Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut!

Chapter 45. Daylight (1)

“Good, you all did well. Honestly, I was really worried about Team B.”

Seo Taeil’s satisfied applause echoed through the practice room. The Feather rank trainees who had just finished their midterm evaluation shouted, “Thank you!” even as they panted heavily. The camera zoomed in on Hajin, who stood at the center. His face was slightly contorted as he quickly caught his breath, and the monitor captured it all.

“But Kyungho, you need to practice more. You’re falling behind on your own.”

“…Yes!”

“Anyway, the overall spirit is excellent. Maybe because you’re all young, you have a lot of energy.”

“Thank you!”

Taeil, unaware that this energy was fueled by a bloodless, tearless threat from a certain someone, smiled as he opened the trainee profile file in his hand.

“Who’s the leader here? Hajin. You did a good job of keeping the atmosphere in check.”

At the repeated praise, Hajin smiled humbly and shook his head.

“The team followed well.”

“Eh, being too modest can be annoying.”

“It seems everyone recognized my exceptional leadership.”

“Oh? Now that’s a new kind of annoying.”

Even the production crew filming the scene chuckled at the steady banter. Seeing the warm atmosphere, Hajin was certain.

‘This is going to be edited well.’

In survival shows where narrative is key, an uprising from the lower ranks is always welcome. Especially if it’s on a show produced by the recommended-resignation program.

‘It would be perfect if there were a top-ranked team to compare against.’

Hajin smiled in relief, hoping that Team A, who was likely being evaluated in another practice room by now, wouldn’t receive a positive review. (Sorry, guys, but mess up just a little.)

“But Hajin.”

“…?”

“You’re not being greedy this time, either?”

Hajin hesitated at Taeil’s unexpected question, delivered with a meaningful expression as he alternated between looking at the part distribution sheet and Hajin. What’s up with this guy? Why does he keep picking on me? This time, unlike the last, he hadn’t even completely removed himself from the parts.

‘I’m doing the chorus and standing as the dance break center—what more could I be greedy about?’

“The part distribution was decided after thorough discussions with my teammates. If there’s a next time when I get a chance for a solo stage, I’ll be greedier then.”

At the end of his response, Taeil’s eyebrow twitched again. What do you want me to say, man?

As Hajin barely managed to maintain his expression, feeling a growing frustration, Taeil, who had been deep in thought, finally nodded.

“Well, anyway, you all worked hard. I’m looking forward to the mentor evaluation.”

“Yes! Thank you.”

As Taeil made a motion to stand, as if to wrap things up, PD Kwon nodded. “Alright, let’s cut the shoot here. Slate, please.” At that signal, the camera directors all positioned their cameras in the center of the practice room.

“Hey, where’s Seonjae?”

“PD Yoon went out earlier to pay for dinner.”

“Oh, he went there. Then… Hajin, sorry, could you clap once for us?”

“Ah, sure.”

PD Kwon realized that the assistant director, who was supposed to slate, had left for the next schedule and asked Hajin to do it. He didn’t think much of it; Hajin was simply standing at the center of the practice room, where the cameras were gathered.

At PD Kwon’s call, Hajin instinctively raised his hand in the center.

“I’ll slate-!”

“…”

“March 2nd, 8:42 PM, Team B midterm evaluation, one, two, three!”

“…?”

*Clap!*

A loud, clear clap echoed through the room, audible enough to be picked up by all the rolling cameras and microphones. And with an inexplicable sense of déjà vu, a strange silence filled the practice room.

And the first one to recognize that déjà vu was the person who clapped.

‘Oh, shit, I did it without even realizing.’

He had slatted so naturally and skillfully!

The resounding, precise clap and clear voice from the trainee, who was expected to just casually clap in the center, left everyone in the practice room—Seo Taeil, who was about to leave, PD Kwon, who was giving the next shooting instructions, and the sweaty trainees who were flapping their soaked shirts—blinking in astonishment.

In that brief moment of just one or two seconds, Hajin thought.

‘This is definitely going to be in the behind-the-scenes.’

He could see PD Kwon’s expression changing in real-time, growing more intrigued. Hajin quickly scratched his shoulder, letting out an awkward laugh and a sheepish voice.

“Well, I saw you do it last time, PD-nim. …Was that wrong?”

The trainee who had confidently answered moments ago now laughed with his mouth wide open, making the atmosphere in the room relax. PD Kwon was the first to laugh, followed by the rest of the room. Six cameras, sensing a fun situation, still focused on Hajin from multiple angles.

As Hajin created yet another entertaining moment, PD Kwon shrugged and said, “Haha, what is this? Hajin, if you don’t make it as an idol, you could become an assistant director for us! That was a perfect slate.”

Of course, it was perfect. He had learned to slate while getting kicked in the shins by his boss.

‘Is telling an idol to fail and become a PD an insult or a compliment?’

Hajin just smiled at his former boss, now a god-like main PD, who seemed eager to rehire him (literally rehire).

Of course, he didn’t say “yes” even as a joke.

—

After the midterm evaluation, the Feather rank trainees headed back to their dorm floor to relieve their exhaustion. Perhaps because they had received a fairly good evaluation from Seo Taeil, the awkward and embarrassing atmosphere that had lingered before was long gone.

And then, someone noticed Kyungho walking ahead and brought up the topic that everyone had been curious about.

“Hey, so why did that hyung suddenly change?”

“Dunno. He just changed his mind out of the blue.”

When Hajin brought Kyungho back after lunch, the B team trainees couldn’t hide their shock. It was hard to believe that the same Shin Kyungho, who had acted like a thug until yesterday, was now bowing and apologizing with such humility.

Sure, we flipped our stance like pancakes in a day, but this hyung was on another level. And in this unbelievable situation, plausible theories began to bloom.

“Don’t you know? Hyung begged Hajin to forgive Kyungho. Said it was his fault for not being able to handle him as the older brother.”

“No, that’s not it. They fought one-on-one, and Kyungho lost. I saw Hajin go looking for him during lunch.”

“Both are right, but it wasn’t a fight. Hajin went to persuade him. I saw them talking in the corner of the cafeteria. It looked like Kyungho was crying, and Hajin was comforting him, saying he understood everything.”

“Yeah, I saw it too. Hyung pulled him in and hugged him.”

In the midst of the chattering noise, the tales of kindness (or misunderstandings) only grew. These innocent boys had no idea that within that seemingly tender moment, Hajin had delivered a ruthless threat, telling Kyungho that if he didn’t want to die, he’d better get back to the practice room immediately.

And soon, these naïve boys began to feel a growing respect for Hajin, who had not only forgiven the rebellion but also successfully led the practice, giving hope to what they thought was a doomed first mission!

“Wow… Isn’t that hyung a saint at this point? I mean, he’s young, and yesterday that guy was so rebellious right in front of him.”

“Honestly, we… we all nearly got screwed yesterday, but Hajin hyung just gave us a chance, really.”

These earnest boys soon began to reflect on themselves. Looking back, they realized how weak and complacent they had been, and that without Hajin, they would have become the primary targets of malicious commenters!

And as all these stories were being shared, Park Jaeyoung spoke up.

“…Oh, I heard something about that hyung from Taehee.”

“Taehee? What did he say?”

Everyone’s attention focused on Jaeyoung. Jaeyoung, receiving all those stares, looked over at Hajin, who had just emerged from washing up and was now wandering by with a towel lazily draped over his head.

“…He said that hyung is terrifying, so don’t even think about crossing him.”

“Ah.”

With that single sentence, everyone nodded in agreement.

…Let’s not cross him. It was a moment when an important lesson was etched into their bones.

—

“Looks like we got off to a good start.”

Meanwhile, completely unaware that various tales (and misconceptions) about him were flourishing, Hajin strolled along the outdoor trail on the dormitory floor (who knew a building like this had one?). He was trying to dry his hair (he liked it when it dried naturally with the wind) and organize his thoughts.

The rough schedule for “Miro Maze,” which Hajin had outlined on his phone, was roughly as follows:

Midterm Evaluation [Today]
Mentor Evaluation [The Day After Tomorrow]
Title Song Recording
Title Song Performance Video

Shoot>

What this meant was,

‘It means the grind starts today.’

Since the first broadcast was in May, they would probably have to complete at least two more missions by then. It was only March, so it was best to consider the next month a write-off. Whether it was during his time as an assistant director or when he was holed up in the entertainment industry, this was always the busiest time. It wouldn’t be any different just because he was a participant now.

“If we can just get through the mentor evaluation.”

It seemed things were going roughly as expected, but something still felt off. The words he had heard from Seo Taeil earlier kept nagging at him.

Greed? He was already taking the lead, singing the chorus, and standing as the dance break center—what more could he be greedy for?

“…It feels like there’s some kind of intent behind those words….”

“Excuse me.”

“Shit, you scared me. Who are you?!”

“Oh, sorry.”

Just as he was about to get lost in thought, Hajin nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden appearance of a tall figure beside him. The other person, equally startled by Hajin’s reaction, flailed their long arms and stepped back.

“Lee Doha?”

“Sorry, I called you a few times, but you didn’t respond.”

Clad entirely in black, with a black scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, Lee Doha creaked as he walked. “Why the scarf in March?” Hajin asked, to which Doha replied, “I get cold easily.”

‘Wow, he really is like a winter bear.’

If this guy ever debuted, he’d definitely get a bear icon on reality show captions. It was an instinct honed from working in the industry.

“I was taking a walk too.”

“Bundled up like that?”

“…I get cold easily.”

Doha insisted it was true, showing the paper notebook he was holding. It seemed to be a lyric sketch, with numerous words and phrases written in pen, pressed firmly into the pages like doodles. Oh, right. This guy was a genius artist. Hajin nodded as the fact suddenly came to mind.

“But you write on paper?”

“It helps me write more freely.”

“Isn’t it hard to find stuff later?”

“Ah. I organize everything into my laptop later. I back it up to the cloud too.”

“…Backup. Backup is important. Backup.”

Suddenly, Hajin was reminded of his previous life in the office, where someone would shout, “Ah!” and everyone would simultaneously hit Ctrl+S. He quietly brushed the goosebumps off his arm.

‘Should I ask him?’

Not particularly having anything else to talk about, Hajin was considering suggesting they head back when he looked at Doha. Doha was still a rookie, but he knew how to produce. Maybe, just maybe, Doha could offer some insight into what Taeil had meant?

“Hey, Doha. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

Feeling a bit embarrassed about asking this genius kid for advice, Hajin hesitated for a moment before continuing. But he was reaching his limit.

“I got told I wasn’t being greedy earlier… during the midterm evaluation by Senior Taeil. Do you have any idea what he might have meant?”

It felt a bit awkward to be consulting a junior, especially one from a different team, but once Hajin started talking, the words flowed out.

“It seems related to what he said during the monthly evaluation… but I have a lot of parts this time. I sing the first part of the chorus, I’m the center for the dance break, and I even have an ad-lib in the third verse.”

“…”

“But I’m still wondering what he meant by not being greedy. You know about producing, so I thought you might have a different perspective.”

As Hajin poured out his thoughts, Doha silently listened. Although it’s often said that listening is the most important part of a consultation, Doha’s quietness felt like he was just staring at Hajin. Hajin frowned and gave Doha a look, as if to say, “What are you looking at?” and lightly punched his arm. Hey. I’m asking what you think.

After thinking for a little longer, Doha finally spoke cautiously.

“…Can I be honest?”

“…? Of course. Just say it.”

Curious about what Doha was about to say, Hajin crossed his arms and listened. Then Doha spoke.

“If I were the producer, I wouldn’t have given you any of the parts you just mentioned.”

“…Why?”

“Because they don’t suit you.”

“What the hell, you jerk?”

Hajin blinked in disbelief, feeling like he’d just been verbally smacked.