RAT Chapter 3 (Part 1)

3. A Child Born on Wednesday

It’s the first time I’ve opened my eyes after regressing to find someone beside me, but what I have to say never changes.

“…I had a bad dream.”

“……”

Even if the me who regressed and the me before regression are technically the same person, not everything can be identical. We’ve lived through different things. That’s why I always need a few days to observe how people react—to figure out what kind of person I am in this round and adjust accordingly.

To buy that time, I always say the same thing.

—I had a bad dream.

Usually, if I act a bit strange for a day or two after saying that, people let it slide.

…They might talk behind my back, sure, but whatever.

Anyway, I was someone who had the right to receive sympathy, pity, or even just some kind of understanding from others.

A nineteen-year-old who lost both parents in an accident at once is allowed to be sad and have a hard time. If anyone complained about it, they’d be the one criticized.

Using that as a shield after regression… well, even I think it’s questionable, but it can’t be helped.

If I suddenly act weird, people might start suspecting depression, drag me into counseling sessions that don’t help, and waste my time.

Besides, I’m not lying. I never said it was a nightmare, did I?

It’s not like I could ever call a dream where my parents appear a nightmare.

It’s just… not a pleasant one.

Honestly, at some point, being alone stopped hurting as much. Then, at another point, I realized I couldn’t cry anymore.

That was also the round where I chose to regress purely of my own will, without any connection to the goal… but that doesn’t really matter.

Without bothering to move the hand covering my eyes, I slowly blinked them open and shut.

“Do you need comfort?”

“…A little?”

“—Then, should I kiss you?”

“…What?”

I knew he was suspicious since his first greeting was practically a declaration of being a regressor, but… I still asked back in shock.

As if trying to confirm what I’d just heard, I grabbed the Regressor’s wrist, pulled it down, and stared at his face. The Regressor—Eden—smiled down at me, still half-lying there. It was such a bright, fresh smile that for a second, I thought I must’ve misheard him.

“Ah. Not yet?”

“……”

Then, without even waiting for my answer, he ran his hand roughly through my hair and walked straight out of the room.

—As if he had not the slightest bit of interest in the me before his regression.

…Looks like it’s ruined again this time.

He definitely remembers the previous round. Otherwise, there’s no way he’d test me by offering a kiss like that.

Letting out a quiet sigh, I checked the date on my phone again.

October 28th, Year 27

08:23 AM

☆ +365 days ☆

I’m twenty-one now, apparently in my first year after debut. Judging by the fact that no one’s come to wake me up yet… we probably had our first-anniversary live yesterday.

I’d never managed to make it to the point of doing a first-anniversary live before regressing, so maybe this time the Regressor had done something.

As if trying to confirm what I’d heard, I grabbed the Regressor’s wrist, pulled it down, and stared straight at his face. The Regressor—Eden—smiled at me as I still lay there. It was such a fresh, bright smile that for a second, I thought I must’ve misheard him.

Or maybe we just did a small celebration among ourselves.

Either way, that’s not bad. In fact, I actually preferred the idea of a small private celebration. It meant the members were still getting along.

To better understand the situation, I slowly sat up in bed.

Having the Regressor right next to me the moment I opened my eyes worried me at first, but thankfully, it looked like I had my own room. The bed was only a single, and the small desk across from it was stacked high with songwriting notebooks.

…Still, even if it’s a small room, would a rookie in his first year after debut really have a room all to himself?

I lightly tapped my aching head with a fist and reached for the composition notebooks.

“…Ha.”

Black Snake. The song I’d spent a week sleeplessly working on after hearing our group had no hope left—that our next album would be our last.

My first self-composed song, and a total disaster. Even now, the song itself isn’t that bad, but it wasn’t nearly enough to revive a group already on its way down.

Still, back then, the team got along well enough. Jin Yoorim and Eden were even kind of cute together… until the group crashed and burned spectacularly. Ha.

Flipping to the next page with those bad memories in mind, I frowned.

Orbit. The song that had gone viral the moment it dropped, but when I realized I’d subconsciously copied a hit from a previous round, I had no choice but to reset.

Thankfully, Orbit looked like it hadn’t been meant for release this time—there was a huge X marked over the half-finished sheet music.

After that came Wires, the song that gave us our first number-one through my own composition.

That one, I’d made as a tribute to Jin Yoorim. I’d filled Eden’s rap section with all those high notes only Yoorim could hit.

It was also the song that drained me completely—the way those two looked at each other so tenderly on stage, only to turn ice-cold the moment the music stopped.

And on the last page… was A Child Born on Wednesday, the song I’d written when I was struggling with severe depression.

Critics said it was hard to believe a twenty-three-year-old had written something so heavy, regardless of genre. I think it even won Album of the Year.

That album had become a million-seller, D.I.Y.’s career high—until rumors of a feud between me and Eden broke out… yeah, let’s stop there.

Anyway, all the songs were ones I knew well—but the problem was, this wasn’t my notebook.

Beneath the repeatedly revised sheet music were lyrics written in neat, elegant handwriting—nothing like my own “studious elementary schooler” scrawl that always got teased at fan signings.

But handwriting aside, the real problem was that these songs had belonged to different rounds.

…Ha. My head hurts.

I don’t know if I should call it “fortunate,” but aside from the one notebook on top of the desk, the rest really were mine. They weren’t masterpieces, but not terrible either—exactly the kind of songs a twenty-one-year-old Park Yeoul would write.

As awkward as it all felt, it confirmed one thing: this room was mine.

I marked a few songs that only needed a stronger hook to be salvageable, then let out a small sigh.

…Enough running away from reality.

Let’s start with the conclusion that never changes.

∴ Jin Yoorim and Eden have regressed.

And they’re not even trying to hide it. In fact, they’re being obvious about it—almost like they want me to notice.

Honestly, this time, Jin Yoorim was worse than Eden, who kept poking at me with “You’ve regressed too, haven’t you?”

Now that I’ve regressed, I know these songs are mine. But to the pre-regression me, wouldn’t this notebook have been too cruel?

It means they didn’t care if the me before regression lost his confidence, as long as they could confirm that I’d regressed.

Eden had been the same earlier, sure—but at least he’d had the decency to ruffle my hair before leaving.

At this point, it wouldn’t even be surprising if the pre-regression me had been suffering from depression.

Just in case, I flipped back through the notebook I’d skimmed earlier, checking each page one by one.

“Oh. Of course.”

At the very back of the still half-empty notebook, I found a song written straight through in one go, without any corrections—unlike the others.

I hummed a bit of the melody under my breath, then picked up the notebook and stepped out of the room.

As I’d suspected from seeing Jin Yoorim’s songwriting notebook, no one greeted me even though they clearly noticed I’d come out.

Maybe they’d been eating together. Moon Taeyoung and Kim Dojun glanced at me for a moment, but that was it.

My dear Regressor number two, Jin Yoorim, didn’t even turn his head.

Eden gave me a slight nod, as if inviting me to join them for lunch, but I just smiled awkwardly and shook my head. Then I made a show of moving around noisily to make it obvious I was about to leave.

“Hyung, where are you going?”

“Ah…”

Startled by Eden’s casual question, I flinched hard enough to drop the notebook I was holding.

The sound finally made Jin Yoorim, who’d been ignoring me all this time, turn his head.

When he saw that what I’d dropped was a songwriting notebook, he approached me with a sharp, tense expression.

“What are you doing?”

“……”

“So, just because I said I didn’t want it, you’re going to give it to someone else?”

Instead of answering, I bit my lip and picked up the notebook I’d dropped.

Maybe he thought I was ignoring him—Jin Yoorim’s expression twisted in anger as he snatched the notebook from my hands with a rough motion.

“…Ah.”

As the notebook was pulled from me, the edge of the metal spiral cut my finger. The sting came first, followed by a slow welling of red at the tip.

It would be a lie to say it didn’t hurt, but more than that, I felt a strange satisfaction. I’d been hoping for a dramatic turn of events.

Honestly, I hadn’t expected it to go this far. Lucky me, I guess.

I looked at Jin Yoorim with trembling eyes, as if my heart had been wounded rather than my hand.

The moment our eyes met and he opened his mouth as if to say something, a loud commotion erupted behind us.

“Hey, hey! Grab him!”

“I’m trying, but—!”

Regressor No. 1, Eden, was staring this way with eyes that looked half-crazed. Or rather, he was glaring at me while being restrained by Moon Taeyoung and Kim Dojun.

Ha… even in this situation, he’s glaring at me instead of Jin Yoorim?

I bit my lip again, covering my bleeding finger as if I were overwhelmed by pain. I squeezed gently, hoping for a bit more effect, but disappointingly, the blood didn’t drip.

Well, of course not.

It’s not like I was cut by a knife—just the edge of a notebook coil. For it to bleed like that, my finger would need to be practically shredded.

Still, the squeeze wasn’t entirely useless. The blood that had gathered began to slide down my finger.

As it trickled down, the room fell instantly silent. The gazes of both Jin Yoorim and Eden were clearly fixed on the tip of my finger.

Moon Taeyoung and Kim Dojun looked uncertain whether they should keep holding Eden back.

Taking advantage of the sudden quiet, I slowly crouched down.

The notebook that Jin Yoorim had snatched from me—and that I’d dropped when I got hurt—was crumpled in the middle, corners bent.

…Hmm, that actually pissed me off a bit.

I picked it up, set it upright again, and carefully straightened the bent pages.

Honestly, the songs written inside felt pretty ordinary to me now. At this point, I could write something more “commercial” in just a few hours.

Still, I couldn’t think of them as bad songs.

These were the raw, sincere struggles of a twenty-one-year-old Park Yeoul who didn’t have any memories of regression.

– Our team’s rappers have low voices. Kill the bass or drums in their part.
– What if I remove the melody entirely and only boost the bass and drums? Check the reverb.
– Add a high-pitch note in the vocal part. Separate it from the highlight section.
– Backing chorus in the rap part (should the high note go here?)

Some of the notes had been crossed out with pen, and parts of the sheet were worn thin from over-editing.

Like any art, songwriting has a technical side. Once you’re used to the tools, your preferences settle naturally into your own style.

And as for the members—there was no need to mention them. I’d already tested their limits long ago.

…Well, I’ve always been the type to put in the work.

Anyway, whatever these regressors want from me, one thing’s clear—they’ve been waiting.

Maybe, like the previous Eden once said, it’s been a very long time.

But that doesn’t mean they get to treat the pre-regression me like garbage, right?

It seems like “I” had been bullied pretty harshly for years.

You can tell just by how Moon Taeyoung and Kim Dojun act around me—completely indifferent, not even pretending to be polite. Those two were the kind who survived more on personality than talent.

Judging from Eden’s behavior, I can imagine what it must’ve been like.

He probably greeted me every morning in that sweet, gentle voice of his, only to turn cold the moment I didn’t respond the way he wanted.

And Jin Yoorim… just seeing how Eden treats me now, I can guess how he must have felt.

…It’s partly my fault.

At first, I wasn’t even pretending. I didn’t think about acting back then.

If both of them are regressors, there’s no way they wouldn’t have noticed the moment I changed.

Or that I had no memories of the “Park Yeoul” from before regression.

Feeling like I was making a confession, I smoothed the wrinkled, folded pages flat, pressing my fingertips down as if ironing the paper. A red line streaked across the page, as if brushed by a paint-soaked brush.

I repeated the motion again and again until the page finally lay flat to my satisfaction.

What now? Should I get angry?

Honestly… I don’t even know.

—Just like how I once clung to regressors, begging them to save me, if these regressors now believe that the regressed me holds the answers they’re looking for… I can’t really say I don’t understand.

After all, I wouldn’t remember anything anyway… and honestly, once you’ve repeated regression enough times, there comes a point where people stop looking like people.

I’d been there.

When you know everything will reset and no one will remember a thing once you move to the next round—how is that any different from being in a game, surrounded by NPCs?

Well, eventually you realize that even you aren’t much different from one of those characters. But I’ve been through too much to waste time feeling sorry for myself over that.

Still, judging from how Jin Yoorim and Eden react, maybe acting a little emotional might still work on them.

I turned another page in the notebook.

At some point, the living room had gone quiet, and the sound of the page turning echoed louder than I expected. The noise bothered me, and I frowned. Just as I smoothed out the creased paper and pressed down with my finger—

“Are you out of your mind?”

Jin Yoorim grabbed my wrist. His face was burning with anger, but his hand was shaking as it held me.

I looked at him blankly for a moment, then twisted my wrist free.

“Isn’t it weirder to think I’m not crazy?”

“…What?”

I’ve always been scouted from JM to END at eighteen. Minor details change depending on the point of regression, but the big turning points are always the same.

It’s not like I never tried changing them, but every time I did, it just triggered a reset. So these regressors must’ve joined the company within about a year after I did, same as always.

Meaning, Park Yeoul has been living like this for at least two years.

But remember what I said earlier? That I’m someone who deserves sympathy, pity, or whatever else people can offer?

My parents insisted on supporting me through my senior year of high school—even though I didn’t even take the college entrance exam.

They went out of their way to take care of me right up until November, when the exams ended, and all through December, when I signed my artist contract.

Then, the day I was packing to move into the dorm, they shouted “We’re free!” and packed their own bags for a trip.

They went on that trip, and… that was that.

So tell me—how could a nineteen-year-old Park Yeoul, stuck among regressors like these, possibly have stayed sane?

Just look at the song scrawled on the last page of the notebook, the one I’d written in one go without any edits, as if hiding it there.

This isn’t about self-pity. This is about doing exactly what the current Park Yeoul would do.

“Hey, could you just stay out of it?”

“……”

“The injury’s my fault anyway.”

I forced my lips into an awkward smile, like someone who’s forgotten how to smile, and pressed the folded section of the notebook again.

I focused on straightening the creased paper, more out of irritation than performance, when this time, Eden grabbed my wrist.

“—For someone asking us to stay out of it, you’re making a pretty obvious scene, hyung.”

“A scene?”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you so used to pain that this doesn’t even count anymore?”

Even now, he’s testing me. I had to admit—it was impressive, but more than that, it was annoying.

I tilted my head as if I didn’t understand, glanced down at the notebook, and sighed softly.

“Ah.”

“……”

His reaction told me he’d just realized the notebook was stained with blood. From a little distance away, I heard Moon Taeyoung and Kim Dojun gasp quietly.

When I looked their way, both of them immediately turned their eyes aside.

I couldn’t tell if it was fear—because they were seeing a lunatic for the first time—or guilt.

I looked up at Eden next. His face was still expressionless. Realizing he had no intention of letting go, I lowered my gaze again.

Too tired to bother struggling, I used my free hand to press down the paper, though it was awkward with one hand.

“This is uncomfortable. Mind letting go?”

“…Hyung. You’ve seriously lost it.”

“Sorry, but is that really important right now?”

“……”

I glanced up at him as if more concerned about the folded pages than his words and muttered,

“I won’t mess up the group’s activities.”

“Hyung.”

“No one will find out.”

You guys didn’t notice before, did you? I added with another awkward half-smile.

Then, as if gathering all the courage in the world, Moon Taeyoung and Kim Dojun finally stepped closer with grim determination.

“—Uh, maybe we should stop now?”

“Y-yeah, let’s… treat your hand first, maybe…?”

They pulled Eden away from me. Unlike earlier, he backed off easily this time, which startled them both, but they quickly recovered and held a hand out toward me.

“I’ll, uh… flatten the notebook for you.”

“Uh… do we even have a first-aid kit in the dorm?”

They couldn’t even meet my eyes, as if just talking to me felt awkward. I gave them a light smile.

“It’s in the cabinet in the living room.”

“Oh, really?”

“Thank God, so we actually have one?”

Their stiff faces softened slightly at that. I could guess exactly what they were thinking.

Too bad for them—I wasn’t interested in playing friends.

Before they could get any closer, I added casually,

“But didn’t I already say something earlier?”

“Huh? Say what?”

“I told you to stay out of it. For good.”

When I replied so plainly, their faces froze instantly.

Men really are the same, no matter how old they are—they’re all obsessed with hierarchy.

Some might deny it, but that’s only because they’ve lived with it for so long, they can’t even recognize it anymore.

Just like right now.

Moon Taeyoung and Kim Dojun had stepped in, trying to smooth things over within the group.

But even so, they clearly didn’t like that the member they considered the lowest-ranked—“Park Yeoul”—didn’t seem the least bit grateful for their generosity.

The fact that I wasn’t thankful bothered them, and they didn’t even bother hiding it. Not because they meant to show it, but because it was just an instinctive reaction.

Even though they’d just watched me being cornered and humiliated by Jin Yoorim and Eden, they still thought it natural to put their own feelings before those of a mentally exhausted “Park Yeoul.”

That’s what hierarchy means among men.

Still, I’ll give them this much—they at least had the decency not to say it out loud.

And trying to stand up to the top dog, Eden, even a little—well, that was something. If they were the kind of people worth expecting more from, they wouldn’t have left the old “Park Yeoul” to fend for himself all this time.

Ignoring the two who were still hovering awkwardly in front of me, I slowly stood up.

I straightened my back and rolled my shoulders slightly back. My chin stayed high, but my gaze was lowered just a bit. Then I smiled lightly.

—Too much of a protest, is it?

Sorry, but the protest hasn’t even started yet. It’s about to.

First things first, I should probably reestablish the hierarchy.

“Taeyoung, could you throw that away for me?”

“…Huh? Oh—uh, yeah?”

“Thanks.”

At the word “thanks,” Moon Taeyoung blinked, looking startled, and reflexively bent at the waist.

I waited until he’d picked up the notebook lying on the floor before slowly turning around.

It’s not like I actually want to waste time fighting with these kids.

But thinking about how I’ll have to deal with all this ridiculous posturing when I’m producing for D.I.Y. later… ha.

Better to sort things out clearly now, once and for all.

Completely ignoring Jin Yoorim and Eden, who were still glaring at me, I opened the living room cabinet and started looking for the first-aid kit.

I’d always said Moon Taeyoung and Kim Dojun were “personality picks.” They were both pretty easygoing types. Neither of them ever got sick often, and Eden didn’t need mentioning.

So, naturally, the only one who ever needed medicine was Jin Yoorim—with his overly sensitive temperament that made him bottle everything up until it blew.

If he’d just taken care of himself, it’d be fine, but he always pushed through until it got bad.

That’s why I was always the one who asked the manager to keep a small emergency kit on hand—with antacids, painkillers, the basics.

I was also the one who gave Yoorim his meds whenever he skipped breakfast and started frowning from nausea.

Well, things are a little different this time… but personalities don’t change that easily, so I figured it’d be about the same.

When I opened the second drawer and found the first-aid kit sitting there, I felt quietly relieved and let out a small sigh.

I wanted to wash my hands first, but I didn’t know where the bathroom was. And I wasn’t about to wash up in the kitchen sink.

Normally, I’d just watch what others did and figure it out, but this time, that didn’t seem like an option.

Checking the hydrogen peroxide bottle, I saw it was still within its expiration date. Looked like no one had ever used it.

I pulled out a few tissues, spread them on the floor, and poured the liquid over my hand. Bubbles fizzed and popped softly.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it wasn’t clean either, so the bleeding wouldn’t stop easily.

…Is it fine to put a bandage on while it’s still bleeding?

The ticklish popping of the peroxide on my fingertip was oddly addictive.

I sprayed more antiseptic until the tissues beneath were soaked through.

Only when Jin Yoorim’s sharp voice cut through did I finally look up.

“Taeyoung, what are you doing right now?”

“Uh? Yeoul asked me to throw this away…”

“And you were really going to?”

“……”

Yeah, of course he should. That’s what I told him to do.

I squeezed some ointment onto the still-bleeding cut and slapped on a bandage.

It was sloppy—barely enough to last an hour or two—but it looked like I’d at least tried to take care of it myself.

It might start bleeding again soon, but if it irritated Jin Yoorim, that was a small price to pay.

After tidying up the tissues, I glanced to the side.

Jin Yoorim and Moon Taeyoung were facing off in the middle of the living room, like actors mid-scene.

I had no idea what Jin Yoorim was trying to do. I sighed softly.

At this rate, I was bound to pick up some new bad habits.

Not that I wanted to get involved, but… I also didn’t want to trigger another reset on the same day I’d just restarted.

At least let me make a bowl of seaweed soup with fresh mussels once, yeah?

“Jin Yoorim.”

“……”

“If you’ve got something to say, then say it to me. Don’t take it out on other people for no reason.”

In that sighing voice that didn’t even try to hide exhaustion, Jin Yoorim flinched.

He’d been deliberately avoiding looking at me since the moment I stood up, but that reaction must’ve pricked his pride again. He clenched his jaw and glared at me once more.

But really, how am I supposed to feel threatened by that? He would’ve been better off throwing a punch after grabbing my wrist like before.

I silently met his eyes, then ran a hand through my bangs as if trying to calm my irritation.

The bandage on my finger snagged on my hair, and I clenched my teeth as I yanked it free.

The bandage, which I’d slapped on before the bleeding stopped, had already soaked up quite a bit of blood. It was stained red even through the tape.

Kim Dojun, who had been hovering nervously between Jin Yoorim and Moon Taeyoung as if trying to help, caught sight of it and went pale.

“Yeoul… your hand… are you okay?”

The bleeding must have slowed a little, revealing the deep, raw red of the split skin at my fingertip. I glanced at it briefly, then held my hand out to Moon Taeyoung.

“Sorry. I put you in an awkward spot.”

“Uh, no… no, it’s fine?”

“Give it to me. I’ll throw it away. I think that’s the right thing to do.”

That must have really hit Moon Taeyoung’s conscience.

After a moment of hesitation, he met my eyes and shook his head firmly.

“No, I’ll do it. Let me.”

“…Oh? You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

For whatever reason, he hardened his expression, pulled the notebook out of Jin Yoorim’s grasp, and started toward the trash bin. But halfway there, he stopped, exhaled a long breath, and said,

“Yoorim.”

“……”

“I don’t know exactly what’s been going on, but…”

“If you don’t know, then just—!”

“Yeah! You’re right! I don’t know—because none of you ever say anything!”

“……”

“But still, I think this time… you crossed a line. I’m not neutral anymore.”

And with that, he walked away quickly, as if done talking.

Hmm. I’ll admit, he sounded pretty dramatic about it, but from my point of view… I don’t know.

Given how he’s acted until now, I’m not sure “neutral” ever really applied.

I felt a twinge of annoyance but didn’t show it.

Instead, I rubbed the torn edge of my finger absently, and Kim Dojun—startled by Moon Taeyoung’s sudden burst of courage—grabbed my hand.

Excuse me, but my hand belongs to me. It’s not public property.

“I’ve always thought we needed to talk more as a group,” he said carefully, “but this time, I agree with Taeyoung.”

“You guys can say that because you don’t know anything,” Jin Yoorim snapped.

It sounded like a line you’d hear between people having a normal argument, but clearly, this wasn’t a normal argument.

Jin Yoorim laughed in disbelief and looked at me.

“Hyung. Do you really think we have a communication problem?”

“……”

“Ha… is that even possible?”