Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 46
Chapter 46. Daylight (2)
Before Hajin could even recover from the first punch that knocked out three teeth, Lee Doha followed up with a full combo—rapid-fire and merciless in a way Hajin had never seen from him.
“You’ve got range. And you’re good at pushing notes while belting. It might be your technique, but instead of just forcing high notes, your pitch movement is dynamic. When you switch between full voice and falsetto, your tone becomes much more attractive. And if not that, your sense of rhythm is solid—you can carry mid-to-low melodies where the beat loosens and you have to lean into the groove.”
“Wait—hold on—”
“In Daylight, the A-part of the chorus starts high and stays high. That kind of part suits someone with a naturally light, effortless upper register, or someone who can sustain that placement cleanly the whole way through. On our team, that’s Haru or Siwoo. You’d fit the B-part that follows much better. It matches your color.”
…Is he better than the system?
<What did you say?>
Stop reading my thoughts.
Doha didn’t slow down.
“You said you took the third-verse ad-lib. If I were distributing parts, I’d give the ad-lib to someone else and put you on the main chorus line in the third verse—or stack harmonies with you. That section needs to push forward with strength and certainty. You have volume and proper support. If you’re the one doing the ad-lib, the person singing the chorus underneath you has to be just as solid. But from what I know, none of the Feather-class members have that kind of foundation yet. Your ad-lib could overpower them. And also—”
“Okay! I get it. Stop hitting me.”
“…I’ve never hit you.”
He meant his words were.
If Doha kept going, Hajin felt like his already fragile mental state would collapse. He raised one hand in surrender and pressed the other to his temple.
“Telling me I can’t pull off my own parts feels the same as hitting.”
“No. That’s completely different.”
Doha scratched the back of his neck.
The universal sign for: I’m about to say the real thing.
Hajin braced himself.
“Hajin, you…”
“Yeah. Go ahead. I’m ready.”
“This time too… you gave the best parts away first, didn’t you? The parts everyone else would shine in.”
“….”
Silence.
Because it was true.
“I noticed it during the monthly evaluation. You always take what’s left. You give people the parts they’re strongest in, then you take whatever remains—the parts they can’t do or don’t want.”
“….”
“I don’t know if this is what Taeil meant by ‘you didn’t get greedy’… but from what I see, you’re not greedy at all. Why aren’t you taking the parts you’re best at? It’s not like you don’t know your own abilities.”
“…Maybe I don’t. Right now it feels like you know me better than I do.”
“No. You read other people’s abilities as well as the trainee development team does. You gave me the dance break because you knew I could handle it. So you’re saying you don’t know your own skill level? That doesn’t make sense.”
Doha’s gaze didn’t waver.
And Hajin hated how exposed it made him feel—like something he’d buried was being dragged into the light.
“…I’m just curious.”
“….”
“Whether you actually believe in yourself. Whether you actually want something.”
Then Doha asked the final question.
“Do you really want to debut?”
Hajin couldn’t answer.
The First Time He Ran
When does a person first experience real defeat?
For Hajin, it was a strange question.
As a kid, he had always been above average.
Even when money was tight, he was good at most things—sports, grades, even trivial competitions.
When he passed his first trainee audition, he wasn’t surprised. He had expected it.
But when a smart kid knows he’s good, certain habits form:
Laziness when something feels “easy enough.”
Impatience toward people who can’t keep up.
Pride disguised as logic.
Craving recognition when underestimated.
And a thousand ways to rationalize it all.
He wasn’t someone who never worked hard.
He just always stopped at the point where he could still say:
“I could’ve done more if I really tried.”
Because that excuse left him an exit.
So when “good enough” stopped being enough—
when he’d have to give everything and risk still failing—
He ran.
Not because he didn’t want it.
Because he was terrified of failing after truly trying.
That day had been his first escape.
And his first real defeat.
So what about now?
Was he running again?
Mentor Evaluation Day
“Hyung. What are you thinking about?”
“Huh?”
“Why do you keep zoning out today?”
Kim Wonho nudged him.
Hajin shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“For ‘nothing,’ you look like a crown prince who just lost his country.”
Hajin laughed despite himself.
“Thanks for promoting me.”
“Honestly, based on visuals, Eunchan fits that role better.”
“He’s more like a northern duke. Looks cold, secretly warm.”
“…I understood ‘warm.’ That’s it.”
Wrong audience.
“It’s nothing. I just didn’t sleep much.”
That part was true.
Hajin patted Wonho’s shoulder.
“You ready?”
“I just worked hard. You told me to.”
“Think you can beat Yugeon?”
“Don’t know. But neither of us has many lines.”
“Why?”
“I rap. And Doha’s on our team. As for Yugeon… I don’t think his live vocals are that strong. Siwoo didn’t give him much. He didn’t complain. Dance-wise, Taehyun and Eunchan are center.”
Reasonable.
“What about Han Seongwoo?”
“That guy took the killing part. The ‘Hello, it’s me’ line.”
“That’s surprising. I thought they’d give it to Taehyun.”
Wonho shrugged.
“He argued he needed one guaranteed-impact part since he’s in a battle. Said you’re already leader and have plenty.”
“And Taehyun just agreed?”
Wonho snorted.
“Doha suggested giving it to Taehyun at first. But Taehyun said it doesn’t matter what part he gets—whatever he touches becomes the killing part anyway.”
Hajin couldn’t argue with that.
“That’s annoyingly hard to refute.”
“Siwoo and Doha agreed too.”
After that rooftop conversation with Doha, Hajin had felt like this—quietly unsettled.
Get it together, Kang Hajin. It’s mentor evaluation day.
Even if the chorus A-part wasn’t the best fit for him, there was no time to change anything.
He would deal with it later.
That was when—
The system window flickered.
The usual blue tint turned red.
<Really?>
“…What the hell.”
“Huh? What?”
Before Hajin could react—
“Hyung! Hajin hyung!”
“It’s bad!”
Team members rushed in, pale.
“Jaeyoung—Jaeyoung was taken to the ER!”
“What?”
“He has a 39-degree fever! The PD and managers are looking for you!”
“What about the mentor evaluation?!”
The system window pulsed again.
<If you have the chance this time, will you still run?>
Hajin couldn’t answer.