Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 54

Chapter 54. Ways to Drop a “Parachute” (1)

“Ah… yeah, this really is slander, so I shouldn’t, Writer-nim.”

Han Seongwoo’s face crumpled—beautifully.

Leaving the guy who couldn’t even manage his expression behind, Hajin turned as someone called his name from down the hall.

“Welp, they’re looking for me. I’ll head out first.”

“Yes, yes. See you at the next shoot, Hajin-ssi.”

“Hyung, good work.”

Hajin patted Seongwoo’s stiff shoulder—bang, bang—and walked off. Watching his back with sparkling eyes, the writer squealed.

“Oh wow, you two were close! I had no idea. Why didn’t you mention it in the interview earlier?”

“…Ah, n-no. It’s not like that.”

Seongwoo’s face didn’t loosen even as he forced out an awkward smile. An unfamiliar pressure—an unfamiliar kind of tension—hooked around his ankles and slowly dragged him down.

And—

That son of a bitch.

With his jaw tight and face hardened, Hajin was doing the exact same thing as he walked away.

Han Seongwoo really is a parachute hire.

It wasn’t just because he beat me.

It felt off the moment he started riding Joo Eunchan.

Seongwoo wasn’t stupid. I’d heard he’d trained for years, and in B-class he’d built enough trust to be called “class leader.”

A guy like that—would he really go after Joo Eunchan just because Eunchan got demoted from Special Class?

No.

Even if he hated him, he should’ve hidden it.

If Eunchan were truly a “parachute,” then to a trainee desperate to debut, the person who decides whether you debut is basically God.

Seo Taehyun proved it.

Even when the director’s behavior was dirty and petty, Taehyun—who wanted debut more than anyone—couldn’t say a word.

Sure, the others were kids. They probably heard the rumor and piled on without thinking.

But Seongwoo?

He moved like someone who knew what he was doing.

When I asked Eunchan about Seongwoo, he said this:

“It’s hard to explain, because he didn’t… directly do anything.”

“It’s just… whenever I talk to him, it’s suffocating. It always turns into my fault. My problem…”

“Anyway… it’s better not to get involved with that hyung.”

The kind of malice even Joo Eunchan—dense enough to miss a threat while it’s happening—could still feel.

The way Seongwoo chewed him up while carefully cultivating the image of a kind angel who “treats the parachute fairly” in front of everyone else.

So at first I thought he was just… a personality disaster. A rotten human being.

“Hyung Hajin, done with the interview?”

“Yeah. I’m stepping out for a second.”

“What—where are you goi—Hyung!”

I remembered the exact moment I became certain.

It was earlier—when I was still on the phone with Seo Taehyun.

“If you didn’t run away, fine. Hurry up. They said it’ll be your turn soon.”

“Yeah, I’m coming. Thanks.”

“Oh, and… honestly, I think you did way better than Han Seongwoo. Don’t let the result get to you.”

“…Huh? Ah. Thanks.”

Taehyun sounded more pissed about my battle score than I was.

And now that I thought about it, when I first picked Seongwoo as my opponent, Taehyun had been fired up too—telling me I had to win.

So I asked the question I’d been sitting on.

“Taehyun.”

“What—hold on. Yes, Writer-nim. Hajin-hyung says he’ll be right there!”

“Why do you hate Han Seongwoo?”

Taehyun was the kind of guy who’d even considered apologizing to Cha Minseok someday—just in case.

He showed dislike for the director, sure, but he wasn’t the type to bare his teeth easily.

Yet with Seongwoo, he didn’t bother hiding it.

That was rare.

Taehyun hesitated. Over the phone, I heard him move—like he was stepping somewhere quiet.

When the background finally went still, he said:

“The one who told me about Cha Minseok… was that hyung.”

“What?”

“Seongwoo-hyung told me. That the original offer from Rene was for me—and Cha Minseok knew, and sold me out to the director.”

“…Han Seongwoo told you that?”

“Yeah. But… he was smiling when he said it. We don’t even talk. He pulled me aside just to say that.”

Han Seongwoo knew about the conversation between the director and Cha Minseok.

He even knew the offer was originally meant for Seo Taehyun—something even Ji Suho didn’t know, because it was private contact with Rene.

At that point, you couldn’t not suspect him.

The moment I reached an empty practice room, I called Ji Suho.

“Hello?”

“Team Leader. I need to see you.”

“Now?”

“Yes. It’s urgent.”

When Seongwoo picked fights, when “Gyeongho” tried to push me out—I’d assumed Seongwoo was just a pathetic guy blinded by inferiority after being pushed aside by the rumored parachute.

If you’re desperate, you snap. If you’re starving for debut, you make mistakes.

This industry fries people.

Up to that point, he’d just been rotten.

But if he was the rumored parachute?

Then everything changed.

“This is sudden—”

“I think I figured out who the real parachute is.”

“What?”

“So I have two options now. One: I calmly explain the suspicious circumstances to you—the person responsible for this program.”

“….”

“Two: even if I get pulled from the show, I go around every community site saying, ‘Miro’s new survival show is rigged and has a pre-selected winner,’ and I spread it everywhere.”

“…Which one do you want?”

There was a beat.

Then—

“I’m coming now. Let’s meet at the café from last time.”

The moment I got his answer, I hung up and grabbed a taxi.

The results announcement replayed in my head:

Team B screaming because they won.
Team A getting scores that made no sense.
Joo Eunchan dropping out of Wings due to cumulative points.

If all of that had been manipulated just so Han Seongwoo could beat me…

“…Should I just kill him?”

If that’s the case, I don’t care if he’s the Chosen Returner or the Chosen Returner’s grandpa—

I’ll grab him by the collar and make sure he can’t debut in this life.

Seriously.

Ji Suho—about to be promoted to director—kept his expression stiff the entire time he listened.

Well, yeah. I opened with “rigging” the second the results ended.

And I still didn’t have hard proof. Only circumstances. So of course Suho had to be careful.

Even huge survival shows get wrecked by one rigging scandal.

In my previous life, I’d watched PDs get buried by exactly that.

And this was an in-house survival show that hadn’t even aired yet. If “rigging” got attached to it, they’d debut with a permanent “rigged idol” stigma.

“Just in case—you don’t think I’m talking nonsense because I’m mad I lost to Seongwoo.”

“Oh—no. I know. But… Seongwoo doesn’t really fit ‘parachute.’ He joined through auditions, and he even got pushed out of Special Class.”

“And the audition lead was the former director, right?”

“…”

“Before the ‘Eunchan is a parachute’ rumor, Seongwoo was always barely squeezing into Special Class at the cutoff line.”

“…That’s true.”

“I’m not saying it’s airtight. We need to dig. But if it’s real, you need to respond—so I’m telling you now.”

Suho took a sip of coffee and exhaled.

“Then… first, we verify whether the results could’ve been manipulated.”

“You said Mission 1 scores come from mentors, Miro’s New Talent Development Team, and the production crew, right?”

“Yes. Mentors’ scores—Taeil would know. New Talent’s scores—I personally reviewed. So if there’s a hole… it’s on production’s side.”

Production immediately made my mind jump to PD Kwon and Writer Go.

Could they rig a show for Han Seongwoo?

From what I remembered, they were editing demons who lived for buzz and ratings, sure—but bribery and corruption didn’t feel like their style.

They were the type to flip the table on a fixed poker game and start their own production company out of spite.

Wait.

Outsourced production?

Something clicked so hard it almost hurt.

“…Team Leader,” I said slowly. “What channel did you say this airs on?”

“Ntv.”

This program was outsourced. PD Kwon was from an outside company.

Which meant the broadcaster side would definitely have a supervising producer—CP, head, someone.

And if it was Ntv…

“Ntv’s supervising producer—the CP. Who is it?”

“Hold on… it’s this person.”

Suho pulled up a messenger profile and turned his phone toward me.

And I knew that face instantly.

“Oh my god.”

“He seems really senior… do you know him?”

“…Yeah. I know him.”

Five years later, on a massively popular national audition show, this exact guy got fired when a rigging scandal exploded.

“This guy’s the CP?”

“Yes, and… now that you mention it…”

Suho’s brows knit.

“Originally, Miro Maze wasn’t even planned as a TV broadcast. Smaller scale. But CP Yoon—after hearing a rumor somewhere—approached us first to schedule it on his channel. He even brought investment and sponsors.”

“So that’s why you were spending money like tomorrow didn’t exist.”

“We cut any PPL that would flip priorities, but… broadcast scheduling itself was a great offer. We accepted it…”

Suho rubbed his forehead like he’d just realized it might’ve been a mistake.

I organized the pieces in my head.

This is where I’d kill for a system notepad.

I leaned on my hand and told Suho—who still looked grim:

“Then let’s… leave it for now.”

We’d found the battlefield.

That was enough.

A few days later.

“All right—smile a little more! Wide and bright!”

A studio somewhere in the greater capital area.

“No, um… that’s not it… uh…”

“….”

“O-of course! It’s good! But you look too tense—one more time, please!”

They were shooting profile photos for the pre-release.

One set with a formal posture. One with a freer personal concept.

A simple shoot: look pretty. That’s it.

Watching from the side—hair neatly set and pinned—Seo Taehyun asked with genuine curiosity:

“How does that hyung even do stages?”

Kim Wonho, already finished and changed, added:

“Whoa. What is this? Hyung’s photo vibe is so bad.”

“No—he’s just bad at taking photos.”

“Even so… this is kinda…”

“I can hear you little punks.”

And Kang Hajin—the “hyung” in question—stared into the blinding studio lights and thought:

…Damn it.

The parachute problem might not be the problem right now.

An unexpected obstacle had appeared.