Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Who Just Is the Regressed Guy ?

One day, beneath a sky that seemed unusually high and clear, Kang Hajin had a thought.

“Ah. Life is freaking meaningless.”

And it wasn’t even fun.

He dropped his heavy body onto the bed and, eyes unfocused, scrolled through YouTube’s provocative thumbnails. Even when something looked mildly interesting, he clicked it—only to stare blankly without actually watching.

Eventually, he closed the app, rolled over, and muttered again,

“It’s seriously freaking boring…”

Maybe this was it—the lowest dip on the graph of his life.

Twenty years old. Unemployed. Supposedly “preparing for a job.” The eldest son of his family.

Hajin slowly turned his head and looked around his room.

What do I even have left?

“…I thought I’d at least lived diligently.”

Ever since he’d quit his job on impulse, he hadn’t been able to find motivation for anything. A friend who knew him well suggested he just needed time off.

So he rested. For months.

His body relaxed—but his mind didn’t. It felt like time itself had stopped.

On days like that, he would imagine resetting his life. With nothing else to do, he started reading web novels. Apparently, he wasn’t alone. These days, protagonists got possessed after being hit by trucks, regressed after getting stabbed, or reincarnated through all sorts of bizarre accidents.

Honestly, it was the most desperate and thrilling fantasy available to people stuck in reality.

But what was the point?

It was all imagination.

If. What if. Maybe. Hypothetically.

A reality-escape fantasy everyone wished for—and knew had a zero-point-zero-zero percent chance of actually happening.

The day Kang Hajin experienced his first regression was one of those bright, cloudless blue days.

The First Regression

When he opened his eyes, Kang Hajin thought he’d been given a chance to change his life.

Then he saw the familiar gray test paper in front of him.

“…What?”

“Don’t get distracted. Wrong answers get zero points, you know.”

Just moments ago, he’d been lying in bed.

Now, after a blink, he’d gone back twelve years—right in the middle of midterms, second period.

Depending on how badly the timeline had aligned, he felt like slapping the OMR card—and possibly the supervising teacher—across the face.

“This is insane. I thought the craziest part of my life was university…”

A math exam. Of all things.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“We learned this in the next class,” the teacher said.

Yeah. Twelve years ago.

Even if he stared at the test paper thinking, I’ve solved this before, he was far too removed from that time to confidently write the answers from memory.

In novels, people memorized lottery numbers.

Real life wasn’t so kind.

His first regression began just like that—blandly, almost anticlimactically. A textbook setup.

He returned to the semi-basement apartment his father had lived in before landing a better job. With tearful determination, he clenched his fists.

This time would be different.

He studied like a madman.

Going back to the military would be hell—but he told himself he’d find a workaround in the coming years. He would rebuild his life’s “build.”

“This is an opportunity!”

That’s what he believed.

Right up until—

During the third session of the CSAT.

The English listening test.

He regressed again.

The Second Regression

“Is this for real?”

Apparently, kids didn’t say that anymore. But nothing else came to mind.

“Is this seriously real?”

“Hajin. Is the military some kind of joke to you?”

“What the hell is this regression?”

“Timeline, what are you doing?”

He’d been in the middle of answering his squad leader.

“Hajin, when a senior asks you something, you answer.”

“Private Kang Hajin.”

“What? A puppy? Are you messing with me? From now on, instead of ‘private,’ call yourself ‘woof.’”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve got a crap personality.”

It was absurd—childishly mocking his name instead of anything meaningful.

He’d been terrified of going to the military.

Now regression had thrown him right back in.

Two years had passed peacefully after the first regression. Nothing unusual.

And then suddenly—reset.

On the day of the CSAT.

There’s a pattern here.

Fantasy was fantasy—but this felt algorithmic.

“Hey, Kang Hajin.”

“Private Kang Hajin.”

“Wow, just repeating what I said? Should we make it ‘woof’?”

“….”

Should he just bark and get it over with?

Moments ago, he’d ranked first in Seoul on the CSAT.

Now he was getting bullied over his name.

Eventually, the senior lost interest. Music broadcast time.

Someone nearby was reading a schedule about a girl group’s comeback stage. From that, Hajin roughly figured out the time period.

Then a chill ran down his spine.

At this rate… am I going to regress again on the day I get discharged?

“Ah, for f—”

And that thought became reality.

The Third Regression

Two weeks before discharge.

Back to age twenty-four.

Hair barely grown out after military buzz cuts.

The timeline was jumping at random now.

“What is this, seriously?!”

Was this hell?

Had he gone insane?

Had he died in his original life and was now wandering through some distorted afterlife?

Hypotheses he’d formed since the first regression resurfaced.

“There’s definitely something. Something is—”

And then—

Fourth regression.

The Fourth Regression

Winter. Age nineteen.

“I’m sure of it.”

He sat alone in his old room.

“I don’t know who it is, but I’m getting swept up in someone else’s timeline.”

This time, at least, it was the weekend. He could think.

Some futures never changed.

No matter how many times he regressed:

• His mother would eventually become interested in economics.
  
  

• She would help his father after he found a new job.
  
  

• They would invest.
  
  

• The family would move into their first apartment.
  
  

Certain events were fixed.

“Hyung, I need the computer.”

“Go ahead.”

“Move. I can’t use it if you’re sitting there.”

His younger brother—one year older each time Hajin saw him—waved a hand in front of his face.

Hajin snapped out of it.

He went to a quiet café and opened a notebook.

He listed everything.

Timeline Log

[Original]
Age 29. Unemployed. Depressed. Watching YouTube in bed.

[1st Regression]
Ages 17–19. During CSAT English. Did I get a perfect score?

[2nd Regression]
Ages 21–22. Military. Again.

[3rd Regression]
Age 24. One week before discharge.

[4th Regression – Present]
Age 19. Winter. CSAT finished. Supposedly retaking the exam.

The timing of regressions had no clear pattern.

But fixed events existed.

At the bottom of the page, he wrote his most solid hypothesis:

The one causing the regression isn’t me. I’m being dragged into someone else’s regression.

“In regression stories, there’s usually a tutorial system.”

If he wasn’t the regressor, it made sense he had no information.

But that meant—

Out of eight billion people, how was he supposed to identify the protagonist?

“Please. I can’t live like this.”

Every day was anxiety.

Lottery numbers were useless if the timeline kept resetting.

He needed to stop it.

Then—

A voice.

[Really?]

His breath caught.

[Can you stop him?]

“…I’m not actually going crazy, am I?”

Time stopped.

Not visually—but he felt it. A resonance. A void pressing against his skin.

[I asked if you can stop him.]

“If I’m not the regressor, then all I can do is enjoy the ride.”

[Haha. Interesting.]

“Are you laughing?”

[Then shall we make a bet?]

“What are you talking about?”

[I’ll give you a chance. A chance to set things right.]

“With something more familiar to you.”

A blue light flickered before his eyes.

System Window

<Kang Hajin (Fixed Regression)
Status: Cannot be viewed (No Authority)
Traits: Cannot be viewed (No Authority)
Special: “Direction and Exchange” Mode ON>

※ Temporary Mental Care System activated to prevent confusion. ※

“…Finally.”

A system window.

He swung a fist through it. No physical contact—but immense psychological satisfaction.

[It will help you. There will be restrictions… but I look forward to it.]

Time resumed.

“Mental care…”

So that explained why he hadn’t gone insane yet.

He returned his empty iced tea and ordered an iced chocolate.

Sugar helped.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Our manager asked me to give you this… and would you consider working part-time here?”

“I’m retaking the CSAT. Maybe later.”

A cookie. A business card.

Not his priority.

He reopened the system window.

Most fields were blocked.

Access Denied (No Authority)

Authority belonged to the true regressor.

“So you’re helping me, but I can’t use you?”

He muttered complaints aloud.

And then—

The screen flashed.

Notifications flooded in.

[Reading of ‘The Life of a Fixed Regressor’ Complete!]
[You have been designated as the mentor of the selected regressor.]

[Basic Quest: “Find the Regressor” Registered.]
[Single Quest: “Find the Lost Dream” Registered.]

[Would you like to accept the quests?]

Was there even a choice?

Without hesitation—

He accepted them all.