Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 17

Chapter 17. The Most Effective Way to Defuse a Bomb (2)

Ji Suho showed up at the meeting spot in thirty minutes, which was honestly insane. Considering he’d hung up on me in a hurry, he still approached pretty politely—though his jaw was clenched as he spoke.

“Why would you suddenly say something like that…?”

“You asked what was going on. I told you the facts.”

“I was seriously startled—what if other employees heard?”

I’ve always thought this, but for someone called Miro’s guardian spirit, Suho is… weirdly soft-hearted.

Right now, the two of us were eating a burger set at a nearby burger place—Suho having sprinted here the moment we ended the call. I did briefly wonder if an idol trainee should be eating this, but the smell of fries made that thought disappear instantly.

Well. If I feel guilty, I’ll run ten laps around the track and go to bed.

Suho stared at me with big, rabbit-like eyes.

“Director this, promotion that—what kind of airy nonsense is this?”

So I told him everything I’d learned from start to finish: the Director’s shameless schemes, the way he was abusing the trainees. Just in case, I didn’t mention Joo Eunchan or Dan Haru by name.

“…I had no idea.”

“Well, you were assigned to Enderway, weren’t you?”

“Still… to be in the company and not know any of this…”

Suho looked genuinely upset, teeth clenched.

“Anyway. I’m thinking we take this chance and cut the Director out of Miro entirely.”

“How? It won’t be easy. Even if people treat him like dead weight internally, he’s still a founding contributor.”

“……”

“People say he’s lost his touch, but they also say his eye for spotting promising trainees is still sharp.”

Sure. Sharp enough to pick the ones he can scam.

I picked the longest, crispiest-looking fry, dipped it deep into my milkshake, and shrugged.

“Team Leader.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the fastest way to remove a bomb?”

I took a bite—and the fry fell back into the milkshake. The slightly melted shake splashed.

“You detonate it. It’s the most certain. No worry it’ll go off later, no fear you’ll defuse it wrong.”

“…That isn’t safe.”

“Then what’s the safest way to detonate it?”

Suho’s eyes screamed How is detonation ever safe? but I kept going.

“Make the guy who planted the bomb detonate it.”

“That’s not safe either.”

“It is for me.”

“……”

“I’m not the kind of man who worries about the safety of a Director who scams minors.”

You plant it, you clean it up.

Suho twitched at my calm smile.

“Is that what that phrase means…?”

“So what exactly are you planning to do?”

He looked completely lost, but clearly curious.

I handed him the thick bundle of A4 pages inside the L-shaped file folder I’d set beside me.

“What is this?”

“Read it.”

“…‘He who seeks to touch the sun, fly upward’?”

“Keep going.”

“Working title: Finding Miro’s Icarus… This is…?”

I watched his face go blank as he flipped all the way to the last page—then I hit him with the pitch, clean and straight.

“It’s a survival show. An in-house survival program to decide Miro’s next boy group.”

Who gets to decide who “deserves” to debut?
No one, really.

But the public can. And Miro has hardcore company stans who obsess over every new boy group anyway—because Miro’s always pushed strong concepts and a clear market.

“There’s no reason it can’t work.”

“This is what you’re going to bring to the CEO at the next meeting.”

“Miro… a survival show!? With what budget?”

“Oh, that’s already prepared. Can you open to page 8?”

Suho turned to page 8 like he was hypnotized.

There were names of investment firms already interested, big brands open to sponsorship, and contact info for producers and outsourced production companies that could run the whole thing.

“I worked in broadcasting in my first life.”

“But you said you were an idol trainee.”

“That was briefly in my teens. I quit and figured out how to survive.”

“And you said you worked at an agency too.”

“That was during a university leave of absence.”

Suho stared at me, thinking hard, then asked seriously—

“…What haven’t you done?”

I answered like it was nothing.

“Idol.”

Suho, for whatever reason, actually accepted that and went back to rereading the proposal—over and over.

It made me nervous. Like I was waiting for a formal approval stamp.

“The Director doesn’t care about the next debut team. If anything, he’ll be desperate to siphon off any good trainees before the lineup is decided. So we defend first—before he pulls anything.”

“A survival show is… ‘defense’?”

“You’re not debuting everyone in the company anyway. And honestly, with how things are right now, anyone not in the special class doesn’t even get a real chance.”

Even in internal survival shows, there can be “fixed picks.” But the big advantage is simple:

It’s broadcast.

If you’re cut internally, no one remembers your dream.
If you’re on TV, everything changes.

“Even if they don’t debut, they can at least stamp their faces into the minds of all the K-pop drifters who are desperate for the next rookie.”

Once someone shows potential publicly, their position inside the company shifts—and other agencies might start calling.

This was the “fair opportunity” I promised Eunchan.

Suho pointed to the list again.

“Proposal aside—how did you get these investors?”

“Trade secret.”

He clearly wanted to ask how I even got “interest” on paper, but I wasn’t about to open that box.

“If you know, you’ll get hurt.”

“This isn’t illegal, right?”

“…Not yet.”

Anyway, nothing was finalized—just “expressed interest.” The deeper discussion could wait until this became real inside Miro.

“I’ll review it. This isn’t something you can just drop on the table casually. Miro’s never done a survival show.”

I nodded. I wasn’t trying to order him around like a minion.

Now that I’d thrown the first card down, the next step was figuring out how to actually trigger the bomb—and do it safely—

Bzzzz.

“Oh. Sorry, I’m getting a call.”

“It’s fine. I’ll read.”

I checked my phone.

It was Dan Haru.

‘…Huh? I didn’t summon him.’

I’d never even recruited him as a “companion.” A nasty chill ran through me.

My instincts are good at this.

“Hello? What—what is it?”

“Hyung, please help Taehyun hyung!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Taehyun hyung is at Rene right now! I think he went to see Minseok hyung and they got into a huge fight!”

“What?”

The rain-soaked kitten finally snapped.

God damn it.

At Rene

“Dan Haru!”

“Hyung…”

“…Manager Jang.”

“We meet again like this, Team Leader. Should we talk separately for a moment?”

The meeting room in Rene’s new building—my first time there—still looked like a shiny Greek temple.

Standing there to greet us, of course, was Manager Jang Seoyoon.

I left the complicated “traffic control” to Ji Suho and went in with Haru to where Seo Taehyun was.

“Bright smile” my ass.

Cherry Boy was sitting in the corner with a face like he was carrying the entire world’s rebellion on his back.

His eyes were still full of rage as he avoided my gaze. He even had scratches on his usually clean face—so yeah, it looked like he really threw hands.

I don’t know why, but something in me boiled.

I hadn’t known him long. Had I really gotten attached that fast?

A thousand scoldings flashed through my mind:

Are you out of your mind? You’re a trainee and you hit someone? You should be home watching Netflix, not catching charges! What if you debut later—what then? Are you a gangster? Is this what you’ve trained for?

And out of all those thoughts, the first thing that came out of my mouth was—

“Seo Taehyun.”

“……”

“Did you win?”

No—wait—this isn’t—

“Hyung…?”

“……”

Haru and Taehyun both stared at me, wide-eyed. Honestly, I was the most shocked person in the room, but it was too late to take it back, so I leaned into it as naturally as I could.

“Don’t tell me you lost.”

“…I WON!”

“Great. What a proud accomplishment, you idiot.”

“……”

The way he snapped instantly—pure teenage storm-phase.

God, dealing with teens is exhausting.

“Must be nice, Taehyun. Beating Cha Minseok.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. You don’t know anything.”

With Taehyun properly derailed into full rebellion mode, of course his mouth wasn’t going to be pretty. Haru looked like he’d never seen Taehyun like this before.

But honestly? This was easier to deal with than his forced sunshine mask.

“Yeah? What don’t I know?”

“……”

“Are you scared you’ll never debut, like Boy’s World—because you got pushed out by concept and position battles?”

“Are you panicking because you feel like your peak already flashed once… and went out?”

Taehyun stared at me like I’d ripped his insides open.

I rested my chin in my hand, relaxed, and prepared the next uppercut.

“Or is it the rage—at the Director who threatened you’ll never debut, and at Cha Minseok who ditched you and ran to Rene?”

“…Hyung—did you hear everything that day?”

“Now tell me. What don’t I know? Give me something. I’ll take notes.”

Taehyun turned red with panic and bit down on his lip so hard it looked painful.

This idiot really doesn’t know how to protect his own body.

So I smacked his leg.

“Agh! Are you crazy!? Why are you kicking my leg!?”

“You’re an idol trainee, aren’t you?”

“……”

“Relax your mouth. If you scar your lip, are you going to Photoshop it frame by frame?”

He froze, realized—oh shit—and tried to check his lip, then remembered he was supposed to be in “I hate everything” mode and dropped his hand aggressively.

“…Does it matter? I’m not debuting anyway. Who cares if I bite my lip.”

That—finally—was his real truth.

And it was uglier, more shredded than I expected.

His voice cracked, heavy like it was sinking into itself.

“I’m quitting.”

Taehyun declared it with a face like he’d decided for real.

A path completely opposite from the Taehyun I remembered.