Debut or Die - Chapter 13

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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A Fatal Illness if I Don’t Debut – Episode 13
“…Dance?”
‘Into a New World’ opened with choreography that fused ballet and contemporary dance from the very beginning.
It was ethereal and dreamlike, but ultimately lacked intensity.
“It’s pretty, though….”
Gold 1 trailed off mid-sentence.
There were limits to how much the choreography could be adjusted.
In other words, this choreography meant the arrangement difficulty had skyrocketed once again.
But using it as-is felt mismatched with the Audition Program, so everyone must have felt even more overwhelmed.
After the lyrics came another barrage of setbacks, and choreography rehearsal began in an atmosphere as heavy as a funeral home.
“Let’s learn it as quickly as possible!”
“Got it!”
Yet rather than despair at the uncertain path ahead, the sense of crisis seemed to energize them—everyone stayed silent and worked diligently, making practice surprisingly pleasant.
They seemed to realize that careless complaints could be edited into disparaging remarks about the song itself and broadcast to the world.
‘It’s convenient, at least.’
I continued practicing quietly without saying a word.
Since I lacked experience with any choreography anyway, I struggled equally regardless, so nothing particularly moved me.
“Here, grab your arm like this, then rotate it this way….”
“Mm.”
“Oh, that’s close.”
And I waited for the right moment.
Now that I’d set the mood, what mattered was creating an impactful visual that editors wouldn’t want to cut. How the arrangement process appeared on broadcast was crucial too.
The opportunity came two days later during the trainer’s evaluation session.

* * *
“You must have had a lot on your mind after receiving your song, huh?”
My teammates laughed awkwardly at the Choreographer Judge’s words. There was no way I could tell him that we’d completely postponed deliberation and only worked on the choreography.
The Choreographer Judge seemed displeased with this reaction, but he let it slide for now.
“Let’s see what you’ve prepared.”
“Yes!”
And my teammates and I completed the first verse choreography without a single mistake.
“Phew….”
The relief was evident on the faces of those around me as they caught their breath—at least there had been no errors.
“…Well, I suppose.”
The Choreographer Judge nodded his head. It was a remarkably neutral gesture.
“You all managed to memorize the movements, at least. Who choreographed it?”
“Ah, the teammates who are more familiar with dancing all worked on it together….”
“Yes. We all did it together!”
Gold Two added to the statement, and Lee Sae-jin elaborated further.
The four of us Gold members did lead the process, but in reality, Sun Ah-hyun had done the most of it. Apparently, he was a dance major.
Well, it wasn’t entirely his solo work, and since Lee Sae-jin became the main dancer, we were just glossing over it and moving on.
The Choreographer Judge simply nodded.
“Yeah, you all worked hard. But….”
The Choreographer Judge cracked his neck.
“Nobody catches my eye.”
I heard Gold Two inhale sharply beside me. Anyone watching would think a ghost had appeared.
“What are you trying to do? Comments like ‘they can dance, they can do this move, they can do that move’—that’s the kind of praise you’d hear at a school trip talent show. You didn’t come here to get by on that right now, did you?”
With each word that poured out, my teammates flinched.
“There’s nothing worth watching.”
We’d evaded interpreting the song and mechanically choreographed it, so the result was inevitable, but the way the Choreographer Judge delivered the same criticism—more like verbal abuse than advice—was very much his style.
“Some of you are even below standard.”
As he added this, he glanced pointedly at Lee Sae-jin. She kept her head down.
I’d only barely memorized the choreography myself, so I should probably be grateful she was taking the hit for me.
The feedback continued at a level where one person breaking down wouldn’t have been surprising.
The Choreographer Judge gestured relentlessly.
“You, Sun Ah-hyun.”
“Y-yes….”
“You majored in contemporary dance, right? So why does your expression seem weaker than Park Moon-dae’s?”
Sun Ah-hyun’s face went pale.
I had a strong premonition that this remark would absolutely not be edited out.
This bastard’s going bald… He deliberately picked me—someone who can’t do it—to compare and shock him, didn’t he?
“He sings well too. You’re only getting decent evaluations because this is an audition. When you debut, do you think people will say ‘let’s give him credit for doing this much because he has a story’?”
He spoke as though the entertainment industry—where storytelling works as well as anywhere—was a place judged purely by skill, remarkably cold-blooded. He hadn’t changed.
In any case, Sun Ah-hyun seemed to have taken an enormous blow, his expression as though he might sink at any moment.
‘This is a bit awkward….’
The guy already had some strange condition hanging over him, and if it worsened and he couldn’t pull his weight, that would be a real problem.
“Anyway, your current level is just that of an amateur who’s practiced a bit. Think about what you want to express in this song, and come back next time in a presentable state.”
“Thank you….”
My teammates, who had turned into rags in an instant, trudged out of the Evaluation Room. They already looked like their life bars had hit zero.
However, a similar situation unfolded during the vocal feedback that followed.
“You guys. What are you trying to do?”
Moody tapped the keyboard with an exasperated and regretful expression.
She seemed genuinely eager to give advice, pouring out specific instructions instead of personal attacks.
“This song’s concept is a flower fairy, right? It’s a song meant to be sung clearly and beautifully. But you’re just matching the notes and singing. There’s absolutely no sense of prettiness or wistfulness. Are you embarrassed to sing it that way?”
“….”
Besides the fact that this song wasn’t suited for an Audition Program, I honestly wondered if there was even one teammate who hadn’t thought about that. They were all around high school age.
But since they couldn’t honestly say they felt embarrassed, this kind of answer came out.
“Well, since it’s an audition, we wanted to arrange it with a stronger feel…, but the song’s concept is so definite that it’s naturally hard to shift it in a stronger direction.”
“If arranging seems difficult, you should have at least thought to bring out the original song more faithfully.”
“….”
Moody waved her hand dismissively with a regretful expression.
“You guys. First, we need to establish a direction.”
And with the Production Team’s intervention, a team discussion started on the spot.
Cameras were pressed right in front, and the Production Team members were sitting ahead—it was a terrible atmosphere where nobody could speak.
But someone had to break the silence, so the guy wearing the armband spoke first. It was Lee Sae-jin.
“Well, we’ve worked really hard these past two days, right? Thanks to that, we picked up the choreography quickly too. From now on, if we immerse ourselves in the song with that momentum, I think we can definitely create something with Stage quality.”
It was a naturally prepared encouragement. Look at this guy?
“Let’s not leave us out and try to bring out the original song’s sensibility with real effort! It might be a bit embarrassing, but if we do it naturally and well, wouldn’t it feel a bit like Malang Dalcom’s hit songs and be fun?”
“Oh, like what Park Moon-dae did?”
“Exactly! If we’re a bit humorous with innocence, it gives a fresh feel too, right? What if we speed up the beat a bit and make it more lively?”
In the end, it was about shamelessly exaggerating a pure female idol song and instead pulling off the trashy cute concept from Malang Dalcom’s heyday.
‘…This really seems prepared.’
That’s when I realized it. This guy was waiting just like I was.
‘He deliberately let the trainer feedback slide.’
If he’d just bluntly said to go with the original song’s pure vibe, there would definitely be guys who’d push back.
He also blocked the possibility of the main dancer going to Sun Ah-hyun, who was a specialist better suited to the original.
He pulled this meeting cut to secure leader impact too.
It wasn’t amateur work.
But too bad for him. Whatever grand scheme this bastard had cooked up wouldn’t matter.
My opinion was better.
First, let me lay the groundwork.
“The idea’s good, but won’t it look like we’re mocking the original song if we’re not careful?”
It’s already a senior idol’s song. If we crossed the line even slightly and looked ridiculous, I didn’t know what kind of backlash we’d face.
Of course, Lee Sae-jin, as if this opposing opinion was also anticipated, laughed and countered.
“We just need to do well enough that it doesn’t look that way!”
“Park Moon-dae, isn’t that going a bit far?”
“…?”
Choi Won-gil suddenly interjected into the conversation with a sharp acceleration.
“Hmm, Won-gil?”
Lee Sae-jin rarely showed a flustered expression.
An amusing development where I, the one being attacked, benefit more than the one being supported. I can practically hear the sound of Lee Sae-jin’s grand scheme shattering.
Choi Won-gil unleashed a fury-filled tirade at Park Moon-dae in gradual escalation. He seemed to be progressively forgetting that cameras were present.
“So what good ideas do you have, hyung? You’re comfortable because the trainers favor you, but you should consider your teammates’ feelings too. If you just keep opposing everything like that….”
Oh, that’s actually a reasonable point.
“Of course I have one. My opinion.”
“Yes…?”
“I’ve been thinking—there might be a way to go intense while preserving the original song’s sensibility.”
“…?”
“There is?”
At my sudden suggestion, the other team members let out dumbfounded sounds.
While Choi Won-gil’s face fell at the sudden shift in atmosphere, Lee Sae-jin instead scratched the back of his head with an awkward smile.
This guy really isn’t ordinary.
“If it’s real, of course that’s great… but what is it?”
I smiled as I spoke.
“We add horror to it.”
“…!”
Instead of just a flower fairy, let’s make it a flower fairy who went to America.
After a brief silence punctuated by the exclamation, reactions erupted.
“Oh, oh! That sounds good!”
“Yeah, if you add a horror concept to this choreography, it’d actually be scary!”
“Ohhh….”
From Gold 1 shouting eureka while roughly sketching out the memorized choreography with his hands, to Lee Sae-jin wearing an expression that it’s at least better than tacky—most reactions were positive despite varying degrees of enthusiasm.
I figured that idol hopefuls at this age would naturally prefer horror over something tacky, so I expected them to embrace it.
Lee Sae-jin also let out a short exclamation and nodded. He pivoted his direction immediately after gauging public opinion.
“It’s a bit embarrassing to say so directly… but I think Park Moon-dae’s opinion is good?”
“Wow, he abandoned his own opinion and switched!”
“Truly a real leader!”
The atmosphere brightened instantly. Beyond the chattering teammates, I could see Moody with a pleased expression.
Since the camera was capturing Moody too, they’ll probably use that cut… I hope it gets edited together well.
But there was one person darkening this heartwarming scene.
Choi Won-gil… narrowly avoided being implicated. Once I noticed, he seemed worried about how his actions would be edited.
He was trying hard to ride the wave of the atmosphere, but his pride was too wounded to apologize to me, so he was avoiding eye contact.
If it were me, I’d already be buried in this atmosphere and say my words were harsh, then move on.
The atmosphere is such that the other person has no choice but to accept it, so I don’t understand why he’s acting like that. Maybe it’s because he’s young—he doesn’t understand how to navigate social situations.
Then who’s the culprit? Sun Ah-hyun.
“A ghost! Let’s make it a ghost! There are flowers with stories of dead people attached to them, right?”
“What is this, a horror film? It’s way too serious. Oh! You know that movie Black Swan? If we do it with that kind of eerie feeling….”
“Wow, if we choreograph it like that, it’ll actually be terrifying.”
Sun Ah-hyun was huddled alone in the corner with a gloomy expression, trapped in what felt like a group project happiness circuit episode.
“….”
It seemed his mental state hadn’t recovered from whatever the Choreographer Judge had said.
I briefly entertained a hopeful thought that Lee Sae-jin might step up to secure a composed leader image cut, but there were no signs of that.
It looked like they were leaving him alone because once Sun Ah-hyun snapped out of it, they’d probably realize he was the main dancer with his major background.
The rest either had carefree heads or no social skills, so ultimately, the only one who needed to speak up was me—someone whose position didn’t overlap with anyone else’s, so there was no need to block anyone.
This was so tedious. The thought that I had to play mental health guardian, something never in my fate, left me hollow.
Either way, this is a moment where the Stage quality is lacking a step. Let me say something.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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