Debut or Die-Chapter 238
I was a bit taken aback.
“Park Mundae, you canceled the tour and now you’re planning a concert by yourself? You’re still in the hospital. You know why the tour was canceled.”
“I’m sorry to say this, but you really need to reconsider your work–life balance!”
“...Did it ever occur to you to run this by us before doing it on your own?”
It did—but you guys haven’t given me the chance. I held back a sigh and reviewed how things got so out of hand.
...Mundae, Yujin says he heard something from the company...
The instant they came in and started talking without even sitting down, I knew word had leaked.
‘I was going to let them vent for a bit, then calm things down and get to the point.’
But this was more like listening to a tyrant’s petition. The more I heard, the more I felt they were jerks.
‘...I can understand feeling upset.’
Okay, I’ll admit that. Their activities ground to a halt while I was in a coma—and here I am planning a solo concert. I’d flip out too. And it seemed like they were genuinely worried.
“After I’m fully recovered, we can think about it—it won’t be too late!”
“Exactly!”
“.......”
Thinking of how they must have wondered for the past eighteen days whether I’d ever wake up, I patiently listened... but thirty minutes in, the same points kept repeating. I sighed and began to organize my thoughts.
“First... I wanted to discuss this today.”
“Oh, after everything’s already decided?”
Big Sejin’s at it again.
“No—nothing’s decided yet. Telling the company was just an idea.”
I pressed my temple.
“I wasn’t planning to do it immediately. I thought it’d be nice as a celebration once official TeSTAR activities resumed.”
“.......”
That actually sounded realistic enough to silence the room. After a moment, I added:
“...Still, I realize it looked like I just blurted out ‘solo concert’ to the company. I’m sorry. Really, I apologize.”
“......!”
I was about to explain that it was a bait-and-switch, but Ryu Cheong-woo spoke first.
“...Mundae. You must want to perform again soon.”
“.......”
Right. Otherwise I’d be dead.
Cheong-woo nodded.
“If you want a solo concert, go ahead. And if you don’t really want to sue the company... it’s fine just to keep performing.”
“......!”
“You don’t need to apologize for that.”
Bae Sejin’s face went red, but he didn’t argue; he just nodded silently.
“But you have to take care of your health. Everything we’ve said so far is because of that.”
“.......”
“You’re pushing yourself too hard. I hope you understand that—I’ve said it every time.”
Cheong-woo’s expression was grim. That blow to my solar plexus must’ve traumatically lodged in his mind.
‘Sigh.’
Back to square one. I interlaced my fingers.
I’m perfectly healthy, and full recovery is right around the corner.
How do I make them believe in this miraculous healing?
“I am taking proper care of my health. I’m following all the medical staff’s instructions, and I hear I’m recovering at a ridiculous pace.”
“...So once you’re fully healed, you want to return to activities?”
“Well, if they call me an expert, I’d consider it.”
Big Sejin chuckled.
“Man, the fans would love that.”
“...!”
“You think they’d react well? Fans know you’re only human. If they thought the company was exploiting someone in a coma, they’d send a truck at them.”
“.......”
“Oh—this is all part of the big lawsuit plan? In that case, wow, Mundae, you’re amazing~”
Unbelievable.
I ground my teeth.
“Do you have to say it like that?”
“...!”
“Don’t mock me. I’m being sincere here.”
It pisses me off when they keep rubbing it in that I almost died. Enough already.
Big Sejin opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking. I focused on calming down.
And then my namesake exploded.
“He—he’s doing that because he’s worried!”
Bae Sejin clenched his fists and lunged forward.
“That’s just how he expresses it!”
“.......”
He’s teasing... right?
“Y-yeah... Sejin wants to apologize too, right...?”
Seeing Seon Ah-hyun back him up, I guessed it wasn’t teasing.
Big Sejin stared at the floor, expressionless.
“...I’m sorry.”
“.......”
I nodded.
Okay, I was a bit hypersensitive. I finally found a way to clear that status debuff, but it took so long to discuss that I ran out of wiggle room.
‘They probably didn’t mean to pick a fight.’
They were angry, sure—maybe they thought some sarcasm would snap me to attention.
‘...Can’t complain too much.’
After two years of training camp and hardship, they do care about me. And since the car accident happened, they have to worry about my health.
Plus, we’ve been through countless trials together—they’re bonded to me.
It all comes down to information.
‘They don’t know that if I don’t draw 400,000 people, I die.’
So priorities invert.
‘...I didn’t want it to come to this.’
I bit my lip and finally spoke.
“...Actually, I want to see the fans a bit.”
“.......”
“I woke up unexpectedly next month and the internet’s in chaos. Doing something—anything—would calm things down. That’s why I brought up the concert.”
“...I see.”
“M-Mundae...”
It was a cringe-worthy confession, but it seemed to resonate. The atmosphere softened.
‘...Not untrue.’
Aside from # Nоvеlight # the status debuff scare, that really is how I feel.
I continued, half-resigned.
“I won’t pull all-nighters like before.”
No Bacchus anyway.
“But I do want to resume activities soon, within reasonable limits.”
This time there was no immediate “no” in response. Good.
“That’s plenty.”
“Originally, I wasn’t planning anything grand.”
“Oh?”
“I just thought of a simple talk concert—to show I’m recovered. Minimize the dancing.”
“So... a solo talk concert?”
“No—the W app contract. We can’t stream free concerts under the group’s name.”
“Oh....”
Now they were starting to understand. I explained the points Cheongryeo and I had agreed on.
Then I paused before adding:
“By the way... the ‘solo’ part is a gimmick.”
“......?”
I let out a small laugh.
“I’d invite all of TeSTAR as guests. That way, it’s still a group event. Sound good?”
“...!!”
Honestly, it was a pretty obvious loophole. If someone refused to show up, it’d look odd—but I was confident I could persuade them all.
Big Sejin’s face went pale and he blurted:
“Th-then isn’t that breaking the contract??”
“It’s not. The main performer is still me.”
“But...it’s like fraud!”
“I’m just using the contract clause smartly.”
“.......”
With a thud, Bae Sejin sank into his chair, muttering something like “We’re going to get roasted...” but he didn’t object.
‘I must look desperate.’
After that tirade, maybe he was trying to hold back. Or at least phrasing his words less aggressively.
He had a point—this would definitely stir industry gossip. And the W app is run by a massive search-engine company—they might retaliate.
‘So I need the right format.’
And I’d already chosen one. Something ambiguous enough that nobody knows quite what to call it.
I grinned.
“One more thing.”
“......?”
“I’d like to set a purpose for the concert.”
“A purpose?”
I explained my idea.
“Oh.”
“M-Mundae always has good ideas....”
“He really does!”
The reaction was pretty positive. Big Sejin, who’d been sitting slumped and pale, regained some color.
“...That sounds good!”
“Right.”
‘Looks like I’ve convinced half of them.’
No need to push further. I’ll build on this and finalize plans around discharge time.
I shrugged.
“Alright, now rest up, Mundae...!”
“No, I’ve rested enough....”
“R-Rest!”
“.......”
Only then did the mood shift back to a normal hospital visit as they rattled off trivial updates.
“The AR team made a commemorative track for your peaceful sleep...but there was a program error, and it got lost before saving...”
“Really?!”
“...Tell them I appreciate the effort.”
For quite some time, they chatted on. Eventually it was time for the hospital meal.
“Let’s go eat.”
“Yeah... it’s that time already.”
“I already ate early, so I’ll stay and keep you company!”
“Me too! I want fruit!”
I shrugged. Well, whatever.
But as everyone filed out, Big Sejin hesitated and avoided eye contact.
Since that tense exchange earlier, he’d been like that.
“...Be right back~”
“Okay.”
At least his mouth kept chattering.
Hope that’s fine.
Next up:
“Hyung! Enjoy your food—”
“Come here.”
“Uhh!”
The one who scarfed tangerines and pushed forward tried to sneak away. I smacked Cha Yoo-jin’s forehead and let him go.
“Ow!”
Then, in front of him, I handed Kim Rae-bin a large peach.
It was funny since he’d brought it himself, but I’d taken some too, so it seemed fair.
“Delicious!”
“See.”
Cha Yoo-jin pouted.
“Hyung’s mean!”
“How so?”
“I haven’t said anything else!”
“What is?”
Cha Yoo-jin silently mouthed:
‘VTIC sunbaenim!’
“...!!”
After a brief silence—
“Eat.”
“Wow!”
I forced the peach into his mouth. It was a bribe—to keep him quiet from now on.
After that, Park Mundae recovered smoothly and was discharged much faster than the medical staff expected. A few weeks later, following intense backlash against the agency and a recommendation from the Human Rights Commission, TeSTAR began small-group activities again.
They appeared at a KPOP showcase called TaKon. Of course, they didn’t attend in person—they contributed pre-recorded footage to the broadcast.
Still, as their first activity after the accident, TeSTAR’s appearance caused quite a stir.
Amid the flood of “Love you TeSTAR, our magic forever” responses online, some brutally honest and even rude comments flew around:
“They’ve still got their style.”
“Seriously, you have to lose weight in a coma—comatose diet FTW, bulk-up sucks.”
“Whoa, angles are on point. They must’ve practiced like crazy; insane.”
“Bear-hair looks fine? lol idol wannabes, learn something—this guy nearly died and still nails the stage; you can’t even open your eyes.”
“They’re boycotting T1 but not TeSTAR? Stupid fangirl logic~”
└ “TeSTAR’s traffic-accident exception, duh.”
The one thing everyone agreed on: TeSTAR hadn’t lost their star power—they could turn sympathy into genuine admiration.
“Will TeSTAR continue activities next? When’s the comeback? Staying with the same agency?”
All sorts of speculation swirled online.
Then, out of nowhere, a performance-booking platform posted on SNS:
“Is this really TeSTAR?? (link)”
They’d never used that platform before, and it wasn’t affiliated with T1. Still, it grabbed attention.
[“What? The nation’s stock ☆free☆ concert?”]
“The nation’s stock”—a few years’ old catchphrase. Some users quickly piled on:
“What era is that from; just clickbait.”
“AJUSA’s next-season concert, maybe?”
“Hacking?”
None of the above.
A few days later, the next SNS post read:
[“Watch the nation’s stock ☆free☆ concert and support sick children!”]
[“Hosted by Park Mundae, Guests: TeSTAR”]
That’s right. Park Mundae had planned a charity concert to raise funds for children in need.
