Debut or Die - Chapter 264

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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 264
I placed my hands on the table.
It was a small table positioned in the hotel room for decoration, but in front of it loomed a camera nearly as massive as the table itself.
The Production Team behind the camera spoke.
“We’d appreciate a self-introduction.”
“Of course. Hello. I’m Park Moon-dae from Testa.”
I bowed slightly toward the camera, accompanying the gesture with a faint smile.
“I’m currently participating in Testa’s second concert tour.”
And I’m also involved in the production of this concert documentary.
This very thing we’re doing right now.
‘In truth, concert behind-the-scenes footage is shot quite often.’
It builds familiarity with individual idols and the backstories of concerts people have attended tend to be fascinating.
However, it’s rare for something to be produced as a full documentary. The fact that it wasn’t just treated as a product for fans alone but was launched to the general public is encouraging.
The production carries public significance, meaning Testa has left its mark on the flow of popular music.
‘In other words, it’s like a symbol of a different class.’
For instance, VTIC has probably had three or four documentaries released already.
So everyone acknowledged that this was an act of knocking on the door to the upper echelon.
However, whether everyone was pleased about it was another matter entirely.
-…Won’t it be uncomfortable? The camera will be attached for months.
-Well, they said they’d come in appropriately with our consent.
-I’m concerned that my daily life isn’t particularly interesting, so the content might not be engaging….
-Come on, the professionals will edit it well~ You don’t need to obsess over entertainment value. It’s a documentary, not a variety show! They’ll make it great, right?
In the end, through majority vote and appropriate persuasion, the documentary filming began, and there haven’t been any major issues so far.
‘Though… it does feel a bit intrusive.’
For instance, like this.
“Is there any particular aspect of the tour that’s been most inconvenient?”
“Well, probably things like jet lag and familiarizing myself with new venues… environmental factors, you know.”
“Ah, I can understand that. Then, from a more emotional perspective, how would you say you’re doing?”
“Emotionally, well….”
I can sense the Production Team’s desire to capture something raw and unfiltered.
With each camera, I notice their attempt to close the distance between themselves and my inner self.
They lower tension with simple questions, and once I offer a polished response, they subtly shift direction to draw out genuine feelings.
It’s a different kind of persuasive technique than what entertainment producers typically employ—they don’t chase sensationalism.
Of course, if I simply provide an answer that sounds more ‘authentic,’ that’s all there is to it.
“I think it’s difficult for me to bear when audiences can’t fully enjoy the concert due to factors beyond my control.”
I paused briefly as if thinking, then continued.
“So that seems to be what I’m most sensitive about and what weighs on my mind—the completeness of the concert.”
With an answer like that, they’d feel satisfied having uncovered something about my character.
Sure enough, the Production Team nodded and moved on to the next question.
“Then, what does a concert mean to Testa?”
“It’s probably because we get to meet fans up close and personal….”
After that, I think I delivered answers befitting a documentary. The edited version should look convincing.

* * *
“Thank you.”
The interview continued for about an hour. Then it ended as the Production Team left to visit the next person.
“….”
I lay down on the bed.
The tour itself was actually more relaxed than our active promotion period.
Now that I’d earned some seniority, I got a private hotel room during the tour. And between concerts, there was quite a bit of downtime for physical recovery.
“It’s quiet.”
I closed my eyes. After spending years among such noisy people, the silence felt almost strange.
“….”
Just before useless thoughts could surface.
Suddenly, the Production Team’s question from moments ago echoed in my mind.
-What does a concert mean to you?
Then a scene came to mind unbidden.
The first concert of this tour.
The concert at Seoul Gocheok Dome, after such a long time.
-Waaaaaaaa!!
Roaring. Fireworks. Heat.
And pure, undivided focus.
If this immense psychological exhilaration and overwhelming presence was the very essence of a concert, then the non-contact charity concert we’d done could only be called a filming.
Perhaps because it had been so long, I felt a density like entering the underwater depths.
The air was different.
Though concerts were a good revenue source for the Company, from a performer’s perspective, there was no transcendent space quite like it.
If you execute it properly, the reward exceeds the burden. And for this group, it had been far too long.
“Sigh.”
…It was fortunate the documentary crew didn’t follow us from Seoul.
‘They all went home crying their eyes out.’
There’s no way we could have done an interview in that state.
-Dream blue dreams bright as day!! *hiccup!*
The guys singing our debut song with their arms around each other in the Dormitory were absolute drunks. If the soundproofing had been any worse, we’d have gotten noise complaints for sure.
‘Ryu Chung-woo handled the request well.’
I briefly acknowledged the leader’s effort. Then I checked the next W Live schedule and fell asleep immediately.
…Reminding myself that 34 hours remained until the next concert.
‘It’ll be here before I know it.’
Since we were in America, the Concert Hall was smaller than in South Korea, but a concert was still a concert. There would be similar intensity of pleasure.
And after the hotel confinement and rehearsals, the concert began again.
[Hello LA!]
[Wooooow!]
Yes. The concert was still a unique experience, and it felt rewarding to perform.
However, I needed to revise my impression of the Documentary Production Crew.
‘These guys are overdoing it.’
“Park Moon-dae, are you alright?”
“…I’m fine.”
I removed the oxygen mask and stood up. Immediately, the Cameraman rushed to follow, while another member of the Production Team frantically scribbled something behind me.
It was remarkably suggestive.
‘Are they fabricating a narrative?’
But finding an idol who doesn’t use an oxygen mask would be faster, and even if they tried to highlight ‘passion’ with this footage, it would only produce a tired, clichéd image.
‘VTIC already wrung that story dry.’
However, after the concert ended, I understood their angle during the resumed interview.
“Park Moon-dae, have you experienced any aftereffects since the traffic accident?”
“…? Traffic accident…. Well, no. I’m in good health.”
They had begun asking about my physical condition.
‘Ah, I see.’
They seemed intent on crafting the concept of a ‘perfectionist idol who suffers physically but gives their all.’
Since documentaries become more engaging when they weave narrative rather than merely listing dry facts, the attempt is commendable, but….
‘It’s deception.’
I had received a clean bill of health by modern medical standards.
Since this album featured intense choreography, I’d even built up muscle mass for it—framing the story that way would be outright fraud.
I am in perfect health.
‘If I laid that groundwork, a lie detector would catch it immediately.’
Conducting interviews about ‘anxiety following the traffic accident’ was the absolute limit. I added my next words with deliberate firmness.
“I did feel eager to show our fans something positive quickly, having caused them concern, but I am now in complete health.”
An awkward silence fell among the Production Team members.
What is this?
“Well, Park Moon-dae, during the concert you seemed to be pushing yourself beyond your limits.”
“…Me?”
Were we at different concerts?
“Yes. The oxygen mask, and your members mentioned it too.”
“My members?”
What are they talking about?
And these bastards are grinning away, enjoying my confusion. Is it really that entertaining?
“Since the accident, Park Moon-dae seems to be struggling more than before, and they say it breaks their hearts how you hide it so well every time.”
“….”
Evidence flashes through my mind in rapid succession.
-You’re already in a state of reduced stamina from aftereffects.
-The serious injury and prolonged bed rest must have affected your condition.
“They say you seem to be feeling physical strain, and they wish you would rely on them more.”
No, what I relied on was Bacchus.
And even without it, I’m fine now, but the members kept comparing me to how I was back when I was getting the “Bacchus boost,” forgetting that my stamina was unrealistically good before that.
They’ve conveniently forgotten that my physical condition back then was unrealistically excellent.
And contrary to my resolve, I replaced the void left by “Bacchus” with a “Mission Constitution,” putting a period on my irretrievable peak stamina days….
On top of that, with the System gone, there’s no way to get any more draws.
‘I’m done for.’
I’m in a dead end.
I held back a sigh and barely managed to open my mouth.
“…I had no idea the members would say something like that.”
Don’t smile like you’re moved—you’re not.
But I should use this misunderstanding.
I paused for a moment, then answered slowly.
“I was the one who got hurt the most severely back then. That’s why the members paid so much attention to me. I think this comment probably comes from a similar context… anyway, I’m grateful.”
…Half of it is sincere, at least.
So drop the heartwarming inter-member friendship story and the injury-overcoming narrative.
But these guys didn’t drop it.
“Over here!”
“Moon-dae, you okay?”
“…Yeah.”
‘Ugh….’
They persistently filmed me backstage, especially favoring shots of me being supported or breathing heavily—their intention was painfully obvious.
‘They’re completely hooked on this.’
I considered giving them a serious warning a few times, but I gave up.
‘Do whatever you want.’
Looking at it, they seemed to capture interesting angles well, so the documentary itself would probably turn out entertaining and factual.
The only issue was that I’d inadvertently be planting a distorted fantasy about myself in the public’s mind, but… whatever.
‘Injury-driven determination is just common behind-the-scenes content anyway.’
Right, this profession might actually start with deception and end with deception…. Let’s at least earn our pay properly.
‘Rumors about member-caused aftereffects are about to spread worldwide….’
I abandoned everything and focused on the concert.
But apparently, someone else couldn’t do the same.
“Stop! Cut it!”
“…!”
During the relatively long VCR that played before the encore, a loud voice suddenly came from backstage.
And it was the voice of the least sensitive one among us.
“Eugene?”
“Cha Yu-jin?”
The guys who were waiting while changing costumes were startled by the unexpected situation and immediately rushed over.
The camera followed, which was a bit annoying, but we’d already included a clause about film disposal in the contract anyway.
‘Assessing the situation comes first.’
As I turned the corner down the corridor, I spotted the source of the commotion.
It was a small Backstage Room primarily used for managing muscle cramps and joint pain.
Cha Yu-jin had a patch applied to his shoulder from emergency treatment, but there was something far more pressing at hand.
Cha Yu-jin was in a standoff with the Documentary Production Crew.
“…Eugene?”
Cha Yu-jin glanced back at me, but immediately fixed his gaze forward again.
More precisely, at the Production Team beyond the Cameraman.
“Don’t do that. I don’t like it.”
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry.”
“Leave. Don’t come in here.”
And with that, he firmly ushered the Production Team out.
“…Just a moment.”
I sent out the camera that had followed me as well. It was somewhat irritating that they were trying to film even the closed door, but Cha Yu-jin came first.
The moment Ryu Chung-woo confirmed the door was shut, he turned off his microphone and spoke to Cha Yu-jin.
“Eugene. About the camera—if you have something to say, you can do it after the concert ends and the cameras are down. It’s not too late.”
“….”
“Let’s just finish the concert first, even if you’re upset. We only have four minutes until the encore… no, three minutes left.”
“…OK. Got it.”
Cha Yu-jin didn’t look particularly happy, but he nodded. He wasn’t the type to let his condition affect his performance on stage, so the encore should be fine.
‘I thought the documentary people were overdoing it.’
But I never expected Cha Yu-jin to react like this.
I had no idea what they’d touched to provoke such a response. Still, it seemed like the Production Team was respecting boundaries.
I suppressed a sigh and opened the door. Immediately, the camera thrust itself inside.
…This time, I was irritated too. Their enthusiasm might be the culprit.
‘I need to have a word with them the moment this is over.’
But before this concert even ended, another incident erupted.

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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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