapped on top of it.
“Open it when you get home later. We have Kang Ha-jin’s number one fan in our office. They pestered me so much to pass this along.”
“…A fan? Me?”
A fan? What fan? I scrunched my face in confusion, unable to comprehend what he was saying. As I stood there bewildered, Manager Jang patted my shoulder as if to say such things happen, then walked down the hallway.
‘How could I possibly have a fan.’
He’d told me to open it when I got home, but unable to contain my curiosity, I ended up unwrapping the package right there in the hallway. Inside the carefully opened gift box lay premium chocolate alongside a short card.

“…A fan?”
Something felt strange. Surreal emotions pricked at my ribs like needles.
Who on earth? What had they seen of me, and how much, to already call themselves a fan? And what was this about expecting the day I’d become a star when I wasn’t even a trainee?
That’s when it happened.
[System Alert: Mental care effectiveness has decreased, temporarily slowing control over reason and emotion! (Penalty)]
What?
“Ugh….”
Before I could even properly understand what that meant, something surged up and my eyes grew hot. What is this. Am I crying right now? I mean, I was moved, but not enough to cry, was I?
“Hic, sniff….”
But true to the system window’s words about reason and emotion being uncontrolled, I wept like a delicate flower charged with 5,000% sensitivity. In the process, I clutched the chocolate tightly so as not to drop it, but this was beyond salvaging.
Just looking at the chocolate and card made fresh tears well up, so I tilted my head back high, trying to stop the tears first.
“…Kang Ha-jin?”
What terrible timing.
Seo Tae-il, who I don’t know how long had been there, stood at the end of the hallway staring at me with wide eyes.
“Are you crying?”
Oh, please. Was this a misunderstanding arc?