Debut or Die-Chapter 232

The plan to add a new member to VTIC—a plan so absurd it sounded like fresh bullshit—began:

“First, you’ll do a pre-debut as a solo artist. On your own.”

“....”

Out of nowhere he brought up a solo debut?

“If nothing disastrous happens this year... you’d actually have an easier time winning Best New Male Solo. There won’t be any competition.”

He said it as if it were nothing.

“But didn’t you say this agency doesn’t support solo activities?”

“I thought I could at least persuade them on a pre-debut level.”

Cheongryeo calmly presented this as a positive.

‘Even a taste-of-debut activity, and he’s that confident?’

Sure enough, the reason this agency so utterly excluded solos was his influence.

I crossed my arms.

“Even if I debut like that, there’s no guarantee of success as a male solo artist.”

It’s been ages since a male idol without a group ever charted solo.

But Cheongryeo just laughed.

“Oh, not a performance-centered idol—you’d be a vocal-centered singer.”

“...!”

“You’d be the first junior to come out of LeTi after VTIC. The buzz alone is guaranteed. Since it’s a different field, you’d avoid some of the pushback.”

He was right.

Plus, traditional male solos—ballads or indie artists aiming at streaming rather than dance-idol fare—have a decent track record.

If the song’s good.

“And early next year, we’ll release a collaboration track with the VTIC unit. Something that shows off your performance skills.”

“....”

He was pitching performance potential as a bridge to connect me with VTIC.

“There are plenty of examples of same-agency collabs, so any backlash will be manageable. If the song does well and your role is clear, fans’ resistance will soften.”

By now I knew exactly what he meant.

I spoke up.

“...And when your main vocal scandal drops, you’re saying you’d really take in some bullshit like ‘Just bring in Ryu Geonwoo instead’ and add me to their group?”

“Smart. Yes.”

He intended to replace their main vocal with me as naturally as possible.

‘This is insane.’

It made sense, though. The main vocal scandal was the most valuable information I’d given him.

‘And although it breaks in a year or two, the timing is precisely now.’

So verifying me would be easy. It would build trust, proving I was from the future.

Yet instead of averting controversy to preserve that guy’s image, he planned to swap me in.

I frowned.

“If you can prevent the scandal, I don’t know why you’d suggest that.”

His expression vanished.

“People aren’t disposable parts.”

“....”

“Remember that. It’s information you’ll find useful.”

Pure parts treatment.

‘Definitely a madman... but fine.’

In short, he was willing to sacrifice group stability to leave no seeds of unrest he couldn’t control—and instead insert someone desperate and obedient, worth watching.

“So, will you do it?”

He meant me.

‘I’m experiencing some wild shit.’

I never expected to have the chance to join the same group as this bastard.

I opened my mouth.

“No. I’ll pass.”

“....”

That plan was one misstep away from total disaster. And it would hand him all the power.

‘If he sweet-talks me and the situation changes, he could ditch me after my pre-debut.’

Besides, this wasn’t real. Every move I’d made was just me hunting for hints to wake up. No reason to gamble.

‘I’ll stick as close to reality as possible.’

Even the Bae Sejin I didn’t snag would have another chance if AJUSA collapsed.

I clenched my fist.

But since I didn’t need to pretend to be hostile with him, I offered what I hoped was a plausible excuse.

“I’m not convinced a solo rookie award fits the mission. If they only give rookie awards to idol groups, I’m dead in the water.”

“Ah.”

That seemed to work. Cheongryeo folded his arms and grinned cheerfully.

“Ha ha, then we’ll try another approach. You still need more challenge spirit.”

“....”

I decided not to waste more words with this asshole.

Cheongryeo left, saying, “I’ll give you a month’s grace,” neither withdrawing his offer nor closing the door entirely.

‘He’s so sure I’ll give up within a month.’

What a prick. I’d almost prefer the real-world bastard who just spammed dog pictures out of boredom.

I sighed and stood.

‘Time for the next task.’

I’d laid the groundwork. Now to drag out the recluse who needed pulling back in...

...Seon Ah-hyun in this dream.

The hospital room was quiet.

Only the hum of machines and distant footsteps beyond the corridor filled the private ward with gentle white noise.

They hadn’t assigned a single room just because he was a celebrity.

It was because the patient using it still hadn’t woken up.

“....”

Seon Ah-hyun sat in the caregiver’s chair, silently.

Park Mundae had no relatives. Not even distant ones stepped forward after TeSTAR’s huge success.

So this room saw visits only from those connected to him since he entered the entertainment world, apart from the hired caregiver.

Once the others regained consciousness, company staff occasionally came by.

But the endless gifts from fans were still under inspection, leaving the room eerily empty.

“....”

Seon Ah-hyun placed a fluffy crocheted doll—one he’d made himself—on the table. His hands trembled.

‘Get it together....’

He held his breath.

He visited most often among the members and at least pretended to help care for him.

Because Seon Ah-hyun... was almost unhurt.

Unlike members sidelined by fractures or busy fighting with the company, he could move freely from the start.

Yet despite no real need, he felt burning guilt at that fact.

‘I couldn’t say a word....’

While the others argued with or reported the former manager, he couldn’t bring himself to speak up.

Not because fear had robbed his voice, but because he feared that if he spoke, he’d only get in the way.

“....”

He folded his hands on his knee and froze in the chair.

They were his juniors—they’d be okay.

But while the two his age persuaded the former manager, his own inaction was clearly a problem.

Even after the accident, it was the same.

No matter how brilliant or brave his ideas, his lack of eloquence meant he’d need someone to cover for him against public opinion and the company.

‘Even if I’d yelled at the company, it wouldn’t have helped....’

He was worthless.

He had only guided the members into the ambulance when it arrived. His body was fine.

But he’d done that half-out of his mind.

Seon Ah-hyun clenched his fist.

‘Pathetic.’

He truly was useless. At least in his own eyes.

Yet larger, more urgent worries forced his self-hatred aside.

Park Mundae... had been unconscious for five days.

They said the surgery was fairly successful, but the trauma and blood loss had been massive.

‘I should’ve sat in the back seat....’

That would’ve been so much better. Mundae would’ve been less hurt....

“....”

He wiped his face.

He couldn’t waste this moment on shameless tears.

He should be praying.

‘Get well... with no aftereffects.’

Hurry back.

“Wow, we meet again—nice to see you!”

“Ah, h-hello....”

“....”

Cheongryeo, unnaturally cheerful, greeted Seon Ah-hyun, who couldn’t even raise his head.

I watched in silence, my temples throbbing.

‘...He still hasn’t switched to casual speech.’

Given that they’re both goldets, I’d thought they’d already dropped formalities.

This meant Cheongryeo didn’t even feel the need to force a bond with him.

‘With that face, Sejin might try networking...’

It also meant Seon Ah-hyun’s performance quality or the broadcast edit had been so damaged.

I’d watched the broadcast, so I knew what had happened.

‘He got beaten down too hard.’

In the first team challenge, they’d forced him onto parts that didn’t fit and treated him like shit.

Even the editing wasn’t kind to him.

“Seon Ah-hyun really got developed;”

“Stuttering doesn’t mean you can’t communicate—Christ, I’d have cursed too;”

His teammates bore all manner of insults, but public opinion was also harsh: “Someone like him shouldn’t be on a survival show.”

As a result, the negative votes directly targeted him, and he narrowly escaped elimination.

I pressed my temple.

“....”

‘I managed to get him out...’

I already knew where he lived, so talking to him wasn’t hard.

Luckily, I caught him while he was packing up to check out, persuaded his parents—presented as a LeTi trainee—and brought him along.

His parents, worried sick about him, were sold by the agency’s good image in artist care.

Of course, convincing him was a condition.

“He’s not debuting right away. I thought he could train and live together first.”

“Thank you for asking. But if Ah-hyun says no, I won’t push.”

“...May I try persuading him once more?”

I took him straight from his room and laid out the pitch.

“The agency says... the group can’t debut unless you’re included.”

“....”

“I wondered if you’d consider coming to practice, at least. I think you’d do great.”

He barely reacted, head bowed, but finally nodded.

Though he looked terrible, a good meal and rest would help.

‘If he trains and can debut properly, his mindset will recover.’

He’s shown resilience even after mental breakdowns before.

‘...I’ve seen it multiple times.’

So a bit of encouragement should do.

A little later:

“Ah-hyun, just a moment.”

“....”

With his head still bowed, he left with his parents to meet the agency reps.

Cheongryeo asked me casually:

“They’re putting him in our group too?”

“Looks like it.”

“Oh~ I heard you persuaded them directly. For real?”

“....”

“Wow, you’re good at this~”

Cheongryeo sat next to me. I hid a snort.

‘His mindset’s back to roughly when we first met on AJUSA.’

Sitting beside me, he spoke sociably in passing.

“Um... any other friends the company’s considering?”

“...Why?”

I wondered if he was curious about other members, but Cheongryeo waved it off.

“Oh? No, he might drop out~ just in case!”

“...!”

He sounded certain he’d leave—an oddly ominous tone.

I asked immediately.

“Why do you think that?”

“Oh? He’s here because he’s scared of you.”

“...!!”

“You can tell, right? Hey, maybe you were trying to intimidate him for motivation? Ha ha, sorry~”

“....”

Me... intimidating him?

‘That can’t be.’

I’d done my best to persuade him gently. I’d never forced or threatened.

‘I only said...’

Then I recalled Seon Ah-hyun’s state:

His self-esteem was in the gutter, broken mentally.

And what I’d said:

“The agency says... the group can’t debut unless you’re included.”

It might’ve sounded like, if you don’t come, it’s your fault I can’t debut.

That’s why he couldn’t respond and just came along.

“Anyway, you don’t really know who’ll join, right? Okay~”

“....”

Cheongryeo wrapped up the chat and, fiddling with his phone, walked out of the practice room.

I thought:

Was the Seon Ah-hyun I knew really that kind of guy?

And was the Cheongryeo I knew really someone who’d say that?

‘...No.’

He wasn’t.

In that moment, everything started to shatter.

I stood frozen, retracing my actions.

‘I’m contradicting myself.’

When did I start doing this—acting as if I’d debut exactly as in reality, hunting for coma-awakening hints?

There’s no guarantee of finding anything, nor any reason it must mirror reality.

‘It’s just my guess.’

Then why was I so determined to act on this guess...

Fuck. Because I wanted to.

I wanted to recreate the life I’d lived as Park Mundae.

“Ha.”

I exhaled and sank onto the practice room floor.

Then I remembered the status-screen message.

Enjoy your daydream : )

‘So it was all a daydream.’

A daydream means a vain fantasy.

...In other words, it was my desire.

I wanted that life I’d lived as Park Mundae for myself.

But I already knew the answer.

I’d told Cheongryeo myself:

Even if you restart and form the same team, it can never be the same. Shared events and stories will differ.

It’s impossible.

It could never be the same...

So why had I been justifying this madness?

“....”

Head pressed against the giant mirror, I thought.

And finally admitted:

‘Because the ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) past two and a half years as Park Mundae were my life too.’

Though it was in his body, every choice, thought, and experience was mine.

My mind experienced it directly. That couldn’t change.

Even if, after all this, I returned to my original body—Ryu Geonwoo—it wouldn’t alter my experience.

Now I understood.

“Huh.”

I lifted my head from the mirror.

Fogged by my breath, the glass hid my face.

“....”

Though the face that should be there was Ryu Geonwoo’s, this dream wasn’t my life.

‘Enough.’

I’d been here too long. I wanted to return to reality.

To the reality I live in.

At that moment:

Ding.

“...!!”

[Function unlocked!]

[Function: Gacha (consumable)]

A popup... appeared.

And one more thing:

What I’d left behind in reality.

[Remaining Gacha: 1]

[Treasure Trait Gacha ☜ Click!]

I raised my hand and frantically tapped it.