I’m Debuting With The Bias I Killed - Chapter 16

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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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Episode 16
So that was it. Everything fell into place with those few words.
SP, Spotlight Point.
A point created by the convergence of public attention.
And attention, by its nature, never lasts.
“Sigh—”
[S: SP is maintained for a maximum of 7 days from its creation.]
[S: It may dissipate more rapidly depending on the type of attention.]
“One week?”
Deflation washed over me.
A mere week. No matter how desperately you claw for attention, that’s all you get. A name that blankets the news feeds one day vanishes without a trace days later. A world of such fleeting fame.
It was a system that captured the entertainment industry’s ecosystem with brutal precision.
“Still, though.”
Until now, whenever SP accumulated, I’d spent it immediately. Spinning the hourglass over and over, pushing myself so hard I passed out.
I never even considered saving it.
That’s why I didn’t notice. Or rather, didn’t think about it. That attention had an expiration date.
A hollow laugh escaped me.
‘What the hell is this King of Hell trying to do?’
At this point, it wasn’t Roulette Game addiction—it was entertainment industry addiction.
“You could’ve told me a little sooner, you know?”
I threw it out casually, but the status window stayed silent. Normally it would’ve shot back some remark, but today it was unnaturally quiet.
That silence irritated me more. I flopped back against my bed, shoulders sagging.
The plan I’d prepared had completely fallen apart.
“This is giving me a headache.”
It’s not a total loss. My Midterm Evaluation wasn’t bad even without items.
The problem is the real deal.
I was a producer and idol fan, never an idol myself.
I was someone who watched from below the stage, not someone who stood on it.
“I’m losing it…….”
As I closed my eyes, the stage materialized in my mind.
Nix Entertainment was betting everything on this survival show. Literally every capital they could scrape up from here and there had been poured in.
Because of that, even before the return, I’d felt it—the stage scale from Round 1 was outrageously huge.
Fill that massive stage alone?
“…….”
Just imagining it stole my breath. No matter how strong your nerves, you can’t help but feel the pressure.
That’s why I’d wanted to use an item. To ensure that even if I made a mistake, the judges would only remember my strengths.
‘What if I mess up?’
‘What if I get nervous and fall apart?’
‘What if I go off-pitch?’
Anxiety coiled in on itself.
That’s when it happened.
A memory surfaced without warning. An old one.
My real older sister, Yu Seong-ah.
That maniac—a dancer and renowned choreographer—was different from childhood on. School festivals, talent shows, community events. If it had “stage” in the name, she never passed it up.
And she always dragged my wrist along with her.
‘She was a lunatic from the start.’
That day was no exception.
I was barely in third grade then. It was the school talent show, with the entire student body watching.
I fought tooth and nail not to go on stage, but Yu Seong-ah dragged me up anyway.
The result was pathetic. The moment the lights came up, I burst into tears.
All the kids stared. The teacher panicked.
[But you followed every move perfectly even while crying?]
I didn’t want to admit it, but it was true.
Indoctrination is terrifying—tears and snot streaming down my face, yet I executed the choreography faithfully.
‘I must’ve been desperate to remember it even now.’
And the funny part was—
[Fourth-grader Yu Seong-ah nailed every move and owned that stage, but guess who became the talk of the audience? You.]
That’s right. Yu Seong-ah, in fourth grade, was a fish returned to water on that stage, turning it inside out. But the one who became the center of attention was me.
Moreover, the video the teacher uploaded to YouTube became quite famous.
A suspiciously talented elementary school boy crying beside someone else performing a dance, yet still faithfully executing every choreographed move.
People’s attention, if anything, was on me.
-Oh my, the baby cries so well and dances so well too
└Shouldn’t that be “doesn’t even cry”? lol
-Must’ve forced their way up following their sister lololol
-The dancing is clearly overwhelmingly better from the girl but why do my eyes keep going to the boy next to her lolol
-The boy next to her has insane star quality like a demon
Years later, when Yu Seong-ah became famous and that video resurfaced as a hot topic, the reactions were identical.
-If that’s Yu Seong-ah, then her younger sibling became a dancer too right? lol
└No no the baby does try hard but there’s something weirdly clunky about it lol
-Coming back to watch again and again… the boy next to her keeps improving it’s so funny
-02:17 Here when he wipes away tears and does the ending pose it’s so cute I come back to watch it every day lol
I hadn’t understood it then, but now I think I could see it.
People admire those who are flawless.
But those who fall short yet persevere to the end—they inspire you.
And inspiration becomes interest.
That’s when it hit me like a lightning bolt.
“That’s it.”
The item I’d been trying to create.
[A nostalgia that makes only strengths stick in memory]
The answer was already there in that description.
For only strengths to remain in memory…
“There have to be weaknesses.”
Light only shines because darkness exists; perfection only stands out because imperfection exists alongside it.
But I’d been trying to hide that all along.
Trying not to make mistakes, doing my best to cover up any shortcomings.
But that was the producer’s way.
A player on stage is different. Especially in a survival show.
It’s not the person who’s been perfect from the start who survives—it’s the person whose eyes keep drawing you back, even if they’re incomplete.
People are captivated by growth, not results.
‘There was never any need to hide it in the first place.’
I thought back to the Midterm Evaluation stage. It had been clean, well-executed.
The only standout was the twist itself—an unexpected contestant performing an original composition. That alone made it a jaw-dropping performance.
But that strategy only worked because it was first.
Strip away the element of surprise and it was a “too stable” stage. Especially compared to other participants who were dancing, tumbling, and making an absolute spectacle.
Story always beats spectacle.
A protagonist perfect from the start? Nobody connects with that. The real appeal of a survival show is watching an inexperienced newcomer gradually grow, isn’t it?
Then my weapon was singular.
‘Show everything without hiding anything.’
Take the stage in an anxious state, just as I am. Then gradually pull myself up. Draw the audience into the moment, and finally unleash everything at the climax. Create transformation within a single performance.
I wasn’t an idol—I was someone watching idols.
That’s what gave me confidence. I knew exactly what kinds of stages made audiences go wild.
“…This’ll be fun.”
The stage that comes out will probably be completely different from the other trainees. Because I’m the greenest of the green, the authority on rookies, the king of the clueless.
* * *
On the day of the shoot.
The air on the bus was heavy. Everyone warmed up their throats in their seats or stretched their limbs, mentally running through the choreography.
“Hey, Seong-u. Over here.”
Han Sang-yoon waved me over.
“Yes!”
As I walked to the seat, gazes followed me. It was definitely a different reaction than after the Midterm Evaluation.
It wasn’t next to Lee Yul-i, which was a shame, but still close—right next to his seat. Though a large bag was occupying the spot beside Lee Yul-i.
‘…Protecting the seat better than a person would.’
“Did you prepare a lot?”
“Pretty well, all things considered.”
“Wow, why am I so nervous.”
Choi Un-jo poked his face out from the front seat.
“Yo, bro. Are you getting the jitters too?”
“Not jitters—nerves.”
“Right. Nerves!”
Choi Un-jo let out a snort of laughter.
“Where’s Seong-u?”
“A little nervous.”
I forced a brave face. Truth was, I felt like I might be sick.
Glancing sideways, Lee Yul-i had his earbuds in, lightly reviewing the choreography. His hand movements were distinctive now that he was out of the cast.
‘As expected.’
Since I’d spent most of the prep time in the studio, I’d barely seen him practice.
Not that I was worried about Lee Yul-i or anything.
“We’ve arrived. Please exit the vehicle.”
“Yes!”
We tumbled out at a sprawling studio somewhere in Seoul. Even at first glance, its scale was far from ordinary.
“Whoa, this is insane.”
“Wow, it’s actually huge.”
The trainees’ jaws had all dropped. Mine too.
‘They really spared no expense.’
Which is exactly why we’d end up called a cheap group after debut.
“Everyone’s here, right? Please come this way for hair and makeup.”
Following the staff’s guidance, we arrived at the waiting room.
“Seeing you again?”
At the familiar voice, I turned right around.
“Oh wow, I was actually hoping you’d be here on my way over.”
“Really? Then I’d better do a good job today—”
She smiled while asking.
“What kind of look are we going for today?”
“I’m thinking something simple, like the profile photos from before.”
Flashy styling would only hurt this performance. The whole concept was “growth of a novice,” after all.
“That’s why I prepared this too.”
“What is it?”
I pulled a glasses case from my pocket.
“These don’t have a prescription, right?”
“No.”
Obviously not. Real thick-framed glasses that practically swallow your eyes get called “X-glasses” and are only used as mocking memes.
Sure, someone could pull off cuteness even in those. But that’s only possible after debut. Only acceptable once people have already fallen a little in love with you first.
“And just a light perm for the hair, please.”
“……A perm?”
“Yes. A perm, please.”
She let out a soft laugh.
“You’re nineteen, right?”
“Yes!”
“Sometimes you talk like you’re thirty-nine.”
I didn’t want to call it a full perm, so I just asked for one.
“I have quite a big age gap with my unnie.”
“Ah—”
I just hoped this conversation wouldn’t make it onto the broadcast. If Yu Seong-ah saw it, she’d probably think ‘Am I really that old? Does he think we’re the same age?’ and replay that particular disappointment.
The styling came out flawless again.
“How do you feel? Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
Lightly permed hair and chunky horn-rimmed glasses. Braces just barely visible when I smiled. It was exactly what I wanted. Blue jeans and a checkered shirt. With the guitar on top, I looked like a complete nerd.
“But won’t it be okay?”
“What do you mean…….”
“The other kids all looked way more flashy.”
Looking around the room confirmed her point. Bold makeup was standard, and one person had even gone for a crop top and choker combo.
‘How badly do they all want to make it…….’
It was a shame, but that was a poor choice. They’d only gather malicious comments about drawing attention with outfits instead of skill.
“This mission is about showing ‘me,’ isn’t it?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“This is what fits who I am right now.”
She nodded as if she understood.
“I like that.”
After styling, we headed straight to the shooting set. Positions were assigned in Code order. The lower your number, the closer to the camera.
“We’re starting the shoot—”
Clack!
The recording began with the sound of the slate. The lights dimmed, and a sweeping orchestral theme swelled through the studio.
[Nix Entertainment’s first boy group selection survival show: Boys Code!]
Kang Se-jun’s outfit today was anything but ordinary.
“Is this a pilot uniform or something……?”
By the time this program wrapped, he’d have worn every conceivable uniform at least once.
‘It’s like Kidzania, but make it fashion.’
Still, the gimmick worked — it was one of the show’s most popular draws. Every week he’d stride onto that stage in some sharply-tailored uniform, and the audience ate it up.
“Hello. Find the boy who will open your heart — I’m Kang Se-jun, MC of Boys Code.”
“Wooooah!”
Cheers and spotlight erupted in unison.
“Today we have the first self-introduction performances of young men who will stir the hearts of our Code Makers.”
“Right then. Shall we meet Code 20 first?”
Code 20.
Code 19.
With each contestant who stepped forward, the energy in the studio climbed another notch.
Some stumbled over the beat, hands trembling. Others took the stage with eyes blazing, hunger written across their faces.
And after each performance ended, my turn crept closer.
“Next, Code 8, please take your position.”
My fingertips went numb. I slowly clenched the hands resting on my knees.
My heart was hammering far too loud.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Each beat echoed inside my skull.
‘Don’t panic. Don’t panic…….’
I’d run through the sequence a thousand times already.
The timing of picking up the guitar, walking to center stage. The first strum. Where to look. How to breathe.
Every detail mapped out.
Yet my throat had gone bone-dry.
“Next is Code 7’s performance.”
I reached for my water bottle and took a sip.
That instant.
The stage lights blazed to life.
I squinted against the glare.
It was almost time. Nearly my turn.
I Killed My Favorite and Debuted Together (Serialized)
Author │ Yoo Sseu
Publisher │ Kim Ju-hyung
Published by │ J-Plus Media Co., Ltd.
Marketing │ Han Jae-hyuk
Address │ 401, 11 Digital-ro 33-gil, Guro-gu, Seoul (Guro-dong, Acetech Tower 8)
Email │ [email protected]
Website │ www.jayplemedia.com
ⓒ Yoo Sseu 2026
※This work is published by J-Plus Media Co., Ltd. in accordance with a contract with the copyright holder, and the contents may not be used in any form or by any means without permission from the publisher and author.
Violation of this restriction may result in criminal and civil legal liability.

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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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