Grab the Regressor by the Collar and Debut! Chapter 93

Chapter 93 – Bomb? (4)

The method for deciding teams wasn’t anything especially complicated.

Starting from the highest rank, each trainee chose a room in order. Then, once the highest-ranked trainee in that room said, “This room is closed,” no one after that could choose it anymore.

“The minimum number of people per room is four.”

“So if two rooms both close at four people each, the remaining room automatically ends up with nine, right?”

It was an enormous gamble.

At the same time, it was also an extremely obvious way of saying:

We want to watch the Wings-ranked trainees play a numbers game.

And the rules didn’t stop there.

“Also, each room has a required special effect and item that must be used.”

“We’ll be sharing that information only with the Wings-ranked trainees.”

“Then let’s begin with Wings-ranked trainee Seo Taehyun.”

And so—

they left the set one by one, choosing their rooms in turn.

After a good while—

“Alright, now. Feather-ranked trainees will head out one by one as well.”

For the record, the Wings-ranked trainees had their exact placements shown, but the Feather-ranked trainees didn’t.

Probably because they were all outside the debut lineup anyway, so there was no point revealing their individual ranks.

So for the Feather-ranked trainees, even the order in which they got to choose rooms was decided by drawing lots.

And what that meant was—

“Ah. So from this point on, even the Wings-ranked trainees already inside the rooms won’t know who’s coming in anymore. Haha, this is fun.”

…Exactly that.

Anyway, I was sixth among the Feathers, and by the time I stepped out, the room situation looked like this:

<Room 1 (5)>
<Room 2 (5)>
<Room 3 (2)>

First of all, I ruled out Room 3.

No matter who those two people were, if a room had that few people, there had to be a reason.

Besides, among the people coming in after me, there wasn’t really anyone especially useful anyway.

So it was either Room 1 or Room 2.

And that was exactly when my right to choose disappeared.

“Room 2 is now closed by the authority of Wings-ranked trainee Seo Taehyun.”

Which meant I had no choice but to enter Room 1.

And the moment I walked in, Jung Siwoo looked at my face—

then urgently shouted toward the production staff:

“Room 1. Closed. Closed. We’re closing it. Closed.”

He said it three whole times.

It was the first time I’d ever seen Jung Siwoo panic like that.

Of course, after seeing who the team members were, I had to admit—

if I’d been him, I probably would’ve yelled that I’d rather drop out than not close the room right then and there.

And now—

back to the present.

“Well, then.”

Hajin’s voice broke the awkward silence in the practice room.

Everyone had spent the last ten minutes saying absolutely nothing, too busy studying each other’s reactions.

After sitting through all of those stares, Hajin turned to his third-mission teammates with a bright smile.

“Should we do introductions? Since for some of us, this is our first time being teamed up together.”

“……”

I miss Seo Taehyun and Dan Haru.

He missed that absurdly noisy previous team, but Kang Hajin endured it.

In the end, these were all people who would do their part once the mood loosened up a little.

The problem was just that the combination was this cursed.

The Jung Siwoo–Lee Yugeon fight literally aired the other day. And now people from the pro-Siwoo camp and the pro-Yugeon camp are all stuck in one team…

But who was he?

Former youth retreat assistant experience: yes.
(Only as a temp job because an older acquaintance asked him. Though that was when he was twenty-nine, so it didn’t technically count now.)

Certified recreation instructor and youth counselor.
(Also when he was twenty-nine, so no longer applicable.)

Extensive experience running recreation sessions at church retreats.
(Again, all from his twenty-nine-year-old life, which in this timeline had technically never happened.)

And back in his assistant-director days, plenty of experience guiding audiences and coaching reaction shots.
(Same story.)

A place with Kang Hajin in it?

An “awkward atmosphere”?

Impossible.

It didn’t exist.
It simply didn’t.
Absolutely impossible.

“By the way, didn’t we all receive special training from senior Nam-Tijyu?”

“…?”

“So in honor of that variety spirit, let’s do our introductions in a slightly more special way.”

Not only his teammates, but everyone else in the practice room turned to look at him.

Their eyes clearly said:

What is he trying to build up to now?

Completely prepared to meet those expectations, Hajin dramatically struck an X-pose.

“I call this… the ‘There Is No Secret of Yours I Don’t Know’ game. Or in other words: ‘If it’s not the truth, only death awaits.’”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“I just made it up.”

After giving Kim Wonho a look that effectively told him to shut up, Hajin explained the rules.

“We all already know names, ages, positions, that kind of thing, right? So from now on, we’ll go around one by one and each reveal a secret about ourselves that the others probably don’t know. But since some people might not want to say something real, lying is allowed.”

“If lying is allowed… then that’s not really an introduction.”

“Good point, Eunchan. So if you think something’s a lie, you call out Lie! If it really is a lie, that person gets one penalty. Let’s do about three rounds like that.”

As soon as Hajin finished explaining, Kim Wonho shot his hand straight up.

“I have a question.”

“Yes, trainee Kim Wonho. Go ahead.”

“What’s bad about getting penalties?”

“Ah, excellent question.”

Even the people who hadn’t seemed very interested in the game looked curious about that, and their eyes all turned back to Hajin.

Without hesitation, he dragged over a box sitting nearby and dumped out the contents.

“…Th-this is…”

“It’s the item commonly known as a harness. Very hot. Ah, so hot.”

What spilled out was a harness made of leather and silver chains.

It was also one of the mandatory items assigned to this team.

And among the harnesses, there was one especially eye-catching variety.

Hajin silently picked that one up, and Eunchan swallowed hard before answering:

“A-a collar….”

“Not a collar. A choker.”

“……”

“The person with the most penalties gets the special privilege of wearing this collar—ah, sorry, choker. Wow, exciting, right?”

Inside the darkened practice room—

a single spotlight lit the center of the room.

The trainees, sitting in a semicircle, all wore strangely grave, serious expressions.

Holding a pink Ppororo microphone—hurriedly procured by an assistant director—Joo Eunchan took a nervous breath and opened his mouth.

“My secret is…”

“……”

“Um, so, I…”

“If you don’t answer within three seconds, you get one penalty.”

“I—these days, I order gamjatang at home.”

“Hm….”

At the threat of a penalty, Joo Eunchan had blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

At once, all the older trainees started narrowing their eyes and examining the deeper truth of that statement with suspiciously serious expressions.

“Okay, pass.”

“Wait. Shouldn’t that be a majority vote? Why does Kang-hyung get to decide by himself?”

“Eunchan lives alone. So saying he orders gamjatang, which comes in huge portions and is annoying to deal with, has a high chance of being a lie. We should also consider the possibility that it was bone hangover soup instead—”

“Nope. Pass.”

Despite Wonho and Doha’s objections, Hajin declared it a pass without hesitation.

Then he turned toward Eunchan with a deeply satisfied expression and smiled benevolently.

It was the kind of face that said:

So, you too have learned the taste of the world.

“Okay. Then now it’s Eunchan’s answer: true or fake? If it’s fake, Kang-hyung gets the penalty, right?”

“No, come on. There’s no way that’s fake.”

“It’s a lie.”

“……?”

“Gamjatang doesn’t come in single portions. I order bone hangover soup.”

“……!”

“Okay! Kang-hyung penalty~.”

Hajin looked at Eunchan like the world had just collapsed.

The sheer betrayal on his face was so dramatic that even the cameramen started laughing.

The game Hajin had started was turning out to be far more exciting than expected, all the way into the final round.

For trainees who still hadn’t fully settled into idol mindset, the burden of a collar—no, a choker—carried an enormous amount of psychological force.

“No, if everyone keeps only telling the truth, then who’s ever going to get penalties!”

“And if someone lies and just says it’s true, we won’t know anyway, right? Because it’s a secret?”

“Okay. Then new rule.”

There were even additional rules added.

What had started as an icebreaker had, at some point, become a game everyone was fully emotionally invested in.

The score so far looked like this:

<Jung Siwoo, Joo Eunchan – 0>
<Kim Wonho, Lee Doha – 1>
<Kang Hajin, Lee Yugeon – 2>

“At this rate, it’s probably going to be either Yugeon-hyung or Hajin-hyung.”

“Kang-hyung gets everything right about himself but keeps missing everyone else’s answers. That’s almost a skill.”

“Yugeon-hyung is the opposite. He keeps getting everyone else’s right, but his own lies keep getting exposed.”

Wonho and Eunchan had played a big role in that.

Because they spoke casually to Yugeon and kept naturally involving him, Yugeon—who had still seemed a little uncomfortable because of Siwoo—was now participating in the game pretty actively.

“Alright, then. Final round.”

The last match of the Choker Championship began.

Without anyone taking a penalty this time, the turn passed quickly through Hajin, Wonho, Eunchan, and then Doha.

Next up was Siwoo.

“Hmm… Mine is: I chose this room because I didn’t know what a harness was.”

“True.”

“True.”

“Pass.”

Everyone instantly called it true without hesitation.

Sure, Jung Siwoo had been aggressively collecting those mastermind/genius-character allegations, but no one thought he would really have intentionally chosen a harness room.

“Lie.”

“Huh? Seriously? Hyung, think carefully. If you get another penalty, you’re in danger.”

Out of everyone, only Hajin called it a lie.

Everyone tried to stop him, but Hajin stubbornly stuck to his claim.

And then he laid out his reasoning, striking a pose like a detective in a mystery comic.

“Siwoo hyung majored in classical piano, right? I’m pretty sure they sometimes call the support straps used to hold instruments harnesses too.”

“……”

“And first of all, I just don’t think that hyung would throw out a gamble based on something he genuinely didn’t know.”

At Hajin’s sharp deduction, Siwoo let out a quiet laugh.

Then he raised both hands like he was surrendering.

“It’s a lie. Not because I know it from being a classical musician, though.”

“Wow. That’s impossible. This is betrayal.”

“I… actually didn’t know and came in here.”

“Yeah, Eunchan, that tracks.”

So in the end, everyone except Hajin got another penalty added.

<Jung Siwoo, Joo Eunchan – 1>
<Kim Wonho, Lee Doha, Kang Hajin – 2>
<Lee Yugeon – 3>

At this rate, Yugeon was basically locked in to wear the choker.

“Alright. This last result decides whether we get a tie… or a final culprit.”

“I-it’s ridiculous, but why am I nervous?”

With everyone’s attention focused on him, it was finally Yugeon’s turn.

Yugeon looked at the collar once, then at the trainees staring at him, wearing a truly troubled expression.

“Wait a second. Can I think for a bit?”

“Go, go ahead.”

“No, do you seriously hate wearing that thing that much?”

“Then Siwoo hyung, do you want to wear it?”

“…I only have one penalty.”

As that pointless conversation went on, Yugeon continued thinking.

After a minute or two, he seemed to come to a decision and straightened up.

“For this performance, my parents are coming, so I can’t wear something that obscene.”

“Then… I feel like we should probably exempt hyung.”

“No, hold on. I think this is part of the game. True or fake.”

“…Ah!”

“Wow, Yugeon’s bringing in his parents here? I’m saying true.”

“Me too. True.”

Yugeon’s expression looked far too genuine to seem like acting.

After a brief hesitation, the trainees all ended up calling it true.

It was convincing, after all.

And the production staff had actually announced that invitation tickets would be given out for this stage.

“Kang-hyung, you’re saying true too, right? Wow, if this turns out to be false, things are going to get crazy…”

Wonho, obviously assuming Hajin would say true as well, turned toward him with an excited face.

And then, for one very brief instant—

Wonho saw Hajin’s eyes go sharp.

No one but him noticed.

“Lie.”

“Y-you really think so?”

Returning quickly to his usual expression, Hajin declared it a lie in a voice that had dropped slightly in tone.

His gaze never left Yugeon.

A chill seemed to settle over the entire practice room.

Silently, Hajin waited for Yugeon’s answer.

Maybe it was a leap—

but depending on the situation, this could also become an extremely important clue.

Because…

“Ah…”

Because in the past Hajin had seen, the selective regressor…

“I was lying. So does that mean I win the collar?”

…had been an orphan who didn’t know who his parents were.