Debut or Die - Chapter 398

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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 398
Ryu Gun-woo didn’t turn to look at the billboard. Yet words continued to pour from it.
[Our Gun-woo said he wanted to be an idol, but we had no idea he’d actually appear on a program like this and show us such a wonderful side of himself.]
‘Really…!’
Why did broadcasters, across every generation, remain so unchangingly drawn to such crude, low-level stimulation?
Bae Sae-jin ground his teeth beneath his mask. And regardless of what he did, speculation like ‘Ryu Gun-woo must have been moved’ spread readily through the comments.
[Please debut and let us see your face. Fighting, our son!]
Ryu Gun-woo kept his head down, his fists clenched tight. And to Bae Sae-jin’s perception, the billboard advanced with a cruelty in its slowness.
‘Sigh….’
Shin Jae-hyun’s mother’s brief message passed by, and as touching BGM gently drenched the filming set, the CEO’s voice emerged.
[We’d like to hear your thoughts on confirming your family’s messages here on stage.]
The camera zoomed in sequentially on several participants accepting the microphone.
Kim Rae-bin, with glistening eyes and trembling nose, was quite pitiful yet endearing, but the problem arose the moment the microphone finally reached Ryu Gun-woo.
Ryu Gun-woo gripped the microphone with both hands and maintained a silence just barely permissible for live broadcast.
Then he opened his mouth.
[…Thank you.]
He bowed deeply, then lifted his head with considerable vigor.
But emotion trembled in his voice.
[I will surely debut and show you a good side of myself.]
Whether directed at his parents or the public, the greeting was unclear, but the tremor in his emotion drew positive reactions.
Ahhhhh~!
Exclamations that seemed to find him endearingly pitiful.
But Bae Sae-jin, knowing the truth, felt conflicted.
‘He looks like he’s struggling.’
It appeared he was clenching his lips in emotion, but in reality he must be holding back sadness or shock….
…Wait.
‘Hold on.’
Bae Sae-jin caught himself before sinking into sentiment and observed the expression objectively once more.
Park Moon-dae, biting the inside of his lip.
That was just purely gritting his teeth.
In crude terms, an expression of being utterly pissed off.
“…??”
‘Is he… from head to toe… actually furious…?’
Ryu Gun-woo on stage stood upright with blazing eyes.
Inexplicably, they burned with motivation.
-I guess I’m in high spirits because I haven’t seen my parents in a while. ㅠㅠ That’s right, model boy, he likes the taste of this.
-Gun-woo please debut
“Lee Sae-jin asking why she got so emotional and spaced out is hilarious lol”
Regardless of Bae Sae-jin’s confusion, the finale progressed smoothly onward.
The CEO believed he had deliberated carefully with the staff and decided, but in truth, someone who knew the future had guided the direction—and he announced the list of successful candidates.
With perfectly timed pauses, the names were announced one by one.
[Shin Jae-hyun.]
Each trainee was called and the crowd erupted in cheers as they shared their thoughts.
Ryu Gun-woo, Jin Chae-yul, Jung Woo-dan, Cha Yu-jin, Oh Yoon-shin….
[This one struggled with the decision, but I was impressed by how much trust he earned from his peers in such a short time.]
Even Ryu Chung-woo.
When seven members made an odd number that fit perfectly, people grew anxious wondering if it would end here, and the participants’ faces showed their fading hopes.
‘What an invaluable experience this has been!’
Or more precisely, it was the moment when all the participants except Kim Rae-bin—who was already lost in the afterglow—wore that expression.
The CEO drew it out dramatically, pretending it wasn’t, before announcing the final additional pass.
He had planned to hold this person back for the next round, but after the ‘orchestra collaboration,’ he couldn’t resist his desire for the group’s completeness and made this choice.
[Kim Rae-bin.]
[…!?]
[The group’s final member.]
Kim Rae-bin nearly leaped from his seat and almost took the microphone upside down.
He was a midnight thunderbolt—not just for himself alone.
[M-m-me? …Yes!]
Hahahahaha
Why does Rabin have that expression lol
-It’s like my face when the professor pretended to know me in class
Kim Rae-bin’s fierce expression transformed like fresh dough, drawing huge laughter as the announcement concluded touchingly.
Half from VTIC, half from Testa.
‘A tie.’
The VTIC leader, called first, felt a brief moment of emotion recalling the bet with Park Moon-dae.
So in conclusion, the Wise finale was a success.
The two additional eliminations brought regret and disappointment, but overall the consensus was that the CEO had made quite solid choices.
In fact, coldly speaking, even the eliminated members were cut well.
It was perhaps inevitable. After all, it was a combination of idol members who had already been verified once.
[A legendary idol survival show with talk of an all-time great lineup]
[Final pass list for LeTi’s survival show that just ended]
[Wise’s new group name revealed]
Yet Park Moon-dae of Testa, who had finally made a solid start on the stage where flowers swayed and fireworks burst….
Still had a cold, seething mind.
‘That damn bastard.’
Because he had reached a certain conviction.

* * *
-Big Sae-jin : Moon-dae Moon-dae you worked hard you’re so cool (thumbs up emoji) rest well today!
I checked the chicken gift certificate he’d attached. And when I was about to send a reply saying “I will,”
a popup suddenly appeared.
[Hyung… are you okay?]
I answered calmly.
“I’m not okay.”
[]
The popup froze as if unable to type another word.
I could guess what he was thinking, but that wasn’t why I wasn’t okay.
It was the frustration of falling for such bullshit.
“It’s a lie.”
[…What?]
“My parents being alive is a lie.”
To think I’d fall for such a ridiculous prank.
[!!!]
The popup vibrated frantically, spilling out typos, but I ignored it and continued muttering.
“The story doesn’t add up.”
There were too many logical holes.
“If they can’t make voice calls but can receive emails, that means they have internet.”
So then.
“There’s no reason to insist on voice calls. A video call or video chat request would make more sense.”
No matter how slow the internet is, they should be able to send at least one photo.
After a pause, a very cautious response came through.
[Wouldn’t it be possible that your parents refused to show their faces…?]
“That excuse would come up. But that’s not all I’m suspicious about.”
I turned off my smartphone.
I couldn’t deduce it at first because of the shock, but when I saw the billboard message saying “Letter from Antarctic Base” earlier, a thought struck me.
“Were my parents actually researchers?”
[!??]
“My mind naturally accepted it as true, but for something like that, I have absolutely no memories related to my parents’ workplace.”
They wouldn’t have suddenly stopped being researchers just because they came home.
“At the very least, I should have some impressions about their workplace, but all I remember is them going to work and coming home.”
Like a setting hastily tacked on at the end.
“It’s not normal. Absolutely not.”
The popup remained silent for a while, then gradually spilled out words.
[Actually… I had similar doubts too. Researchers have stable jobs, right? But it didn’t seem like hyung inherited money from them….]
“Exactly.”
I’d actually suspected that too. If they were researchers, that’s a high-income profession, but I have no memory of them losing money through theft or stocks, and I inherited almost no wealth from them.
And I don’t even remember questioning that fact.
“So… the Antarctic Base researchers who are supposedly my parents here have a high probability of being a lie.”
[….]
“They were fabricated.”
When the system went haywire, I’m not sure exactly what it did, but I suspect it planted a subtle ‘researcher’ premise inside me to make me accept it naturally.
Since it even wiped my memories of when I actually met Park Moon-dae, it seems capable of implanting suggestions like that.
“But it doesn’t seem natural enough to avoid creating a sense of dissonance.”
[…Because you voluntarily noticed it just now, hyung?]
“Right. Probably because meeting them directly would create dissonance, so it’s keeping me away by sending me to Antarctica where I can’t see them.”
And maybe it blocked all visual information entirely, fearing I’d feel even greater dissonance if I encountered photos of my parents as researchers.
The popup distorts.
[That’s so despicably underhanded.]
The system’s pulled countless shady stunts before—nothing new there. It’s just infuriating that I fell for it like this.
‘And it messed with someone else’s memories, which pisses me off even more.’
Especially… memories with so little time left.
“….”
No, don’t get lost in sentiment. There’s no time for that.
I continued my deductions, and Big Dal kept eagerly laying out his own theories.
[Then… so this definitely isn’t the past, right? Could it be a dream? Like that daydream I used to create?]
“The latter, I’m not sure about. But the former is certain.”
I muttered quietly.
“The fact that people who no longer exist in reality can’t appear here means we haven’t actually traveled back to the past.”
The settings were all jumbled from the start anyway.
[….]
“It could be a good thing, though.”
At least the motivation would be genuine.
[Hyung.]
I made a decision.
I didn’t bother hiding this information from Chung-ryeo and shared it with him instead.
About the incompleteness of this place.
The guy sitting in the waiting room of the filming set that would soon be demolished listened to my explanation carefully, then offered his commentary without much agitation.
“In the end, our objective hasn’t changed. Right?”
“…That’s true, but we’ll need to be more careful when making choices.”
I furrowed my brow.
“If there are errors in memory, we could make the wrong decision at a critical moment.”
No matter how small those errors might be.
A seemingly trivial difference could trigger a butterfly effect.
‘I should periodically check whether I’m sensing any dissonance.’
But Chung-ryeo’s expression was lukewarm.
“Junior Member. As long as you properly remember the information values necessary for our progress, it’s fine. Memory naturally becomes distorted the more it accumulates anyway.”
“….”
“What you need to be wary of… are the secondary effects that arise from memory.”
What.
“Emotion.”
“…!”
“With just information value, rationality, and judgment, there’s no reason to make mistakes. There’s nothing particularly wrong to choose. In the end, you only need to pick one thing.”
He declared it.
“The objective alone.”
“….”
“Right?”
“Yeah.”
I never thought I’d be saying things like this, but talking with him seemed to clear my head a bit.
I gritted my teeth and declared it.
“Get cast no matter what, then get out of here. That’s the objective.”
“It seems like you have a habit of saying obvious things one more time, Senior.”
Annoying.
I straightened my posture and sat up properly.
Let’s get to the main point quickly.
“Anyway… about our debut concept.”
The smirk faded slightly from his face. I crossed my arms.
“VTIC’s first album concept was for worldbuilding.”
“Testa probably isn’t much different.”
“Well. We have high music rankings.”
“Haha, you certainly sound like someone from a Survival Show Program that hit double-digit viewership ratings for a moment.”
He’s saying we never would’ve dreamed of those rankings without the survival show.
“…Anyway, since yours is long-term, it might be too niche for short-term, don’t you think?”
“I’m not sure. The response was definitely good overseas.”
…Was it? When I film male idols, I film them, but I don’t particularly watch debut song music videos or analyze their outfits.
“What exactly is the concept.”
“The afterlife.”
“Cough.”
I almost choked.
I barely managed to respond.
“That’s too much.”
“Haha, saying that to Testa?”
“….”
“With sufficient investment, there’s nothing excessive. What matters is completeness.”
[That’s what he used to say….]
Hey, no—stay quiet.
“Besides, chasing mass appeal at this point isn’t exactly a good strategy anyway.”
Chung-ryeo tapped his chin and continued speaking.
“LeTi has traditionally had decent support in overseas K-pop fandoms, so we need to capture that market.”
“Overseas.”
“Yes. The English-subtitled version of 【Wise】 we uploaded to YouTube is getting quite solid view counts. It’s actually the best performance I’ve seen from any survival show I’ve worked on.”
He laughs.
“Let’s go after the overseas market and base our strategy on album sales.”
“Wait.”
Since when does he get to decide things on his own?
“If we produce quality music, we can definitely perform well domestically too. Isn’t this still a period when male idols have decent mainstream appeal?”
A few years down the line, only those who’ve solidified themselves as top-tier will be able to expect strong digital performance, but isn’t this still a time when plenty of groups are scoring hits?
“That’s exactly why it won’t work.”
What?
The smile vanishes from Chung-ryeo’s face, replaced by his characteristic apathy.
“The efficiency would be terrible.”
“….”
“There’s already a group that’s exhausted all the entertainment value from mainstream appeal.”
And I realized who he was talking about.
“…T-Holic.”
In reality, they’re just veteran idols maintaining their group through variety shows.
We’ve even appeared on their variety programs before. An old group that doesn’t expect much in terms of music performance, filling their relevance through entertainment value instead.
‘But not now.’
Here… this is T-Holic’s peak active period.
“Yes.”
Chung-ryeo nods.
“Our competition is T-Holic at their absolute prime.”

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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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