Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 12

Chapter 12. The Trainee Who Refuses to Debut (3)

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Trainee Dan Haru, in the middle of a crisis, thought:

Life really is all about real combat.

It was a truth he had felt many times, but this time the situation was especially tangled. He held back his tears—because crying here would feel like losing—but his head still hurt.

What do I do? This can’t go on.

His stress was close to the limit. Rather than being the shrimp whose back gets broken while whales fight, he’d rather become shark food—at least that would feel less unfair.

“Do sharks even eat shrimp?”

Even while furious, Haru’s brain still produced random question marks.

And for surprisingly logical reasons, the new trainee Kang Hajin came to mind.

“If there’s something you can’t really say elsewhere, tell me you want to go to the vending machine. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Hajin was a weird hyung.

From the moment they met, he had felt oddly close—no distance. Before Haru realized it, he’d ended up spilling everything: hobbies, worries about training, everything.

And Hajin was also the famous rumor magnet—the one who had already made the whole company buzz even before officially joining.

“Miro’s Zhuge Liang.”

“I heard he’s close with Seo Tae-il from Upia.”

“Team Leader Ji personally takes care of him.”

“His stats are insane—Rene wanted him too.”

“No, it’s because he’s from a powerful family, so they can’t treat him lightly.”

Haru didn’t know what was true, but one thing was clear:

Even though Hajin had just joined, his position was better than expected.

He was new—so he wasn’t tangled in old interests.
But he also seemed like someone who could speak up after hearing the story.

Once Haru calculated that much, he didn’t hesitate.

Right now—

Because Haru had boldly shouted “Let’s go to the vending machine!”, the practice room had erupted into laughter. Hajin, flustered, dragged Eunchan and Haru into an empty lounge.

And what arrived wasn’t silence.

It was something even worse:

Awkwardness.

< System Alert: It’s freezing. >

Shut up before I stab you, Hajin thought, shooting the system a glare as it started chatting again.

“Um… if you don’t have anything to say, should we go?”

“A-Ah—! I—!”

“Yeah?”

“You said earlier… if I had worries, I should talk to you!”

“Oh, yeah. What’s going on?”

Having finally decided on his first sentence, Haru pleaded with a face full of injustice:

“…The company keeps trying to debut us!”

What the hell are you saying?

Hajin blanked.

“Th—uh—”

He tried to sound calm and his voice cracked.

“Ahem. I mean… companies do debut people. That’s… kind of why we’re here.”

He tried to act neutral, but his confusion leaked into his tone. Teenagers were hard.

Haru’s voice softened.

“Well… yes, but.”

Beside him, Joo Eunchan sat quietly, watching Hajin with an unreadable expression.

“The Director is pushing a debut team. And there’s a parachute.”

“A parachute?”

“They’re trying to debut me and Haru together to bury that parachute.”

“Why you two?”

The story smelled like a disaster bomb. Hajin leaned forward without meaning to.

Eunchan answered calmly, in that low, steady voice:

“I’m from a rich family.”

“…What?”

Here was the situation.

Son Hyeonggu, Miro’s Director—treated like a founding contributor for debuting Upia—had recently missed a promotion due to weak results and a few incidents. He became anxious. That was why he had been showing up often at drinking parties with “important people.”

And apparently, one of those “important people’s” sons had recently become interested in being an idol.

“Everyone who’s been here knew. The Director takes money and pushes trainees.”

It was obvious some trainees were getting unfair opportunities. But in a survival-of-the-fittest world, weak trainees couldn’t complain.

And the Director’s greed became more blatant.

“Because of that parachute, the special class got completely rearranged to match the Director’s taste.”

“Special class?”

“A Class. Technically it’s A Class, but everyone calls it the debut-management class.”

That reminded Hajin of what Ji Suho had told him on day one:

“New trainees start in B Class. Miro has monthly evaluations and quarterly full evaluations. Only trainees who place in the top 7 in the quarterly evaluation can take A Class separately.”

“Is that basically a debut team?”

“Not exactly… but there are lots of perks, and they’ll be considered more when forming a debut lineup.”

At first, Hajin had only thought Miro was harsh.

But now—

“At first it was just that Seongwoo hyung got pushed down. He wasn’t fully safe anyway, so he couldn’t say much. Then one A-Class trainee got called into the Director’s office… and next evaluation he suddenly placed 11th. He always used to be 5th or 6th.”

After that, trainees in A Class who didn’t get along with the parachute were “cleared out”—demoted or left the company.

Then a name Hajin didn’t expect appeared.

“Minseok hyung left like that too…”

“…Minseok? Rene’s Cha Minseok?”

“You know Minseok hyung?”

Ah. He hadn’t debuted yet in this timeline.

Hajin quickly dodged the question with an excuse—something about hearing it from Rene’s Team Leader Jang Seoyoon.

“Anyway. So—”

Hajin summarized bluntly:

“So the Director wants you to debut, and you hate it because it’s unfair? Because the parachute is unfair?”

Honestly, once you debut, it’s still survival. And if the parachute’s family has influence, that could even protect the group or bring investment.

(If Hajin were truly just twenty, he’d be raging at the injustice.
But mentally, he had lived four bitter loops. He was twenty-nine plus.)

So he needed a real reason—something strong enough to act on.

Haru started listing reasons:

“First of all, I just hate the Director.”

“Very seventeen. Next.”

“If we debut like this, we’re just extras for that parachute hyung.”

“Capitalism is trash. Next.”

“I don’t want to ride the Director’s line. W hyungs did that and they disbanded.”

By “W,” he meant Project W—the four-member rock-band concept group that crashed hard after a lip-sync controversy at their own concert.

So that was the Director’s work too.

“That one, I get. Next.”

“Still not enough?!” Haru protested.

“This is about taking on a Director and a rich parachute. You need a killing blow.”

Hajin’s voice turned colder.

“If you debut and survive, it becomes every man for himself. The public isn’t stupid—they’ll know who has skill.”

Haru fell quiet, like a soaked baby rabbit.

Hajin didn’t retract his words.

Some people trained for years and never once stepped into a broadcast station. Debuting wasn’t guaranteed. Success wasn’t guaranteed.

A regular trainee “refusing to debut” could even look like mockery to someone else.

That level isn’t enough to move me.

Because Hajin’s quest wasn’t to build an “ethical debut group.”

It was to build a successful debut group.

If the parachute helped success, Hajin had no reason to remove him.

Then—

Eunchan spoke, biting his lip.

“They’re trying to pin the parachute image on me.”

Hajin blinked.

“On you?”

“I’m rich.”

“Okay, sure. Lucky you. But you’re still B Class, not A.”

“Exactly. At Upia’s concert, I was the only B-Class trainee who went up as a backup dancer. The Director ordered it. There were A-Class trainees who didn’t get chosen, but I was the one on stage.”

Hajin’s instincts flared.

“And they’re threatening me because they know I’m close with Haru. Either I accept being labeled a parachute—or I rewrite the contract and debut.”

“…Rewrite?”

Hajin snapped upright.

“Hold up. Rewrite what? A debut contract?”

“…Yes.”

That was it.

The alarm in Hajin’s head blared.

Bomb.

This wasn’t “debut pressure.”

This was trainee siphoning—trying to funnel trainees into some separate contract arrangement, likely for personal profit.

“So the Director’s trying to fill his own pocket.”

Hajin exhaled.

“Okay… now the story changes.”

Eunchan asked, still doubtful:

“…Can you help us?”

Only now did Hajin see it clearly: Eunchan didn’t look calm.

He looked exhausted—like someone who had already grown tired of the world.

A powerless resignation no eighteen-year-old should have to learn.

And for a moment, Hajin saw his own past self in that face.

He didn’t hesitate anymore.

“Approved.”

“…!!”

Alright.

Now how do we destroy this?