Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 50

Chapter 50. Daylight (6)

A few hours before the mentor evaluation—

“Hyung. I have something to say.”

“Huh? Me?”

“The third-verse chorus is tough, right?”

“…….”

“Want to switch with me?”

At Hajin’s suggestion, Gong Seok hesitated.

The third-verse chorus came right after the second half of the dance break. For Gong Seok, it was undeniably demanding. But the problem wasn’t whether it was hard—it was why Hajin was offering to swap.

Does he think I can’t pull it off?
He knew his breathing collapsed by that point. He knew his stamina didn’t hold. Still, he wanted to finish what he was assigned. He didn’t want to run.

And Hajin’s part… what was Hajin’s part again?

Ah—the ad-lib. High line, but… Gong Seok could probably handle it—

Before he could spiral any further, Hajin cut in, like he could read every thought on his face.

“My ad-lib is really hard. It’s a bit too high for me.”

“Ah… r-really?”

“Yeah. And for that section, all we have to do is swap positions—just you and me—so it won’t get complicated. So I was thinking… I take the chorus, and you take the ad-lib.”

The moment Hajin made it crystal clear that it wasn’t you can’t do it—it’s I’m the one struggling—and laid out a simple solution, Gong Seok’s tension loosened.

He nodded without thinking much longer.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine with it.”

Hajin smiled, as if that settled everything.

“Suffering? Come on. Then shall we practice?”

“Yeah!”

Hajin needed a result that clearly showed growth compared to the mid-check. And after hearing Doha’s blunt diagnosis, not testing this would’ve been stupid.

Besides—this could actually help Gong Seok, too. Unlike the chorus that demanded brutal breathing control, the ad-lib section would let him show range and color.

So Hajin swapped without guilt.

And the result was—unsurprisingly—a success.

“Hajin is… overwhelming.”

No matter how many lines he had or didn’t have, no one could deny it: Hajin was driving the stage now.

Team A’s <Daylight>—tender, wistful, fresh—was one kind of daylight.

But Team B’s <Daylight> became something else entirely.

Under Hajin’s firm vocals, overwhelming volume, and that uniquely refreshing belting style, their stage turned into a power-fresh performance that charged forward like it had momentum of its own.

Someone watching thought, This feels like an anime opening.

Like a shounen manga OST—something hot swelling up in your chest.

And as the song neared its end, the final line arrived.

Hajin, who had started the first line, returned to center again. And once more, he reversed the choreography—so the member behind him remained visible the entire time—smiling as if he was genuinely happy to see them.

Hello, “me.”
Nice to finally meet you.

“…Ah.”

As Hajin stepped backward and finished with his back pressed lightly against his partner behind him, Lia finally understood the nuance she’d been sensing.

“…He met another version of himself.”

It wasn’t “Hi, I’m Hajin.”

It was greeting the other “me” he’d finally found.

Had the entire staging—those pairs, the constant searching—been built for that?

Lia couldn’t help but admire the interpretation, and she had to admit: Taeil had been right. Team B’s stage really was interesting.

“This is exactly the kind of stage you like.”

“Right?”

“You wrote the lyrics like that on purpose, didn’t you? Like… with intention.”

Taeil only shrugged as he finished writing and set down his pen.

“Does it matter what I intended? It’s their song now. Their interpretation becomes the original.”

To some, it might seem like a tiny nuance.

But a tiny nuance could create a whole story, an entire world.

And Miro valued details like that.

Watching people find hidden meaning in a song he wrote always made Taeil quietly proud. In a good mood, he lifted his microphone.

“Honestly… after I made this song, I thought about it a lot.”

“Like—should we just use it ourselves?”

“Yeah. It felt too precious to give away. And our fourth member sang the guide so well.” Taeil paused, then looked out at them. “But after seeing today’s stage…”

“…….”

“I’m really glad we gave it to you. Thank you for turning it into a good song.”

“Thank you!”

A sincere compliment from the original creator had a strange power—lungs that felt shredded suddenly felt twice as big.

Team B bowed deeply, shouting their thanks. Taeil’s gaze settled on Hajin at center—hands neatly folded, posture straight, listening carefully to every word.

If I say more, it’ll look like favoritism…

But after a stage like that, saying nothing felt like the opposite kind of unfairness.

So once the mentors finished their brief comments—right before Team B stepped off—Taeil lifted the mic again.

“Hajin.”

“Yes?”

“You got a little greedy, didn’t you?”

Hajin looked embarrassed—then answered with his signature bright smile instead of words.

And that smile, more than any clumsy explanation, landed like a solid punchline.

“Alright. Everyone, please return to your seats. The result of the first mission will be revealed shortly.”

The scoring that would decide their fate began.

Recording paused for score calculation, and the cast was given a short break. While everyone headed back toward the waiting area, chatting and predicting results, Hajin moved against the flow and found Ji Suho standing off to the side of the set.

“Oh, Hajin. Why aren’t you heading to the waiting room?”

“Park Jaeyoung—Jaeyoung. Is he okay?”

“Huh? Ah… you must’ve been really startled. His fever went down. He’s resting with an IV. I got a message.”

Since Hajin had complained earlier that Suho still called him “Hajin-ssi” even with cameras rolling, Suho had switched to casual speech—and patted his shoulder.

Even with reassurance, Hajin couldn’t fully relax.

Then Suho glanced around and added carefully.

“But… he might end up dropping out.”

“…Why?”

“Partly because he couldn’t participate today. And… his parents were really shocked when he collapsed. We’re still discussing it, so don’t worry too much. Focus on filming.”

The moment Hajin heard that, his breath caught.

That red window—still blinking.

Jaeyoung collapsing out of nowhere.

<Sp3ci@l Qu3st!>
:I gave you an opportunity. Take it.
Failure Penalty: Mental care system destroyed -1000000000000000000000000000000%

“Hajin?”

“…If Jaeyoung contacts you, please tell me.”

That was all he said before hurrying away from the set.

A nauseating sensation rose from deep inside.

This damn…

He wanted to grab the system by the collar right there, but there were people everywhere. Swallowing his anger, he slipped down to a rarely used bathroom on a lower floor, locked the door, and glared at the still-blinking red window.

“Was it you? This—did you do this to Jaeyoung?”

The window didn’t answer.

Hajin didn’t back down.

“Hey. Say something like earlier. What—did you get scared and run? I’m asking if you did that.”

The window crackled, sparks crawling across the edges. Text flickered like an error, appearing and disappearing, until a single line stabilized.

<Does that matter?>
<What matters is that because Park Jaeyoung is out, you got the spotlight.>

“I didn’t need something like this.”

<Ha ha. Really?>

“What are you? You’re not that system.”

His throat burned. Anger tightened the back of his head. He forced himself to stay calm.

“Fine. Then why Jaeyoung? What did he do wrong? He was 19th—he’s been killing himself trying to keep up because he has to. Who are you to make him drop out?”

<Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.>

“What the hell are you laughing at, you bastard.”

<Haha. You still live in this world so naively.>

The text stopped.

Then the bathroom lights flickered—motion sensor, sure, but not like this. The entire room flashed.

<Hajin.>

“…What the—”

<Stop worrying about other people and just do you.>

The flashing stopped abruptly.

With a pop, the space brightened—

“Those who would reach the sun, rise high. The journey to become Miro’s Icarus!”

Hajin was standing in the studio.

Filming was already in progress.

“W-what is this?”

“Hajin, what’s wrong? You’ve been weird since earlier—are you sick?”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

This wasn’t regression.

This was—

“Now then! Miro Maze’s first mission, Daylight! We will announce the results for the two teams!”

…He’d been shoved forward in time.

And it was obvious who did it.

<What? Should I have sent you back to two days ago instead?>

So it wasn’t only rewind.

There was fast-forward too.

Hajin hid his trembling hands by gripping his sleeves behind his back.

“Miro Maze, first mission Daylight! Which team has won—show us the result!”

The big screen alternated between Team A and Team B profile photos.

This was the part that usually dragged on for minutes.

<Yeah? Then let’s fast-forward that too.>

“What—”

The studio blinked again.

Not even three seconds passed—then the result slammed onto the screen.

<TEAM B WIN!>

“Yes! Out of 500 points total—472 to 486! Feather rank wins! Congratulations!”

“No way!”
“Oh my god—we won!”
“We won!”

Everyone around him screamed.

Hajin couldn’t even breathe.

The red window crackled like it was about to tear. The graphics fragmented—then reassembled, ominous.

<Hajin. Do you really think you would’ve won without this ‘opportunity’?>

Blink.

The battlers’ scores appeared.

<Lee Yugeon (83.75) WIN vs Kim Wonho (82.49)>

Blink again.

<Han Seongwoo (93.15) WIN vs Kang Hajin (92.99)>

…What?

“…Han Seongwoo, with 93.15 points, has won the battle by 0.16 points over Kang Hajin. Congratulations.”

Hajin’s vision went white.

<I told you, Hajin.>
<Just do you.>

He lost.

And if this thing was right—

Then his victory, his screen time, his “Daylight”…

Had been bought with Jaeyoung’s collapse.

Hajin swallowed bile.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes.

“…What do you want from me?”