Debut or Die - Chapter 306

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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 306
Bump.
The interior of the moving vehicle was silent.
The members seated in the spacious van appeared to be listening to music or working on their smartphones.
“….”
Kim Rae-bin attempted to recall today’s schedule and detailed preparation methods, then abandoned the effort. His thoughts simply refused to move in any productive direction.
And he felt guilty about his own state.
‘Such negligence.’
In crude terms, it could be defined as ‘my mind is utterly exhausted,’ but to him it felt like laziness.
‘…Everyone else is working so hard.’
And only then did the scene suddenly resurface—the Manager and members discussing today’s schedule.
-It’s a shoot at an outer studio, right?
-Yes, that’s correct.
-Then it’ll take quite a while~
Indeed, a considerable amount of time seemed to have passed since boarding the car.
Though he hadn’t volunteered for it, perhaps the directionless anxiety that had plagued him throughout the entire journey made the time feel longer.
Sitting still was the hardest part.
Before, in moments like these, time would slip away as he recorded various plans and musical ideas that suddenly came to mind.
“….”
Kim Rae-bin turned his head, trying to escape the replaying memories of failure.
A flash of blue suddenly entered his vision.
‘Blue?’
For the first time in half an hour, the view outside the window revealed a wide road with mountains flanking one side.
The van was… traveling on the highway.
“…?”
They’d said they were heading to the outskirts, but if the van entered the highway like this, wouldn’t that mean their destination was a completely different region?
Kim Rae-bin had no driver’s license. But he had memories of attending provincial events, so a reasonable question occurred to him—which he quickly suppressed.
‘I’m not in a position to ask questions.’
Steeling himself to work hard as instructed, Kim Rae-bin was swept up once more by his own unbidden predictions and worries, sitting rigidly in his seat in silence.
“….”
And Park Moon-dae, seated beside him, subtly checked on his condition before turning his gaze back to the road.
‘He didn’t notice.’
And some time later.
“Oh, we’ve arrived.”
The members began exiting the now-stopped car. Kim Rae-bin instinctively followed them out, then hesitated.
They had arrived at the midpoint of a mountain on one side of the road.
There was only one old, rustic house—which seemed to be their destination.
‘Is this a nature-friendly concept…?’
Before Kim Rae-bin could blame himself again for his insufficient briefing, the Manager climbed back into the driver’s seat and nodded to the members.
“Then I’ll be waiting down below.”
“Yes! I’ll contact you later!”
“…??”
This was also quite strange.
‘They’re not accompanying us during filming?’
Having the team handle things independently at the workplace—this was the first time since Testa’s dedicated team had been formed!
Kim Rae-bin, momentarily forgetting his helplessness at this unfamiliar situation, surveyed his surroundings.
A cool breeze swept through the autumn mountains, where the foliage painted the landscape in vibrant hues of red and gold.
As if a tightly bound knot had loosened, the wind seemed to brush through his very heart.
‘Seoul has mountains like this too.’
He reflected on his own limited perspective and prejudices. Wasn’t this scenery just as magnificent as one of the ridges of the Taebaek Mountains in Gangwon Province where he’d grown up?
Then, as he turned his head, a road sign caught his eye.
[Seorak Mountain ↑ 32㎞]
“…??”
Kim Rae-bin fell into confusion.
Seorak Mountain was… in Gangwon Province.
Which meant this wasn’t the outskirts of Seoul, but… actually Gangwon Province!
At this point, even someone burdened by self-reproach couldn’t help but speak up.
“I, I’m sorry, but I’d like to ask if there was perhaps an error in setting the destination!”
At Kim Rae-bin’s startled cry, the members turned to look at him.
“What?”
“This doesn’t seem to be the outskirts of Seoul—it looks like mountains deep in Gangwon Province!”
“That’s right.”
“Pardon?”
Ryu Chung-woo answered gently.
“This is the right destination, Rae-bin.”
“…??”
Kim Rae-bin fell into confusion again. Then Park Moon-dae, who had sent off the Manager’s car down the road, finally turned to look at him.
His respected hyung was smiling.
“Filming….”
“We’re not here for filming.”
“Then…?”
“We just came up the mountain. Thought we’d do some self-improvement and reflection.”
Park Moon-dae answered quickly, as if he didn’t want to say it out loud, but then he smiled slightly at the end.
“This is a composition camp.”
Kim Rae-bin’s mouth fell open.
As they entered the rustic brick mountain lodge, it had the familiar charm of a typical lodge, save for one incongruous modern television.
Yet Kim Rae-bin still stood dazed in the middle of the living room, its walls covered in floral wallpaper, unable to collect himself.
“Kim Rae-bin, sit down!”
“Wow, it really feels like we’re on a team outing. Right? The budget fits perfectly too.”
“W, would you like some fruit…?”
When I came to my senses, I was sitting on the heated floor with half a pear in my hand, the warmth beginning to seep through.
“…?”
What on earth was happening?
Without properly noticing that everyone except me was acting completely composed, Kim Rae-bin fell into deep contemplation while analyzing Park Moon-dae’s words.
…A composition camp.
‘He definitely seemed displeased with my continued attempts at composing….’
Was he saying he’d check the results once I did it properly, out of sheer frustration?
For a moment I felt afraid, but perhaps this was something I’d been hoping for all along.
‘If I keep refining my work through my brother’s feedback, maybe I can write good songs like I used to.’
It would be terribly painful, but instead my heart grew impatient.
I wanted to write a song right now, get feedback immediately, and escape this helpless state to return to how I was before….
So the moment Park Moon-dae came back from the kitchen into the living room, Kim Rae-bin immediately cried out.
“Um, may I ask what exactly you mean by a composition camp…?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
Park Moon-dae pulled equipment from his bag. It was his familiar laptop.
Kim Rae-bin felt tension stiffen his body, but quickly extended his hands to receive it.
Thunk.
Prioritizing performance over portability, it came down with a substantial weight.
He spoke in a trembling voice.
“So… if I write a song from now on, will the others give me feedback….”
“You’re not the only one doing it.”
“Pardon…?”
Park Moon-dae didn’t stop and pulled out another new laptop from his bag.
“Oh, is this Moon-dae flexing?”
“I’ll take the red one! REDMAN ~!”
And he distributed them one by one to those reaching out their hands.
“Everyone will compose on their own. And negative feedback is forbidden.”
“…!”
“During the camp, you can’t receive feedback from outside either. I didn’t install PC Kakao. Email is prohibited.”
He was a tyrant through and through, yet Kim Rae-bin couldn’t even think of a counterargument.
Park Moon-dae finally pulled out his own laptop and opened it on the table, turning his back appropriately to the television.
Click.
Reflexively, Kim Rae-bin followed suit and opened his own laptop.
And seeing his program appear on the screen exactly as he’d left it last time, he finally asked in a slightly trembling voice.
“Then, what kind of song should I….”
Cha Yu-jin interjected.
“No specific purpose!”
“…!”
“Park Moon-dae said it. It’s a camp.”
Bae Sae-jin concluded matter-of-factly.
“I’m just going to make it.”

* * *
Being cooped up in a mountain lodge cut off from the outside world for two nights and three days passed with overwhelming support, much to my surprise.
‘…I never expected a mountain lodge to feel this much like a residential house.’
I spotted the ginseng wine sitting on the balcony and my eyes twitched, but I held back.
Big Sae-jin and Ryu Chung-woo had found a mountain lodge that looked exactly like some rural relative’s house.
‘Maybe I should have just left it to Bae Sae-jin.’
That’s when Bae Sae-jin opened his mouth.
“…The atmosphere here is quite charming.”
“Y-yes, it really is.”
….
Never mind. I should have done it myself.
But since planning was my job, there was no way around it. It had been a while since I’d tried to do something this unproductive, so there were bound to be some trial and error.
I looked at Kim Rae-bin.
He was glancing back and forth between his laptop and the people around him with a bewildered expression.
Right. That made sense. If I suddenly told him to compose something on his own without any guidance, of course he’d look like that.
So I’d at least come up with some composition theme candidates.
“I thought about what might be fun if we each picked a theme and worked on it together.”
I turned my head and turned on the TV. The only modern device in this house—a smart TV—was connected to YouTube.
There were several conditions for selecting the composition theme.
First.
-It couldn’t be related to Testa’s work.
Right now, Kim Rae-bin was in a state where if a song had any element that could become part of Testa’s career, he’d create imaginary reactions in his head even without any actual feedback.
‘It has to be pure hobby.’
In the same vein, second.
-It couldn’t be related to Testa’s work in the future either.
In other words, there shouldn’t be any possibility of it being officially connected to us, so I wouldn’t give him any room for unnecessary worries.
Of course, even if it were ever made public, it had to be a topic that wouldn’t give anyone any grounds for criticism—something I could feel secure about.
‘That drastically narrows the range.’
And finally.
The most important point.
-Something that could spark interest.
Since the Ajusa second team match, his tastes had been clear.
‘Inspiration.’
Something he’d want to turn into a song.
So the theme I picked as number one was this.
I manipulated the remote to navigate YouTube.
Then I logged in and clicked on the playlist.
Electronic sounds and 8-bit audio, with text appearing against a black screen.
[Welcome to SECTION 127]
[!WARNING! ※L21※]
“This is the boss theme BGM from the sequel to Section 127.”
“Ooh~”
It was the well-made game we’d collaborated on early in our debut—Section 127—and now here came its sequel.
‘There’s no way I can use this for work.’
Copyright issues.
And there’s no chance those copyright problems will ever be resolved. We wrapped it up cleanly and moved on. Everyone knows doing it again would be brain-dead.
‘But it’s entertaining.’
Because….
“Apparently, each boss in the sequel was modeled after the tutorial members from the first game that we collaborated on.”
That’s why.
Relevance and creativity.
‘That sounded like some nonsense about parallel universes or something.’
Anyway, what’s certain is that while memories of the previous work surface, this is a choice without burden.
[Sold OUT – II8: BGM]
The screen was now playing the sound of the first boss, based on the character ‘B11’ that I’d played in the trailer.
“How about each of us arranges the BGM of the character we played however we like?”
“Oh, that’s interesting? You’re like a recreation instructor, Moon-dae~”
The guy who’d heard the entire briefing yesterday and voted unanimously was making a fuss.
But this structure itself was necessary. A structure where each of us attempts composition.
It should have been like this from the start.
‘I’ve been dumping too much burden on Kim Rae-bin.’
I’m not the one singing the entire first verse alone just because my vocal stats are the highest among us.
The same should have applied to producing.
For the audio track portion, instead of just throwing feedback, I should have participated more actively in the actual production and honed my skills—but I’ve been putting it off.
Because Kim Rae-bin is so good at it.
‘The song is the most important thing, so I shouldn’t have done that.’
Having Kim Rae-bin alone bear the weight of defining Testa’s musical identity was wrong from the start.
It wasn’t just about setting the concept and genre framework—I should have actually hands-on worked on it at least once.
I checked the composition program installed on my laptop and thought.
‘I hope this performance also has the effect of lightening his burden a bit.’
Right. Anyway, I need to check his reaction first.
I lifted my head, observed Kim Rae-bin, and opened my mouth.
“And next—”
Actually, there’s no need for next.
I closed my mouth.
Kim Rae-bin was staring intently at the smart TV screen.

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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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