Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 61

Chapter 61. Shouting to You (3)

The Cleopatra game somehow turned into a pride match between main vocals—and the “battle of honor” ended a lot faster than anyone expected.

“Hel—lo, Cleo pa—… ah, I’ll stop.”

The first one out was, of course, Han Seongwoo, who clearly wasn’t mentally prepared to have an embarrassing moment recorded on camera.

He couldn’t handle the combo of I might crack + this is humiliating, and forfeited on the spot.

“HELLO! CLEO-PATRA!”
“HELLO!! CLEOPATRA!!!”
“HEEEEELLO!!! CLEO!! PA!!! TRA!!!!”

The real shock was Jung Siwoo. Watching the so-called “Miro’s noble young master” go red up to his neck and scream high notes made the entire waiting room glitch for a second.

“I forfeit.”
“…Hyung, I didn’t know you were good at this.”
“If you can’t do even this in a practical-music department, you won’t survive drinking parties.”
“!!!!”
“Honestly, I could keep going, but the order doesn’t really matter. And I can’t wreck my throat.”
“Hyung! Then you could’ve stopped earlier!”
“Why would I? This was my chance to grind down the other team’s main vocal’s throat.”
“!!!!!!?”
“Yeah—who told you to provoke me first?”

Why does it feel like I’m the one who lost?

Hajin couldn’t close his mouth. He’d thought Siwoo was a quiet, straight-laced senior—turns out he was a slightly unhinged schemer.

“Alright, trainee Kang Hajin. You played with great passion. Now choose the performance order.”

“Ah, yes. Our team will…”

Hajin had won. Since this was a prize earned through Taehyun’s broadcast instincts (and a whole lot of “hair-yanking passion”), he needed to choose carefully.

He thought:

Earlier, Wonho said the Cinderella team is aiming for first.

The Cinderella team—led by Jung Siwoo and featuring Gongseok, Kim Wonho, and Joo Eunchan—had prepared a flashy masquerade-ball concept. They had a lot to set up, and more than anything, the main vocals’ throat condition (Siwoo and Gongseok) mattered. They’d prefer an early slot if possible.

And Blue Scandal will obviously want the last slot.

That one wasn’t “data” so much as Hajin’s read on Seongwoo. The song was big, the ending spot was big, and Seongwoo would want to close and stand out.

“Hm…”

Hajin glanced between Siwoo and Seongwoo.

Then… should I give them what they want?

“We’ll go second.”

Everyone—including Seongwoo—looked shocked at Hajin’s choice.

After trying that hard, why pick second? It wasn’t as punchy as first, and it didn’t get the lingering afterglow of last.

“Yes, Sad Ending team—second slot. Is there a reason?”

“I’m originally a center-type. So I want to boldly claim the center spot in the order, too.”

“Haha, but the center of Sad Ending isn’t trainee Kang Hajin, is it?”

“…So I have a small wish to at least claim the center spot in the running order.”

Seriously. Seo Taeil keeps trying to small-talk me every time we meet.

Complaining only in his head, Hajin smiled brightly anyway.

Thanks to Hajin’s choice, the remaining order got decided quickly.

〜〚TO THE TOP〛〜
Cinderella
SAD ENDING
BLUE SCANDAL

“Finally, the performance order for Miro Maze’s second mission, To the Top, has been decided. Today’s mission includes special mentors, so I hope you’ll all work to make your stages ones you won’t regret.”

At Taeil’s closing remarks, the trainees applauded in unison. They’d filmed enough now that at least they weren’t freezing up—honestly impressive.

Once Taeil and the production crew left, each team returned to their assigned area.

“Hyung… will we be okay going second?” Dan Haru asked, tense.

“Of course. We can win from second.”

Hajin patted Haru’s shoulder and smiled like a dependable leader.

“Haru, as long as you do well.”

“Gasp.”

“Hyung! Don’t scare the kid!”

“Our center. You can do great today, right? Hyung’s counting on you.”

“Stop putting pressure on him!”

Taehyun smacked Hajin’s back, but Hajin only gave Haru a thumbs-up.

“…!”

At that signal, Dan Haru—seventeen, the new center of “Shouting to You”—seemed to realize something. His eyes sparkled. He nodded and gave a thumbs-up back.

“Yes! I’ll do well!”

“Good. What’s our goal?”

“Make people cry!”

“And how much are we making them cry? Goals should be specific.”

“Uh… like… sobbing so hard they can’t breathe?”

“Kang Hajin! Don’t teach the kid weird stuff!”

Filming began for Miro Maze’s second mission, “To the Top!” When the stage—so huge it looked like someone had moved an entire canal indoors—appeared on the monitor, the trainees in the waiting room shrieked.

Definitely more full-scale since it’s a set studio.

The only ones who didn’t flinch at the scale were Taehyun (who’d already seen broadcast-sized sets on Boy’s Empire) and Hajin—who’d once spent his life backstage in places like this, sprinting around with an intercom.

I used to run until my lungs tore. Sitting in a waiting room like this feels weirdly new.

Then—on the monitor—the identities of the “special mentors” Taeil had teased were revealed.

“Today’s special guests are—”
“The original artists of the songs you’ll be performing!”

“Whoa… no way.”

The trainees all inhaled sharply as familiar faces appeared.

“Enderway’s unshakable center! Mentor Choi Yeonwoo.”
“Hello. I’m Choi Yeonwoo of Enderway.”
“And here—an equally familiar face. U-Pia’s main vocal, Mentor Cheong Hansol.”
“Hyung. Why didn’t you call me ‘our pride’? Are you embarrassed of me?”
“And a welcome face we haven’t seen in a while. The undisputed ballad empress—Mentor Sarin.”

“Hyung… what do we do?”

“I’m a huge fan of Choi Yeonwoo sunbaenim—aaaah!”

“So we’re performing in front of them? That’s insane…”

Sarin showed up?

While everyone else panicked, Hajin stared at Sarin on the monitor, genuinely startled.

Didn’t she fade out around this time? Did she come because she’s close with Taeil?

Seeing her again—after what felt like forever, across multiple lifetimes—she looked like more time had truly passed than he remembered.

She got married, did OSTs here and there… and then one day, she just disappeared from the industry.

He even remembered a time he’d worked under Kwon PD—when Kwon tried to recruit Sarin, got rejected hard, and drank himself sick afterward.

“Cinderella team, please move!”

“Cinderella fighting!”

“Fighting!”

At the assistant director’s cue, the first team headed to the studio. Fireworks burst on stage, announcing the mission’s start.

Hajin shook out his shoulders and took a breath—then suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs:

“Jung Siwoo—pride of Gaon Arts’ practical-music department! Tear the stage up!!!!”

Siwoo—mid-warmup, about to leave—stumbled like he’d been shoved from behind. The waiting room snickered. Hajin only shrugged and grinned.

If he’s doing it, he might as well smash it properly.

Then Hajin’s gaze slid to Seongwoo’s back, and his smile sharpened.

Your glorious finale?

I’m not letting you have it.

They’re all good.

Sarin watched the stage.

“Moodnight,” reinterpreted as a spy infiltrating a masquerade ball and stumbling into fated love, balanced the two main vocals well.

The orchestral arrangement was huge—honestly too big for trainees to carry cleanly—but the center, Joo Eunchan, anchored it with his tall frame and long lines. It gave the whole performance unexpected weight.

They choreographed this themselves, right?

Her eyes dropped to the evaluation sheet. Kim Wonho—choreography. She circled the note, thoughtful.

“Mentor Sarin, would you like to say a word as well?”

“……”

“Sarin?”

“…Ah—sorry.”

Startled, Sarin lifted the mic.

Get it together, Lee Sarin. You’re here to judge. Don’t become a hassle.

She slipped back into professional mode and smiled.

“I’m sorry. They were so impressive I kept reading the evaluation sheet.”

“Aren’t you looking a little too closely at someone else’s kids?”

“At this point, I’m wondering if we should steal them for our company.”

“Last time Lia also got greedy—what is it with you mentors?”

Seo Taeil smoothed it into a joke. Sarin hurried to follow, turning back to the trainees.

“I really enjoyed it. Jung Siwoo—your singing is incredible. It made me think… I’d be happy if I could sing even half that well.”

“Sunbaenim! If you say that, none of us can sing anymore!”

Enderway’s Choi Yeonwoo snatched the mic in mock horror, and the other mentors chimed in, insisting Sarin was still Sarin.

But Sarin meant it.

“No—really. After I gave birth, I… honestly can’t sing like I used to.”

The truth slipped out before she could stop it.

Sarin froze for a split second. The other mentors took it as humility and laughed it off, but Sarin’s mouth tasted bitter.

“…Still, since I’m a mentor, let me give one piece of advice. Wonho?”

“Yes!”

“When you dance in the back, you look confident and expressive. But when it’s your part, that confidence fades a little.”

“Ah… yes.”

“It might be because I’m a ballad singer, but it’s important to become a more confident version of yourself when you sing. To a singer, a song is something precious.”

At the sincerity in her voice, the trainees nodded. With Sarin’s comments, the first team left the stage.

Next was the team covering Sarin’s own signature song.

“Sad Ending team! Please come up!”

At Taeil’s cue, five boys in mismatched school uniforms stepped onto the stage.

“Alright, Sad Ending team. Please introduce your team.”

“Yes. We’ll introduce ourselves.”

A sharp-looking boy—probably the leader—exchanged quick glances with the others and adjusted their spacing.

“One, two—”

“Waaah—”
“Oh nooo!”
“Hhk… sniff…”

They immediately started crying.

And the five of them were crying with different levels of commitment.

One collapsed to the floor. One went face-down and slapped the stage. One turned around and waved a handkerchief dramatically toward somewhere off-camera.

“Oh my… what is that?”

“Are they crying because they’re ‘Sad Ending’?”

“They’re funny.”

The mentors burst into laughter. After about five seconds of theatrical sobbing, the center boy—face half-buried, still sniffling—lifted the mic again.

“Hello, we are—singing many kinds of breakups—”

“Sad Ending team!”

On cue, the other boys—still in their crying poses—shouted the team name together.

It felt like a musical sketch, and Sarin couldn’t help laughing too.

They’re interesting kids. I never expected this direction.

Her curiosity rose naturally. She looked down at their stage note.

<One-line stage intro — A shout to my most beautiful moment>

I hope they do well.

The wish formed quietly—then scattered before it could fully become words.