Debut or Die-Chapter 332

“What on earth is going on?”

I’m lying on the bed. I’m not thinking anything in particular. I’m just mulling over the situation from just before, when I went to find Big Sejin after he’d stormed out of the camp hotel room.

“Piiik.”

I pressed the doorbell of Big Sejin’s private hotel room, but there was no response.

“.......”

I wondered if he might not be in the room. But would he really have gone outside, in that state, risking more rumors? He had to be inside.

“I Sejin.”

I waited a moment, then pressed the doorbell again.

Then I got a response—but not at the door.

Druruk.

From my smartphone.

[Mun-dae, let’s talk later. I’m a bit tired right now.]

That was it.

“.......”

I removed my hand from the pillow, checked the message, then swiped it away.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

Now Ryu Geonwoo’s face appeared on the screen. He’d resumed the video call I’d cut off earlier.

...I should get on with it.

“What did you want to say?”

“...Just a moment.”

The guy on screen moved, then raised both hands, pointing at the empty space beside me.

“Do you see this?”

“No.”

He cautiously lowered his hands.

“You don’t see it, huh....”

“.......”

“Well, since the last time I logged in to dismiss the ‘claim reward’ popup, I’ve done some research.”

I nodded.

“A few days ago, I managed to pull up your status window on my end and display it. So I was wondering if you might see it on your screen....”

“I see.”

It made sense he’d call about that. I understood. Then, silence fell in the room again.

“.......”

His tentative voice came next.

“So, hyung... something happened earlier, right?”

“No.”

Could he stop asking about that?

I felt irritation rising, but realized it wasn’t his fault—the call had abruptly cut off.

“It was someone who didn’t know the situation calling and hanging up, so a misunderstanding happened.”

“Ah....”

After that brief interjection, he went quiet. He seemed to have grasped the gist.

‘Is that all he wanted to say?’

Thinking it might be safe to wrap up, I prepared to.

“Then I’ll organize and analyze what you just said about the status window—why don’t you rest today....”

“No, hyung.”

He cut me off.

“Hyung, this is the first time I’ve seen you so unable to focus on system stuff. Usually, you’d ask all kinds of questions.”

“...!”

“That shows how much this situation is bothering you.”

“.......”

Then his soft voice asked:

“Then, how about telling them everything and making yourself comfortable?”

I unconsciously clenched my fist.

In that moment, I recalled every slip-up he’d made whenever we’d met:

“Hyung!”

“Geonwoo hyung, um, umm....”

Errors in honorifics and endings. I’d assumed it was because he was so bad at lying. But thinking back, the fact that someone who’d lived in Ryu Geonwoo’s body for years kept making those mistakes... felt unnatural.

“You didn’t slip up around the other members... on purpose, did you?”

“.......”

“Did you want me to catch you?”

After a brief silence, his voice emerged from the screen.

“Perhaps.”

“...!”

“I didn’t realize it consciously when it happened, but maybe subconsciously I did. I thought it might help you.”

“What?”

“TeSTAR members are people who lived with you for years. I wanted you to feel comfortable by having you confide your secret to them....”

His kindness was based on good intentions—but totally disregarding the other person’s wishes and feelings reminded me of something. And he even voiced it:

“But that’s what the system does, right?”

Yes.

“It disregards your thoughts and emotions and just pushes through.”

That mechanical, inhuman impulse was too unnatural for this gentle kid to have on his own.

I slowly opened my mouth.

“So... you guessed that I’m being influenced by the system?”

When we met last time, he’d seemed particularly afraid of the system.

“I feel like the part of you that’s merged with the system is growing stronger. It seems to affect whatever body you move into.”

Then his voice, a little deflated, came over the video.

“Yes. So after I noticed, I’ve been really trying not to make mistakes....”

“.......”

“I didn’t do it intentionally. You must have been uncomfortable—I’m truly sorry. I’ll be careful not to let it influence me anymore....”

“...All right.”

I heard a sigh of relief from the screen.

‘He’s struggling.’

Being influenced by some unknown force must feel pretty awful.

‘I’ll have to watch his status more closely from now on.’

I looked at Keun-dal—he seemed suddenly more alert.

But then the topic shifted back.

“Um, hyung, this is really separate, but that friend of yours will trust you.”

He was driving me up the wall.

I held back my frustration and said:

“If he had a personality that’d believe this sci-fi nonsense, I’d have figured it out already.”

But I Sejin was the most realistic among us. I acknowledged that.

‘So... I was putting it off.’

Because I had work to do, the timing wasn’t right. I’d been rationalizing staying silent and dragging this out.

I had told him in the atmosphere of the moment that I’d tell him when the time came, so I needed to speak—but any way I put it, it seemed too unbelievable.

I sighed.

Then his voice, sounding a bit incredulous, spoke again:

“Hyung, I’m just reminding you because I thought you might’ve forgotten... I’m your status window, you know??”

I knew that.

“I also know everything about you and I Sejin!”

“...!!”

“I know about the fight between you two... Anyway, I speak as a third party who knows all the information. Please believe me...!”

It was embarrassing that he’d seen all that. But Keun-dal, embarrassed or not, was almost in tears now.

“Since that friend is as realistic as you are, he knows you well... and you trust each other a lot.”

And laughably, I listened to that.

“If you seriously, honestly explain, he’ll believe you.”

“.......”

I propped myself on one arm.

“Hyung....”

I didn’t know.

“How I should bring it up, or anything—this whole mess.”

“Ah....”

“Let’s... see how things go, first.”

Whether to spit out the truth now or not, I didn’t know how he’d react tomorrow. Maybe anger would flare briefly, but it might just clear up as soon as we explained.

“Hyung, so....”

He seemed to try to offer encouragement, but it didn’t quite land.

“All right.”

I ended the call, hesitated, then replied to Big Sejin’s text.

[I’m sorry. Get some rest.]

And laughably, it really turned out to be nothing.

The overnight album camp the next day went smoothly.

“How’s adding an explosion sound # Nоvеlight # to the beat?”

“Sounds good. But maybe only in the chorus—swap it out for something else in the verses, or ears might tire quickly.”

“Understood!”

Big Sejin managed the feedback just as well as the previous day: pushing good ideas, discarding unsuitable ones.

“I want to pick one from demo #4 as a B-side—what do you think?”

“...That’s good. But #3 seems better.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t like the day I snapped and everything went awkward—he wasn’t acting overly friendly, either. There was just a thicker distance now.

‘Damn.’

He wouldn’t give me any room for private talk.

I couldn’t even apologize: “Sorry for what?” would just kill the flow.

“Let’s take a break and continue later.”

“Sure.”

During the break, I followed the guys as they drifted around the suite more freely than yesterday, then got up myself.

‘Time to douse the mood.’

If they got too fatigued by frustration, it’d be foolish. I decided to splash cold water on my face and refocus on the album.

I was returning from the sink by the entrance when I heard voices from the hallway kitchenette.

“I Sejin.”

“Yes?”

It was Bae Sejin calling Big Sejin. Rare. I immediately recalled yesterday’s exchange with him.

– Did I... phrase it weirdly?

– No... There was some misunderstanding. Sorry for dragging you into it.

– No, it’s okay.

Anyone listening would guess they were about to bring it up.

From around the corner came two voices:

“Um... about yesterday. If I made a mistake, I’m sorry.”

“Huh? No. It wasn’t that. I’m the only one who caused a fuss.”

“Did a problem come up?”

“Ah, it was just my own issue. I spoke rudely then, didn’t I? Sorry, hyung.”

“No, that’s fine....”

After a moment of silence:

“Um, hyung. I have something else to do—can we leave it there for now?”

“...Wait a second.”

I heard him swallow.

“...Um, about yesterday: that thing you’re looking for, the person Mundae was tracking down—it wasn’t given to me by Mundae. I just happened to be there and found out.”

“.......”

“I didn’t have to mention it....”

“Sejin.”

Big Sejin cut him off.

“I think he should hear it directly from you.”

“...!”

“I don’t think it’s your fault at all. Thanks to you, I found out about the situation.”

I heard Bae Sejin’s shaky breath. He sounded torn between wanting to explain and worrying he’d be meddling.

Finally, he said:

“All right. I... hope you talk it over with Mundae.”

“.......”

Normally he’d just say “okay,” but instead he spat out:

“I don’t know if I will.”

“...!”

“Anyway... yes. Understood.”

In that moment I realized he, too, was more upset than he let on. And if he wasn’t so furious, he’d have wanted to hear the explanation.

‘Then.’

I suddenly remembered Keun-dal’s last words to my “I don’t know what’ll happen” comment yesterday—words that hadn’t quite resonated at the time.

– Given how things are, wouldn’t he trust you more if you told him?

– ...!

– Since he knows you, he won’t think these crazy explanations are just excuses or jokes!

“....”

Damn right.

I grabbed my phone and contacted the manager.

There was no more choice. Let’s do this.

I Sejin liked concerts.

Anyone familiar with him might assume he’d prefer variety shows or YouTube appearances—but what you think with your head and feel in your heart can differ.

A concert was proof of oneself as an idol: the physical embodiment of dreams and ambition.

‘That’s why it’s great....’

But today, he couldn’t fully enjoy that greatness. Normally, during encores, members would mingle and celebrate together. Even just hitting the stage together mid-show fostered immersion and belonging.

But today, that wasn’t possible.

‘Ha....’

Since that mess a few days ago, he’d never had a proper conversation with Park Mundae, yet they stood on stage together. He was acutely aware of it, like a pebble in his shoe, and each time his mood sank.

‘Why....’

He already knew Mundae wasn’t as lenient with him as with the others—and he was okay with that. It felt like a kind of established relationship.

‘Equal friends.’

It even gave him a small thrill: that even if the group dissolved, he and Mundae would continue working together, remain friends. That reassurance.

But once he realized it was an illusion, the betrayal stung.

‘Ridiculous.’

Mundae never said he trusted him most—so why the betrayal?

I Sejin forced a laugh. He knew how easily people’s stances could shift with the environment—and he didn’t usually feel hurt.

‘This industry’s even more so.’

Yet he couldn’t understand why he felt so wounded, as if he were Mundae’s best friend.

Still, looking back, maybe it was natural.

‘We didn’t just form a group halfheartedly.’

They’d shared every worry, every thought, even personal stories.

And yet....

He clenched his fist.

‘A text apology and that’s it.’

Mundae mustn’t miss it much.

What was even funnier was that he himself considered reaching out first to smooth things over.

Waaaah!

Watching confetti bloom at the edge of the stage, I Sejin took a deep breath.

It wasn’t just the physical exertion.

‘I’m pissed.’

He couldn’t believe he let a fight with one member wreck his condition on such a great night.

He despised that clueless, unprofessional fool the most.

So he threw himself into the performance and vocals—if he lacked immersion, he’d at least be precise.

“Great job~”

“Thanks for your hard work!”

When the concert ended and he stepped down, the thrill he usually felt was replaced by emptiness. The energy that had carried him onstage was gone.

“.......”

“What about you, Mun-dae?”

“He said he had to leave early!”

Knowing the other had gone on normally infuriated him further.

‘Why am I the only one drained?’

I Sejin battled between anger and fatigue, then sighed and left. He planned to return to the hotel by car and crash.

Ding.

But when he opened the hotel door:

“You’re back.”

“...?!”

Someone was already sitting inside.

“I got the key from the manager.”

Resting his hand on the table was... Park Mundae.

I Sejin’s eyes widened in disbelief.

‘This is....’

What situation was this? Why was the person who’d supposedly left already here?

In that moment, a hope flickered in his mind.

‘No way?’

Was he here to give a proper apology...?

“I’m sorry for breaking in uninvited.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re sorry about?”

Fuck, fuck.

Big Sejin felt like smacking his own mouth. He didn’t know why he’d said it like that. Displaying regret at all felt like a defeat.

And... he was afraid their relationship would get worse because of it.

“I’m sorry for that, and sorry for everything else.”

Even so, Park Mundae answered calmly, which made it all the more infuriating.

“About what?”

‘Is he... really that calm?’

He almost faltered, but then noticed Mundae’s posture: his expression serious, yet his fingers fidgeting, his shoulders twitching.

“...!”

Park Mundae was visibly tense.

“I couldn’t properly explain myself yesterday.”

“.......”

“Not everyone knows my situation. They only learned part of it.”

“Learned it?”

“Right. That means this is the first time I’m saying it with my own mouth.”

I Sejin, forgetting all his frustration, focused on the conversation.

What on earth was he going to say?

“First... I should start by telling you this.”

Park Mundae’s eyes glowed.

“I’m not Park Mundae.”

“...??”

“And I’ve come back from the past.”