Debut or Die-Chapter 245
Ryu Cheong-woo hadn’t sat down for a serious talk like this in a long time.
‘Is this the first time since I awakened?’
No—that miserable “Confirm Truth” kept us at arm’s length before I woke. I could afford to let more time pass this way.
‘...Though I might have to hit “Confirm Truth” again.’
I briefly recalled the popup, then erased it from my mind. There was still time.
Anyway... since he’d seemed off after I woke, I’d intentionally left him be. From experience, poking him when he’s like that just pisses him off.
So I didn’t expect Cheong-woo to be the one to call this meeting right after the concert ended.
“Do you want a non-alcoholic drink?” he asked.
“Um, yes.”
I took the can of alcohol-free beer he handed me.
Click. Gulp.
The can opening and the tingle on my throat felt refreshing.
“...You drink it well.”
“I guess so.”
I wasn’t dying for a drink, but I couldn’t deny that thoughts of alcohol flitted through my mind now and then.
Cheong-woo—perhaps out of courtesy or to match me—poured himself a non-alcoholic beer too.
In that surprisingly gentle atmosphere, we began to chat, and it wasn’t hard to ease into the main topic.
“Have you thought about suing them?”
Right—now that the suddenly arranged concert was over, it was time to broach that topic. I answered honestly.
“I thought about it... but honestly, it’d be too much for at least half a year. Our momentum would collapse.”
“That makes sense.”
Cheong-woo quietly sipped his beer.
“One year now and one year ten years from now won’t have the same value.”
Exactly.
That’s the dilemma for professions whose prime can be short and unpredictable.
‘Is this worth sacrificing a peak year?’
As a former athlete, Cheong-woo would be even more used to that calculation.
He gave a wry smile.
“It seemed you haven’t given up yet, Se-jin. You’ve been researching a lot—meeting with lawyers and all.”
“...A lawyer?”
“Yeah. Looks like you’ve been consulting by message.”
Between practice and everything else, when did you even find time for that?
I was stunned—and a bit bitter.
He’d really wanted to prepare for a lawsuit, not a concert, but I’d gone cross-eyed to save my own neck and ended up planning a charity concert. He must’ve held that back.
“......”
Cheong-woo and I drank in silence. Then I spoke first.
“Shall we call Se-jin?”
“Yeah.”
We needed someone who actually supported the lawsuit to keep the conversation moving.
I messaged Bae Se-jin.
[Hyung, can you come to Cheong-woo’s room? We’re talking about something.]
The “1” disappeared, then I heard him barreling down the hall and a cautious knock.
“......”
That guy was so predictable.
“Come in.”
“Y-yes!”
I opened the door for him, and the two of them and I were now face-to-face.
“We were talking about a lawsuit.”
“...! R-right.”
“Yeah. You still want to sue the company, right?”
“...That’s right.”
Tension showed on Se-jin’s face, but his answer was composed. No red face, no yelling...
“They got a recommendation from the Human Rights Commission, then cut tails and didn’t change the head of division...! If this keeps up, they’ll just revert everything soon!”
“......”
“You’re just waiting for it to die down!!”
Clearly he was fired up.
Well... the company was keeping a low profile, but Se-jin had a point: they hadn’t replaced the head of division. Actually, maybe it was better they didn’t.
“Se-jin, I think it’s more comfortable with that head still in place.”
“What?? Why!”
I answered evenly.
“Because they’re scared.”
“......??”
“They’ll probably do nothing and just keep an eye on us. The case got so big they can’t help it.”
In short, the hierarchy had shifted. When your signed artists almost die because of company negligence—and have just cause to sue—the moment they do, everything changes. Headquarters must’ve been beaten to hell; if they want to keep their jobs they’ll have to suffer a lot going forward.
I lightly crushed my can for recycling.
“So even if this company feels like trash, our future moves will be freer.”
“T-trash is too much...”
“Hmm, let’s call it unethical.”
“......”
Se-jin fell silent. I don’t know if he was speechless or stunned, but soon he answered in a subdued voice.
“Okay... if everyone thinks so.”
So the same dynamic as in the hospital room—Se-jin would lose the vote again and have to give up?
He hesitated briefly, then continued.
“Actually, I did think... if we file and win, it’d set a good precedent...”
“......”
He’d thought that far.
“But, right. If I have time for that, I should focus on my role in the team.”
Se-jin bowed his head.
“I give up on the lawsuit.”
“No....”
That wasn’t meant to pressure him. I’d hoped to persuade him or at least shape a short-term litigation plan.
I hesitated, but Cheong-woo spoke first, gently.
“Not everyone thinks that way, Se-jin.”
“Huh?”
“I’m okay with a lawsuit.”
“...!”
What?
Se-jin’s head snapped up.
“R-really??”
“Yeah.”
Weren’t you agreeing earlier that a lawsuit was burdensome?
...Wait.
I remembered Cheong-woo’s earlier line:
“That makes sense.”
...It was “also” reasonable.
I stifled my surprise. He remained neutral.
‘Come to think of it, he did that in the hospital too.’
Cheong-woo continued in his calm tone.
“And Se-jin, I think you’re doing your role as the eldest well.”
“.......”
Maybe I should add to that.
“I think so too. I just lacked conviction about suing, so don’t worry.”
“You guys......”
Se-jin looked moved, but quickly cleared his throat.
“Ahem, then... shall we ask the others? Maybe their minds haven’t changed!”
“Yes. Let’s.”
“All right.”
And shortly after...
“A lawsuit? Didn’t we decide not to? Haha.”
“A lawsuit would delay the next album indefinitely...?”
“I want to promote! I like promoting!”
“......”
K.O.
Even Cha Yoo-jin, who’d supported the lawsuit, turned around—guess he enjoyed the concert.
Se-jin sat on the floor, replaying his defeat with a forlorn look. The poor guy.
Seon Ah-hyun, who’d stayed neutral, looked restless but raised his hand tentatively.
“If... if we sue, does that mean a break?”
“That’s right, Ah-hyun.”
Cheong-woo answered for him. Ah-hyun glanced around, then spoke quietly.
“Then, as long as it’s not too long... I’d like that.”
“...!!”
What was that?
I asked immediately.
“Ah-hyun, do you want a break?”
“Um? Yeah......”
Ah-hyun averted his eyes. This guy...?
“Wait, so Ah-hyun wants to sue because she wants a break~?”
“Yeah, the concert went well, the reaction’s good... I thought a little rest to manage our bodies would be nice...!”
Big Se-jin seized the moment.
“Then let’s take off a week or two before preparing the next album—go somewhere and recuperate!”
“Ooh~”
“Recuperate? Like what?”
“Eat good food and relax~”
“I like it!”
Votes of approval poured in. Se-jin glared at Big Se-jin but stopped himself—Ah-hyun’s vote wouldn’t have swayed the majority anyway.
Now the question was me.
I thought briefly, sipped my new can, and answered.
“A retreat sounds good.”
“Oooh!”
“R-really...?”
“Yeah.”
Either way, the worst was behind us. We still had the grace period before “Confirm Truth” forced itself again, so we could take it easy for a while. It had been a major crisis.
‘...I did push things pretty hard though.’
Not for myself, but these guys. I’d shoved through a charity concert plan the day Mundae left the hospital, even insisting on inviting the biggest senior in the industry.
‘I was desperate, they just went along with it.’
Still, the logic I’d used to persuade them held up.
I recalled that conversation briefly.
“I thought we needed hype.”
“Hype?”
“Yeah. Not about the accident or company scandal, but the usual idol consumption. Conflict stirs the fire.”
“Hmm.”
Nothing works better than positioning as rivals.
And apparently that had motivated the members. That was fortunate. The outcome was good.
‘The concert ended and follow-up was solid.’
Between the donation match and the photos, public opinion would stay steady for a while. VTIC also benefited somewhat—it stung, but the champion-versus-challenger dynamic was well set within acceptable bounds.
‘I basically pulled the trigger on a scenario that’d emerge on its own once TeSTAR got bigger.’
We’d extracted every drop of value from this concert; now if I had any conscience, I’d yield a bit. Even if they didn’t sue, I wouldn’t stop them from resting.
‘...Actually, about the lawsuit... maybe I can give them some of what they want.’
I turned my mind to that, and Cheong-woo across from me smiled.
“I’m good with recovery time too. How about you, Se-jin?”
“...That’s fine.”
“Great. Everyone’s on board.”
The mood warmed. Big Se-jin snatched the beer I’d been holding and cracked it open. I let it be.
“Ah~ It’s almost Chuseok. Before going to our family homes, shall we meet and take a proper break?”
“S-sounds good...!”
Amid the excitement over destinations, Kim Rae-bin quietly raised his hand.
“Huh, Rae-bin?”
“Um, should we tell the company we’re halting all schedules and preparations for next promotions?”
That was fine.
“We don’t have much scheduled anyway. I think we’re just filming a few fan videos.”
“I see! Then cancel only those videos... um.”
He’d made it sound oddly ambiguous.
Fortunately a good suggestion emerged.
“Then shall we show fans our rest? Ask to set up unmanned cameras!”
“Not sure they’d «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» want to see that.”
“It might be dull, but so what! That’s how healing-trip shows are—since we nailed the charity concert, it could work, right?”
That made sense. It wouldn’t be a bad concept for downtime content.
Voices of agreement rose all around.
We just needed to tweak the theme. I emptied my can and spoke.
“But travel’s been done in our reality show. Isn’t it redundant?”
“Oh, that’s true.”
“Excellent point.”
Idol working holiday—everyone wore nostalgic looks recalling selling hotteok on the street.
I folded my arms.
‘Not that—what other signature healing show concept fits a recuperation theme?’
Something we could lean on... Oh, I knew.
Spicy chicken feet.
“How about a mukbang theme?” I asked. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂
“Mukbang?”
It was proven content. I recalled those days on Idol Corporation (‘AJUSA’).
And I wasn’t the only one. Big Se-jin burst out laughing.
“As expected of Mundae—spicy chicken feet! Oh, Tibet? Right, let’s mix in animals from there! Any other keywords?”
“Natural scenery...?”
“That’s good.”
Thus, all sorts of healing keywords were thrown together in an impromptu pitch, and an emergency variety show was slotted.
TeSTAR Goes to the Countryside to Recuperate
...And until that moment, none of us knew how far this hastily made show would go.
