Debut or Die-Chapter 306
“Clatter.”
The moving car was silent.
The members sitting in the spacious van were each listening to music or working on their smartphones.
Kim Rae-bin tried to recall today’s schedule and the detailed prep notes, then gave up. His thoughts simply wouldn’t move in a productive direction.
And he felt guilty about it.
‘Such negligence...’
One could call it “mental exhaustion,” but to him it felt like outright laziness.
‘...Everyone else is working so hard.’
Just then, he remembered the scene where the manager and members were discussing today’s schedule.
“That’s a shoot at the outskirts studio, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Then it’ll take a while~”
Indeed, quite some time had passed since they’d gotten in the van. Perhaps because, unbidden, anxiety had shuttled back and forth relentlessly in his mind.
Staying still was the hardest part.
Before, at times like this, he’d record various plans or sudden musical ideas, and the time would fly by.
Rae-bin turned his head to avoid replaying the memory of his failure.
A flash of blue caught his eye.
‘Blue?’
Outside the window half an hour later was a wide road alongside a mountain.
The van was... speeding down a highway.
“...?”
They said they were going to the outskirts, but entering the highway like this made it an entirely different region, didn’t it?
Rae-bin didn’t have a license. But he’d traveled for regional events before, so he thought it a valid question—then held back. He wasn’t in a position to ask.
Determined to at least do as he was told, Rae-bin stiffened in his seat as more worries and predictions swirled in his head.
Park Mundae, sitting beside him, quietly checked Rae-bin’s tense posture, then turned back to the road.
‘He didn’t notice.’
A while later...
“Oh, we’ve arrived.”
The car stopped, and the members began to get out. Habitually, Rae-bin followed, then froze.
They’d stepped out on the side of a mountain road, halfway up the slope.
Only one old, charming lodge stood there—which must be the destination.
‘A nature-friendly concept...?’
Just before he berated himself again for not knowing, the manager climbed back into the driver’s seat and nodded to the members.
“I’ll head back down there.”
“Yes! We’ll call you later!”
“...??”
This was strange, too.
‘They’re not accompanying us on the shoot?’
Leaving them to work on-site themselves—it was the first time since Testar’s dedicated team launched! Rae-bin, momentarily forgetting his helplessness, looked around. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺
A cool breeze blew through the autumn mountain, tinted crimson and gold with fall foliage.
As if a tight knot had loosened, the wind even blew through his heart.
‘There are mountains like this near Seoul, too.’
He reflected on his own narrow experience and prejudice. It looked like one of the Taebaek Mountain Range spurs near Gangwon Province—breathtaking scenery.
Then he noticed a road sign through the trees.
[Seoraksan ↑ 32m]
“...??”
Panic washed over him.
Seoraksan is... in Gangwon Province.
So this wasn’t the outskirts of Seoul at all... it was real Gangwon!
At this point, even the most self-critical person would speak up.
“S-sorry, but could there have been an error setting the destination?”
Startled, the members looked at him.
“Why?”
“This isn’t the outskirts of Seoul—it’s deep in Gangwon’s mountains!”
“That’s right.”
“Eh?”
Ryu Cheong-woo answered calmly.
“This is the destination, Rae-bin.”
“...??”
Rae-bin was confused again. Then Park Mundae—who’d sent the manager’s car back down—finally turned to him. His respected hyung was smiling.
“This isn’t for a shoot...”
“Then...?”
“We just came to the mountains. For some self-development training.”
Park Mundae answered briskly, as if he hated saying it, then cracked a small smile.
“This is a composition camp.”
Rae-bin’s jaw dropped.
He stepped into the old brick lodge, which felt like a familiar country home, save for one oddly modern TV.
Still dazed, Rae-bin stood in the middle of the floral-walled living room, stunned.
“Rae-bin, sit down!”
“Wow~ It really feels like an MT [teambuilding trip]. Right? The budget’s spot-on.”
“W-want some fruit?”
Before he knew it, he was sitting on the warmed floor, holding half a pear in his hand.
“...?”
What on earth was happening? He hadn’t even realized everyone else was nonchalant. Rae-bin, analyzing Park Mundae’s words, sank into anguish.
...A composition camp.
‘I thought he didn’t like me constantly trying to compose...’
Maybe he wanted to check his progress until he did it right? Fear spiked, but it might have been what Rae-bin secretly wanted.
‘If I refine it with hyung’s feedback, I might write great songs again.’
It could be painful, but he felt eager.
From now, he could write a song, get it evaluated immediately, and break free from this powerless state...
As soon as Park Mundae returned from the kitchen, Rae-bin blurted out:
“C-can I ask what exactly this ‘composition camp’ entails?”
“Literally what it sounds like.”
Park Mundae pulled equipment from his bag—his familiar laptop.
Rae-bin’s tense body stiffened, yet he quickly reached for it.
Thud.
He felt its weight—a choice favoring power over portability.
In a trembling voice, he asked:
“So... from now on, if I write a song, people will give feedback...?”
“It’s not just you.”
“Huh?”
Park Mundae didn’t skip a beat and drew another laptop from his bag.
“Oh, Mundae flex?”
“Give me the red one! REDMAN~!”
He handed one out to each person who reached out.
“Everyone will compose on their own. Negative feedback is forbidden.”
“...!”
“No outside feedback during camp. No KakaoTalk on PCs. No email.”
Though it felt tyrannical, Rae-bin couldn’t find words to argue.
Park Mundae finally pulled out his own laptop, sat facing away from the TV, and set it on the table.
Tap.
Reflexively, Rae-bin opened his laptop. He stared at his composition software—still on the same screen as before—and in a slightly shaky voice asked:
“So, what kind of song...?”
Cha Yoo-jin cut in.
“No particular use!”
“...!”
“Hyung said it’s a camp.”
Bae Sejin concluded calmly:
“We’re just making music.”
The plan to lock everyone in a secluded lodge for two nights and three days, cut off from the outside world, was accepted more enthusiastically than expected.
‘...I didn’t think a lodge could feel so homey.’
I eyed the ginseng wine on the balcony but held back.
Big Sejin and Ryu Cheong-woo really chose a lodge that felt like a rural relative’s place.
‘Maybe I should’ve left it to Bae Sejin.’
At that moment, Bae Sejin spoke up.
“...This atmosphere is really cozy.”
“I-it is, isn’t it?”
Cancel that thought—I should’ve done it myself.
But planning was my job, so I had no choice. It’d been a while since I tried something so unproductive, so there were some trial-and-error moments.
I looked at Rae-bin.
He stood uncertainly, staring at his laptop and then at everyone else.
Right—no wonder. Being told to compose something alone out of the blue.
So I came up with some composition-theme suggestions.
“I thought each of us could pick a theme... something fun to try.”
I turned on the TV—the only modern device in the house—linked to YouTube.
There were conditions for selecting a composition theme.
First:
– It must not relate to Testar.
If Rae-bin thought it would affect Testar’s career in any way, he’d worry, even without real feedback.
‘It must be a pure hobby.’
Second, similarly:
– It must never relate to Testar in the future.
In other words, it must be a topic with zero chance of official tie-in—no room for worry, even if later revealed.
That dramatically narrowed the field.
And most importantly:
– It must be something you’d genuinely find interesting.
Since the second team battle on Ajusa, his tastes had been clear.
‘Inspiration.’
Something he’d want to turn into music. So my first pick was this.
I used the remote to navigate YouTube.
I logged in and clicked “Playlists.”
Electronic tones, 8-bit beeps, and text on a black screen:
[Welcome to SECTION 127]
[!wARinG! ※L21%]
“The boss theme BGM from the sequel to ‘127 Section.’”
“Ooh~”
It was the sequel to the well-made game we’d collaborated on at debut—<127 Section>.
‘No chance of using this for our work.’
Copyright would block it.
And that issue would never be resolved. They’d ended it cleanly. Everyone knew another collaboration would be overkill.
‘But it’s fun.’
Because...
“Apparently each boss in Part 2 is named after the tutorial members we collaborated with in Part 1.”
That was it.
Relevance and creativity.
‘Like some grudge from a parallel world,’ I recall someone saying.
Anyway, the point was it evoked memories of our past project but carried no burden.
[Sold OUT – II8: BGM]
On screen, the first boss’s theme—named after the character I’d voiced in the trailer, “B11”—was playing.
“How about each of us takes the BGM for the character we had and arranges it as we like?”
“Oh, interesting. Mundae is like our rec-tour instructor. Hey~”
The same guy who’d voted unanimously at yesterday’s briefing got excited.
But this structure was necessary: each of us composing independently.
We should’ve done this from the start.
‘I °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° piled too much pressure on Rae-bin.’
It’s like I wouldn’t sing an entire verse myself just because my vocal stat was highest.
Production should’ve been the same. We needed to join in making tracks, not just give feedback. We delayed that because Rae-bin was so good.
‘But the music matters most.’
It shouldn’t have been Rae-bin alone writing Testar’s musical identity.
We should’ve at least let him experiment with concepts and genre frameworks ourselves.
I checked my composition software on my laptop and thought:
‘This performance might help relieve some of that pressure too.’
Right. First, let’s see his reaction.
I glanced at Kim Rae-bin and spoke.
“And next...”
No next was needed.
I closed my mouth. Rae-bin was staring intently at the Smart TV.
