Debut or Die - Chapter 48

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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 48
The 【Husky】 team, led by Ryu Chung-woo, conducted their practice in a tense atmosphere. It was due to endless conflicts among team members.
[Choi Won-gil: (I didn’t expect Lee Sae-jin hyung to react so sensitively.)]
[Ki Jung-gyun: Does he have some kind of victim complex?]
[Ryu Chung-woo: …Sigh.]
The interviews and background music inserted throughout only amplified the uncomfortable atmosphere.
Since none of the participants lacked ambition, practice didn’t come to a halt. However, it didn’t proceed properly either.
And instead of those at the center of the conflict, the Production Team funneled all the growth narrative to Cha Yu-jin, who was excluded from the discord.
Park Moon-dae made his entrance here. If anything, he played the role of an advisor helping the protagonist’s growth.
[Park Moon-dae: Is something troubling you?]
And scenes of Park Moon-dae conversing with Cha Yu-jin in various locations and handing him snacks quickly flashed across the screen.
He’d merely supplied snacks for quick conflict resolution, like a mother feeding a tiger, but thanks to Cha Yu-jin’s interview saying “Moon-dae hyung helped me,” those scenes looked quite decent.
-??
What’s up lol
-Are they close?
Park Moon-dae’s fans were taken aback by this unfamiliar pairing.
Though they’d been on the same team as Cha Yu-jin in the second team battle and the stage had gone well, there had been no personal connection shown before.
Moreover, why did he flee to our kid’s side instead of staying with the verified leader Ryu Chung-woo?
But the questions quickly faded. Cute additional plot points were always welcome.
-He’s amazing at making sure there’s food to eat
-Typical Moon-dae, a guy who’s serious about eating
-Moon-dae: Unexpected healer
-Why do I see our grandmother in a twenty-one-year-old (soon-to-be) idol?
On screen, Cha Yu-jin successfully completed his stage, appealing with intense passion focused on the performance instead of his existing innocent image.
He’d receive some criticism for hogging all the screen time, but he’d planted a more definite impression. His narrative of inner growth and desperation struck a chord.
Park Moon-dae felt a bitter taste watching Cha Yu-jin snatch away exactly the kind of screen time he wanted, but his fans simply enjoyed the broadcast showing his charming, dependable side getting along well with his teammates.
Even the general viewers’ reactions were favorable.
-Park Moon-dae seems more mature than expected
-There must be a reason he gets along well with his teammates.
└Right, his first impression seemed rude, but it’s surprising.
Since he appeared as a side character next to Cha Yu-jin, who was blatantly given screen time, all the backlash went to Cha Yu-jin.
Park Moon-dae was left with only a subtle positive image.
As a result, the day after episode 10 aired, Park Moon-dae, browsing the Internet, found himself in a complex emotional state. He’d ended up sounding ungrateful.
‘Continuously recovering my early image is good. But… I still couldn’t capture that sense of desperation.’
I needed the image Cha Yu-jin had seized. But the only stage remaining was the finals.
And there was no reason for the Production Team to give me a narrative in the finals. They’d only given characters that would make the broadcast entertaining so far.
‘Should I give up?’
As I clicked my tongue, I mentally organized the filming schedule that remained.
Then suddenly, I caught onto an event that would happen during the next filming.
‘Wait, could that also… be possible?’
Of course, the broadcast ultimately depended on the Production Team’s editing. But it was worth making an effort to extract usable cuts for content.
Park Moon-dae steeled his resolve.
‘There’s no harm in trying.’
For reference, Sun Ah-hyun was about to suggest eating spicy braised chicken, but noticing my lost-in-thought expression, he quietly lowered his smartphone without my noticing.

* * *
“Wow, it’s getting hot now.”
Big Sae-jin muttered as he entered the Filming Studio.
It was already late April. We’d started the first shoot in winter, but time had flown by in an instant.
‘I’ve completely adapted.’
I moved Park Moon-dae’s body—now no longer unfamiliar—and changed into the uniform, thinking somewhat reluctantly.
Just then, Big Sae-jin glanced over and spoke to me.
“Hey, you seem taller?”
“What?”
“You must be working out hard. You’ve bulked up too.”
His words made me realize something anew.
Over the past few months, I’d grown quite a bit taller and gained decent muscle mass—now there was barely any difference between my body and my original frame.
“I’ve heard people can grow taller even after twenty-one, but this is the first time I’ve actually seen it.”
“It’s my first time too.”
“My goodness, really?”
I shrugged it off.
‘Around 177 centimeters, I’d say.’
Recalling my height from a few days ago, I took a seat in the waiting area of the Filming Studio. It felt strange that there were no unfamiliar faces around me anymore.
“Moon-dae, hey~”
“Hey, hyung!”
‘If I ever return to my original body, I’ll probably need an adjustment period too.’
It was absurd. I returned their greetings halfheartedly and pulled out my smartphone. I’d need to turn it off soon anyway, so I figured I’d do it preemptively.
But there was a new notification on my phone. It was from an anonymously created SNS account I used for monitoring public opinion.
Out of habit, I clicked on it, and a post that had just crossed ten thousand shares appeared.
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[The original artist of the trot song Moon-dae sang posted on SNS lolol (link)]
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It wasn’t a rare occurrence.
As the program heated up, unrelated celebrities were gradually mentioning the participants.
Following the link, an SNS page appeared with a large photo of a trot singer grinning widely and making a heart gesture with her fingers.
Faintly visible in the background was a TV screen showing me singing trot.
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[Park Moon-dae from Ajusa, who sang my song so beautifully! I’m rooting for you^^ I hope you debut! #Ajusa #DuetLetsGo #TrotCharmer
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“….”
Well… the original artist was satisfied, so that’s a good thing. The fans seem to be enjoying it too.
I was turning the page with that thought when another post from the trot singer flashed across the screen. This time, they’d uploaded a large photo as well.
‘Wait.’
That’s a photo I took.
Checking again, it was definitely an event photo I’d shot years ago.
It was a cut I’d released to a fan site out of conscience when it didn’t sell. The natural lighting that day had been decent, so the photo quality was good—it made sense they’d want to post it on their SNS.
But something felt off. As I turned my phone back off, I realized what was bothering me.
‘Wasn’t I not here right now?’
I’d definitely tracked my original body’s whereabouts the moment I entered Park Moon-dae’s body. But my personal information didn’t exist at all.
Yet the photos I took still remain?
‘That’s strange.’
I immediately went to YouTube and clicked the search bar. Then I searched for the most famous fancam I’d ever taken.
[Young-rin Legend Fancam]
Judge Young-rin completing a passionate stage performance in heavy rain during her unknown days. This fancam had been the stepping stone for Young-rin’s rise to fame.
Then a familiar thumbnail appeared at the very top of YouTube.
‘It’s there.’
The video existed.
Of course, it wasn’t from my original account.
I’d deleted the account where I used to upload unsold data when I started preparing for the civil service exam. So in terms of the current timeline… it would be around last year.
The uploader’s comment was already pinned at the top of the video’s comment section.
-Uploading because the original was deleted. Will take it down if the creator shows up.
“….”
That pretty much confirmed it.
‘So I don’t exist, but the data I created remains.’
It was unsettling. Even more so considering the condition I’d developed recently—that I’d die if I didn’t debut as an idol within a short timeframe.
‘Did the karma from selling data come back to haunt me?’
It was meant as a half-joke, but it was starting to feel less like one.
‘What exactly are you?’
I opened the status window and asked, but there was no answer. I felt like an idiot.
What the hell is this thing’s purpose?
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Hold on. Thinking for a moment.”
First, I pulled myself out of my thoughts. I’d stumbled upon a contradiction, but filming was right around the corner.
‘So I’ll investigate more once work is done.’
I quickly wrapped up my thoughts and handed over my phone.
Getting distracted by other things would only give ammunition for attitude controversy. I needed to clear my head.
Fortunately, I didn’t even need to make an effort. The MC jumped right in with a sudden development as soon as filming started.
“Welcome to the long-awaited third ranking announcement ceremony of Idol Stock Company~”
As the participants gave practiced applause honed over months of filming, the MC got straight to the point.
“But before we reveal your rankings, there’s one thing! Something we must discover first. And that is your true feelings.”
Right on cue, ‘that’ content arrived. I anticipated the MC’s next words.
‘They’ll ask how sincere I am about this audition. Through a “Casting Call”.’
That’s right. The Idol Stock Company series traditionally inserted another sensational piece of content around this point.
It was called the “Casting Call”.
In short, it was an event where agencies close to Tnet and moderately well-known companies would come to cast participants.
However, if you chose to sign with an agency, you had to leave the program.
So it was unlikely that any participant who’d made a notable impression on the program so far would drop out.
The participants weren’t fools, and there was no reason to go to some mediocre agency when they could debut with a group that guaranteed recognition right here.
In the end, it meant no one worthy of debuting here would defect, so it was merely an event to add tension to the program.
‘But I can use that tension.’
So I planned to guide the conversation as much as possible and appeal to how sincere Park Moon-dae was about this program.
…Of course, there was a higher chance it would be cut in editing.
“…Gulp.”
I heard someone swallowing beside me. Most of them probably guessed “Casting Call” from the timing and the MC’s words.
And if you’d been in the lower ranks in the last ranking announcement, this would be a moment worth conflicting over.
The probability of debuting here would be low, so you’d want to grab another lifeline.
The image of measuring defection could be somewhat smoothed over with words like ‘The agency you recommended has been my role model for a long time, and I want to start a new challenge. I’ll show you better growth going forward.’
‘There were consistently defectors from the lower ranks.’
Last season, I think about five people left outright. Considering the broadcast ended early afterward, it was a very wise cut. Only the debut ranking slots went to waste.
The MC drew out the moment tediously until the participants were breathless, then opened his mouth.
“Right away~”
The large screen in front lit up.
‘Maybe a list of agencies will appear.’
Just as whispers mentioning “Casting Call” swelled around me, the MC spread his arms wide and continued.
“A psychological test!”
“?!?”
“Through a prepared personality type assessment, we’ll match each of you with the perfect K-pop concept~”
Around me, participants who’d relaxed their tension let out ‘Wow…’ sounds.
“….”
I felt bitterly disappointed.
‘So it was just entertainment content.’
Or maybe they’d use that data to decide the next team competition.
Either way, what was certain… was that I’d been baited.
‘Damn it.’
The participants moved in groups of ten to separate small rooms following the staff’s guidance.
It was good that I didn’t have to wait thanks to being divided by name, but the disappointment left a bitter aftertaste.
‘I just drank kimchi juice for nothing.’
The room I entered was a converted single practice booth with a camera set up in the middle of a small two-person desk.
It was a typical space for a solo angle cut.
I suppressed a sigh, turned to the opposite side, and sat in front of the desk. A tablet with a pre-set Q&A form was displayed at that spot.
The trendy SNS aesthetic design had undermined its credibility.
‘It looks like some template floating around on the Internet.’
Suspecting they’d hastily outsourced it, I briskly selected multiple-choice questions.

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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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