The Gates Opened on the First Day of Debut - Chapter 42

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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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The Gate Burst Open on My Debut Day (42)
“But how could you ask me to remake that song? After everything that happened… you know about it too, hyung.”
What did he just say?
His voice suddenly dropped, and I couldn’t quite catch what came after “after everything that happened.”
Han Ul was saying something to Seo Ijae through the receiver.
But without the speaker on and him being so far away, I couldn’t hear it.
“Sigh… I understand what you were thinking when you made this request. But I…”
As if his head ached, Seo Ijae pressed his forehead with his hand and stood motionless for a long moment.
‘What on earth happened while he was active with Winter Boys…’
I wanted to rush out and ask Seo Ijae right then and there, but I exercised superhuman restraint and held back.
‘There’s a camera.’
Seo Ijae didn’t seem to notice, but the camera was recording him.
“Got it. I need to practice now. Let’s hang up. Yeah. I’ll call you later. Thanks for worrying about me, hyung.”
After ending the call, Seo Ijae lifted his head and stared blankly at the fluorescent light on the ceiling.
I watched for the right moment to step in.
“Huh…”
Suddenly, Seo Ijae dropped his head and rubbed his face with his sleeve, his nose sniffling.
‘Is he… crying?’
Flustered, I forgot all about timing and approached Seo Ijae.
“Lee Jae hyung!”
“Chowol…?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Seo Ijae glanced at me and put his phone in his pocket.
I pretended I hadn’t seen anything and asked casually.
“Did you finish what you needed to do?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“So you’re heading to practice now?”
“Yeah…”
Seo Ijae nodded weakly with a forced smile.
Seriously, this was difficult.
It wasn’t easy to pretend I didn’t notice.
Anyone could see it written all over his face that something was wrong.
“Did something happen?”
“Huh?”
“Your complexion doesn’t look good.”
“No, no. Nothing happened. I just… ate too much.”
Desperate as he was, Seo Ijae offered an unconvincing excuse.
I’d clearly seen with my own eyes that he’d eaten barely a bird’s portion earlier.
Seo Ijae seemed aware that his excuse made no sense, and he studied my reaction carefully.
“Well, okay.”
But since I had no intention of pressing further, I let it slide.
“Did you take the digestive medicine?”
“Oh, yeah….”
“So that errand was just about taking the digestive medicine?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I got one from the author and took it.”
I practically spoon-fed Seo Ijae an alibi.
“Can you practice? If you’re not feeling well, go back to the Dormitory and rest.”
“No, I can do it. I can’t keep causing trouble.”
“Alright then.”
I headed to the Practice Room with Seo Ijae.
I decided to address the Seo Ijae situation slowly—what mattered right now was practice.
“Still, all our kids seem like good people, don’t they?”
I changed the subject to lighten the mood.
“Huh? Oh… the team members? Yeah, they’re good.”
Seo Ijae, who had been thinking for a moment, seemed to recall someone’s face and burst into laughter.
I laughed along with him.
Because I knew exactly who Seo Ijae was thinking of.
‘Ju Gilhyung.’
We joke about it now, but back when Yoo Sung and Ju Gilhyung were on the same team, it was anything but a laughing matter.
Even I, who had planned to use Ju Gilhyung, sometimes wondered if this was really the right approach.
I could only imagine how much stress it must have been for Seo Ijae and Okada, who knew nothing about it.
As we walked and chatted about this and that, we arrived at the Practice Room in the blink of an eye.
“At least our kids are well-behaved, so there’s no need to worry about them causing problems….”
I spoke confidently as I opened the Practice Room door.
In the center of the Practice Room, Yoo Sung and Han Theo stood facing each other.
“Were you practicing… huh?”
At first, I thought they were matching up the choreography.
But seeing the look in Yoo Sung’s and Han Theo’s eyes, I realized I had made a serious mistake.
“What are you two doing right now?”
Yoo Sung and Han Theo were glaring at each other.
As if they might charge at each other at any moment, with a truly murderous atmosphere.
* * *
“Are you really not going to tell me what happened?”
I pressed my throbbing temples repeatedly.
“….”
“….”
The two troublemakers pretended not to hear my question, their faces sullen as they kept their mouths firmly shut.
“You two really… I can’t deal with this kind of behavior.”
But Yoo Sung and Han Theo showed no signs of ever revealing what had happened.
‘If I let this play out, it’ll just go the way Jang Hyuk-soo wants.’
What Jang Hyuk-soo wanted was discord among team members.
Ha, ho—harmonious laughter might be nice, but tearing each other apart and fighting could be better at drawing attention.
But high buzz doesn’t necessarily lead to debut.
Tearing each other apart and fighting for the sake of buzz is absolutely not a good choice for any individual trainee.
Left with no choice, I shifted my target to Kang Hae-soo, who had been hanging his head dejectedly this whole time.
“Hae-soo.”
“Don’t drag him into this, yeah?”
Yoo Sung, who had been pretending not to hear anything I said until now, finally opened his mouth.
“Oh, so you can talk?”
“What?”
“You haven’t said a word this whole time. I thought you’d forgotten how to speak.”
I scoffed mockingly, and Yoo Sung’s brow furrowed.
But with nothing to counter, he just clamped his mouth shut and swallowed his frustration.
“If you don’t want to drag Hae-soo in, then you tell us what happened. From your own mouth.”
“Why should I? Are you my father?”
“That’d be interesting. Want to call me Dad?”
“Hey, you’re not holding back either.”
“Neither are you.”
Yoo Sung’s and my voices grew louder and louder.
Kang Hae-soo, watching the situation unfold, rushed to intervene.
“P-please, Chowol hyung, Yoo Sung hyung. Don’t fight. I-I’ll tell you everything!”
“No, I told you not to say anything.”
“Unlike you, he’s actually reasonable. Go ahead, let’s hear it.”
“Well, it’s like this….”
But Kang Hae-soo couldn’t continue.
Han Theo, watching from behind, had clamped his hand over Kang Hae-soo’s mouth.
“No way.”
Yoo Sung and Han Theo exchanged a silent look.
Just moments ago they’d been glaring at each other like they might tear each other apart.
Now they looked like long-time partners whose breathing was perfectly synchronized.
“What are you two doing?”
“It’s getting late. Let’s just go back to the Dormitory and get some sleep.”
“Good idea. Come on, let’s go, Chowol. You look exhausted.”
Yoo Sung and Han Theo hurried out of the Practice Room.
I stared blankly at the closed door and let out a hollow laugh.
“What was that…?”
* * *
Yoo Sung and Han Theo.
They were similar yet different.
His outstanding appearance and skills were beyond question.
The problem was his personality.
Yoo Sung wore his on his sleeve while Han Theo kept his hidden.
Because of this personality difference, despite possessing exceptional looks and talent, Yoo Sung’s chances of debuting were slim.
‘What on earth could have happened between them?’
I was curious, but both Yoo Sung and Han Theo seemed determined to take whatever it was to their graves.
‘I need to keep the two of them apart for now. There’s no telling what kind of trouble might arise.’
Or perhaps assign someone to watch over them.
From what I saw yesterday, Kang Hae-soo didn’t seem particularly reliable.
‘It looks like either I or Lee Jae will have to stick by their sides. But Lee Jae is such a good person….’
Ugh, I give up.
My head was spinning from the complications involving Yoo Sung, Han Theo, and Seo Ijae—I’d barely slept all night.
“Yawn….”
“What, you didn’t sleep?”
“Ah… yeah.”
“You should get enough sleep when you can.”
Yoo Sung, spotting me yawning with exhaustion written all over my face, clicked his tongue disapprovingly as if to say how pathetic I was.
‘This bastard… and whose fault is it that I couldn’t sleep?’
When I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, Yoo Sung, realizing his own culpability, quickly slipped into the Bathroom to wash up.
Yoo Sung and I washed up quickly and headed straight to the Practice Room.
It was five in the morning.
Since the Cafeteria didn’t open until seven, I’d planned to practice for about two hours before breakfast.
To my surprise, the Practice Room—which I’d expected to be empty—already had someone inside.
“Oh? Lee Jae, you came early?”
“Ah… yeah.”
Seo Ijae greeted us looking at least ten years older than yesterday.
Sensing something was wrong, I asked him hesitantly.
“Did you… not sleep?”
“….”
“R-really? Why…?”
“This….”
Seo Ijae handed me something.
“A USB? Did you arrange the song overnight?”
“Haha….”
“No, why did you do that! We agreed to decide on the arrangement direction together and work on it today.”
“I just… wanted you to hear it quickly.”
Seo Ijae answered, scratching his cheek sheepishly.
I was at a loss for words.
What kind of person was this Hwang Min-woo who had ruined the composition of someone so pure and passionate?
“We’ll listen together when Han Theo and Kang Hae-soo arrive.”
“Yeah.”
I noticed that Seo Ijae’s condition was far from normal.
It wasn’t simply the exhausted face of someone who had pulled an all-nighter.
Resignation, deflation, fear, anxiety—a torrent of emotions flickered across Seo Ijae’s features.
‘What on earth happened while he was arranging the song?’
An hour later.
Han Theo and Kang Hae-soo arrived at the Practice Room.
I immediately gathered the team members and played Seo Ijae’s arrangement.
―Dong, dong, dong.
On a winter’s day just before Christmas.
The bells of a church, its white snow lying softly upon it, rang out across the entire village.
‘That was a bold choice.’
Typically, intuitive sound effects like church bells aren’t used often, but given that Winter Boys’ concept was winter, it fit reasonably well.
‘Going full carol vibes wouldn’t be bad… huh?’
A sharp, piercing wind sound cut through the peaceful Christmas atmosphere.
―Shhhhiiiiek!
The biting wind that had been howling fiercely suddenly cut off abruptly.
And as if that wind sound had been an auditory hallucination, a calm beat followed.
‘This is….’
A calm beat has its own advantages and appeal.
It highlights the vocals and draws focus to the lyrics and melody.
But the beat Seo Ijae used was…how do I put it.
‘It has no substance.’
A heavier, more driving approach would have been far better—so why did he choose this beat?
Especially when the bass line was already weak.
In the pre-chorus, he suddenly introduced drum sounds to build tension.
‘Is something about to happen?’
But betraying all our expectations, an absurd trumpet sound erupted.
―Pah-pah-ra-pah-pah!
The expressions on all our faces darkened progressively.
“This is….”
At a loss for words, I spun around to face Seo Ijae, who was hugging his knees.
Seo Ijae laughed with resignation and asked us.
“What do you think?”

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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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