Debut or Die-Chapter 324
I clenched my fist.
I’d guessed that “please take care of me for a while” didn’t mean a short stay in Ryu Geon-woo’s body but rather that he wouldn’t use it long—yet I’d assumed it would be some ethical apology about using his brother’s body, not that he’d die next summer. And why would he suddenly volunteer an explanation like, “Next summer, I’ll die as a human and return to the past”? Is he the only one who goes back to the past?
“They say people who died originally still lived fine after the date passed. What are you talking about?”
“Hyung, when I say I’ll die, I don’t mean I’ll die as a person.”
He shook his head, and answered somewhat gloomily:
“It’s just... once the date I lived as a human passes, it becomes hard for me to stay a person.”
In that moment, I translated his words:
“So... you revert back to the status window?”
“Yes.”
The guy across the table bowed his head. Suppressing my shock, I asked:
“Why does that happen?”
“Not because of the system, but because of me—well, the status window gives missions and grants rewards, and that’s why.”
Right. I’d used my new Trait, “Mission-Driven,” to receive “Conversation with Park Mundae” as a reward, and that had brought him into existence.
“But why?”
“You saw, right? Even when travelers to the past go back, their former life doesn’t vanish—it stays intact. Once the trip ends, you regain your original life. That’s how it works.”
“......”
“It seems I work that way too. Similarly, once this past-travel using a human body ends, I’ll get back the life I’d been living.”
He swallowed.
“In the status window.”
“Wait.”
I raised my hand.
“So if I call up the status window now, it won’t pop up for you—since you’re here?”
“Ah, no. The person part of me stays here as a human, and the system-influenced part stays there. It will still appear.”
“Separated states, then.”
“Yes......”
I tested it and called the status window.
[Receiving Reward]
It was real.
‘Come to think of it, when I returned to my original body, no “Reward Received” popup appeared.’
That meant I was still in the process of receiving the “Conversation with Park Mundae” reward. In effect, he was stalling the reward window’s expiration—yet its limit was next summer.
‘Sigh.’
I stifled a sigh and organized the facts in my head. Then the first solution came to me—similar to an idea I’d had before.
“If I issue another mission and receive a similar reward, that should work.”
My “Mission-Driven” trait wouldn’t suddenly vanish. If I set up a reward that let him permanently occupy Ryu Geon-woo’s body, that’d solve it, right?
But Keun-dal shook his head.
“That... by the time I revert to the status window, it’d be hard to separate and occupy a human body again.”
“Why?”
“I can feel the system’s integration getting stronger. It seems to influence wherever the body goes.”
He swallowed again.
“I think once I go back, we’ll be completely fused.”
“......”
I fell silent. He smiled wryly.
“But hyung, I’m really okay! Months remain, and even as a status window, I’ll do my best to let us keep talking......”
“No, be quiet.”
“Huh?”
I rubbed my chin and reached a clear conclusion.
“Let’s get rid of the system.”
“What? Wait...”
“If we remove the system, the part that synced with you would vanish too...”
“That might happen but... no, that’s just a guess...”
“I wanted to remove it from the start. This system creates too many variables. In this industry, where we must consider so much, it only gets in the way.”
“You want to delete the system just because it’s inconvenient for activities!?”
He panicked despite my reasonable proposal. He even slammed the table as if a thought struck him.
“Ah! You did mention something like that before, about the returners!”
“Returners?”
“People who came back from the past!”
He used the technical term casually. I nodded.
“That’s right. The system’s been tracking them. You must have seen it in the status window.”
“That—yes!”
He sprang up, muttering with a slightly anxious expression.
“Hyung... I’ve wanted to tell you since the status window....”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t mess with the system, hyung......”
Keun-dal looked at me seriously. For a moment, I wondered if he felt pity for the system, but I read something familiar in his eyes: fear.
“It’s... really weird. It’s not fantasy or sci-fi. It feels like an AI—or a ghost...”
“You said it influenced you too.”
“That’s why I know what I’m talking about!”
He roared, self-deprecating.
“I wouldn’t even know what I influenced—or how! You described the system as a psychic parasite. It really feels like one—like a parasite on a supercomputer...”
“......”
“Just... hyung, can we not do that? I’m scared.”
I pondered, then nodded.
“Alright, I’ll consider it.”
“You mean you’ll ignore me?!”
His veteran composure was gone. I did exactly that—ignored him. He slumped.
“Seriously... ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) it’s dangerous. Really...”
“Let me ask one thing.”
“Huh?”
I asked calmly:
“Instead of the ‘Receiving Reward’ popup, can we use the status window’s original functions—like checking others’ stats or using Traits?”
He blinked.
“That... I think it might be possible.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ve done some tests. If one ‘connects’ to the status window and manipulates it...”
He suddenly forgot his despair and dove into focus, like hacking. I closed the window and waited.
Moments later, he looked up and brightened.
“Hyung, I...!”
Then—
Knock knock.
The restaurant room door opened gently. Keun-dal sank back into his seat.
“Oh, I see you were talking.”
Ryu Cheong-woo returned.
I immediately checked the other guy’s face—calm.
‘Did you hear it?’
When “Ryu Geon-woo” called “Park Mundae” hyung. As long as Keun-dal kept silent, I could...
“Yes, yes! You’re back.”
If you’re going to speak, don’t look so serious. And don’t laugh awkwardly, either.
“It’s been a while since I met someone I knew... words didn’t come easily. Ha ha, ha ha ha.”
Nope. At this point, he really looked like a career re-taker who studied social skills for years.
I felt relieved. Ryu Cheong-woo just returned his awkward smile.
“Interviews are a battle with yourself, after all. I’ve had similar experiences... hyung, you already speak well enough.”
He sounded a bit pitying.
“Me? Thank you. It’s still amazing I passed the interview... ha, ha ha.”
“Hyung, please sit.”
“Oh, yes.”
I cut off their chat immediately and sat down. We were here to eat, so they’d better shut up. Meanwhile, I’d refine my plan.
After that, we ended up chatting about TeSTAR while each of us ate our noodle course without incident.
Keen on talking about everything from the album to the concert, Keun-dal’s broad TeSTAR knowledge even surprised Ryu Cheong-woo.
– You really know your stuff. I hope we didn’t disturb your exam studies...
– No, I gained a lot of strength...
It was definitely a heartwarming moment.
Seeing Keun-dal speak comfortably, Ryu Cheong-woo couldn’t help but diagnose, “You only speak well about topics you care about.”
“Thanks for today.”
“Thank you so much!”
We successfully exchanged numbers and wrapped up. As we parted, I gave him a brief nod.
‘Details by text.’
‘I’ll definitely go to the concert!’
We didn’t really click, but at least messaging was possible.
Plus, since he so earnestly asked for both our autographs at the end, Ryu Cheong-woo looked thoroughly impressed.
In the car, as I started the engine, he said:
“If I’d known, I’d have gotten the others’ autographs too.”
“Right.”
That was enough. Even if it raised suspicion, the context made it plausible. I relaxed, leaning back in the seat.
Now I could plan how to keep him stuck to Ryu Geon-woo’s body...
“Ryu Geon-woo hyung, your features seemed to have changed a lot.”
I stopped thinking.
“...Features?”
Could it be he recalled meeting me as a child? I fell silent and rummaged my memories, and he continued:
“You saw that home video. We watched it together.”
“...That’s right.”
Ah, that. The home video at Ryu Cheong-woo’s house that helped me track Geon-woo’s whereabouts.
I leaned back again.
“They say humans are creatures of environment. Of course you’d change.”
“Exactly.”
He responded comfortably.
“But... somehow you resemble him more.”
“...!”
“The person in the video looked like you.”
He glanced at me, then looked forward again.
“Not just looks—but expressions and movements.”
“......”
“Those don’t change easily unless you correct them intentionally. I learned that in archery while fixing my stance and walk.”
He said no more, but I knew: this guy was certain.
And I’d missed my chance to offer a natural excuse.
– In 50 meters ahead, turn left.
Once the navigation spoke, Ryu Cheong-woo spoke again, a bit sheepishly:
“Anyway, I worried it’d be awkward, so sorry if I made things heavier. Um... how should I address you?”
I spoke up:
“Hyung.”
“...?”
“Just drop the honorific. Suddenly using it feels weird.”
He looked surprised for a moment, then laughed and turned the wheel.
“Ha ha, really? I was feeling that too.”
“Yes.”
I thought for a moment, then added briefly:
“And... thank you.”
“...For what?”
He looked forward and seemed to smile faintly, then shrugged.
“Like I said, if you need help, let me know.”
Ah. Right.
I felt a pleasantly light mood rise and spoke:
“I have one request now.”
“Hm?”
“I’d like some advice.”
In fact, just around dessert time in the restaurant room, when I’d reopened the status window, the “Receiving Reward” popup had been categorized separately—and I could still use the original functions.
‘Good.’
Keun-dal, by his own words, had successfully “connected.”
And the reason I wanted to revert it wasn’t merely to check competitors’ status windows or plan countermeasures. I had something else in mind:
[Trait: Mission-Driven (S)]
That was it.
And for every candidate reward I’d imagined, the same mission appeared:
[Mission: Break a KPOP Record]
“What KPOP record should we aim to break?”
