Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 47
Chapter 47. Daylight (3)
The moment I heard that Park Jaeyoung had collapsed, one thought flashed through my head.
This is that bastard’s doing, isn’t it?
The red system window.
Was it really calling Jaeyoung collapsing an opportunity?
Or worse—did it make a perfectly healthy kid collapse just to “test” me?
<Is this really the time to think about that?>
<Probably not.>
“Hyung, hurry! The PD is looking for you!”
Before I could process anything else, the trainees dragged me along. We stopped in front of a practice room on the fifth floor.
“Ah, Hajin.”
“Hajin’s here?”
“What happened to Jaeyoung?”
The moment I saw Ji Suho standing there with PD Kwon and Writer Go, I stepped forward.
“What’s going on?”
Suho reached out as if to calm me down.
As if that would work.
“It’s just a bad cold—flu symptoms. His fever spiked, so he’s at the ER getting fluids. He’ll be fine.”
“…Ah.”
“More importantly, it’s mentor evaluation day. We’ll probably have to go ahead without Jaeyoung.”
I noticed a camera rolling.
My brain switched gears automatically. I could already see the teaser edit forming.
Team B—the underdogs of Miro Maze! After shocking everyone at the interim check… a sudden crisis strikes before the mentor evaluation?! Three hours to reorganize the stage! Can they survive?
<You’re disturbingly good at this.>
I used to write subtitles freelance after quitting assistant directing.
No. Focus.
“We need to reorganize immediately, including Jaeyoung’s parts. Even if the performance video uses the original version, today—”
“Yes. Understood. Let me gather the team and report back with our revised distribution.”
“Of course. This room’s set up. Run it again if you need to. Send the revised part sheet to the writer.”
“Got it.”
I couldn’t keep my face neutral.
Where were Jaeyoung’s lines? His positions? His transitions?
“Hyung, what do we do? We have less than three hours.”
“How do we redo formations in time?”
“Stop talking.”
We didn’t have the luxury of panic.
“Call everyone. Now.”
The Only Good News
The one small mercy was that Jaeyoung was Sub Vocal 3. His total lines weren’t large.
Should I be grateful it wasn’t Seok-hyung?
Even thinking that made me angry.
If survival shows want drama, fine—but this kind of forced crisis storyline can go to hell.
And—
There wasn’t an obvious replacement.
If we prioritized formations, whoever took his parts would end up with breathing problems.
If we prioritized skill, we’d have to rebuild everything.
“We have to choose.”
Silence.
“Which is faster? Major formation overhaul, or someone swallowing all his parts? I think formation changes are better.”
They stiffened at that.
But I had a reason.
“We’re going from nine members to eight. That alone forces formation changes. Odd to even is worse than odd to odd.”
Nine to eight meant symmetry shifts. Center axes change. Diagonals collapse.
And adding extra lines on top of that?
Impossible.
“So we redesign formations with minimal disruption—”
“Hajin.”
“Yeah, Seok-hyung. Quickly.”
He cut in.
“Then why don’t you do it?”
“…What?”
“You already know all the lyrics. You sing through every run in practice. And you have the fewest lines right now. If you take all of Jaeyoung’s parts… that’s the fastest solution.”
I went silent.
Right on cue, the red window slammed into view.
<Sp3ci@l Qu3st!>
You said you wanted a chance. Take it.
Failure penalty: Mental Care System Destroyed.
You absolute lunatic.
“Hajin-hyung should do it.”
“Yeah. There’s no time.”
“Hyung, please.”
Whether it was trust or avoidance of responsibility, I couldn’t tell.
Pressure pressed in from every side.
“Hajin, we’re running out of time!”
“…We’ve decided.”
“Okay, then send the revised—”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“I’m doing it. All of Park Jaeyoung’s parts.”
After this is over, I’m tearing everything down.
Meanwhile — The Mentors Arrive
The mentors gathered: in-house trainers, MC Seo Taeil, and a guest brought in through his connections.
“Oh wow, Seo Taeil. At this rate you’ll be a great-great-grandfather soon.”
“Great-great-grandfather? My juniors still call me hyung.”
“Have some shame. Thirteen-year veteran.”
“And you—kids these days don’t even know you debuted in Themis.”
Lia, main vocalist of Rene’s girl group Themis, laughed. She and Taeil had been friends for years.
“Thanks for coming.”
“I was bored. Though it’s depressing to realize I’m old enough to be a mentor.”
“They’re good. Seriously good.”
“I read the evaluation sheets.”
She paused.
“There’s someone who auditioned for us before, right? Seo-yoon unni mentioned him.”
“Ah. Kang Hajin.”
“She told me to watch him closely. Is he that good?”
Taeil hesitated.
“He’s good. But… it’s complicated.”
“What does that mean?”
“He tends to minimize his parts. I told him he wasn’t being greedy enough.”
Lia flipped through the sheets.
Then froze.
“Wait. You said Kang Hajin?”
“Yeah.”
“He has the most parts now.”
“…What?”
Taeil leaned over.
Hajin’s name was printed repeatedly across the revised sheet.
“Oh.”
“A member dropped out. If he’s taking everything, he’d better deliver.”
Taeil frowned.
If Hajin succeeded, it would be “as expected.”
If he failed, he would look greedy and reckless.
It was a trap.
When Hajin entered the room, Taeil studied him carefully.
He looked exhausted. Thinner.
But sharper, too. The puffiness gone. His narrow eyes stood out more.
“What, that’s Kang Hajin?”
“Third from the left.”
“Good visuals. But I see why we hesitated before.”
“And I see why you wanted him.”
“Seo Taeil, please move to your mark.”
The room settled.
Lights adjusted.
On cue, Taeil began.
“Those who seek to reach the sun, rise higher. The first mentor evaluation begins. Are you ready to show us your Daylight?”
“Yes!”
“That was quiet. Are you ready?”
“Yeees!”
Satisfied, Taeil turned.
“B Team leader Kang Hajin. You finished the monthly evaluation in 10th place—just missing Wings. How was training as leader?”
Silence.
Taeil sighed inwardly. It was a cruel question.
In situations like this, trainees usually answered with something safe.
But—
“Uh—huk.”
The sound came out wrong.
Not confident.
Not composed.
A small, sharp hitch in Hajin’s breath.
And for the first time that day—
Taeil’s smile faltered.