Debut or Die-Chapter 338
April.
Kim Rae-bin’s fan came to the movie theater for the first time in a very long time.
‘I must be crazy!’
Graduation was right around the corner, and yet she’d squeezed in every advance screening event during midterms, managed to win a ticket, and actually showed up—she even thought it was insane, as a college student.
All because of a rumor with no solid proof.
The buzz that a KPOP idol would cameo in the new Rimestone movie. And of all things, it was that ultra-patriotic blockbuster based on the game universe by Ruins Factory, creators of 127 Section.
Naturally, a bunch of idol groups were bandied about as candidates—and of course the top pick was her idol.
Because all the clues pointed to it.
“They wouldn’t use a group they hadn’t collaborated with, right? Common sense.”
“Whoa, is it TeSTAR?”
“I’m so hyped, what’s going on?”
On the surface, excitement mixed with anxiety dominated.
Meanwhile, in the game community they were roasting the developer—“They went after America and totally lost their roots.”
If the “KPOP idol cameo” rumor was true, they were basically selling their precious game world cheap for jingoistic marketing.
Interestingly, underground idol fan forums reacted the same way.
“Midterms over, straight to the States lol this is so cringe”
“Bad vibes.”
“Korea’s prey now—live off translation crumbs lol”
“Idol cameo lol okay I’m done”
Kim Rae-bin’s fan was right there with them.
‘Were they even serious about sending an indie label to the U.S.?!’
Fans, already skeptical that the company would spin off an indie label, were itching to attack. Yet publicly they kept quiet about TeSTAR.
‘Making us this anxious during downtime—what is the agency thinking?’
Despite the uproar, T1 Stars stayed mum. Normally they’d be all over the press, so the silence only fueled more suspicion.
“Maybe the footage is ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ so garbage they can’t spin it.”
“They’re not really tying us up and selling us cheap, are they?”
“Why drag out a brief cameo? Is there more we don’t know?”
TeSTAR was on tour, so there was no other content to distract fans. Even spamming W Live with questions got no response—it became gospel that TeSTAR was indeed in the film and under NDA.
Anxiety went through the roof.
‘Don’t show up—no, seriously, don’t show up!’
She hunted down every preview-ticket lottery she could find, but that was still her thought. Yet time passed as planned.
Yesterday was the Day-1 preview. And everything flipped.
“Insane.”
“Rimestone never disappoints.”
“Just go watch it.”
“Stop hating—go buy tickets~~
Critics gave it an average of four stars—a solid success. They brought the game world to life, giving jingo-YouTubers plenty to gush over.
And TeSTAR’s cameo...
“I was genuinely shocked—my kids actually—”
She saw only that before logging out.
“Who the hell spoils it?!”
Determined to stay pure, she avoided social media until arriving at the screening. She didn’t even check TeSTAR’s official feeds.
‘I’m watching this with zero spoilers.’
Comment bots manipulating ratings was old news, and fan hype on opening day was nothing new either. With that vigilance, she sorted her mind.
‘The only sure thing is TeSTAR appears!’
She sat coolly in the theater.
“Hey, popcorn.”
“Shut up.”
She glared at the younger sibling she’d dragged along. The emergency-exit spiel ended, the logo appeared.
Rimestone’s trademark English tagline. Then the title.
[Cosmic Gunner]
A by-the-book sci-fi title. Short cheers scattered around.
But beyond the stunning visuals, the epic A-roll didn’t move her much.
She wasn’t a sci-fi fan. She barely understood it, and didn’t care much about the game.
‘I knew it.’
She chewed caramel popcorn with indifference.
‘When does TeSTAR show up?’
Yet as a movie it was enjoyable: the darkly humorous take on Earth’s demise, slick scene transitions, approachable plot.
Overall, even non-SF fans should watch it at least once.
‘Not bad.’
She felt the familiar Rimestone vibe. She relaxed and zoned into the film.
Like any Hollywood cameo, she expected TeSTAR to pop up after the midpoint.
Then the screen showed the protagonist taking in the decadent neon signs of a space station he’d stumbled into.
[Wow, not bad?]
-(Seriously, that was delusional.)
His inner monologue had the audience laughing.
The hero then slipped into a bar under a glowing liquor sign. A quick close-up of a band’s charged performance played as background music, and the hero grabbed a seat.
He bantered with a supporting actor.
[You’re from Earth? What’s it like there?]
[I mean, bar songs are still loud, right?]
Then the odd background band dropped gritty slang English.
[What the fuck did you just say?]
[I said this song’s awesome, friend! Best play of my life!]
From afar, a band member glared at the hero, then nodded offcamera. The theater laughed again.
The hero mumbled.
[Kids who haven’t even grown hair showing off.]
[Careful, rookie. You can’t judge by your planet’s norms.]
Across from him, a small alien actor dropped his voice to introduce the world the hero faced.
[This station is contracted with over 1,200 planets!]
Flashy alien visuals flooded the screen.
‘Oh.’
The effect filled the theater; she gasped.
The actor continued, detailing alien races, treasures, power struggles, and militias—many contradicting Earth logic, even the danger levels.
[The small ones hide Phorce Shooters thanks to protection laws. See that?]
[Like you?]
[Yeah, like me.]
Back in the bar, the actor giggled, revealed a Phorce Shooter from his coat, then hid it. The hero watched closely.
[And lastly... beware the crazies who advertise their madness.]
[Crazies?]
[You know, the ones who make themselves obvious!]
With that, the camera cut to the small bar stage where the teen band stood.
Soldiers in heavy combat gear confronted them. From behind and side, they looked like a ’70s rock band crossed with game avatars—avant-garde but not as bulky as the soldiers.
It looked like they might get beaten or flee.
[O.]
But when the camera shifted to the soldier’s POV and focused on the band,
their faces were utterly nonchalant. And those faces were extremely familiar to the preview audience.
“...!”
“Wow!”
TeSTAR!
The unexpected reveal drew gasps and applause.
[You can act like crazies—so we do!]
With the actor’s narration, the camera cut back.
“...!”
Whoosh!
The strange space instruments swept the soldiers aside with exaggerated precision.
Clack!
A band member blasted the last soldier across a table with a laser.
He casually brushed dust off his crumpled coat, smoothing the green stain as if part of the style.
In that single motion, the audience recognized the deliberate stain as a cool embellishment.
He lifted his head; a young man with makeup and glasses tilted his head expressionless.
‘Holy shit.’
She realized it was the 127 Section “Doctor” costume! Only a beat later did she recognize Bae Sejin.
“...!”
Without speaking, Sejin looked nothing like the idol she knew. His earlier English shout was unrecognizable too.
Even as a superfan, it felt strange.
In that brief moment, Sejin had conveyed the character she’d imagined.
‘What the—’
Kim Rae-bin’s fan swallowed hard at the unexpected depth of talent in the member she’d underestimated.
The screen cut again.
The seven members strolled past the hero’s table, ignoring the fallen soldiers.
Sejin said without turning back:
[Come listen again.]
[It’s, um, an honor....]
Before the hero could reply, they vanished offscreen, leaving only the SF door-whoosh.
Whoosh!
[...]
The two leads watching with wide eyes lowered their heads and whispered:
[Did you see? This place.]
[...Oh.]
The hero blinked.
[So just now I...]
[Yeah, you almost died. But I’ve got a better plan.]
Laughter filled the theater again—the joy of recognizing a familiar cameo.
Kim Rae-bin’s fan sat, stunned, still clutching her popcorn.
That scene wrapped with humor, a twist, and undeniable coolness—perfect for introducing this universe to both hero and audience.
‘Fuck.’
T1 couldn’t have pulled this off... no, wait. It’s thanks to the members owning it.
‘Bae Sejin....’
Kim Rae-bin’s fan muttered the standout member’s name in awe, struck by sudden realization.
Could the song they played be...?
When that bar band’s track returned during the end credits with vocals...
-Exploding far away
That soaring high note fit perfectly.
And who picked this killer OST?
‘Kim Rae-bin! Park Mundae!’
Her picks never failed!!
By the time the preview ended and she checked online, the ripple effect from that cameo and OST was already exploding.
