I’m Debuting With The Bias I Killed - Chapter 7

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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 7
“Three days?”
“Wow…….”
“And whoever receives the highest evaluation at the Mid-check Inspection held the day before filming will become the—”
Kang Se-jun cut in.
“Center.”
The trainees’ eyes, which had been glazing over, suddenly sharpened at the word “center.”
“Finally, the top five will receive additional items for the Signal Song shoot.”
Before the regression, Kang I-yul had placed sixth—just one spot away.
‘Not this time.’
I’m going to grab him by the collar and drag him into the top five myself.
Before the regression, the top five were Han Sang-yun, Ju Han, Go Jae-sung, Choi Wun-jo, and…….
“Hey, move.”
Speak of the devil. Hwang Gun-hee pushed through—the one who’d ride a wave of popularity before getting caught up in scandal midway through the Survival and being forced to withdraw.
“Oh, is this the latest model?”
The trainees marveled at the sponsored Tablet. Of course, it only had functions for Choreography confirmation and advertisements.
“Damn, guess we can’t watch OTT on this thing.”
‘Oh no.’
Unfortunately, that trainee would earn nothing but the nickname “OTT Junkie” for that comment and then get eliminated. After watching so many episodes of Survival, I could predict the ending just by looking at a face.
‘I feel like a fraud.’
Kang Se-jun left the Practice Room, but the cameras remained. The red lights on the cameras scattered throughout the space blinked steadily. That made the competition for good positions cutthroat as the trainees jostled carefully against each other.
‘One sour expression caught on film and you’re done for.’
I scanned the camera positions beyond the mirror.
It was familiar. Painfully familiar.
Before the regression, I’d watched Boys Code dozens—no, hundreds of times. Especially in the beginning, when Kang I-yul’s screen time was so minimal that I’d pause on every scene, hunting for even a glimpse of him.
After repeating that obsessive ritual, I’d memorized the camera angles. I had to check every angle to catch even the smallest flash of Kang I-yul in frame.
‘He disappears at this angle, and goes off-frame around here.’
Those memories overlaid themselves perfectly on the Practice Room before me now.
I walked toward the door.
It looked like the worst corner spot in the room.
But it was actually the real sweet spot.
‘Perfect sightline for wide shots.’
I settled into position naturally and surveyed the Practice Room.
“……Ugh.”
A sigh escaped me unbidden.
Kang I-yul was practicing in the most awkward position possible—wedged between other trainees where he was barely visible.
‘Why there of all places.’
How was I going to draw him out naturally.
Asking him to teach me the Choreography would be the most straightforward approach.
There was one problem, though…
‘I already know it. All of it.’
And perfectly accurately at that.
Humans are products of repetition. Watch your favorite’s fancam hundreds of times, and eventually the moves embed themselves in your mind.
But I didn’t stop there. That was purely Impacter’s desperate attempt at self-promotion.
Once the group started losing momentum, the company began mining Survival nostalgia as a marketing strategy. While other idols were doing challenge videos with their current releases, they were trying to push a Signal Song choreography challenge—from a show that had ended over a year ago.
Naturally, no one cared.
So eventually I made an account.
With a gimmick like ‘What if someone with no sense of rhythm did the Boys Code Signal Song choreography?’ I put on a mask and posted a Signal Song challenge.
Every single day.
At first, all I got were comments like ‘Will do anything for attention’ and ‘Desperate much.’ I couldn’t argue. I just hoped the attention would flow to Impacter, not to me.
Those early videos were truly unwatchable.
-Did a squid reincarnate lmao
-Damn this is full-body malfunction gold
-Is this AI?
-It’s actually hard to be unintentionally funny, you’ve got talent here keep it up!
But my clowning was surprisingly effective at spreading Impacter’s name.
Videos that used to get maybe ten comments suddenly started racking up hundreds, then thousands. The share count skyrocketed in kind.
-Why does it suddenly look like they have technique tho? Disappointed, unsubbing
-Human triumph;; By day 50 it actually looked like dancing
-Just watched the original, who choreographed this? My legs are killing me
—Actually, this person has at least some fundamental technique;; The choreography itself is insanely difficult, but if they’re following along to that degree
└No, that’s not it. I’ve been watching since day one, and it really seemed like they came from another planet.^^;;
—Definitely not a skilled dancer, but it’s impressive that they memorized all the choreography
Around a hundred days had passed when my video surpassed Impacter’s music video view count—the day I quietly deleted the account.
I didn’t want Kang I-yul to find out through something like this. And I didn’t want Impacter to be mocked either.
Thanks to that incident, I’d perfected both the choreography and lyrics to Signal Song. Of course, that didn’t mean I danced well. My dancing wasn’t in the realm of ‘dancing well’—it was in the realm of ‘memorizing well.’
‘And I can’t let that show.’
Right now, I was just a trainee seeing this choreography for the first time today.
‘Maybe I should pretend to practice more and sing along.’
‘Or maybe just pretend I can’t do it.’
That’s when an irritable voice cut through the practice room.
“Ugh, could you just…!”
“Sorry, it’s because of the cast….”
“Then go practice somewhere else. It’s already cramped as hell in here—”
…….
Look at the attitude on that guy.
Without thinking, I walked straight toward Kang I-yul.
“Hey….”
I tapped his shoulder carefully, and he turned around with a startled expression.
“……Me?”
“Yeah. If you don’t mind, could you help me out for a bit?”
His expression seemed reluctant, but he nodded slightly.
‘I-yul, that space is too cramped for someone like you.’
I’ll lead you out into a bigger world.
* * *
The moment Kang I-yul and I stood side by side, a camera subtly shifted its angle.
‘Okay, hooked one.’
It was a signal that the production crew had started paying attention to us.
And for good reason—the practice room had turned into a war zone. Under the pressure of three days, everyone was fighting their own battles.
Since it wasn’t even a team event to begin with, it was a natural flow, in a way.
But what gets captured on broadcast isn’t individuals—it’s relationships with a story. So I planned to give Kang I-yul a mentor character.
‘Of course, it’ll also serve as an excuse for my improving skills.’
“This part—am I supposed to stretch my arm out like this?”
I deliberately moved my arm clumsily.
Kang I-yul glanced over and shook his head.
“No.”
Still that dry tone.
‘I still can’t get used to formal speech.’
“You rotate inward first, then stretch on the next beat.”
Wow, so our I-yul actually had things he couldn’t do!
It was a truly incomprehensible explanation. Being good at something and teaching it were two different things, I guess.
It felt like I was sitting in one of those major required courses back in university—professors lecturing unilaterally without any consideration for the students’ existing knowledge or comprehension level.
Maybe it was because our genius was a natural; he seemed genuinely puzzled by why anyone would struggle with this movement in the first place.
“Ah, like this~”
I gave it a rough try, and Kang I-yul’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“That’s also…… not it.”
“Then like this?”
“No.”
He let out a short sigh, then stood right in front of me and demonstrated.
“Rotate here, then stretch—”
The explanation was still a mess, but the movement was precise.
I mimicked it ‘like someone learning for the first time,’ attempting it once more.
“What about this part?”
“That one’s easy. If you think of it as connecting the joints—”
Wow, way too easy. Really way too easy, I-yul.
If anyone other than I-yul had been teaching me, I’d have let out a sarcastic remark by now. It was a movement whose difficulty would make your arms fall off after twice through.
As I watched our I-yul, I found myself recalling that professor I’d absolutely despised back in the day. Life really was a string of unexpected events.
After that, it was repetition. I’d deliberately mess up once or twice, and I-yul would grow exasperated.
And then—
“……Huh?”
I didn’t get it wrong on purpose.
Kang I-yul’s gaze flickered for a moment.
I smiled to myself.
“Just do it the way you just did.”
Kang I-yul spoke in a low voice.
I shrugged.
“Is it because the instructor teaches so well?”
The silence stretched a beat longer this time.
Just as awkwardness began to creep in, I-yul answered, the words slipping out almost reluctantly.
“No, that’s not it.”
He denied it, but the end of his voice had loosened slightly.
Just then, another camera caught the moment.
‘Three.’
That was enough.
I layered in the details naturally.
The Signal Song Choreography was brutally complex. Of course, the production team had designed it that way deliberately.
But I had memorized every single detail perfectly. I’d been beaten down by so many comments that I’d ended up learning it whether I wanted to or not.
-00:24 The fingers aren’t extended properly here;;;
-00:47 Even after dancing dozens of times, you miss the detail of tucking the toes inwardkkkkk
└Working so hard, why give up like that;;;
-01:05 Wow… I’ve literally memorized that half-rotation by now, but you’re still doing a full rotation;; It’s ridiculous honestly
-01:22 Yesterday the left foot was right and the right foot was wrong, today you said the right foot was right and immediately the left foot was wrongkkkkkkk Is there a world where both feet can never be correct ㅠ
Conversely, the better the trainee usually was, the easier they tended to miss those details. They could match the moves after seeing them once, so they thought everything was complete and moved on to the next part.
That’s why the early rounds often featured promising candidates getting exposed as they advanced—it became one of the show’s draw.
‘But I can’t let I-yul take heat for this.’
Finger angles, toe direction.
Whenever the taught movements were missing a key point, I naturally added it to my own dance.
Kang I-yul, who had been watching intently, stopped moving.
“Wait a second.”
He immediately picked up the Tablet and reviewed the footage again.
“Ah.”
A short moment of realization. When he looked back at me, his gaze had shifted slightly.
I pretended not to know. “What?”
“What?”
“It’s nothing.”
But his movements had already changed. More precise now, the gestures aligned with the details.
I suppressed a smile. This was enough.
* * *
Kang I-yul found Yu Sung-woo bothersome.
Truth be told, it had been that way from the first time they met.
Street casting. That one detail said it all.
Most of them brimmed with confidence, then disappeared within days.
Naturally, he’d assumed Yu Sung-woo would be the same.
But he wasn’t.
He stayed in the Practice Room until the end every single day. Not just once or twice—it kept happening.
‘What’s his deal.’
It irritated him. No matter how hard he tried not to think about it, his eyes kept drifting that way.
On top of that, he’d heard Yu Sung-woo had cried during practice—what kind of person was he, anyway?
‘He’s got some fire in him, I guess.’
That was all. He had no intention of getting involved.
His own situation wasn’t leisurely enough for that.
“Hey—”
So when the request for help came earlier, he’d been ready to refuse. He didn’t have time to practice, let alone babysit someone else.
Then he happened to glance in the mirror. Hair that shimmered even when damp with sweat, a style that looked effortless and perfect. The praise that had poured down at the shoot came back to him naturally.
It was this guy who’d made all that possible.
“Hah.”
He hated feeling indebted.
So he’d decided to help just this once and call it even.
And immediately he’d regretted it.
“Like this?”
“No.”
Wrong.
“Or like this?”
Still wrong.
Making a simple movement complicated was its own kind of skill.
“Have you ever studied dance before?”
“No?”
If he had, that would’ve been an even bigger problem—the way he moved.
“Oh, got it!”
His face lit up as if he’d conquered the world after landing a single beat.
‘Should I be laughing?’
Honestly, it was frustrating.
Why had he even entered the Survival in the first place? Debut wasn’t some joke.
Still, he’d already agreed to help, so stopping midway felt awkward.
“Let me try again.”
The practice continued.
But the more he taught, the more something felt off.
Yu Sung-woo still couldn’t dance properly. His joints moved independently, and he didn’t understand explanations the first time—none of that had changed.
‘What the hell?’
Yet somehow, the movements kept matching up.
Always wrong twice, then success on the third try.
The pattern was far too consistent.
‘Why am I even watching this closely?’
He should’ve been annoyed, but instead, ambition crept in.
He even began to see details in Yu Sung-woo’s movements that he himself had missed.
“Wait a second.”
He rewound the video and confirmed it.
That last move—yes, it was something he’d overlooked.
When he looked up, Yu Sung-woo stood there, utterly clueless.
“What?”
Kang I-yul couldn’t answer.
‘It’s just a coincidence.’
He tried to brush past it, but the next movement caught him again.
This time too, Yu Sung-woo had it right.
Kang I-yul bit his lip.
He couldn’t dance, yet he never missed details that others would gloss over? That wasn’t just good eye. It ran deeper than that.
‘If he’d practiced this choreography to death, maybe it’d be possible.’
But that was impossible.
For the first time, he looked at Yu Sung-woo properly.
It was definitely him doing the teaching.
‘What’s wrong with this guy?’
He was getting drawn in—strangely, inexplicably drawn in.
I Killed My Favorite and Debuted (Serialized)
Author │ Euseu
Publisher │ Kim Ju-hyung
Publishing House │ J Plus Media Co., Ltd.
Marketing │ Han Jae-hyeok
Address │ 401, Acetech Tower 8, 11 Digital-ro 33-gil, Guro-gu, Seoul (Guro-dong)
Email │ [email protected]
Website │ www.jayplemedia.com
ⓒ Euseu 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 manner without permission from the company and author.
Violation of this 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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