Debut or Die-Chapter 216
The Hellfire K-pop Camp, which had really stoked that nationalistic buzz, was able to air episode 2 following episode 1 amid immense attention.
And there’s no denying that Cheong-woo’s appearance played a big part in that buzz. It all comes down to the scarcity principle. VTIC had been holding back on light, fun variety content since that member-withdrawal incident.
“It’s been so long since we got any variety show, ㅠㅠ”
“It’s a shame only Jaehyeon’s on, but I guess he’s the leader so had to step up... you guys worked so hard.”
“Just from the teaser you know this is real K-pop, s–t, Cheong-woo please stay an idol forever.”
And in episode 2, this bastard took every bit of impact the mentor lineup could bring.
“Good thing we laid low in episode 1.”
Watching the monitor, it looked like he’d elbowed in as critical judge, instructor, and counselor all at once.
“Cheong-woo giving everyone brutal but kind truth bombs (video)”
“This is what K-dols are!”
“ㅠㅠㅠㅠ Our leader’s always got a warm heart (screenshot)”
“I don’t get why he can’t do something, but at least he’s watching practice, Shin Jaehyeon lol still the same”
He didn’t have that much actual screen time—top-tier idols are busy—but he cherry-picked all the crucial parts.
“Talk about cost-performance.”
People only really blow up when they’re on screen. Those other mentors must feel ripped off for giving up their time.
“Come to think of it, weren’t there Golden Age guys among them?”
I hadn’t heard from the group with the Gold 1 member since the industry-spy incident, but after spotting them on this Ajusa production, they’ve reached out occasionally just to keep in touch.
[GoldenAge Ha Il-jun hyung: Mundae, good to see you after so long! Too bad our shoots didn’t overlap this time—see you next time!]
I sent a brief reply before boarding the plane.
[Sure, see you next time.]
Clean. That’s exactly how professional relationships should be—no hard feelings at work. Especially with that crazy bastard I’d rather avoid, but now we keep getting booked together, which is annoying. Good thing the guy I’m with listens well.
“M-Mundae, did you get your passport?”
“Yeah.”
I was talking to Seon Ah-hyun. There were multiple special-collab stages filmed by the mentors, and Ah-hyun’s group was up this time.
“Looks like some group complained about time.”
If I’d known, I’d have pretended we couldn’t do the special stage either.
“Get on the plane and sleep. Even if their team learned the choreography in advance, their spacing is new, so they won’t have time.”
“Uh-huh!”
Ah-hyun and I ignored the data-sellers and a few home-ma cameras tailing us, then safely boarded.
“They gave us good seats.”
Must’ve pulled in big investment. I drew the curtain beside my seat to guard my privacy. As for the manager... I don’t know. The second guy trailed behind; he’ll sit somewhere in back.
“Gonna sleep.”
I reclined my seat almost like a bed and reached for my water bottle when Ah-hyun spoke quietly.
“Um... M-Mundae, do you feel... uncomfortable around VTIC’s Cheong-woo sunbaenim?”
“Huh.”
Water almost shot out my nose. How did he know?
“It’s... fine? Maybe a massage...”
“Nah, I’m good.”
I waved my hand and shook my head. Ah-hyun looked worried, then pressed on carefully—he must’ve thought it through in advance.
“If you’re uncomfortable... should we [N O V E L I G H T] switch?”
“What?”
“Our team’s stage—you already know the choreography, so it’d be fine....”
“......”
“I mean, people get uncomfortable... and there’s not much difference...!”
“I’m fine.”
I chuckled and closed my bottle. Damn—kind of touching. He’s worrying about interpersonal stuff now?
“And when would you learn new choreography?”
“I’ve got a day, so it’s okay.”
“......”
Talent-bully is so annoying.
“Anyway, he bugs me, but not enough to ruin work. He’s basically nothing.”
“Oh... okay. But if you think about it, let me know!”
“Sure.”
Won’t happen, but I’ll let him think he can talk to me. I lay back in my makeshift bed and after a moment asked as if in passing,
“So is it that obvious?”
“Huh?”
“That I don’t like that sunbaenim.”
“...A bit?”
“When have I done that?”
“Every time we meet, you keep balling your fist.... ”
“......”
I’ll have to watch myself. Eleven hours later, I found out I really do ball my fist.
“Hello.”
“Hello, sunbaenim!”
Cheong-woo arrived late to the giant choreography studio the crew had already camera-rigged. As he greeted everyone with a grin, my hand instinctively manifested that same tension.
‘Probably because I’ve clocked him before.’
Thanks to Ah-hyun, I know better now: don’t clench when cameras are rolling.
‘Still, VTIC name carries weight.’
Whether I care or not, everyone else stiffened when greeting Cheong-woo.
“Great to see you. Shall we start practice right away?”
Amid guys dripping with awe or envy, Cheong-woo coolly moved to business.
‘Comforting.’
I can’t argue with cutting waste before practice. Then we began setting spacing.
“One more, from the top!”
We’d divided parts in advance and learned our own paths from video, but doing it together always reveals differences in distance, height, and movement size. Normally a trainer would guide this, but...
“Left side, raise your elbow more!”
“Yes, yes...!”
Somehow the trainer’s only line was now “One more, let’s run it again.” Someone else was fixing everything.
“Pre-chorus, come in a bit faster on the beat. When you lower your arms, you can cut and hit it.”
“Ah... yes!”
Of course this is Cheong-woo—the vet. Even idols who might’ve slackened are cowering under his gaze, which is... nice.
“Let’s take a ten-minute break, yeah?”
“Yep!”
Cheong-woo’s timing is precise even on breaks.
‘This is actually useful.’
Decades as an idol leader pays off. Efficiency is next level.
‘We’ll be done quick.’
Just then I almost revised my low opinion of him.
“Hyung.”
“...Yes?”
I’d moved to a corner, avoiding chatting with these guys once cameras were set, but he still spoke. To my surprise, it wasn’t a crazy remark—just quiet advice.
“You’re making your movements big, which is good, but you’re moving your joints incorrectly.”
“......”
“Here, watch.”
He demonstrated cleanly: bending fully, then snapping to give recoil to the upper body.
“At this point your elbow should touch your thigh.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think it touches?”
“To give rhythm to the bending-and-straightening.”
“That’s right.”
But he didn’t stop there.
“You can’t think only that far.”
“......!”
“Look. You need to move with the next motion—bending your upper body—already in mind.”
He angled his elbow outward more than necessary, then pulled his torso back.
“This way, your elbow’s joint path is larger, so when you bend, the movement snaps faster.”
I felt a tension in the motion—the so-called ‘tightness.’
“That’s what makes lines look good.”
“......”
“If you pay attention to why forward-and-back movements are there, you’ll be able to show all your skill from now on.”
I nearly bit my tongue. Good lord. This bastard is actually helpful. I realized how useful that advice was.
‘No wonder—even with improved stats, he dances better than idols with equal stats feels off.’
Insights like this take time unless you’re pure talent like Yoo-jin or someone like Big Sejin who overthinks and drills until they get it. And only someone who’s done thousands of tries can refine it into words so non-experts understand.
‘He didn’t just coast on past years.’
I nodded in full acknowledgment.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“......!”
Cheong-woo looked surprised but then seemed to accept it, smiling and nodding.
“See? It’s better to get this separately. If you get corrected in front of everyone, you feel bad.”
“......”
“Not that you’re particularly bad at it—haha.”
Fuck, that still stings a bit.
‘I suck at singing though, so.’
My stat-screen boost, but whatever. Before he could say more insane stuff, I changed the subject.
“But you’ve been doing fine on broadcasts.”
“I guess I’ve learned some tricks. So...”
BZZZZZ! My alarm went off.
“Break’s over.”
Cheong-woo immediately moved to center and stretched his neck.
“Alright, let’s lock in the details.”
Then they launched into painstaking detail-matching for the one-off special stage—as much as if it were a regular comeback. Only the production team was thrilled.
“Is it up?”
Cheong-woo’s solo fan refreshed NetPlus nonstop, hoping episode 3 had dropped. And their efforts paid off.
“It’s up!”
They couldn’t miss a variety show featuring Cheong-woo! They excitedly watched episode 3—but this time he barely appeared.
“Hm....”
It was still intense—seeing participants cry, suffer, then grow—but without Cheong-woo, the excitement evaporated.
‘Right... he couldn’t’ve filmed that long.’
He’s not the main MC, and having done so much as a mentor, the tease was huge.
“Guess I’ll watch the cut scenes.”
They shrugged and prepared to stop wasting time—when suddenly:
[Coming up next!]
[A dazzling mentor showcase from K-pop’s finest!]
[Participants: Oh f–k, my god!]
[Can they actually recreate this stage?]
A teaser for the special stage popped up.
“Holy shit, Shin Jaehyeon!!”
The fan immediately skipped the bar to the end, sure he’d appear last. And they were right.
“Eeeek!”
The video shifted into that classic WeTube-style stage content. The fan saw seven idol mentors lined up in formation—and there was Cheong-woo!
“Whoa.”
It was almost the first time in two years since his debut that Cheong-woo performed on stage with other idols!
“Damn, Park Mundae’s there too.”
Their mind spun—and as the idols crossed their arms or struck poses in that formation, it felt familiar. The intro began:
–ShhShhShh, Shh...!
“......!”
It was a scorching-hot idol hit song released only half a year ago! Not just any hit—
‘That’s a Mirinae track!’
A rookie girl group’s hit song less than a year after debut was blasting from the screen.
