Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 7

Chapter 7. The Crazy One in This Neighborhood Is Me (2)

— — —

My strike lasted exactly ten minutes.

< System Alert: The system also declares a strike… >

“Fine. Let’s all die together then.”

< System Alert: Crazy bastard… >

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The system window trembled violently. From what I’d learned over the past few days, though, this thing didn’t actually have the option to abandon me. That mysterious “voice” had handed it over specifically to assist me.

So if we were bound together—

I’d squeeze out every last drop of utility.

< System Alert: Processing input… >

The message blinked repeatedly, as if the system was stuck calculating an impossible equation.

This was the moment.

From experience, this is when you pretend to soften slightly.

“Listen carefully, System. Can I just call you that? It’s awkward without a name.”

< System Alert: ……. (On guard against the Fixed Regressor) >

“I’m not asking to be omnipotent. I’m a reasonable person. But objectively speaking, you’re being uncooperative. This isn’t much different from when you didn’t exist.”

< System Alert: ……. (Still on high alert) >

“Let’s find middle ground. Negotiation. If I clear these quests properly, that benefits everyone. So.”

I smiled and clasped my hands.

“There are skills, right?”

The window flickered.

< System Alert: …I’m not sure what you mean. >

“You can use them. The Selected Regressor can.”

Earlier, when I demanded something, it had said—

< System Alert: (Fixed) Separate skills are not provided to the Regressor… >

“See? You didn’t say they don’t exist. You said they’re not provided to the Fixed Regressor. That’s discrimination. I’m risking my life mentoring this guy, and this is how I’m treated?”

The system crackled harder.

I crossed my legs and rested my chin on my hand.

Kang Hajin Negotiation Rule #27: Control posture, control the table.

“So skills exist as a stat. Which means there’s room to maneuver.”

< System Alert: …The system is frightened by the (Fixed) Regressor’s madness! >

“Good. Let’s get comfortable.”

Ten minutes later—

After carefully pressuring, prodding, and threatening eternal regression out of spite, the system window reappeared—pale, flickering, and visibly unstable.

< System Alert: Skill System (Update!) registered. >

The (Fixed) Regressor ‘Kang Hajin’ may ‘self-create’ skills necessary for quest completion.

< System Alert: This is not a default patched system for the user! (Error) >
< System Alert: Until stabilization, creating and using skills will require compensation. (Penalty) >
< System Alert: Would you like to create a skill? (Y/N) >

I’d successfully ripped open the skill system by fully committing to the unhinged psycho routine.

There was a penalty attached—but manageable.

If the Selected Regressor was the “player,” then I was closer to an “NPC.”

Players earn skills.

NPCs come preloaded.

If I couldn’t receive skills, I’d redefine the setting.

I pressed Create.

What did I need?

Bomb detector? Too broken. Penalty would crush me.

Raw idol stat boost? Premature.

Then—

“Something that lets me perfectly express whatever I think or imagine. In song or dance.”

< System Alert: More specific criteria required. >

“An expression amplifier. Whatever I imagine—abstract or concrete—I can output it perfectly through performance.”

Pause.

< System Alert: Measuring skill creation probability… >
< System Alert: Skill effective for quest progression! Probability increased. >
< System Alert: Skill creation possible! >
< System Alert: Create skill <As You Say It>? (Y/N) >

Why do you keep asking?

I hit Y without hesitation.

Back to Miro.

Seo Tae-il was watching.

He had only shown up because the director insisted. Usually, this kind of test was used to eliminate trainees the director disliked.

He hated being used as an excuse.

But he also had ambition.

One day, he wanted to personally shape Miro’s next idol group.

“If one of them is going to sing my songs someday,” he had thought, “I can’t just pick anyone.”

He’d planned to leave if today disappointed him.

Until he heard Hajin.

Upia’s debut song.

Even their original main vocalist had struggled with it at first.

But this applicant—

Handled it frighteningly well.

“Racing—let it flow more. It needs to rhyme with ‘here.’”

“Yes. I’ll try again.”

“Strong, but don’t overpower it. Keep the rhythm. Chew the diction.”

One take.

Clean.

Tae-il’s brows lifted slightly.

He takes direction insanely well.

Was it talent?

Or instinct?

After several takes, the director left with a sour expression.

Tae-il nudged the man beside him—Team Leader Ji Suho.

“Congrats, hyung. You won this round.”

“What?”

“Don’t pretend. He’s your pick.”

Ji Suho didn’t deny it.

“Is he good?”

“How could he not be? Don’t let our fourth hear this—he’ll dig himself into a hole again.”

“Han-sol still like that?”

“He’s had twelve years to perfect digging. First place in shovel work in the army.”

Despite joking, Tae-il’s gaze stayed sharp.

“You have to bring him in. I want the next group built by you—not the director.”

After the audition—

< System Alert: Skill <As You Say It> (LV.1) proficiency increased. >
< System Alert: Skill leveled up to LV.2! >
< System Alert: Penalty applied for skill creation. >
< System Alert: Mental Care effect temporarily reduced. >

Devil Seo Tae-il.

Professor Seo Tae-il.

I gulped bottled water and cursed him internally.

Making me repeat the same line a hundred times…

Upia renewed contracts because of this guy? They’re insane.

Should I reconsider this company?

If I debut here, I’ll have to survive him again.

< System Alert: Further quest sabotage will not be tolerated! >

“I’m not quitting. That’d be more annoying.”

Then—

Team Leader Jang Seoyoon approached me in the hallway.

She handed me a carefully wrapped box.

“There’s a No.1 fan in our office. They insisted I give this to you.”

“…A fan? Of me?”

Inside—

Luxury chocolate.

And a small card.

“I’ll look forward to the day you become a star.
– Someone who wants to be your first fan.”

Something tightened painfully beneath my ribs.

Who?

Why?

Then—

< System Alert: Due to reduced Mental Care effect, emotional regulation unstable. (Penalty) >

“What?”

Before I understood what was happening—

My vision blurred.

“…Huh?”

My eyes burned.

And then—

Tears.

Not subtle ones.

Full-on sobbing.

While still clutching the chocolate.

I tilted my head back desperately—

“…Kang Hajin?”

Of course.

Of course the timing would be like this.

Seo Tae-il stood at the end of the hallway, staring at me in disbelief.

“Are you crying right now?”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Is this one of those misunderstanding tropes?