Debut or Die - Chapter 29

—————

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

—————

A Fatal Illness if I Don’t Debut – Episode 29
The judges looked ready to say something like, “So you’re saying it’s all Kim Rae-bin’s fault?” at any moment.
I had to choose my words carefully.
‘It needs to sound like a simple recitation of facts, not damage control.’
“Yes. Since Kim Rae-bin can arrange music, we consulted with the arranger, and we all decided on the arrangement direction together.”
“…!”
Kim Rae-bin flinched.
‘You can’t open your mouth.’
Fortunately, Ryu Chung-woo jumped in immediately.
“That’s right. We’ll discuss the issues you mentioned all together again and resolve them. So we’ll be able to show you our best performance on the team battle day.”
“….”
We’d pulled it off.
Ryu Chung-woo and I wisely refrained from saying anything more.
The judges wore expressions of contemplation, but soon nodded.
‘They seem to think the moment to scold us has already passed.’
That was fortunate.
“So we need to start the arrangement from scratch now, and you’ll be significantly behind other teams in terms of time. Can you manage?”
“We’ll make it work. We can do this, right?!”
“Yes!”
“We can do it!”
If he weren’t someone who’d thrown common sense into the trash, we wouldn’t have made it this far without a wavering response.
Fortunately, this time even the troll answered with conviction.
Judge Young-rin nodded.
“I understand. But you need to be fully aware that this could be a reckless challenge within these time constraints, and that you’ll have to bear the consequences of the results.”
“Right. Just because you change it doesn’t guarantee it’ll be better than it is now.”
But if we didn’t change it and the performance was mediocre, people would ask, “Why didn’t you incorporate the feedback?” anyway.
And there would be segments about “lacking the spirit of challenge,” so ultimately, it was a meaningless statement.
In the end, regardless of what we did, the process would be edited and evaluated to match the results.
Since all participants implicitly understood this, the team was filled with discipline and tension.
“Yes. We’ll keep that in mind and take on the challenge.”
Just as Ryu Chung-woo’s answer seemed to conclude the situation, a voice suddenly interjected.
“May I say something?”
It was the original composer holding the microphone.
“Ah, yes…. Please go ahead.”
The judges responded somewhat coolly to the original composer’s sudden interruption, and the composer raised the microphone with a contemplative gaze.
“Your performance didn’t convey the power that 【Burning Like the Sun】 possesses.”
“…?”
What was this coming out of nowhere when everything seemed finished?
The original composer continued speaking, leaving the subtly bewildered people in their confusion.
“This song is supposed to inspire courage and passion in people’s hearts, you see? But you all—being handsome and dancing well doesn’t convey that.”
“….”
Ah, yes….
“When we were active, we really tried to convey that feeling. You can’t forget to show respect for a song just because you’ve become a bit famous now.”
And here he was, lecturing Audition Program participants who hadn’t even debuted yet, without a shred of shame.
He seemed to mistake his condescending remarks for genuine advice. His ego appeared rather inflated too.
But the problem was that his reaction would make it into the final edit, so I had to be careful.
I was already squeezing my brain for arrangement alternatives—did I really need to factor in his nonsense too?
I was irritated, but pushing back would only create the optics of some unknown idol’s original artist stealing their song, so everyone just answered obediently.
“Yes!”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Well… that’s just how professional life goes.

* * *
After all the other teams finished their mid-evaluation feedback, we were finally about to begin the arrangement re-discussion.
The troll hesitantly approached Kim Rae-bin.
“Hey, I’m sorry….”
“….”
Should I really let him apologize on camera like this?
Then again, we’d already covered the team’s reputation, so it was his job to clean up his own mess anyway.
Kim Rae-bin remained silent for a moment, then nodded.
“No, it’s fine. I did take on the arrangement myself, after all.”
Honestly, it wouldn’t have been strange if he’d answered, “No, you were the one who insisted on doing it that way.”
In any case, Ryu Chung-woo patted both their backs and wrapped it up.
“Good work. Everyone, once we’re ready, let’s go over the arrangement again.”
By “ready,” he meant the Production Team’s camera setup, of course.
“Yes!”
During the brief intermission, the participants scattered with renewed determination.
The mid-evaluation had been precarious, so their expressions weren’t great, but since we’d managed to salvage things at the end, hope still seemed alive.
‘But that hope is useless unless we come up with an alternative.’
Looking at them, no one seemed to have thought of a clear arrangement direction. They just seemed to be hoping something would emerge as they talked.
Running on happiness circuits with nothing in hand.
‘The future doesn’t look very bright.’
“Hey, Park Moon-dae.”
“Oh, yes.”
While I was sitting alone in a corner, thinking things through, Kim Rae-bin approached me.
‘Unexpected.’
We hadn’t really talked much over the past four days.
…Actually, now that I think about it, I barely talked to anyone over those four days.
I was dying from how hard it was to practice—where would I find time for idle chat?
Anyway, Kim Rae-bin awkwardly knelt beside me, then spoke solemnly.
“…Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. It was nothing.”
She was probably thanking me for cutting off that troll earlier.
“It’s the first time someone has helped me in a situation like that….”
So that was it. I grasped the situation well enough.
From Kim Rae-bin’s perspective, he’d been worried too.
If this turned into another conflict segment about failing to adapt to the team, public opinion might declare him beyond recovery.
‘No wonder he was so deferential.’
Sure enough, the words came pouring out in a torrent.
“After receiving criticism for lacking teamwork in the first round, I was really anxious about getting the same evaluation again. Thanks to you, Park Moon-dae, I managed to get through the crisis. Picking you as my first teammate was definitely the wisest choice.”
“…?”
Wait—did he pick Park Moon-dae first because of ‘teamwork’?
When I asked, he nodded.
“Yes. I observed how you treated your teammates in a fair and reasonable manner. Of course, your vocal skills were excellent too.”
“…Ah, yes. Thank you.”
This guy was remarkably unique—the broadcast had shredded Park Moon-dae’s image through editing, yet he’d still believed in what he saw.
He’d actually trusted Park Moon-dae’s teamwork abilities despite the heavily edited portrayal of him as socially inept at the start….
It was genuinely surprising. I would’ve understood if he’d picked Big Sae-jin instead.
‘Ah, maybe he didn’t pick him because Ryu Chung-woo already fills the leader role.’
So he did have his own criteria.
While I was processing this bewilderment, Kim Rae-bin spoke again.
“Oh, and you don’t need to be so formal with me.”
“…Sure.”
Well, there was nothing wrong with opening up to someone ranked higher.
I was about to respond when I realized there was something I needed to ask about the current situation.
“Speaking of the arrangement—do you have any ideas?”
“…Honestly, it’s a difficult situation.”
Kim Rae-bin’s impression, which had seemed like that of a cocky delinquent, softened into something melancholic.
“Even if we go back to rearranging, we don’t know where to start or how much to fix.”
He was saying that since they’d already practiced everything synchronized, he didn’t know how much they could change and still meet the deadline.
“If we change too much, it won’t work… but right now the revisions are so scattered that there’s no unity. I don’t know what to touch.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
So he had no special ideas and couldn’t decide what to fix. It was exactly like my situation.
Once Kim Rae-bin started venting, he couldn’t stop, muttering worry after worry.
“We need to reflect the original artist’s feedback too, but honestly, I’m not sure what ‘infusing it with courage and passion’ actually means in concrete terms.”
“…Yeah.”
That… was really true.
It was hard to even call that advice.
‘An idol isn’t some 1980s American cartoon superhero. How am I supposed to infuse courage and passion?’
“…?”
Wait. I think I just realized something.
I retraced my previous thoughts and realized I’d grasped onto a strange idea.
But the more I thought about it, the more perfectly that idea fit this situation.
A concept idea that allowed for arrangement while keeping the original key intact.
I wouldn’t need to change much of the cheerleader concept choreography I’d already practiced, and I could even capture that elusive ‘courage’ and ‘passion’.
It seemed like a brilliant solution. But the problem was….
‘…It’s too much.’
That was it. It wasn’t just excessive—it risked becoming tacky and juvenile.
In that case, not fixing it would be even worse. If even one person made a mistake on stage, the whole thing would collapse into awkwardness.
Huh?
“…No, wait.”
“Um, hyung?”
“Hold on.”
I ignored Kim Rae-bin’s question for now.
Instead, I watched the team members slowly returning as their break time ended, and I silently shouted internally.
‘Status window!’
And I quickly scanned through my teammates’ stats.
“…!”
Regardless of other stats, every single one of them had a ‘Charisma’ stat of B- or higher.
For reference, reaching B-grade meant they had stats worthy of being used in a main position.
Truly a team assembled from high-ranking participants.
‘This could actually work…?’
For some reason, the judges hadn’t been too critical of the outdated cheerleader concept.
“Rae-bin. About the arrangement.”
“Yes, yes?”
I spat out the idea that had just occurred to me to the bewildered Kim Rae-bin.
“Yes…?”
Kim Rae-bin seemed even more confused at first. But as I added more explanation, he gradually grew calmer, and soon his eyes began gleaming with excitement.
His reaction was better than I’d expected.
“Wait, just a moment.”
Kim Rae-bin rushed over to the keyboard set up in one corner of the Training Room and began furiously tapping away at something.
And I recalled Kim Rae-bin’s status window I’d seen earlier.
[Trait: Maestro (A)]
: All that’s needed is a small spark.
Upon inspiration, creation speed +120%
“….”
Sun Ah-hyun was the same way—truly, the status window silver spoon exists on a different level.
‘Is there no function to copy other people’s traits? I see that all the time in web novels.’
I wanted to sigh, but I had work to do first. I quickly pulled up my status window.
And I invested my remaining points into the ‘Charisma’ stat.
With this, I had entered B-rank.
‘Good. The numbers check out.’
“Moon-dae, why did Rae-bin suddenly switch to the keyboard?”
Ryu Chung-woo, who had approached, couldn’t bring himself to address Kim Rae-bin, who was plunking away at the keyboard, so he turned to Park Moon-dae instead.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I suggested a concept idea, and it seems he liked it.”
“What kind of idea?”
“A magical girl transformation story.”
“…!?”
Behind the bewildered Ryu Chung-woo, Cha Yu-jin whispered to the person next to him.
“What’s a magical girl transformation story?”
There were five days left until the competition.

* * *
And five days later, on the day of the competition.
The area in front of the Stage Set Building where the second team battle of Idol Corporation would take place was packed with people.
The number of audience members hadn’t increased that much. Rather, it was the soaring viewership ratings and trending index that had drawn crowds of people lingering outside, hoping to catch even a glimpse of the action.
Even though it wasn’t the final episode, people were already handing out slogans and photo cards, which was quite unusual.
‘Wow, this is serious.’
A woman awkwardly navigated through the crowd and joined the entry line.
She had applied to be an audience member at her friend’s request, but only she had been selected, so she’d hesitated—’should I just skip it?’—before finally taking time off and coming anyway.
‘It’s gotten so famous lately.’
Of course, her friend’s desperate plea—’Please, just tell me what Moon-dae does’—delivered through tears and promises of meals, had played a major role in her decision.
Yet even as she came, another thought lingered in her mind.
‘Is he really that good…?’
She had seen photos of Park Moon-dae with golden-brown hair on SNS before.
He was fairly attractive, but she didn’t think he was handsome enough to warrant this level of obsession.
Still, since she’d gotten a free meal out of it, she figured she might as well pay attention, and with that, she finally entered the building.
She had no idea that after the viewing ended, she would be begging her friend for Park Moon-dae’s photos.

—————

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

—————