Debut or Die-Chapter 267
By the time winter had passed, TeSTAR had launched their scheduled Japan dome tour following the U.S. leg.
As always with their Japan concerts, fancam footage supply dropped off sharply—and starved-for-content fans were only too happy to welcome the newly released documentary.
It filled the gap and boosted their profile.
So far, everything had gone according to plan.
Fans were genuinely excited:
“It’s about time we got a TeSTAR doc.”
“Might be boring, but trust our one-of-a-kind laugh riot idols, TeSTAR!”
“Saw the teaser—seems heavy on emotion and visuals. There’s never been content like this, so I’m curious 🤔”
That is, until the first episodes dropped.
The moment the initial three episodes of the TeSTAR documentary premiered, the fan reaction shifted to:
“Oh, f—”
“TTTTTTTT”
“Guys...”
Because all three episodes went live at once, fans binged them together and instantly grasped the whole narrative arc.
I, too, saw the final edit for the first time then—and I’d describe it like this:
[Staff: Maybe you should... sit down a bit.]
[Park Mundae: ...(cough)... No. I’m fine.]
[Ryu Cheong-woo: I want to give it my all while I can... (edited)... all of us feel that way. No one will give up.]
The documentary kept spotlighting how serious TeSTAR was onstage and how they pushed through pain to finish every performance.
“I already knew, but you really feel how much they love this work—my heart aches.”
“They really suffered...”
“The more I watch, the more I love TeSTAR—and hate T1 Stars even more...”
Except it was over the top—fans were unsettled, even depressed.
‘...I knew from the questions they asked.’
I’d thought they’d show restraint after the Cha Yoo-jin incident and our contract renegotiation, but instead they cut Yoo-jin’s sensitive footage and drew out that same vibe from the other members—even me:
[Dance Trainer: Mundae’s stamina isn’t what it used to be. That can’t be helped.]
[Manager: Since the accident, we’re taking extra care to ensure he rests sufficiently between schedule moves.]
When did they even conduct those interviews? They’d even interviewed our staff, and the editing made it look like I was fighting through injuries.
‘Did I comply too easily?’
My responses were neutral, but combined with other interviews, it painted me as stoically masking my pain.
Under the surface, I could see fans getting directly uncomfortable:
“What’s the point of this edit? Are they really using this to promote? Why is the company even putting this out? Smh clueless.”
“They’re shoving PTSD at us again.”
“I felt uneasy watching—would Mundae really want to show this? The guy who grits his teeth wouldn’t want to reveal his pain... it’s just awkward.”
Still, it wasn’t a massive backlash—at worst it was an intensified reprise of the ‘tragic home life’ angle from AJUSA.
‘...It’s divisive, I guess.’
Meaning the general public response was actually positive: that melodramatic thread kept the doc engaging and gave it a strong narrative and emotional spine.
[TeSTAR Documentary: Park Mundae’s Aftereffects Highlight.jpg]
(Photo) Member interviews suggest his stamina loss is severe.
(Photo) Seon Ah-hyun supporting him as he steps offstage.
“He looked like he was flying onstage, but seeing him collapse... I was shocked ㅠㅠ”
“He took the GED so he wouldn’t embarrass fans—truly a genuine idol”
“Worth watching—gave me so much to think about, recommend it”
As a result, the image of “Park Mundae, the idol who’s too earnest about his idol life” was reinforced—and it even climbed into Korea’s “Most-Watched Content” rankings. Mission accomplished for the producers, though it was a little embarrassing.
“Oh—there’s our genuine Mundae~”
“Cut it out.”
Big Sejin laughed and tapped my shoulder on the sofa. He had his phone, monitoring fan sites.
He shrugged. “They’re all praise. And it’s an eight-episode doc—how far will it go? Don’t worry about our image.”
“...Right.”
He was right. Just as the “tragic family background” image faded after debut, so would this—with time. It wasn’t a national variety show, just an OTT doc.
‘By the next comeback at the latest, it’ll be gone.’
His carefree reaction meant it really wasn’t a big deal.
“Mundae-Mundae—find some funny stills and post one.”
“Do whatever.”
I decided to defuse the mood with humor. The doc was at least well-produced.
‘As long as it didn’t tank.’
But that judgment was premature. Some controversies don’t fade naturally.
Two weeks later, while the doc was still airing, disaster struck.
Most of the general public had moved on, but many still knew “TeSTAR has a doc out.” At the moment the remaining crew had wrapped up extra shoots and left, I was grabbed by the nape in our rented studio.
“Park Mundae!! Did you see this??”
“Why are you—”
Bae Se-jin, pale as a ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) sheet, held out his phone: a trending post on a forum:
#1 [Cha Yoo-jin Assaults Cameraman (692)]
Why... was it there?
I clicked immediately. The post had a silent clip and one word: “Attitudeㅠ”
The reaction was ferocious—understandably:
A clean front-facing close-up showed Yoo-jin frowning and roughly pushing the camera screen.
“????”
“What is this, where did it come from??”
“Maybe it’s someone else.”
└ “They’re wearing the same outfit lol” (screenshot)
“OMG”
Fans quickly matched Yoo-jin’s look from the doc and deduced it was backstage at a concert. Then:
“His lip reads ‘stop it’—what an attitudeㅋㅋㅋㅋ”
“He thought the camera was shoving in his face, so he pushed it awayㅋㅋㅋㅋ”
“Shows you how fast years of experience can change a person...”
└ “Stop crying over old members’ drama—this savage shove is real tea”
└ “Savage clapㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ”
“Too shocked to speak—never imagined Yoo-jin would do this”
“Thought he was an ace, turns out he’s just a loser”
In moments it became mockery and stigmatization. The footage was so clear that people saw no room for debate.
Yoo-jin’s bright, friendly image made the fallout even worse.
“How about the company?”
“They’ll know—they heard the staff mention it.”
“Wait.”
I immediately scanned the latest posts to gauge the mood and plan our response. The scene was:
[# While one member gives it his all onstage, another idol violently loses it backstage.jpg]
[# No wonder the doc never showed Yoo-jin’s serious side—now we know whyㅋㅋㅋㅋ]
[# How embarrassing for Mundae to watch]
Fuck—they were even comparing me.
And there was more:
[# Ryu Cheong-woo did that too but at least he blocks, while this one just swings]
[# Leader-induced violence?ㅋㅋㅋ]
They dragged Cheong-woo in, but his case was clearly about safety. His fans revolted:
[# Leave Cheong-woo alone—this happens every time]
[# Cha Yoo-jin = hits, Cheong-woo = blocks]
[# How long must we suffer because of that side?]
They cut ties with Yoo-jin.
Because of Yoo-jin’s early solo fandom, his image tanked hardest. Even if the fanbase was different now, the stigma stuck. The evidence was too clear—once-friendly fans went silent, leaving only resentful voices:
“Yeah, Yoo-jin should just go solo... I’m done.”
“No mercy for problematic members.”
The lingering resentments from AJUSA through debut finally blew up at the worst moment. Since my doc image was still strong, it was easier for me.
His personal fandom was in tatters, and the group fandom wasn’t far behind.
“......”
“...You okay?”
“I’m... okay.”
I trailed off because I wasn’t.
I felt like shit.
“Let’s have a meeting.”
The company was furious, contacting the doc crew to demand answers. The conclusion was:
“...So one of the doc producers sent a broken computer for repair and that’s where the leak happened?”
“Yes. They thought the owner was a network insider, so they even recovered deleted files.”
The staff, looking guilty, admitted it under pressure.
“I heard leaks can happen that way, but it’s a crime—hard to hold them liable for negligence....”
Right, got it. A criminal out to exploit celeb content caught a big one, uploaded it to some deep-web site, and someone reposted it to the open web. And it spread instantly.
“......”
But knowing the mechanics doesn’t help. An ordinary explanation won’t suffice.
‘The doc producers forced him—’ won’t work. People will think, ‘So his first reaction is to push.’
‘He didn’t hit—he defended a member from rude requests—’ Who’d believe that? No proof. We deleted all data.
It’s just an excuse. And if we frame it as ‘Huge idols bullying a small studio,’ there’s no good outcome. Any official statement will be torn apart.
Yoo-jin, quietly nodding, raised his hand beside me.
“Should I apologize?”
“Wait—Yoo-jin!”
“Let’s hold off.”
The members restrained him. Unconsciously, I said, “If you apologize, you’re admitting guilt. Don’t.”
I didn’t know if that was right. Maybe an apology would’ve been better? But what would he be apologizing for?
No other answer was visible.
His video was too damning. To reverse it we needed stronger truth. But truth isn’t impressive—you have to spin it.
‘Media spin...’
No. It wouldn’t work. No matter how much the company downplayed it, apologized, or explained, it’d sound boring.
We needed shocking, intuitive proof—but we had nothing.
“I’ll wait and see if it calms down.”
“Yes. Don’t worry—there’s another show next week, so take care of yourselves.”
The meeting fizzled. I stayed up monitoring posts:
“Closing my account, can’t handle it.”
“No peace... if you loved me, don’t exhaust me with fandom. I’m out. Thanks.”
“Didn’t expect TeSTAR to get this backlash...”
I couldn’t sleep.
Next day, everyone looked beat—everyone but one.
“Don’t check the internet.”
That was Yoo-jin. Shockingly, he looked the best.
“Yes!”
He nodded and added:
[Hyung, don’t worry about me. Truth works out in the end.]
My blood boiled—how could he be so calm, unaware of the insults?
“That’s... it won’t—”
I bit my lip. Nearly said something useless that’d only lower morale.
‘...No, we’re in this together.’
I’d seen the group fandom tank overnight. But I knew: in the end, Yoo-jin would bear the brunt alone. The group would recover, but whenever someone mentioned this, Yoo-jin would wear the label forever.
Yet Yoo-jin was astonishingly composed.
“Hyung, I’m really okay. I don’t mind. I can still perform.”
“......”
[Even if I’m okay, will the team be?]
“...Well.”
[Please stop worrying about me so much!]
He tried to smile but bowed his head.
[And I’m sorry—I did cause trouble for the team, so I wanted to say that.]
“I’m sorry....”
“You don’t have to.”
I replied calmly.
“I agreed they were in the wrong. End of story.”
“Uh... That’s sweet. Thanks!”
He looked truly moved; I held back a sigh.
‘He’ll keep suffering though.’
Still no perfect answer. Sometimes irreparable misunderstandings happen—and you have to accept them.
I sat on the sofa as Yoo-jin went to his room.
“......”
He hadn’t done anything wrong, and we’d taken all possible measures. No one was at fault.
‘It was just a shitty accident of circumstances.’
...Really?
I rose from the sofa. Something felt off—artificial.
‘Is that really it?’
Why on earth was that clip still on that machine? Weren’t Yoo-jin’s sensitive files all destroyed? Even if the repair shop recovered files, would they only recover that clip—so cleanly—out of hours of footage?
“...Ah.”
Then I understood.
“They clipped it.”
Those bastards must’ve saved only the portion of Yoo-jin’s footage that they could use for leverage, storing it on a personal computer.
They cherry-picked just the moments he pushed the camera, so no context could emerge.
‘What assholes.’
Even if the leak was unintentional, they caused it.
‘These doc makers were only after what they could exploit, not their mission.’
“Haha.”
My head spun as I smiled broadly.
I immediately looked up the studio’s info and staff list. If Yoo-jin’s image could never fully recover, then these guys shouldn’t either.
‘Find their weakness.’
I needed data. I reviewed all the image files of our documentary contract.
The CEO, the producer in charge, the writers...
And their email addresses:
– Mun Seok-chun / [email protected]
It didn’t matter that it was a corporate address—the prefix was what counted.
‘They rarely change that.’
I checked the studio’s history on their website, narrowed the search to pre-establishment, then combined the prefix with common domains and the names in different ways...
A few old articles popped up about a program launch. At the bottom, the listed email and names of newly joining staff—
They matched.
‘Exactly.’
Some launch articles go that far.
“Found it.”
– Producer Mun Seok-chun of Studio IOZE ([email protected])...
And the title?
[‘Idol Corporation’ Season 2 Production Confirmed]
So they were the team that produced the mixed-gender Idol Corporation 2—which flopped—and then moved from variety to documentary.
“Interesting.”
I grinned, showing my teeth.
