Grab the Manual and Debut!

Chapter 67: ✦ Unconscious Regressor [3] ✦

Kang-Joon woke before his alarm, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling for several seconds before memory aligned itself properly. The dorm room was dim, curtains half-drawn, pale sunlight leaking through the narrow gap. Someone on the other side of the room shifted in their sleep.

He sat up slowly.

His body felt... normal.

No sharp pain in his chest. No lingering dizziness. No sense that his limbs were lagging half a second behind his thoughts.

That, too, felt wrong.

In his previous regressions, the first days had always been filled with a strange urgency. A need to hurry, to prepare, to fix something before it broke. This time, the absence of that pressure felt heavier than panic ever had.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood.

At the edge of his awareness, a small line of text hovered.

[Do-Hyun — Will to Exist: 60%]

It didn’t blink.

It didn’t warn him.

It simply existed.

Kang-Joon closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply, then out. He forced himself not to stare at the number any longer than necessary.

One day at a time, he reminded himself.

That was how idol programs worked.

That was how people survived.

The practice building was already awake when Kang-Joon arrived.

Starline Entertainment never truly slept, but mornings carried a different rhythm. Trainees moved more quietly, voices still rough with sleep, footsteps slower as if the building itself hadn’t fully come alive yet.

Kang-Joon pushed open the practice room door and stepped inside.

Mirrors lined the walls from floor to ceiling, reflecting rows of stretching bodies and half-focused faces. Someone had connected a phone to the speakers, low music playing — not loud enough to dance to, just enough to fill the silence.

Do-Hyun noticed him immediately.

"Hyung!"

He jogged over, towel slung around his neck, hair pulled back with a cheap elastic band. His eyes were bright, a little too bright for someone who had supposedly slept as poorly as Kang-Joon had.

"You’re early," Do-Hyun said.

"So are you."

Do-Hyun laughed. "Couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about everything we have to do."

Everything we have to be, Kang-Joon corrected silently.

Outwardly, he only nodded.

They stood together for a moment, watching the other trainees. Some were already practicing small movements in front of the mirror. Others leaned against the wall, chatting softly.

Kang-Joon scanned the room without appearing to.

There were faces he recognized.

Jae-Hyun, calm and composed even this early.

Gun-Woo, stretching aggressively like his body offended him.

Han-Bin, quiet, watching others more than himself.

And then there were faces he didn’t recognize.

A tall boy with silver-dyed hair leaning lazily against the wall.

A sharp-eyed trainee tying his shoelaces with deliberate slowness.

A girl stretching near the back, expression unreadable.

Kang-Joon’s chest tightened.

These people weren’t here before.

Not once.

He didn’t let it show.

Warm-ups began without ceremony.

A trainer clapped once, loud and sharp, and conversations died instantly.

"Start with stretches," she said. "Don’t rush."

Kang-Joon moved automatically, muscles following familiar patterns. As he rolled his shoulders, he felt the faint pull of old injuries — not pain, but memory.

Then, quietly, something shifted.

Text appeared in his vision.

Not loud.

Not intrusive.

Just... there.

『Daily Support Task』

Kang-Joon stilled for half a second, then forced himself to continue stretching as the text expanded.

[Task]

「Complete today’s scheduled practice without physical overexertion」

[Reward]

「+1 Point」

[Failure]

「Temporary stamina reduction」

Kang-Joon swallowed.

Practice flowed slowly.

Posture corrections. Balance drills. Breathing exercises. Nothing impressive. Nothing dramatic.

Kang-Joon focused on pacing himself. When his muscles started to protest, he adjusted. When his breathing grew uneven, he slowed.

It felt wrong.

In past runs, stopping had always meant falling behind. Pushing past limits had felt necessary, even virtuous.

Now, restraint felt like survival.

Across the room, Do-Hyun practiced diligently. He mirrored corrections quickly, nodded whenever a trainer spoke to him. But Kang-Joon noticed the way his eyes flicked toward the trainers’ faces after every adjustment.

Waiting.

Judging.

The number dipped slightly.

59%

Kang-Joon looked away.

Don’t hover, he told himself. Don’t smother.

This wasn’t something he could fix by standing closer.

During the water break, trainees collapsed onto the floor in uneven groups. Bottles were passed around. Someone laughed about nearly slipping during a turn.

A voice spoke nearby.

"You’re Lee Kang-Joon, right?"

Kang-Joon looked up.

The boy standing there was unfamiliar — average height, dark hair, eyes sharp but tired. He held his water bottle loosely, posture relaxed but alert.

"Yes."

"Yoon Se-Rin," the boy said. "Late intake."

That explained it.

Se-Rin glanced around the room, expression thoughtful. "It’s strange."

"What is?"

"The beginning," Se-Rin replied. "Everyone acts like it’s normal. Like this isn’t where most of us disappear."

Kang-Joon studied him.

Se-Rin wasn’t smiling.

But he wasn’t bitter either.

"It’s easier that way," Kang-Joon said.

Se-Rin nodded once. "Yeah. Easier."

Then he walked away without another word.

Kang-Joon remained seated, staring at the floor longer than necessary.

Lunch was uneventful.

Metal trays clinked against tables. Chairs scraped softly. Conversations overlapped without fully connecting.

Min-Jae dominated the table as expected.

"So," he said, leaning back in his chair, "anyone else feel like we’re being watched even when the cameras are off?"

Gun-Woo snorted. "That’s just paranoia."

Min-Jae grinned. "That’s what makes it fun."

Do-Hyun laughed along, shoulders relaxing.

Kang-Joon watched him carefully.

The laughter wasn’t fake.

But it wasn’t grounded either.

The number didn’t change.

Afternoon practice focused on vocals.

Kang-Joon paced himself, careful not to strain his throat. When his voice began to roughen, he stopped.

It felt almost irresponsible.

But he held back.

When the session ended, the system responded quietly.

『Task Complete』

[Physical Endurance +1]

The change was subtle but noticeable. His breathing evened faster. His legs felt steadier when he stood.

Not stronger.

Just more reliable.

Kang-Joon liked that.

Evening settled over the building slowly.

Some trainees left in small groups. Others stayed behind, chasing improvement like it might outrun anxiety.

Do-Hyun lingered.

He sat on the floor in front of the mirror, towel draped over his shoulders, staring at his reflection.

Kang-Joon hesitated.

Then sat beside him.

They didn’t speak at first.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

Just heavy.

"Hyung," Do-Hyun said eventually, voice quiet, "do you ever feel like... if you stop moving, you’ll disappear?"

Kang-Joon didn’t answer immediately.

"Yes," he said finally.

Do-Hyun glanced at him, surprised.

"I thought you’d tell me not to think like that."

Kang-Joon shook his head. "It’s not something you can stop by being told."

Do-Hyun smiled faintly. "That’s... comforting."

The number held.

59%

That night, Kang-Joon lay awake in the dorm, staring at the ceiling.