Debut or Die-Chapter 284

A cold sweat ran down my face.

No, maybe it was just the sweat from hiking—but with this situation, it felt icy.

I was completely screwed.

‘A plane crash?’

I’d never heard this story before.

‘First... I need to sort this out.’

There was no way to confirm exactly why Park Mundae’s parents had died.

...He’d already emptied his studio apartment and packed up all his belongings.

I only knew their names and ages, so I tried searching for news of any accidents using their names and region—but nothing showed up.

‘Then it must’ve been a minor incident that never made headlines...’

A car accident would be the natural assumption. So I never corrected anyone’s misunderstanding.

For example, Ryu Cheong-woo.

When I brought up the aftereffects of the car crash... it must’ve sounded like bragging.

Statistically, it was more likely—and even if it wasn’t true, there’d be no proof either way.

But he’d pierced that probability and revealed an entirely different accident as the cause.

And I... damn, I’d flown planes just fine—and even gone skydiving.

“.......”

Shit.

I realized I still had water in my mouth and swallowed.

My canteen was almost empty. I could hear the ticking from the digital watch on my wrist.

The time I was stalling by not answering.

–tick, tick.

‘There’s no reasonable excuse I can make.’

I was trapped.

Every detail—car crash, fire, Cheong-woo’s own accident—so perfectly matched the story of ‘Ryu Geon-woo.’

And in either case, denying something I’d just confirmed would be pointless.

‘He’s almost certainly convinced now.’

He’d pieced together my words and actions, plus Mundae’s past, spotted every inconsistency, and only then brought this up.

I closed the canteen slowly and raced through my thoughts.

Ryu Geon-woo and Park Mundae.

–tick, tick.

“.......”

Right. If I was going to build a realistic hypothesis, there was one possibility.

‘Dissociative amnesia plus some psychiatric disorder.’

A psychopathological explanation where Mundae mistook Geon-woo’s past for his own.

‘But if I use that as an excuse, they’ll send me straight to the hospital.’

It’d be a career-ending revelation. At this point, talking about a hidden status screen would have sounded sane by comparison.

‘No, telling someone I have an invisible status screen would be complete madness.’

I’d be lucky if people only assumed I was delusional.

‘Either way, it’s a psychiatric ending.’

All rejected.

–tick, tick.

Time kept moving.

Cheong-woo, of course, was still watching me. His gaze felt like a countdown.

‘He intentionally brought me to the summit.’

He’d led me to my limit—no stamina, nowhere to escape, no other way to defuse this.

And stalling was only going to work so long—and I had no brilliant countermeasure in mind.

‘Damn, of course I have no brilliant idea.’

Everything was blocked.

–tick, tick.

Enough. I’d commit.

I opened my mouth to blurt some absurd excuse—like “I never remembered the plane crash, just a vague memory of explosion and fire during transit...”—but someone beat me to it.

...the person in question.

“If you can’t say it, I guess that’s that.”

“......!”

“If you want to talk, just say so.”

Cheong-woo said in a calm tone, then put his canteen away in his bag.

He turned his back lightly.

“So... shall we head down?” 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

That was it. He started walking slowly.

I shut my mouth and followed him down the mountain.

But the tension remained. I knew I still had to come up with a reason for my delay.

‘This is driving me crazy.’

Thus began the hellish roommate life of living under this unsaid tension.

A few days later.

“What are you... doing?”

It was 2 a.m. Bae Sejin, coming out to drink water, nearly tripped over me sitting on the living room sofa.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Then... just lie down in your room.”

“I’m not eager to.”

He gaped at me, and I averted his gaze.

He must’ve found it hilarious that I’d ended up in his spot.

But I wondered if anyone could be so thick-skinned as to just crash in their roommate’s room, undisturbed.

Being called out by your roommate, then given time to respond—and not mentioning it for days—that was a frightening calm.

‘What is this, the eye of a typhoon?’

I’d almost prefer someone ranting and accusing me of lying. What was he thinking?

‘Damn.’

I sighed and leaned back into the sofa.

I didn’t want to fall asleep right in the living room—it’d be too obvious—so I planned to wait until I felt drowsy enough to sneak back to my room.

‘Delaying until you can fall asleep is an effective tactic.’

But Bae Sejin seemed to have other ideas.

He stared at me with an inscrutable expression, then his face lit up like he’d realized something.

And with a hopeful look, he asked.

“Park Mundae, want to... switch rooms with me?”

What.

“I’m not saying I don’t want my room—but you look like you’re not doing well!”

Transparent.

I thought for a moment, sighed, and shook my head.

“No, I’m not going to switch.”

“...Oh.”

“Right. I’ll be okay eventually.”

I had to be.

If things stayed awkward like this through our comeback and content shoots, we’d fall apart again. The nightmare of the summer package would just keep building.

‘So I need to fix this.’

But there was no explanation Cheong-woo would accept.

I propped my head on the sofa and tasted bitterness.

Sejin came for water, drank, then slid over next to me.

“Um, Cheong-woo’s... a decent guy.”

“...Yes. I know.”

“Right? You know! He’s a decent guy!”

“.......”

Like I’m going to let someone wake me up like this.

He blushed and lowered his voice after a few coughs.

“Some people just clash... but I don’t think you two are that way.”

“.......”

“If there’s something bothering you about him, just tell him. Don’t stay out here in the living room.”

I paused, then snorted.

“Seems like advice from experience.”

“Right.”

He looked surprised I didn’t freak out—and nodded seriously.

“I just find the living room more comfortable. But you don’t seem to.”

“.......”

“You want to get along with Cheong-woo, right? He’s... pretty easygoing. Just tell him, and he’ll listen.”

Sorry, but it’s the opposite. He’d be the one feeling awkward.

I shook my head. Explaining would only make him struggle to understand.

I needed to tactfully send him back to his room.

“I’ll try. Thanks for the help.”

“Um, that’s good, then. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Sejin strode off, shoulders squared. He must’ve felt he’d done his big brother duty.

Seeing that strangely lightened my mood. I smiled, then remembered what Sejin had said.

‘He’ll listen if I just tell him...’

“.......”

Lying on the sofa, I ran through the situation again.

This time, I didn’t focus on finding a plausible excuse.

Instead, I focused on ‘what Cheong-woo was trying to hear.’

I lined up the events leading to his question, in order.

“.......”

A few hours later.

“Phew.”

I’d reached a conclusion.

It was funny, but Sejin’s big-brother act had worked.

In the car on the way home after a recording schedule, I’d made Cheong-woo one offer.

My suggestion was simple.

“How about working out Thursday morning?”

“Morning?”

“Yes. That’s the only time I’m free.”

Now that I was pouring my time into comeback prep, I planned to devote my rare meal-and-rest times to exercise.

He looked puzzled but nodded.

“Sure, sounds good.”

And now, at our appointment, he seemed a bit surprised.

“Is this spot okay?”

“Yes.”

It was the same trail we’d visited so many times in recent weeks.

“Let’s go.”

With no time to spare, I set off jogging.

“Huff.”

Now that it was near midsummer, the mountain was hotter.

You’d think there’d be morning hikers, but the heat kept them away—still quiet.

Which was perfect.

‘No one to eavesdrop.’

I stopped at a nearly deserted mid-mountain spot.

Not only because no one was around.

“Hmm?”

“As I said, no need to summit. The view here is best.”

“Oh, right.”

Cheong-woo looked a little bashful, then nodded and turned to the scenery.

“It’s more lush now.”

“It is.”

I matched his gaze for a moment before steadying my breath.

And I counted the time.

‘By now, he must’ve guessed.’

I’d given him time to prepare while walking the same route where he’d asked me the question.

No doubt he’d sensed it from when I first suggested working out.

‘He’s waiting for my answer to the contradiction he pointed out.’

Sure enough, Cheong-woo slowly spoke.

“...So, did you figure out what you wanted to say?”

I shook my head.

It wasn’t that I’d suddenly thought of a perfect excuse—rather, I’d remembered something from Sejin’s advice ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) last night.

“There’s not something I want to say... but I do have something I need to say.”

Namely, the justification.

Cheong-woo deserved a legitimate reason to get an answer to his doubt.

‘He’d accepted my pain over my parents’ accident as genuine.’

He’d cooperated, saying I might simply be misremembering, since my cousin was named Ryu Geon-woo too.

But everything I said along the way didn’t add up.

‘It’s astonishing he wasn’t angry.’

He hadn’t uncovered anything new—just spotted a seemingly deceptive inconsistency.

‘Honestly, even if I found some excuse here, it’d collapse at the next contradiction...’

At that point, he’d be justified cutting me loose from the group.

Plus, he’d known the full situation and waited patiently for the right moment—probably until I’d recovered enough stamina and mental clarity.

‘He probably thought: Let’s just refresh with exercise at the summit, then calmly talk...’

This wasn’t malice or meddling.

So I concluded I had to give him at least the honest truth—no cosmic statuses or hidden panels.

‘Whether that’s convincing is another issue.’

There was no answer that would satisfy everyone. But if he had any conscience, I owed him this much.

I sighed and spoke slowly.

“Brother.”

“Yes?”

“I know... it might look like my words and the situation don’t match.”

I reflexively put my hand in my pocket, then remembered I’d quit smoking—so I pulled it out.

And I continued.

“I have never lied.”

“.......”

“No matter what I tried to explain, I wouldn’t really understand it either... oh, it’s not a mental illness. I’m not mistaking you for someone else or identifying with them.”

He’d nearly sent me to a psychiatric ward for less. I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck.

“I just... acted as myself.”

Cheong-woo didn’t interrupt. I pressed on.

“The reason my parents’ accident makes me uneasy is because it involved a car crash and a fire. You might think I lied about that during the summer package... but...”

“Wait.”

Cheong-woo, looking surprised, cut me off—and gave a wry smile.

“Mundae. I think there’s been a misunderstanding... I’m not doubting you or interrogating you.”

What?

“During the summer package? Anyone seeing you then would know there was no way you were faking that pain. I don’t think you lied.”

I stared dumbfounded at what he said.

“And... you nearly died saving my life. That’s an unchangeable fact. Right?”

That was....

“Who’d get mad at their lifesaver for inconsistent words? Don’t worry about that.”

Cheong-woo added softly.

“What I want to ask is this, Mundae.”

“.......”

“Right now... do you need help?”