Debut or Die - Chapter 49

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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 49
The personality type questionnaire displayed on the tablet followed a consistent pattern: describe a situation and choose an action.
Of course, they were all idol-specific scenarios.
[1. You’ve been selected as a performer for TaKon, a global K-pop concert showcasing artists to 21 million fans worldwide!
While immersed in grueling rehearsals, a completely new idea suddenly strikes you!
However, only one week remains until the performance. What do you choose?]
First, I’d ignore the blatant product placement for their own concert.
Strip away the fluff, and it’s basically asking: with the deadline practically breathing down your neck, would you scrap everything and start over?
‘Obviously not.’
Did they think this was a school assignment?
With a week left, the stage set and costumes would already be locked in. They’re asking me to tear it all down because I had an idea?
‘Even if I wanted to overhaul it, I’d need at least five years to make that feasible.’
In other words, it was practically impossible.
No matter how desperately I wanted to appeal to my passion, this wasn’t passion—it was recklessness.
[⑤ Unfortunately, time is too short. Let’s perfect the preparations we’ve already made.]
I deliberated for effect before selecting this option, then looked directly at the camera and muttered something that couldn’t be edited out.
“If it were just me, I’d want to try it. But a stage is a comprehensive art form, so I need to consider that context. I’ll keep the good idea noted and try it next time.”
With that much seasoning added, they’d have a hard time painting me as some eccentric character. I moved on to the next question.
[2. You’ve won the Rookie Award at ToneA, Asia’s largest music awards ceremony. However, while traveling to attend the awards show, a traffic accident leaves one member seriously injured.
Fortunately, you only sustained minor bruises. If you leave immediately, you should be able to attend the ceremony. What do you choose?]
“….”
Obviously I’d get proper medical attention first.
Someone in the vehicle was seriously injured—what kind of logic would make me trust minor bruises and rush to an awards show?
But looking at this, it seems like the option to push through with willpower and effort to attend the ceremony would be framed positively.
‘How ridiculous.’
I suppressed the twitch in my eyebrows and selected the neutral answer.
[④ Look into the possibility of delivering acceptance remarks remotely from the hospital.]
“While attending in person would be ideal, post-accident complications might not appear immediately. We need to confirm our physical condition through medical examination to ensure our activities aren’t disrupted.”
Even as I added the explanation, I was incredulous.
‘Surely it’s not all like this?’
Oh, but it was.
Remarkably, all ten questions presented these absurd scenarios.
Only the Production Team would know what this had to do with K-pop concepts.
I suppressed a sigh and worked through the remaining questions.
After getting past question nine—which subtly plugged their own products—the final question finally appeared.
Finally, the end. I quickly scanned question ten.
[10. You’ve appeared on Idol Stock Company, which selects global K-pop idols to achieve worldwide success.
Now, standing before the final gate after endless effort and overcoming obstacles, an enormous casting call beckons you. What do you choose?]
“….”
They’re putting this here?
The moment I realized I’d been doubly deceived, the tablet screen changed.
The countdown had started from three.
‘Why give only three seconds for this kind of countdown?’
I could feel their firm resolve to extract a shocked reaction from the participants.
The numbers vanished in an instant. Before I could even think, text appeared on the screen.
[Choose now!]
At that moment, without warning, the door in front of me burst open.
“…!”
“Hello?”
A familiar face stood in the doorway.
Wait. Let me correct that. I’m the only one who found them familiar.
Because I’d seen them filmed so many times.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
A member of VTIC walked through the door with a smiling face.
“…!”
It was the appearance of a major figure I hadn’t anticipated.
I reflexively bowed in greeting. If I’d been even slightly late with my courtesy, the Internet would have torn me apart.
“I’ve been enjoying the broadcast.”
“Thank you.”
The VTIC member extended their hand for a handshake. I extended both hands and shook theirs as if I were meeting a major client.
Cold sweat dripped down my back.
‘How on earth did they manage to cast them?’
Even if Ajusa was doing well, it wasn’t as if VTIC’s agency had investment stakes in us—so how did they get them to appear?
Did VTIC have an exclusive reality show on Tnet? Did they land a T1 affiliate advertisement?
‘…No, none of that really matters.’
What mattered was watching my words carefully. One slip of the tongue and who knew what screenshots would circulate on social media.
I waited for the VTIC member to sit before taking my seat again. Then I calmly assessed the person before me.
‘Were they the leader?’
I remembered their name and popularity metrics, but not their other positions as clearly.
All I recalled was that their individual metrics were decent within the group, and they danced well enough to have good fancam demand.
Their stage name was Chung-ryeo.
“Let me introduce myself first. I’m Chung-ryeo, serving as the leader of VTIC.”
They seemed to have a real name, but naturally I didn’t know it.
In any case, they didn’t seem to expect that Park Moon-dae wouldn’t know them. This was just a standard introduction for broadcast purposes.
“I’m Park Moon-dae. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Even as I spoke, I wasn’t sure what I was asking them to help with, but I offered a appropriately courteous greeting.
‘Should I have reacted with more surprise and fuss?’
I’d been so flustered that I’d actually forgotten to react.
“You’re quite composed, just like on the broadcast.”
“…I was so startled that I froze.”
“Haha, is that so?”
That’s his way of saying he doesn’t believe me right now.
Chung-ryeo laughed just enough to lighten the mood before cutting straight to business.
“The reason I’ve come to meet you today, Park Moon-dae, is to deliver a casting call from LeTi Entertainment, the agency that represents VTIC.”
I’d anticipated this statement. Yet I couldn’t help but think it.
‘Has the Production Team lost their minds?’
With LeTi’s current reputation, even someone ranked in the single digits could be tempted to desert.
Of course, joining there offered no guarantee of debuting as the next male idol. They likely already had more than a few trainees on their roster.
But VTIC’s standing was so elevated right now that twenty-year-olds would be utterly captivated. Especially with a VTIC member standing right here in person.
‘Even those already signed elsewhere would close their eyes and sign without hesitation.’
Chung-ryeo continued with what sounded like a rehearsed speech.
“Of course, this offer isn’t extended to every participant. Do you remember the Q&A we did earlier?”
“Yes….”
“Among the nine situational questions, you had the highest response alignment rate with our VTIC members.”
Chung-ryeo clapped his hands softly.
“You could say you share a similar talent profile with our LeTi Entertainment artists.”
“…Thank you.”
So that meant different agency representatives were visiting each room, conducting their own casting calls.
‘The preview footage practically writes itself.’
Given that VTIC had shown up, they’d probably scraped together every major agency friendly with Tnet, so viewers wouldn’t find this particularly surprising.
“First, allow me to explain the advantages you’d enjoy if you chose LeTi Entertainment.”
What followed was predictable. He rattled off the usual benefits, achievements, and vision.
‘Just image management for the agency.’
It was impressive that he’d memorized it. As the leader, he’d probably already studied this for external appearances.
In any case, I nodded earnestly and offered appropriate exclamations, as if genuinely moved by his words.
Chung-ryeo wrapped up his pitch at an appropriate point and added a prepared joke.
“And Park Moon-dae, as you likely know, LeTi is also the agency of Malang Dalcom. Perhaps… you might get the chance to perform 【POP☆CON】 together?”
“Haha…, yes.”
This Pop Con phantom wouldn’t let go.
Apparently thinking I’d shown interest, Chung-ryeo smiled knowingly.
“Well then.”
Documents and a pen appeared on the desk.
A contract. From the stamped seals and format, it looked like they were actually using it.
‘Is this real?’
Did they really need to invest this much effort in production? I skimmed through the contract with reluctance.
“Park Moon-dae, will you accept the casting call from LeTi Entertainment, VTIC’s agency?”
“….”
Let me think about this.
I was in the first group of ten. Thirty people remained. Three more groups.
‘That means at least two more will receive casting calls from LeTi.’
What if there were two or more VTIC members who came here?
Then that would mean a total of six people, including myself, would receive this casting call.
Let’s say just one more person besides me had agreed.
LeTi isn’t stupid—if two or more of us defected to their agency, there was a high probability they’d bundle us together for activities.
Ajusa didn’t just happen to succeed; it’s practically reached syndrome-level status now.
‘The agency wouldn’t just throw away this kind of fame.’
So if I didn’t want to continue as an idol in Park Moon-dae’s body, this might actually be the better option.
There was a high probability I’d fizzle out after just a year or so of activities.
‘After that, I could either search for clues to return to my original body… or find a new path forward.’
Once activities stopped, I’d be forgotten quickly. Dozens of new idol groups debut every year.
I lifted my pen above the contract.
“….”
Then I quietly set the pen down and bowed deeply.
“I’m sorry, but… I’d like to continue challenging myself.”
“Ah….”
Chung-ryeo responded with what seemed like genuine regret. His fan service was good on Stage, and his character was just as good in front of the camera.
“That’s a shame. Participant Park Moon-dae, I really thought you’d do well at LeTi.”
“You’re too kind.”
I bowed once more with proper respect.
“Is there perhaps a reason?”
Why did I refuse?
Well… if only I had agreed, that would be a disaster.
They don’t give solo activities.
They only gave VTIC unit activities. They probably think solo activities eat away at a group’s lifespan.
And… before I entered this body, even three years into the future, LeTi’s rookie male idols never debuted.
In other words, sudden death was guaranteed.
‘Absolutely not.’
It would be better to drop out of the program entirely than to wait for a debut at LeTi. A chill ran down my spine.
But I couldn’t say that outright, so I’d have to give a different reason.
“Well… there’s the matter of investment costs.”
“Pardon?”
“There are people who have purchased stocks to support my debut so far, and I want to repay that investment.”
That’s right.
‘…If I’m going to be an idol anyway, I might as well do it properly.’
If I debuted with Ajusa, it would be a five-year contract under a T1 subsidiary label.
Then at least I’d be active enough to satisfy the people who spent money and time for Park Moon-dae to debut.
…As for my position, it was the same. I didn’t have any other dreams or visions anyway.
People liking me… was somewhat enjoyable.
‘It suits me better than expected.’
The Stage was fun too.
“I’m going to work even harder so that I can debut here.”
That should be a decent answer.
I didn’t manage to seize the moment to appeal to their desperation because VTIC suddenly popped up, but it wouldn’t come across as lacking.
Chung-ryeo listened intently to my response, then nodded.

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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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