Debut or Die-Chapter 333
I Sejin had his own theories about Park Mundae’s “secret.”
Some of them were absurd, but a few actually made a kind of sense.
‘Maybe Mundae’s cousin?’
He knew the real Park Mundae was older, so maybe the system had him using a younger identity. He’d discarded that theory quickly, though—it always unraveled into nonsense.
‘He said he’d tell me.’
Hearing that, he’d recognized Mundae’s discomfort—and felt validated. For a while he’d entertained every wild guess, even once speculating that Mundae might be a North Korean spy. Memory loss, driving himself to produce results, orchestrating public opinion—everything seemed to line up, until he laughed it off.
‘What kind of drama has spies?’
But now Mundae had said something even more unreal:
“I’m not Park Mundae, and I came back from the past.”
It was a cult-leader line. Cold sweat broke out.
‘What is this?’
A dream... sounds like a dream. Without thinking, I Sejin pinched his thigh.
‘Damn it.’
...That hurt. Meanwhile, Mundae kept talking.
“I was originally Ryu Geonwoo, a civil service exam student.”
“.......”
“The video call you took part in yesterday was with that body. The real Park Mundae is in here now.”
I Sejin forced himself to stay calm.
“Oh... really?”
What an ice-cold “really.” He needed to think properly, but his mouth just churned out words at random. He stood there, trying to gauge Mundae’s intent....
“Right. If you want, I can start another video call right now. Want to check?”
This was insane.
“...Um.”
I Sejin’s head went foggy—he couldn’t even speak. Seeing him like that, Mundae gave a wry smile.
“You don’t believe me.”
“...!”
“Well... I figured.”
Mundae spoke as if it were nothing.
“That’s why I kept putting it off. There’s no visible proof—just my testimony.”
But his body language said otherwise. His friend was sweating.
‘Oh....’
I Sejin’s head spun. Paradoxically, he felt jolted awake—like he’d been electrocuted or plunged into ice. The Mundae he knew would never spout such nonsense in this situation.
‘No.’
Absolutely not. The guy who performed a concert with cracked ribs, who ran himself ragged to keep schedules even when he couldn’t sleep... this wasn’t him. If he wasn’t mistaken, his friend was earnest.
“You thought I was mentally ill, huh. So....”
“No.”
“.......”
I Sejin took a step, then sat down opposite Mundae at the table.
“I’ll listen. Take your time.”
“...!”
After a moment of surprise, a faint expression crossed Mundae’s face: a short laugh of relief.
“Alright.”
Mundae’s story flowed more naturally.
“So, to start from the beginning: I woke up as Park Mundae a few months before Ajusa.”
He then recounted the circumstances of his participation in Idol Corporation, which I Sejin knew well—but from an unexpected angle.
Of course, some parts defied belief.
“They told me if I couldn’t become an idol, I would die.”
“Mmm.”
He claimed commands floated in his head, which sounded like psychosis—so I Sejin clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t an expert, but he thought of schizophrenia. Yet Mundae showed no signs of paranoia or hallucinations. More importantly, I Sejin didn’t want to suspect him of that. Instead, he just listened, offering light encouragement.
“I see.”
“Right, got it.”
He even joked.
“So you and Ah-hyun got close because of that? Future fame?”
His tone carried an edge, but Mundae laughed quietly.
“I wasn’t planning to get close. You two were just lumped together.”
Mundae, the former examinee, said neither I Sejin nor Seon Ah-hyun featured in the roster he’d glimpsed. I Sejin felt a strange amusement: that however unbelievable, Mundae’s goodwill had genuinely solved the fake cigarette photo.
‘This is crazy.’
Still, he found himself immersed in the tale. Mundae’s story moved through debut and into TeSTAR’s era. Then he revealed something that pieced the puzzle perfectly:
“A guy came back from the past before me.”
“...!”
“Cheongryeo of VTIC.”
“......Cheongryeo.”
“So senior titles were off-limits.”
“Senior? In this business?”
He concluded that Cheongryeo really was crazy—he’d only told I Sejin that Cheongryeo had threatened him to reveal future knowledge, but I Sejin read between the lines. Cheongryeo’s irrationality.
‘A psychopath?’
Maybe, if Mundae refused to share information, Cheongryeo would have killed him. I Sejin shivered. Yet Mundae’s tone was remarkably gentle.
“Don’t worry. He’s more or less sane now.”
Not just “we’ll lose out if we report this”—the forgiving kindness Mundae reserved for those close to him.
‘We shared the same experience.’
I Sejin stifled rising resistance. His reality had been stretched thin—better to accept than argue. And then another bombshell:
“And about Cheong-woo hyung... he turned out to be my relative.” 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂
“...!”
“We’re both from the Pungsan Ryu clan—closer than I thought.”
Like fitting another puzzle piece: why Mundae had avoided Ryu Cheong-woo, then quickly bonded as roommates. And the day they went out:
“So you went to meet Ryu Geonwoo.”
“.......”
Mundae didn’t go into Ryu Cheong-woo’s accident or his parents, but it was enough to complete the picture.
‘So that’s why Cheong-woo hyung...’
Every detail fit, and I Sejin inwardly conceded Mundae’s “found out” excuse. Mundae then explained the next person:
“Bae Sejin hyung—I met him because it was Chuseok, and I was at his house. Don’t know the details.”
“.......”
Hearing that, I Sejin felt a twinge of embarrassment. Though Mundae’s account had been surreal, it was tidy, born of struggle. He could picture how nervous Mundae must’ve been to share this. He muttered:
“I’m sorry I rushed you.”
Mundae chuckled.
“You did well. Who knows when I’d have brought it up?”
From there, Mundae laid out the rest—skipping coma-induced dreams and minor confirmations, but still covering vast ground. He was earnest throughout, answering every question without evasion. No over-detailed boasting, no repeating himself.
“.......”
So, I Sejin realized he’d become fully absorbed in this impossible tale. The story had reached the most recent events: when Mundae, back in Ryu Geonwoo’s body for a moment, returned to receive his award.
“That’s why I suddenly forgot the choreography—because I was experiencing two timelines.”
Having finished, Mundae looked relieved.
“This... is my situation.”
“.......”
I Sejin watched him, then rose to fetch water. Mundae accepted the bottle without hesitation and drank half of it. I Sejin silently sorted his thoughts.
‘Well?’
Chaotic beyond belief. No way to make sense of it. Could any drama be this outlandish? Despite Mundae’s demeanor, his mind rebelled. There was still no physical proof. Yet....
“Now I get it. You postponed everything because you knew I’d never believe it.”
“.......”
“See, you know me so well. But... you should’ve told me this too.”
I Sejin cracked a grin.
“I always believe what you say~”
“...!”
How realistic is it that I Sejin would debut successfully, become a top-tier idol, tour concerts in front of tens of thousands? If he’d known his future half a year before Ajusa, he’d have scoffed at anyone who told him. But he did it—with Mundae.
That was the real impossibility. He stopped laughing and spoke earnestly:
“You’ve always been like this. So I’ll do the same: I believe you, Park Mundae.”
“.......”
I Sejin added, half-joking:
“When I trust your word, things always turn out well. The others feel the same—you really needed to do better, you know?”
In that moment, Mundae laughed.
“...Thank you.”
He finished the water. I Sejin ignored the faint tremor in his friend’s hand. Instead, he acknowledged how absurd it was that he’d accepted such a story.
‘I’m wide awake now.’
He’d thought he’d be thinking all night, but he gave no sign. Mundae began to speak again, as if unburdening his thoughts.
“As you’ve heard...”
He hesitated, then muttered:
“I never planned to be an idol. You might be disappointed.”
What was he saying now?
“Are you stupid, Mundae?”
“What?”
“You love being an idol so much, why say ‘I never meant to do this’?”
“...!”
“You think anyone goes into this business as a plan B? Better lane than death—okay, fine.”
Mundae, uncharacteristically, looked stunned.
“Also—what about titles? Should I call you Geonwoo? Geonwoo, Geonwoo?”
As if to provoke him, Mundae rather winced.
“You good with this? I’ve lived like this for years.”
“Well, since we’re from a survival show, everyone uses stage names now. Park Mundae is your name, too.”
“.......”
“So, Mun-dae, Mun-dae?”
“...Alright.”
I Sejin laughed. He’d wanted to ask if Mundae really hadn’t heard anything of his past, but he held back.
‘That wouldn’t feel good.’
Without Mundae, he’d have dropped out over bullying scandals. Even if Mundae knew, it wouldn’t be pleasant news. So instead he said:
“Thank you. That must’ve been hard to share.”
“.......”
“To say ‘there are words only I can see’ must’ve been dizzying—your embarrassment was obvious... whap!”
“Shut up.”
“Ha!”
Ducking Mundae’s hand, I Sejin laughed freely. That night, they talked at length until bedtime, building a deeper trust.
“So how old were you originally?”
“...Right before I returned, I was twenty-nine.”
“Oh—should I call you hyung? Senior?”
“Don’t.”
“Ha... right. Pros always skip seniority—youth rules... whap! Missed again!”
“Ch.”
Most of it was trivial, but hearing unknown personal stories felt oddly special.
“Mun-dae, Mun-dae—you went to a top university! Wasted, huh?”
“Not wasted—school isn’t money.”
Mundae relaxed in his seat, and I Sejin no longer regretted being angry over nothing. Their conversation laid a solid foundation—new layers of trust.
The next day, without any awkwardness, I Sejin regained his usual flair on stage. Flanked by Cha Yoo-jin and Seon Ah-hyun, he delivered a slick ad-lib and ended the encore with a hum as he stepped down—just as he looked for Mundae.
“So you made up, huh?”
“...!”
I Sejin turned to the leader tapping his shoulder: Ryu Cheong-woo, smiling softly.
‘I guess it showed.’
I Sejin bowed right away.
“Hyung, I’m really sorry! I’ve been off the mark these past days.”
“Nah. You were fine. I just saw you two looked strained and felt I should meddle.”
“.......”
“Meddle?”
Now that he thought of it, last night’s call time had been moved three hours later. He’d assumed it was for schedule reasons.
“Did you delay the call time so you two could talk?”
“Yeah—figured everyone needed to recover.”
They’d made space for him and Mundae to reconcile.
“...Thank you.”
“We’re a group. It’s only natural to adjust for each other if we want to last. Everyone agreed right away.”
Ryu Cheong-woo smiled, and I Sejin was momentarily speechless. He’d believed nobody took care so earnestly of the group’s longevity—until now.
‘Even so, I worried you’d all leave for solo work after a year or two.’
That might’ve been ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) presumptuous, he admitted. Meanwhile, Cheong-woo continued:
“Sejin, it was Bae Sejin who suggested it first. He was worried about you two.”
“Glad it worked out. Oh—there he is.”
Following Cheong-woo’s nod, I Sejin saw Bae Sejin with a towel, talking with Park Mundae by the steel frame at the stage edge.
