Debut or Die - Chapter 390

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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 390
When every element and keyword overlapped, the Stage naturally gravitated toward similar results.
It was perhaps inevitable, given that Sun Ah-hyun had taken on the choreography and I’d assumed the leader role.
This performance was progressively taking shape in a manner strikingly similar to the Ajusa first team competition Stage.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“Over here, hyung!”
“Much appreciated.”
I wiped the sweat beading on my chin with a towel.
“Hyung, you’re really suited for this kind of dance choreography! You’re seriously so fast, and the completion quality is already incredible….”
“Is that so? I was fortunate.”
Because I already knew.
The revised choreography for the chorus currently under rehearsal required no separate mastery on my part. It was nearly identical.
But that wasn’t all.
A similar phenomenon occurred in the arrangement composition as well.
‘…I never expected to prove just how sound that choice had been.’
The Communication Expert was selecting options remarkably similar to those I’d chosen during my first team competition.
Given that we had to complete the ‘Art’ collaboration within a week, far more in-house experts were assigned to the project than before to ensure Stage quality.
And this was the feedback I received just before the midterm evaluation.
“In my view, what if we brought out the bridge a bit more…?”
“…Yes.”
“Since the other two have handled most of the dance parts, let’s approach this as a collaboration format. You’ll do a solo.”
My solo.
Ajusa had done exactly the same thing. They’d arranged it entirely in the upper register to emphasize my vocal capabilities.
It was essentially a pronouncement that the arrangement composition would be nearly identical.
“What do you think?”
“I’m completely in favor…!”
Yet no one voiced any objection.
“….”
I released the tension in my hands and opened my mouth.
“Yes, I understand.”
However, the Arranger tapped his own shoulder with a dissatisfied expression, then let out a blunt remark.
“Is Geon-woo feeling unwell somewhere? The kid seems completely listless.”
“…!”
This wouldn’t do.
Appearing lethargic in a survival show was a minefield that could spiral into an attitude controversy.
Voluntary disclosure was the best approach.
I immediately raised my voice.
“No, sir! I had some body aches earlier… I apologize if my poor condition showed outwardly.”
“No need to apologize—just manage your health well. Debut is right around the corner now. You understand, right?”
“Yes.”
And instead, the guys on either side of me started chirping away.
“Senior, I’m sorry. We didn’t know you were feeling unwell….”
“Please have some water.”
“No, it’s fine. I didn’t say anything about it.”
I accepted water from Ju Dan and moved past the situation. The Arranger asked again.
“So we’re doing the bridge like that? Emphasizing Gun-woo’s vocals?”
“Yes.”
Resistance was out of the question. From here on, I needed to appear more focused on camera to avoid any variables.
‘This is right.’
But this pointless resistance was the problem. That unpleasant feeling of my skills not coming through properly during the entire practice.
‘Damn it.’
“Why don’t we rest properly and try again tomorrow….”
“If you work harder now, you’ll sleep much better tonight.”
“…Yes.”
I managed to restrain my teammates’ insane suggestion—”let’s do it hard and fast to finish early and rest”—which stemmed from concern about my condition, and finished that afternoon’s practice.
I couldn’t help but sigh.
‘Am I in my right mind?’
If my skills fluctuate with my mood while the camera’s rolling, shouldn’t I just quit?
Am I not doing this properly? Forget about picking teammates and all that—maybe I should focus on raising my own stats and awakening instead.
“Senior, what about dinner…?”
“I’ll head out after this. Go ahead and eat first.”
After stretching for quite a while, I finally headed to the Dining Hall.
After washing up and getting my mid-evaluation, I was planning to come back out late at night to refine things. My mood was terrible.
*Click.*
Since it wasn’t dinner time, the Dining Hall was empty except for one guy using it like a study room.
“Hello, senior. Please sit here.”
It was Chung-ryeo.
I immediately checked the wall corner and the table. He grinned at me.
“There’s no camera here. But we can still talk, right?”
“….”
I put appropriate food on my tray and sat across from him. He was checking a notebook with choreography notes written on it and asked.
“You’re not actually sick, are you?”
Since we share the Training Room, it seems some of it reached his ears too.
“You know but you’re still asking?”
“Huh? I’m asking because I don’t know.”
He closed the notebook and asked in a casual tone.
“This is your first time using a piece that had good reactions for something else in a different situation, right?”
“….”
“Seems like it’s bothering you a lot.”
How the hell did he figure this out?
The words rose to my throat, but of course I didn’t say them. Damn it, I had no choice but to do it anyway.
“Is that the Stage you’re talking about? The one from the first team match in Idol Corporation.”
“Yeah.”
“A first Stage always leaves a special impression. I still remember mine.”
This guy’s first Stage?
“Come to think of it… I performed here during the survival audition too.”
“….”
“We have quite a few interesting things in common. Don’t we?”
He stared into empty space for a moment without speaking, then broke into a slight smile.
“It’s fine. Once you do it a few times, you realize it’s nothing. Besides, this isn’t reality anyway, right? If anything, it’ll feel hollow.”
“…I suppose that could be true.”
I carelessly set down the chopsticks I’d been holding over my tray.
Here I was, saying things like this to him.
“The problem is that this resistance is affecting my condition.”
“I see.”
He closed the notebook he’d been writing in. Then he spoke quietly.
“Don’t practice anymore today. Get some rest early. And eat well.”
“….”
“Human cognition is surprisingly governed by physical state. You do intend to manage that, right?”
I nodded slowly. He shrugged.
“Right… if you really can’t manage it, then think of an alternative.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Clack!
I set down my water glass roughly.
“There’s a right answer, and I can do it.”
“I know.”
He smiled and stood up. Then he gestured toward my tray with his chin.
“Finish that and get some sleep.”
“….”
I nodded. He left.
“Sigh.”
My appetite, which was never there to begin with, had completely vanished.
[You really must eat….]
Wouldn’t it be better to just shove some glucose in my mouth rather than risk indigestion from forcing food down?
[That’s impossible!?]
I let out a quiet laugh at the alarmed popup. My thoughts about what lay ahead had become somewhat clearer, but my condition had only worsened.
‘Once I start, it’ll be fine…or so I thought.’
That prediction itself felt unpleasant. Damn it.
Over the next few minutes, I forced all the food on my tray down. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.
And as I was cleaning up the tray and standing to leave.
Creak.
The Dining Hall door opened with a sound. I didn’t bother looking, but I heard it.
A voice.
“Oh.”
“…!”
I turned my head.
The guy I’d seen two days ago was standing there.
Black-haired Sun Ah-hyun.
“Hello. It’s nice to see you again like this.”
“….”
I lowered my head, then raised it. But he waved his hand.
“You don’t have to do that…! I’d appreciate it if you’d speak more casually too.”
“I can’t do that when I appeared as a mentor.”
“But we’re not filming right now.”
He smiled faintly, carefully closed the Dining Hall door, and stepped inside.
Why?
“The traffic was good, so I arrived early and wandered around until I ended up here.”
I see.
“Would it be alright if I sat here too?”
No participant would be foolish enough to tell their mentor no.
“Yes.”
“Thank you…!”
I had no idea what he was thanking me for.
Now I was awkwardly stuck. I stared at my empty tray, deliberating.
Then his gentle voice came first.
“The candy you gave me was delicious. It’s a candy I eat sometimes too. Um, for stamina recovery during intermissions.”
“Yes.”
Right. I remembered him spitting it out during a concert intermission when time ran out.
Here, he must be talking about ballet performance intermissions.
Since intermissions provided proper rest time, he wouldn’t have needed to spit it out mid-performance.
“….”
“….”
I cut the conversation short with monosyllabic replies, and silence continued. Yet he showed no signs of stopping, opening his mouth again.
“Actually, when I saw you in the Corridor… your face seemed familiar, so I wondered if I knew you.”
What?
“But when I got closer, it didn’t seem like the right moment to ask. You looked like you were in pain.”
“Pain, you say.”
Sun Ah-hyun flinched slightly, but nodded.
“Yes. You look like you’re in pain. Even now.”
“….”
So… I’ve been walking around in such a mess that everyone could read me like an open book.
‘What about the camera?’
No, I already made excuses about my condition, so it should be fine. I didn’t skip practice and performed properly, and I never hurled abuse at anyone else, so that much should be…
“You’re not obligated to confide in me… but I’d still be grateful if you could find someone to talk to. This is my counselor’s number…”
“That’s fine.”
Just stop already.
“…Yes. I’m sorry. I was overstepping my bounds.”
Sun Ah-hyun’s expression darkened.
I held back a sigh. And just as I was about to exhale, I found myself blurting out an answer without thinking.
“It’s not overstepping,”
“Yes.”
“It’s just… I’ve already created a performance with the same song and the same concept before.”
“…This performance?”
“Yes.”
I lowered my gaze.
“…It was my first performance with all the close people I can’t see anymore, and the fact that what I’m doing now will air first on broadcast doesn’t sit right with me.”
I have to wonder if I’m in my right mind for saying that.
Sun Ah-hyun’s expression clouded over. He seemed to be thinking something similar.
“Then… why didn’t you say anything when it’s so difficult?”
Why wouldn’t I?
“Because the results would be better that way.”
“…!”
“That performance had a good response. I’m not stupid enough to waste something that’s already been proven.”
This reaction could be misunderstood as some other agency’s end-of-month evaluation. Either way, it doesn’t matter.
“…”
Sun Ah-hyun was silent for a moment, looking at the dining table.
But soon he spoke with a firm voice.
“Good results aren’t the only answer. A choice where your own heart isn’t in pain is also an answer.”
“…!”
It was an unprofessional thing to say. But Sun Ah-hyun didn’t back down.
“Victory doesn’t have to come from directly overcoming an unwilling heart.”
He hesitated for a moment, then added in a muted voice.
“I… lived by turning away from my feelings too much, and it caused me pain.”
“…”
“And I’m certain you can deliver a good performance even if you take a different path. There’s no single answer to performance and interpretation.”
And he concluded gently.
“So… you don’t have to insist on suffering with the mindset that you must overcome it. An alternative can be the right answer too.”
I couldn’t find a response.
I won’t deny that the content was shocking and that I was momentarily swayed.
But there’s one more thing.
‘…I thought he was living well without any major hardships.’
His refined speech without hesitation, his proactive communication in unfamiliar situations, and success bordering on Achievement.
He already possessed everything that Sun Ah-hyun had been reclaiming in the original world.
Wouldn’t anyone look at him and think he was the one living well?
Yet why was everything he said like this… No, why was he talking about suffering to someone he’d just met?
It was as if….
[Hyung?]
‘Ah.’
The silence had stretched too long.
I barely managed to respond.
“…Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
It wasn’t exactly a promise to do so, but Sun Ah-hyun nodded quite happily.
“No, I should be thanking you. You must have been surprised by a stranger suddenly saying such things, but I appreciate how maturely you received it.”
“Not at all. I should be the one… I was actually comforted by your advice.”
“Then I’m glad.”
The atmosphere barely managed to become warm. It was only fortunate that the camera wasn’t rolling.
Sun Ah-hyun, with a somewhat brightened expression, made this suggestion.
“And… there’s not much of an age difference between us. Feel free to speak comfortably.”
“Then mentor, you go first and drop the formality.”
“Ah, well… only if you do first.”
He laughed ambiguously. I knew he would.
And before I could add anything more, a call came from his staff member, just like last time.
“Don’t you need to go?”
“Ah, yes.”
Only then did he stand up.
“Even if the song changes, I’ll tell them it was something I consulted about, so don’t worry.”
And after saying something so unreasonable, he left the Dining Hall.
“….”
Still, perhaps because it was something my mentor said, my heart felt a bit lighter.
‘There’s no real need to do it…’
[Hyung… I think Ah-hyun’s right. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to, right??]
That’s separate from the shock. If it’s necessary, I have to do it.
Drrrring!
The popup trembles as if mocking me.
‘Stop it.’
I’m not changing my mind over something like that.
Then this time it shrinks as if deflated.
Ugh… So you’re just thinking of it like a cover stage collaboration or something? I mean, it’s not like we’re doing Ajusa one more time with you in it! Just think of it as doing it together with the Junior Member!
It sounded like nonsense, yet it was surprisingly persuasive.
Yeah, the timing is definitely different and it’s a completely different program. If I just make sure to recognize that the two situations are separate and move forward….
“…!”
Wait.
[Hyung?]
Yeah.
‘You’re right.’
[Huh?]
I was mistaken.
Ajusa and Wise aren’t the same program. Not only do they differ in year, but their format and target audience appeal are completely different.
‘In other words, the evaluation criteria are different.’
Plus, the number of members involved, the performance theme, and the composition are all different, aren’t they?
Just because our first team performance in Ajusa was a perfect answer doesn’t guarantee it’ll work here.
And when I recalculate the situation accounting for those differences… our first team performance in Ajusa isn’t actually a perfect answer for this.
‘Ah… what an idiot.’
Realizing this now.
[So… then?]
I came to a clean conclusion.
‘…I think we need to make some adjustments.’
[Ooooh!]
I chuckled softly as I returned my tray.
The table was spotless once cleared.
And before heading into the midterm evaluation, I gathered my teammates in the Living Room.
“Oh, hyung!”
“I thought you were going to shower.”
“I had something to say.”
I spoke without hesitation.
“I kept wondering why something felt off, and it turns out there’s one element we overlooked.”
“What?”
“The mentor.”
Right.
This time, the mentor not only participated in the Stage composition and offered advice but also briefly performed on the Stage.
Like drawing pop art during the intro before exiting, then appearing while tearing up that painting, or having an orchestra provide live accompaniment.
“Our mentor is a ballet dancer.”
“Y… yes?”
“We need to make sure that person doesn’t overshadow us.”
There were no cameras in the Living Room yet. I spoke freely.
“So we can’t do the same choreography. The answer is for both of us to create synergy with different feels, making the Stage feel fresher.”
“Ohhh….”
They exchanged glances with each other, then Chae Yul spoke first.
“So… are we modifying it?”
“There are some elements to delete and add.”
I closed my mouth for a moment, then opened it again with deliberate casualness.
“Of course, to pull this off properly, it’s going to be a grueling sprint right up to the final performance….”
His face brightened.
“That’s fine. I love it!”
“Let’s give it a shot, then.”
This is VTIC for you. I couldn’t be happier that these yes-men types never disappear.
“Good.”
I opened the notebook I’d brought with me.
And after the midterm evaluation—a torrent of shock, anticipation, and worry at the words “we’re going to overhaul half of it”—passed….
A few days later.
The day of the performance arrived.

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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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