Debut or Die - Chapter 17

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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 17
Of course, in the entertainment industry, being noticed was undoubtedly an important talent. There were countless cases where a brief moment on stage transformed a career.
But I couldn’t shake the impression that this trait seemed designed exclusively for attention-seekers, from its very title down to its description.
Moreover, the exact increase rate wasn’t even specified. “A bit more,” it said.
“Can a status window really use such vague expressions?”
So that’s why it’s a D-rank trait.
But the status window didn’t perform any miracles in response to my complaints.
I eventually accepted reality.
Fine. A trait for being noticed… good. I just hope it actually helps with debuting.
Bzzzzt!
The moment I closed the status window, my smartphone vibrated. I quickly checked it, wondering if it was a message from the Production Team.
But it wasn’t.
“What is it.”
It was a messenger notification.
[Big Sae-jin : Moon-dae, didn’t you check the group chat? lol]
[Big Sae-jin : Your read receipts are off and it’s so cold, Moon-dae]
“….”
I should have disabled notifications for personal messages too, but I’d forgotten. Since I’d continue running into these people, ignoring already-read messages would be like picking a fight, so I reluctantly sent a reply.
[Me : I don’t usually check my phone. Sorry]
[Big Sae-jin : Aw, why are you apologizing? That’s embarrassing lol]
[Big Sae-jin : Check the group chat ASAP!]
What kind of special news could there be?
I opened the group messenger room. In the chat with my teammates from the first team competition, over 500 new messages were waiting.
Of course, I had no intention of reading them all. I scrolled down and only checked the last conversation.
The team members were capturing and sharing reviews from the recent stage audience.
They were extracting phrases like “everyone on this team is so handsome~” from the reviews and going back and forth calling each other handsome in the way people do in social situations.
[Big Sae-jin : Right, now that I think about it, Moon-dae, you look more handsome every time I see you on broadcast lol]
[Big Sae-jin : For the sake of our comradeship, please share your dermatologist’s info]
It’s the level-up glow, you bastard.
Of course, I couldn’t say that, so I just replied that I didn’t go to one.
This guy uses words like “check ASAP” just to ask about a dermatologist… what was he thinking.
Maybe it was just my imagination. I suddenly felt exhausted.
At that moment, another vibration came through.
[Sun Ah-hyun : Moon-dae, I hope you’re doing well. Thank you for always treating me kindly during the first team competition. I promise to repay you next time… (more)]
A long, heartfelt message appeared in the group chat.
As if on cue, suddenly no one posted any more messages.
The atmosphere became solemn.
“….”
Out of basic human decency, I sent a brief reply, then immediately turned off my data.
When we meet at the next shoot… I’ll definitely tell him my home doesn’t have WiFi so I couldn’t see the messenger messages.
Five days remained until the next shoot—the production presentation.

* * *
A production presentation. A promotional event held ahead of the first episode’s broadcast.
In truth, with seventy-seven participants, there was almost nothing for any individual to do. Just perform “Right Now” once and get some photos taken—that was all.
Of course, the fact that “photos would be taken” held significant weight.
It was already a verified fact that photographs captured at this production presentation could play a major role in securing early voting rates.
‘Thanks to that, I’ve even made some money getting shots taken.’
Since I wasn’t just shooting and selling indiscriminately but taking commissioned work, the compensation had been quite decent.
In any case, if I were to describe my feelings standing at such a production presentation… well, yes.
‘All faces I’ve seen somewhere before.’
The people holding personal cameras behind the press corps looked familiar.
I suspected that more than half of them had sat beside me at some event or another at least once.
If I analyzed it a bit… let’s see, first of all, I could spot data brokers at roughly every other person.
Excluding those, most were existing idol fans. About half were here scouting new idols, and the other half were just here for fun.
Perhaps because of that, it seemed few people were focusing their cameras on just one person.
I could see lenses moving subtly as photographers captured three or four participants in a single frame, apparently planning to crop them individually afterward.
In any case, there were more people than expected.
It seemed the atmosphere was quietly building that this program would succeed by turning controversy into a talking point.
‘Unfortunately, even if I spent all remaining points on Park Moon-dae’s appearance, I wouldn’t break past B-rank.’
The production presentation’s benefits would likely go to those with A-rank appearance stats or higher, so I’d just have to focus on performing “Right Now” well and move forward.
‘So appearance really is everything after all….’
A brief regret passed through me again—that I should have invested in appearance stats first.
“We’ll begin once the reporters are seated!”
As I took my position in formation on the Outdoor Grass Field, matching the lineup we’d rehearsed at dawn, a staff member called out for a brief standby.
While I was using the gap to loosen up my legs, someone suddenly spoke to me.
“I saw your stage.”
“Pardon?”
It was Cha Yu-jin, standing diagonally ahead of me. If my memory served, he was the participant who would rank first this season.
‘But why is his comment so contextless?’
Then I remembered. It had been like this last time too.
It was probably during the “Right Now” broadcast stage shoot—Cha Yu-jin had suddenly asked if I couldn’t dance, and I’d responded by telling him to watch the stage and judge for himself.
Could this talk about the stage be a continuation of that conversation?
If participants were discussing stages now, the timing made it likely he meant the first team battle.
If that’s what he meant, I had to admit it. Even by my own assessment, I’d done well. But it was still abrupt regardless.
This wasn’t some shounen manga… had he developed a sense of rivalry?
And even more abruptly, Cha Yu-jin raised his thumb.
“You really did an amazing job!”
“Oh, thank you.”
“Let’s team up next time.”
“That would be ideal.”
Regardless of what this guy was thinking, working together would genuinely be beneficial.
I agreed without hesitation or further questions. Even if it was just lip service, there was no need to dwell on it.
My conversation with Cha Yu-jin ended there.
“H-hey… want some of this?”
“Oh, thanks.”
“Huh?! Sun Ah-hyun, don’t you have any for me?”
“Wow, now that Big Sae-jin’s stopped being the leader, he’s acting all shameless.”
“H-here.”
I accepted the gummy from Sun Ah-hyun nearby and chewed it while finishing my stretches.
As I let the chatter of the Gold-tier team members wash over me, a staff member gave a signal.
“Get ready~”
Soon, the opening theme I’d grown sick of hearing during the first week of filming began to play.
Either way, this stage would definitely end up on YouTube, so I had to avoid any choreography mistakes.

* * *
The moment I safely finished the “It’s Me” stage and exited, I heard someone’s shout.
“Moon-dae!”
Did they just call Park Moon-dae? That’s me, right?
I turned to look, and it was one of the camera operators.
The woman in the hoodie seemed to be continuously pressing the shutter the moment I turned around.
…Was she only filming me? When I unconsciously covered my face with my hand, the woman shouted again.
“Moon-dae! Give us a heart!”
“….”
I never thought the day would come when I’d hear those words.
But it was an opportunity, so I managed to make a finger heart and hold it up.
It was a bit… embarrassing.
“Cheek poke! Poke your cheek!”
Sun Ah-hyun beside me was trying to quietly slip away. He’d already suffered through cameras calling his name before the stage.
I gave him a look.
‘You do it too.’
If at least one other person did it, it would be less embarrassing.
Whether he received the signal properly or not, Sun Ah-hyun creaked back into position. And in that gap, Big Sae-jin pushed his way in.
“What are you two doing? Oh, a photo~”
He had an infuriatingly perfect sense of timing.
I would’ve preferred he didn’t put his arm over my shoulder, but since the cameras were there, I decided to endure it.
And so, the three of us ended up linking arms and posing for photos.
‘In the end, we’ve been taking photos as a trio since before episode one.’
I had a bad feeling about it even when we first opened the group chat.
It felt awkward, but since it was already spilled milk from the first team match, I decided not to avoid it unnecessarily.
Anyway, I caught a glimpse of the woman’s face as she finally turned away from the camera, apparently satisfied with the shots she’d gotten.
Ah…
She’s someone who bought data from me before.
There were quite a few content creators who, when their schedules made it difficult to film certain events directly, would purchase footage, apply minor corrections, and upload it as if they’d shot it themselves.
Yes, she was one of those types.
Let me think… I remember being criticized for raising prices to match market rates, as if I were some heartless data peddler with no conscience.
…Though I never filmed private moments like airport arrivals and departures.
When data didn’t sell, I’d sometimes release it for free on fan communities or YouTube.
‘Well… regardless, I can’t really complain about being criticized.’
Even if the company turned a blind eye for business purposes, the fact remained that I was profiting by disregarding others’ portrait rights.
Perhaps this was karmic retribution—if I fail to debut now, I’ll literally drop dead.
A lesson to understand what it feels like to be an idol constantly photographed.
“Park Moon-dae is so cute!!”
“…”
Wow… I really can’t get used to this.
Come to think of it, the male idol she used to photograph had a drunk driving scandal break last year.
‘He was the main vocalist…’
It seems she’s planning to switch over to Park Moon-dae.
I felt an odd sensation and waved my hand.
Either way, the press conference footage is valuable, so I hope she films diligently.
‘It would be even better if she uploads the photos before Friday.’
Because this Friday, Idol Corporation’s first episode would air.

* * *
The editing room tucked away in the corner of the ninth floor of Tnet Headquarters was packed with bleary-eyed employees who’d pulled all-nighters.
Ryu Seo-rin, who had recruited Park Moon-dae, was among them.
“Seo-rin, your eyes are bloodshot. Have some coffee first.”
“No time. Just coffee, please.”
This was her seventh cup today.
The faces of those gulping coffee like water while reviewing video footage all bore the same exhausted pallor.
Ryu Seo-rin’s former supervisor let out a sigh.
“The editing of the first episode really is crucial.”
“…Yes. You can see the direction of the program from it.”
What to show and what to cut away.
“Right, anything needs a story to be entertaining.”
“It’s entertaining when viewers can stay immersed even without thinking about it.”
An audition program needed narrative too. And when that narrative was easy to follow, viewers would stick around.
This was treated almost as gospel.
“Exactly. So we think ahead to around episode four and build up from episode one.”
“Right. Making the first team competition results the episode finale… establishing the story flow and defining the contestants’ characters.”
Of course, Ryu Seo-rin and her supervisor didn’t have overwhelming authority in making those decisions.
‘In the end, what the main PD thinks is what matters.’
She paused her work on the footage for a moment.
“Taking a break?”
“…I was thinking of making a suggestion.”
“Oh, about the editing?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm, that’s fine. Back in season one, you brought up that idea about editing Lee Go-yoon, that civilian contestant, and the main PD accepted it.”
Should I try? At her former supervisor’s words, Ryu Seo-rin let out an inward chuckle.
‘I timed it perfectly, that’s all.’
Right now was exactly that kind of timing.
People worn down by exhaustion sometimes forgot their sense of hierarchy because of camaraderie.
“This time, there’s… well, no one we need to push for, so it’s perfect for making suggestions.”
“Yes. We just need to think about viewership ratings.”
Since the previous season had ended prematurely amid controversy, there were almost no requests from major entertainment agencies.
So how should certain contestants be presented so that viewers would feel catharsis around the time the team competition aired?
“It’s important to capture contestants people like, but you also need ones they’ll dislike, right? What about suggesting something like that? You’re good at it.”
There was substance beneath the casual remark. Ryu Seo-rin shrugged.
“Come on, does the production team create all that? People are just like that naturally. They want to keep liking who they like and keep disliking who they dislike.”
“Hmm.”
Once she lumped it all under the production team, her former supervisor fell silent.
“We’re just making it easier for viewers to immerse themselves, that’s all.”
“That’s true.”
My former supervisor’s tail drooped slightly. Ryu Seo-rin certainly had a keen eye for talent.
So I shifted the conversation, speaking as if I already knew everything.
“So you picked them as the underdog this time? That gives the editor plenty to work with.”
“….”
The Underdog effect.
It referred to that thrilling reversal narrative—like David defeating Goliath—where audiences become captivated watching the weak overcome the strong.
And it was one of the most compelling stories an audition program could tell.
Of course, to achieve the proper effect, the editor needed considerable adjustment work. Everything had to fit together perfectly.
“You’re going to recommend them, right? You kept rewatching their footage.”
“Well… I’m watching.”
Ryu Seo-rin brushed it off casually, but it was essentially a yes.
‘No matter how I think about it… they’re the ones who deserve this.’
Ryu Seo-rin recalled the footage she’d rewatched, her decision already made.
“Fighting~”
She gave a perfunctory response to her former supervisor’s insincere encouragement, then sought out the main PD to have a word.
“Excuse me, PD,”
And she was half-certain the main PD was already thinking the same thing.

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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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