Debut or Die-Chapter 310
The Testar concert began by perfectly recreating the underwater vista onstage.
And what unfolded was... a performance the gamer, who’d come along to the concert on a whim with a friend, never could have expected.
“Huh.”
Normally, whether it’s a singer or an idol, when you hear “concert,” you have a certain format in mind.
The performer takes center stage, presenting their own show.
They mix hit songs and new tracks, arranging them so the performance’s energy never drops.
And, in fact, TeSTAR had run that kind of concert up until now, so her friends had described it that way to her:
“You know a lot of their songs, so it’ll be fun lol.”
“Right, and all those guys are super handsome and talented—totally worth the ticket price! ㅠㅠ It’d be such a waste to cancel!”
But this time was different. Instead of that, this concert told a story.
[Slowly sinking
Time into the night
I don’t want to escape]
Among swirls of dry ice, elegant modern-dance choreography drifted through the “underwater” scene like flowing fabric.
The first song chosen was “Midnight, and Then,” rearranged into a perfect orchestral version.
It was an extremely unusual choice.
For an idol with this many years and hits, early debut tracks usually only appear as a medley at best.
Yet TeSTAR deliberately arranged and used this song.
Because here—this performance—was the prologue of the narrative they wanted to show.
[Forget your songs and your dreams,
Here is midnight.
Your Midnight]
As the bell marking the end of “Midnight, and Then” rang out, the members lay as if resting on the ocean floor.
[Ding—]
And the stage background naturally transformed into a classroom.
As if in a dream, the lights shifted, vividly revealing the new set.
Seamlessly, the next song was “Hi-five”: a bright, cheerful rock sound celebrating youth!
After the members who’d risen from the “water” paused in slight bewilderment during the instrumental break, they grinned and stamped their feet in the choreography, running playfully across the stage.
[My feet move
Faster, farther!]
Thus, the boy who’d fallen into the sea returned to the past, chasing dreams, falling in love, meeting foes, and growing stronger to win.
For each chapter of that context, a TeSTAR song was slotted in one by one.
Of course, TeSTAR was an idol, not an opera or musical, so the story wasn’t as overtly structured as those.
But through lyrics, atmosphere, and the occasional VCR scene, the audience could fully grasp each narrative beat.
Especially anyone with no background on TeSTAR!
“Is this... what the song was originally meant to be?”
The gamer was so surprised.
Fans, already familiar with the songs, passed over it more smoothly, but the members had accentuated each narrative moment between songs.
And the gamer took all that text in equal measure with the music.
Confusion, joy, tension, vigilance...
Their overflowing talent and expressiveness were extraordinary, and the gamer soon became immersed even in unfamiliar tracks.
Onstage, the protagonist who’d grown through a revelation of love showcased a powerful performance as if displaying newfound strength.
[Bite, tear, enjoy
Now Spring out!]
The narrative lent dimensionality to the stage.
By the time the concert-style performance with firearms and dancers exploded in intensity, she was unconsciously giving cheers and applause from her seat at the edge of the stage!
“Gasp.”
At an idol concert, she didn’t even shout encouragement—her reaction was like an instinctive critical review.
“Am I at a musical?” she thought, bewildered at her own response, but there was no need for embarrassment.
TeSTAR was utterly sincere.
The high notes, vocal power, and intense choreography melded into the climax of “Spring out,” and at its conclusion, the lights flickered.
As the roar of the crowd tore through the air and her heart pounded in narrative crescendo, everything suddenly halted as if washed clean.
“...!”
After the song ended in spectacular glory came... intermission.
[~Intermission~]
[Act Two will begin shortly.]
They even preserved the intermission format.
As if to let you mull over what you’d just witnessed. To heighten your anticipation.
“Yahoo!”
The gamer watched, mouth agape, as a VCR played showing the members running about in animal onesies like some public service announcement.
She wasn’t the only one.
As the house lights came up and the atmosphere loosened—just like during a real intermission—the fans, sensing tacit permission to take a break, began to riot.
“Oof, oof, ooh...”
“What is this?”
People gripped their smartphones, furiously typing notes.
And the gamer’s phone buzzed with messages:
“Genius genius genius genius...”
(collapse emoji)
They were from her two friends.
Glancing at their seats, both were staring fixedly at the VCR, only sending KakaoTalk.
“Hoo.”
It was a little scary.
But she understood a bit. “They made it so even someone like me who knows nothing can still totally enjoy it.”
She admitted to herself that this kind of concert was worth seeing once. Now she understood why everyone raved.
Unaware that this was TeSTAR’s first time doing a show like this—or that social media had gone nuts—she waited for Act Two with a more excited heart than before.
“Is the fight part just starting now?”
She was familiar with this classic game-protagonist storyline! With dazzling dance and song alongside it, how could it not be fun?
Soon, a cheerful announcement signaled the show’s resumption.
[Ladies and gentlemen, are you surprised by what these kids are thinking with a show like this? Curious?]
It was Sejin.
As his cheeky line brought laughter and chatter from the audience,
[But you’ll soon find out what happens to TeSTAR next. So, Act Two, now begins.]
The lights went out.
A light orchestra played, and as the performers hit their marks in the tempo, anticipation swelled again.
This time the gamer was easily impressed.
“They made it feel like the audience is part of the show?”
That level of twisted detail triggered a true fan’s thrill!
“They really went all out!”
Indeed.
TeSTAR meticulously crafted every frame of this show to lend narrative context and immersion.
But no matter how well they pieced it together, gaps inevitably emerged.
TeSTAR’s songs weren’t composed for a single story, nor were they as abundant as tracks in a musical written by theatrical composers.
And filling those gaps were the cover stages.
Solo and unit performances.
Act Two was filled with the latest trending songs as highlights, supported by covers.
So the TeSTAR members backstage had to move with precise timing.
“Ugh.”
“Three minutes!”
Groans, curt replies, and shouts echoed backstage.
Annoying as the noise was, I kept calculating.
“Tight.”
With emphasis on seamless transitions between stages, there was even less time to catch our breath. No room for onstage banter or dawdling.
Crowd cheers
I pressed my tongue against my cheek to avoid getting swept up.
And I thought coolly:
“There’ll be mixed reactions, definitely.”
Right now the audience loved it for being fresh and ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ fun, but the moment they cooled off, complaints would arise.
Some fans want more back-and-forth at concerts, after all.
Planning a live W Live interaction post-show was a smart move to address that.
“Good.”
There was nothing more satisfying. The next performer waiting in the wings looked like a stone statue.
I asked Kim Rae-bin, whose face had gone pale.
“Nervous?”
“Huh? Ah, no. I’ll do my best to give the fans a satisfying stage...!”
Though Rae-bin answered briskly, he was clenching and unclenching his fists.
He was more nervous than usual.
“No wonder.”
I folded my arms.
We hadn’t had this experience before.
We’d never had to take someone else’s finished song and just strive to perfectly understand and express it.
Since debut, we’d participated in creating songs and concepts ourselves.
“So we’re learning this now.”
This was exactly why the older Sejin restructured the setlist to highlight the story.
Simple:
“We’re not touching the tracks anyway~ Let’s spend that time here.”
They took away time from rearrangement and added it to polishing the members’ performance skills.
They even embedded “context” into what the performers needed to convey.
I patted Rae-bin on the back.
“It was good in rehearsal, so just go do it comfortably.”
I heard him swallow.
“...Yes.”
He nodded firmly.
Well, it didn’t have to be this intense, but...
“Mundae, um, we need to go with Rae-bin...”
Park Mundae, freshly changed, slipped up to Rae-bin’s side.
He was Seon Ah-hyun—the member who’d unit-perform with Rae-bin next. I smiled and spoke up.
“Seon Ah-hyun.”
“Hm?”
“You think Rae-bin will do well on this stage, right?”
Without batting an eye, Ah-hyun replied:
“Yeah.”
A resolute confidence rare for him.
“Thanks...!”
Rae-bin seemed inspired by that confidence. Before running off, they shook hands.
“L-let’s do well!”
“Yes!”
“They were wise to pair you two.”
Ah-hyun’s confidence had a basis—he alone among us didn’t need to build that skill.
He already had it.
Ah-hyun had devoted his youth to perfectly interpreting and expressing others’ work.
He was a top ballet major.
“Okay, we’re off...!”
“Go.”
I watched Rae-bin and Ah-hyun dash away.
The picture was set.
On the previous stage:
[This is the voice calling you—]
The boy’s inner temptation, the “Calling” performance, had ended, with Bae Sejin glaring at the audience as if possessed.
“Aaaah!!”
Park Mundae’s fans silently screamed within.
“How could they do such an adorable, brilliant plan at a concert without any promotion? Was ‘musical-like richness’ the hint in the details page?”
He took a deep breath. He had to calm down.
Even if Mundae’s added dark solo part in “Calling” was so sexy he wanted to replay it, he needed to watch the next stage clearly!
[Thud.]
But once the VCR played, it looked like the next act was a unit stage.
“Hmm.”
Seeing only their clasped hands, she guessed it wasn’t Mundae performing—and relaxed slightly.
“Let’s just enjoy it as a stage.”
Regaining her composure, she refocused on the screen.
At that moment, the TeSTAR members—after quick costume changes—waited below the stage, watching monitors.
“Starting!”
Mundae brushed his chin as if to pose, then lowered his hand, mindful of his makeup.
He focused on the screen.
On a large monitor set up by the production team, the stage feed played.
For the final build-up before the climax, the VCR ended and music began.
Rrrrrrrrrr!
A powerful progressive rock sound reminiscent of late-’90s end-of-the-century experiments.
“Nice production value.”
The boy had been defeated at a crucial moment in his duel.
After the seductive “Calling,” this performance represented inner conflict.
The thunderous electronics subsided, replaced by the elegant, agile tone from Act One’s orchestra.
A violin solo, and a low vocal.
[In this dizzying place I stand]
So the first to take the stage was Seon Ah-hyun.
Embodying reason, intellect, and virtue in every symbol, he crossed the stage gracefully.
With movements drawn from modern dance, a white spotlight followed him.
[On my tiptoes I stand]
Though experimental, the stage performance complemented the song perfectly.
Its communicative power was absurdly strong.
“Wow.”
“Cooool.”
In white costume, Ah-hyun’s precise lines painted the song’s panorama flawlessly.
His unwavering vocals blended into the accompaniment, highlighting the performance.
[Even if the lights change, I’ll guard my voice]
[Step by step]
He reached out, executed a backflip, and landed softly as fabric floated around him.
Every ounce of his remaining strength seemed to flow through each practiced move, giving astonishing impact.
“Really...”
The audience sank into that quiet climax.
But then discord struck.
Thud.
The violin snapped.
Rrrrrrrrrr!
Electronics roared back.
With flickering spotlights, someone else emerged on the opposite side of the stage.
[Red light]
Kim Rae-bin, dressed in countless black buckles.
He didn’t dance.
He merely held a headset mic and strode forward slowly—overwhelmingly.
[If you walk, you don’t fall
If you stop there, turn back]
Then the rap broke loose.
A syncopated mix of English and Korean started slow, then accelerated.
Static crackled from the mic.
It was a song once performed in collaboration with a Korean-American rapper at a 2000s band concert.
Interviews at the time emphasized this song’s performance:
—It’s about barging in like an uninvited guest and taking over.
And that’s exactly what Rae-bin did. He pushed aside the orchestra and, to the electronics’ tempo, forced his way onto the stage.
[Tick-tock, Tick-tock]
[When the line changes, you’re no longer you
Where your feet are, that’s where your heart is]
With rap, big gestures, and spreading choreography, he seized the stage.
Despite the orchestra’s voice and Ah-hyun’s final, fierce resistance, they’d already been consumed by his presence.
The orchestra vanished, and Ah-hyun fell dramatically with the stage set.
Rrrrrrrrrr!
The tone had completely shifted. Then Rae-bin’s brief, intense group choreography with dancers filled the stage as much as Ah-hyun had before.
—Wak. Wak. Wak. Wak!
Among dominant, fierce krump-inspired dancers, Rae-bin matched their steps, swirling his coat.
He was driven by inner impulses.
Thus the song, with the original meaning intact, was recreated in the 2020s.
All but the ending.
—Mm-mm-mm.
Reason did not return.
Only impulse remained at the finale.
—Get off
At the song’s end, Rae-bin turned and exited below the stage.
Waaahhh!!!
“Listen to that sound!”
The crowd’s screams shattered even the backstage corridor’s framework.
They’re usually generous with cheers, but this was honest reaction.
“The unit cover was as good as the main stage.”
It was a success. I smiled and spoke.
“They did great.”
“Th-thanks...!”
Ah-hyun, first to return, laughed under his towel. Then Rae-bin appeared in the corridor, and the members cheered him on.
“Kim Rae-bin!!”
“You were amazing! So cool!”
“Thank you...!”
Rae-bin, coat off and cheeks flushed, bowed deeply.
“He must think he did pretty well, too.”
Rare for him to be so candid.
I chuckled.
“Well done.”
“Y-yes...!”
I patted Rae-bin on the shoulder a few times.
There wasn’t time for more anyway.
“Change your outfit.”
“Ah!!”
Rae-bin opened his mouth as if to say something, then entrusted himself to a staffer to complete the “change in 20 seconds” mission.
“Alright, 150 seconds left~ We have to get marching!”
“March!”
Yes, the concert wasn’t over yet.
And what I’d prepared wasn’t everything.
