Debut or Die-Chapter 351
“Waaahhh!!”
The music thundered so loud it rang in our ears, and the cheers were deafening.
Cha Yoo-jin peeked outside and whistled.
“Wow, there are so many people here!”
“Yeah—serious energy.”
I’d seen big crowds before, but a sea of same-colored shirts, singing in unison and jumping together, was a spectacle.
Thinking we’d be up on that stage in under thirty minutes gave me goosebumps.
“We go three acts after this. Plenty of warm-up time, right?”
“Yep!”
“Glad we arrived exactly as scheduled.”
“Seriously, thanks for all your hard work, Manager!”
Our manager exhaled in relief and rushed off to coordinate with the staff. We settled into the waiting area—an unused quad made into a green room—and began loosening our necks and shoulders.
‘Didn’t even know this existed.’
I never cared about school festivals back in the day, so I’d never seen a setup like this. Even if I knew, I’d never have gotten the chance.
As long as we nail this performance, we’re good. University fests are just another gig, but people quietly expect a lot from them.
‘Probably because it’s a gauge of popularity.’
Fan-recorded clips from these events always go viral. I admired the anonymous lineup announcement we’d seen this morning.
‘Whoever booked this refused to let scalpers make a fortune.’
Though once we showed up, everyone recognized us from the billboards.
“TeSTAR??? TeSTAR?”
“Is this really TST? Yep—fans confirmed.”
“Insane lineup this year, they even got TeSTAR?”
“Ticket prices are shooting up live—wow lol.”
There were reasonable calls for lower tuition, but none of that was about us. I don’t have a diploma to care anyway.
Still, we had to earn our pay.
“Mundae, need to hydrate before stretching?”
“I’m good.”
“Give it here!” 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞
“Yoo-jin, you’re closer to the water than me!”
Some things never change.
While those two wrestled over the water bottle, I continued my stretches. Next to me, Ah-hyun methodically worked from his large muscles down to the small—a routine I’d watched countless times.
He probably started doing this back when he was half my height.
‘Maybe I should’ve learned sooner.’
“Ah-hyun.”
“Hm?”
“Could you run me through the sequence one more time?”
“Of course...!”
Ah-hyun’s face lit up instantly.
‘...That much?’
I was reminded of learning choreography back on Ajusa.
Half-forced, I mimicked his diligent stretching. He’d taught me so eagerly.
‘He could’ve made a living as a teacher.’
“Last one... full-body stretch again.”
“Mm.”
I finished the final move crisply.
This is great—definitely sticking with this. I should’ve figured it out ages ago.
“Thanks. This is really good.”
“.......”
But Ah-hyun was silent for a long moment, then suddenly spoke.
“I... Moon-dae.”
“What’s up?”
“...Oh, nothing.”
He smiled faintly.
“I just... wanted to say, let’s work hard together today, too.”
“...Alright.”
I hadn’t expected that.
I fell silent.
‘...Still awkward, huh?’
He might have mixed feelings about me being older.
‘I shouldn’t overthink this.’
Focus on work. I quit the needless speculation and stood up.
“Let’s get ready!”
Moments later, the outdoor stage was already steaming with excitement.
“Woaaaahhh!!”
The crowd screamed again, even though their voices were raw. A human tide pressed against the stage’s edge, and a ripple of bodies swayed behind them.
It was feral and overwhelming.
‘This is what it feels like.’
Not just fans—this massive collective energy was something else. Oh, there are some of our fans here.
“Park Mundae!!”
I spotted a few brave souls holding lightsticks and chuckled.
We launched into last year’s hit “Promise” as soon as we took the stage, and the energy surged. Having a well-known song makes festivals so much easier.
‘Hearing those group vocals is the best.’
Some performers even drop one in-ear monitor to soak it all in.
As the final notes of “Promise” rang out, we straightened up to a roar. A handheld mic was passed to us.
“Take your star! Hello, we’re TeSTAR!”
“Woooooooo!!”
Ryu Cheong-woo led the chant, and our banter flowed smoothly.
“We’re thrilled to meet the wonderful students of Yeonhee University today...”
But Cheong-woo glanced at me and snickered.
‘What now?’
Then he leveled the mic at me.
“...??”
“How do you feel?”
He even teased the guest of honor. I held back a sigh and answered:
“The passion is amazing. And blue is definitely a cooler color than red.”
I gave a thumbs-up.
‘That’s the school-color protocol.’
Praise your own color and gently one-up the rival. Everyone knows they’ll flip-flop about red once they’re off campus.
“Wooaaa!! Uh-gah-gah!!”
The response was electric.
Cheong-woo laughed and took back the mic.
“So we prepared a song where blue beats red!”
“Please focus on our moves and enjoy. Next up—”
Seon Ah-hyun waved and took his place. The intro to our current title track blared.
I dove in without missing a beat.
“Those pleading voices cry out—”
I spun and pointed to the dozens of visible cameras. Smart-phone lights flickered everywhere.
“Leading out in front—”
“Ahhh!!”
My high note got a great reaction. I used big movements, leaping across the stage.
We kept the momentum through the next song and the one after. The audience never let up, and neither did we.
“Phew.”
“Thank you!”
We were contracted for three songs, but we had time for an encore. More tracks means no pressure.
“One more?”
“Let’s do it!”
The encore was “Black Hole,” our movie OST. It’s easy to walk-and-sing, and it’s popular, so the crowd loved it.
‘Success.’
I could feel it. This ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ festival boost would score us points. Everything’s been clicking lately—I have a good feeling.
Even without me, the excited guys would push for another.
“Phew—should we do another? What do you want to hear??”
“Picnic! Picnic!!”
“Magic Boy!”
Requests flooded in. We laughed and listened.
‘All prepared tracks.’
We’d stoke anticipation before letting the crowd decide.
Suddenly Kim Rae-bin’s eyes snapped open.
“May I say something?”
“Sure!”
“Since we’re at a university, and many of you are about to enter society, how about we perform our debut song?”
“Wooooaaah!!”
Was he always this smooth?
“...I agree too!”
Even Bae Se-jin was enthusiastic. The momentum made the answer obvious.
“Shall we do it?”
“Yes!!”
“Great! ‘Magic Boy,’ please!”
Ryu Cheong-woo called the cue, and the stagehands exchanged signals.
If the “Magic Boy” track started now...
“Oooo~ oooo~”
“......!”
“Uh.”
Instead, the speakers burst with a bombastic male-female chorus. A band cover lifted from a famous classical melody—definitely not the music-box intro of “Magic Boy.”
I realized immediately.
‘They played the wrong track.’
They’d cued the pep rally song instead of our finale.
“......hmm.”
It was a genuine festival flop.
‘These things happen.’
A common glitch at events. But seven seconds in, it was still blaring.
‘Sounds like a riot below.’
If we froze now, the encore vibe would collapse. With phones lit across the crowd, we couldn’t let that happen.
‘Might as well dance along.’
Act like you meant it.
I watched everyone grin and bob to the beat, then raised both hands to join in. And then I realized:
‘If we’re doing this...’
I stepped forward, grabbed the mic left on the stage floor, and sang along to the chorus.
[“Rise up with vigor! Advance with courage! Uuuuuuuh—Our voices!”]
The old-fashioned rally song poured out.
“Oooo!!”
‘I haven’t forgotten this.’
They used to pipe it through the library speakers every finals week.
[“Voice! Voice! Voice!”]
I sang modestly in time with the crowd, waiting out the chorus. Finally, the music cut off by the end of the first refrain.
“Woooaaah!!”
“Thank you.”
Relief flooded me—I don’t even know the second verse. Laughter and applause washed over the stage. Even the other members were laughing.
“Great pep rally encore~”
“Awesome!”
...That was pretty solid improvisation.
“Legendary!”
“Brilliant ad-lib, hyung!”
On the way back to the dorm late that night, the guys all praised me. I felt a twinge of guilt—it was insider knowledge.
Bae Se-jin muttered:
“He even knew trot songs...”
“.......”
It’s weird that nothing about it was wrong.
When the crowd started to disperse toward their rooms, someone who knew the truth poked me.
“Mundae-mundae!”
Stop it.
“You actually learned rally songs at orientation, too?”
“Of course not.”
“There’s an OT for freshmen where they teach you exactly that.”
“Really??”
“Yep.”
Se-jin burst out laughing.
“Hey.”
“Sorry! I just thought—ah, yeah.”
Then Ryu Cheong-woo, standing quietly beside us, chimed in.
“Ahem!”
That guy just can’t help messing with people.
‘Let them have fun.’
We’d salvaged things and even gained buzz.
“Oh~ thanks to you, hyung, our viral clips will spike again~”
Se-jin grabbed Ah-hyun as he headed off.
“Ah-hyun, did you hear? Mundae learned that separately.”
“.......”
Ah-hyun didn’t turn toward us.
“Hey, Ah-hyun?”
“...Mm, I heard...”
He still didn’t look back, but he answered. His voice faded, and his shoulders heaved.
‘Now...’
Something felt off, just as I was about to speak.
Ah-hyun staggered.
“......!”
“Ah-hyun.”
“...Ugh.”
A sound like someone holding their breath—or gasping.
‘Hyperventilating?’
In an instant, he lurched and bolted.
“...!!”
Bang!
He ran into the dormitory’s bathroom.
“Seon Ah-hyun!”
I reflexively chased and yanked the doorknob.
Thunk!
It was locked.
Why?
I heard someone else rushing up behind me.
“Ah-hyun? Seon Ah-hyun! You okay?”
Gagging sounds echoed.
“Mundae, step back. We need to break it down.”
“Watch out.”
Yoo-jin barreled into the door.
Bang! Bang!
Clang...
With a final heave, the door gave way.
Inside, Ah-hyun crouched over the sink, face pressed into the basin. His hair was soaked as if someone had doused him.
“Ah-hyun, are you sick?”
“I—I’m calling an ambulance!”
“Wait, his condition is...”
I stepped into the stall and gently patted his shoulder. He flinched.
“...!”
Then I heard a small voice:
“I—I’m sorry... Mundae. I’m so sorry...”
“...!!”
Why...?
“.......”
“Guys, give us a moment....”
I heard Cheong-woo shepherd the others away. I stood there like I’d been struck by lightning.
“...What.”
That word broke the dam. The excuses tumbled out.
“I—I should’ve told you right away... I—I couldn’t say it because I liked being with you... I felt safe....”
“.......”
“I—I thought of you... I should’ve said something—for you, Mundae...”
Ah-hyun turned his head. His face was ashen white.
“You need medical care. Counseling... You’re not in the right state to perform... It’s getting worse... No, I shouldn’t say it... I have to explain properly...”
“.......”
“I—I’m sorry... I couldn’t trust you... I couldn’t help you...”
Ah-hyun’s face turned pale blue, and he began gasping for breath again. I’d seen that expression before.
“Ah, hello....”
A daydream. When I’d first dragged him on stage for the reality show stunt, Ah-hyun’s condition was the same.
‘I—’
Almost reflexively, I pulled up his status window.
Scrolling past the grand stats labeled A and S... then:
Special Trait: Grit (Inactive)
!Status Ailment: Lack of Self-Esteem
Status Ailment: Lack of Self-Esteem
Feels contempt for oneself.
All stats decreased by two tiers.
And I realized.
I’d... done a fucking terrible thing.
