Debut or Die-Chapter 369
Once Keundal performed whatever he’d dubbed “reboot,” he began chattering again.
[Hyung, I think I’m okay now!]
Sure enough, the popup he summoned was stable, no longer jittery.
But my head was a mess—almost felt like it would explode.
‘A new game system appears here?’
After a pause, I spoke slowly.
“So... this means the game status window was created by the system itself, not you.”
[Yes... I only modified it a bit.]
Apparently, just as Keundal had interfered with the system when merging, the system had gained the ability to generate status windows on its own.
‘Or it’s repurposing it entirely.’
Either way, it wasn’t welcome. But one thing puzzled me.
I touched my chin.
“Why does ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) this look like 〈127 Section〉?”
That was it. The “gather companions” interface and item list overlapped strangely with the game we’d collaborated on.
[That was me! I figured you’d find a familiar interface comforting... so I borrowed it.]
“Is that so? Thanks.”
So the system itself intended this structure and content, at least.
‘Unsettling.’
I frowned and paged through the holograms.
First, the status entries:
[Player: Ryu Geonwoo (Park Mundae)]
Singing: A+
Dance: B
Appearance: A
Charisma: A-
Trait: Infinite Potential
Until next Awakening opportunity / Exp 1000
All traits were gone and every stat had dropped a grade, but for my age, it was still an impressive record.
‘An all-rounder with nothing to waste.’
Could these be my unadjusted original stats? Concerning, but the situation sucked; I moved on.
Then came the next entry.
[Recruited Companions: Shin Jaehyun]
Until next recruitment opportunity / Exp 1000
Why the hell was this guy listed here? And what did “companion recruitment” mean? What was Awakening?
I grilled Keundal, but he was just as confused.
‘No choice.’
I had no idea what state this version of him was in. I couldn’t expect more help.
I’d fill the gaps myself.
I lay on the surprisingly decent bed and thought, combining the clues.
‘...In 〈127 Section〉 terms.’
That game called leveling up “Awakening.”
Until next Awakening opportunity / Exp 1000
That line under my status was that. Each Awakening randomly granted stats or skills, based on accumulated choice probabilities.
If Keundal had truly implemented that mechanism, it should work similarly here. The currency was 〈Reputation Exp〉.
‘Obvious.’
Gain fame, win awards, get good results, and you’d level up. It was just my Park Mundae system revamped in digestible form.
In short, the aim was clear.
‘It wants me to debut.’
The system was telling me to debut in this world—to steadily build fame and do better than last time.
‘Basically: settle down and live here.’
A shockingly blatant suggestion.
‘Have I lost my mind?’
As if I’d choose nothing else but stay here. And...
‘...There’s too much in reality.’
I couldn’t abandon it all. No way.
I closed my eyes.
Actually, I welcomed having a packed plan for tomorrow—no room for useless worries.
The next morning, I had breakfast with the younger Ryu Cheong-woo.
“.......”
No... usually we ate in the dorm cafeteria, but eating alone like this felt strangely homely.
Cheong-woo sat comfortably in the silence, his expression indifferent.
‘Keundal said he’s resting.’
He must be asleep after using so much mental energy. Even quieter now.
“I’m heading out.”
“Have fun, hyung. See you tonight.”
Rather than prod him for info, I left—and got better results.
I planned to go to a service center to unlock my smartphone.
‘There’s data in there.’
Data doesn’t lie.
At the service center, they removed the lock pattern in fifteen minutes. Clean.
‘That was the right call.’
If I were this guy, I’d guard it with wiping data after failed attempts. I kept multiple tries minimal.
I opened the phone, relieved.
“Hmm.”
No major discoveries in the KakaoTalk logs—just project and class group chats.
‘...Cheong-woo’s the newest contact.’
How was his social life? He’d even quit the photography club.
[Photographer Lee Yujin: Ryu Geonwoo?? Quit the photo club? Why aren’t you coming?]
[I found something I want to do]
[Photographer Lee Yujin: ??? OK congrats lol]
Judging by conversation with the person who introduced data-selling jobs, “something I want to do” meant idol work—likely street-casting during fan-cams.
[LeTi 16th Gen Shin Jaehyun: This is Shin Jaehyun who went to the Dream Concert with Director Lee Yongjae. Remember me? Please look after me, hyung ^^]
My first message from Cheong-woo. That must have been when they scouted me.
‘...Only three months ago.’
So they’d slotted me into the debut roster immediately—understandable given my stats.
‘Good vocals are hard to find.’
Cheong-woo had even compromised on making me main-vocal to avoid trouble.
‘I get the cause and effect. Next.’
...Ryu Cheong-woo.
I skimmed our message history.
[Ryu Cheong-woo: Tofu stew at the Engineering Building?]
[Yeah]
He was twenty-one, not twenty.
‘That figures.’
Geonwoo hadn’t gone to university at the normal time, so Cheong-woo matched. And here, Cheong-woo had quit archery, but not due to injury—just chose university.
‘He won a gold medal.’
[Ryu Cheong-woo: I thought deeper academic research would be fun.]
He picked from open options what he wanted.
‘Then he’s better off here than there, right?’
I stood, phone in hand.
I must have been stunned. Everything seemed like a win–win.
‘No.’
It was just a dream. Every status window shouted “reality,” but I could not trust it.
‘Still better than that daydream hell.’
Back then every person I met was losing it. I discarded those thoughts and re-opened KakaoTalk.
As I scrolled, I saw it.
[My Family]
‘Ah.’
...The family chat room.
I’d never deleted my parents’ contacts until after graduation, only doing so once the number changed hands.
And here I was, again in a family chat, writing pointless messages.
‘Fuck.’
But a voice in my head whispered: if everything turned out perfect, what if...
“.......”
I opened the chat where the last message read “okay.”
And saw:
[Mom: Don’t skip meals—eat properly, okay?]
A message from just last month.
“...!”
I frantically tapped her profile. The intro read “Replies may be very slow overseas,” a flower photo...
And her number below.
I dialed.
Di-ri-ri-rik.
A strange ring tone played. Time flowed; logic fled.
When it connected:
—Geonwoo?
My throat seized.
I couldn’t recall exactly when, but that familiar voice floated softly through the phone.
—Is everything okay, Geonwoo?
“Uh....”
I swallowed.
The phone vibrated against my ear.
“I just... wanted to hear your voice.”
—Geonwoo, what’s going on!
Her voice rose, happy.
Then memory hit.
—Lucky this call went through. I’ve been using the radio in Antarctica, so perfect timing.
Her voice softened.
—Sorry, Mommy and Daddy miss you so much.
Damn it.
“Yeah, me too.”
What was I saying?
—Oh dear, what’s gotten into you? You’re past puberty! Our son! I have to go now.
My eyes stung.
—Let’s definitely see each other this Christmas, okay?
“Yes.”
The call ended like a mirage. But the log was there:
[01:04]
As if to prove reality.
“.......”
My hands shook.
My emotions exploded.
Where did she say? Antarctica?
I scrolled back. My parents had gone to the Antarctic station for research for two years, and had messaged consistently...
And now winter-over duty made contact rarer.
“.......”
Antarctica.
An idea pierced my mind.
‘Could I actually go?’
There was no compulsion forcing me to debut here. I could take a leave, make an excuse, and at least get close...
They’d surely come out to see me.
“.......”
I powered off the phone.
Took a deep breath.
‘No.’
My brain threatened to burst....
But reason came first. This was manipulation.
Even researchers wouldn’t randomly send their parents to Antarctica. It was all made up.
“It’s a dream. It’s a dream....”
So because it’s a dream, I could do whatever? Drop everything and do as I please....
“Shut up.”
Shut your mouth, brain, everything.
‘I have to get back.’
I staggered.
This... wouldn’t do. I had to leave this dream as soon as possible.
I couldn’t endure any longer.
I turned off the phone, pocketed it, and continued walking.
To LeTi—Ryu Geonwoo’s agency.
“.......”
My palm was damp with sweat.
“Your face doesn’t look good.”
“I’m fine.”
I replied shortly. Cheong-woo shrugged.
LeTi’s practice was as grueling as its reputation, but today most sessions were open practice, so trainees spread out rehearsing on their own.
“This timing is perfect. You’re not in team practice, right?”
“...Right.”
We needed productive talk.
And though he seemed unhinged, his casual composure in this insanity was oddly calming.
‘Let’s focus on work.’
Nothing else mattered.
I steeled myself.
“There wasn’t anything unusual at my place. What about you?”
“A new status window popped up.”
“I see.”
I detailed the current situation. No tricks he could play here.
I’d even thought to provide an example.
“Have you played 〈127 Section〉?”
“I don’t care much about games.”
I expected that.
Still, did he catch my drift? He nodded obediently.
“So basically, to fully restore your vocal stat, you need to earn fame. Hmm.”
“.......”
That was his top priority. Understood.
Then he suddenly blurted:
“Do you want to debut right now?”
What, are you the CEO? What kind of trainee asks that so casually?
‘Guess we’re old hands.’
Aligned goals meant high efficiency.
But I wasn’t about to mindlessly follow the system’s prescribed path.
“Hold on.”
I opened the quest tab.
[Quest: Companion Awakening 1/?]
— Recruit and Awaken companions
Awakenable Companions: ?
Required Reputation: 1000 Exp
A companion Awakening quest.
I recalled last night’s chat with Keundal before sleeping.
–What does “Awakenable Companions” mean?
–I’m not sure... but maybe it’s stat-related, like in 127 Section...
–Makes sense.
I’d thought they’d help me adapt by leveling up my companions too, with no force.
‘Then there’s room to tweak.’
Where there’s generosity, there’s a gap.
–Could we maybe add a little note here? One line of explanation in context.
–...! A little?
So I added:
[Awakened companions remember past runs to grow.]
From 127 Section, where each companion’s Awakening meant they retained previous playthrough memory and strengthened.
“.......”
I clenched my fist.
‘I need to test it.’
I’d bump reputation slightly to see if it took effect.
I explained this to Cheong-woo.
He said:
“Really? Got it.”
“.......”
So compliant?
“Huh, not much reaction. Was I just talking nonsense?”
“No way.”
We’d exploit his cooperation fully. I folded my arms.
“For now... big agencies sometimes leak first-unit trainee info before debut.”
“That’s true. Sometimes intentionally.”
I’d looked into it—I knew Shin Jaehyun was already quietly known among LeTi-lineage idol fans.
I’d earn that level of reputation first.
“If similar info leaks for me, that should count.”
“Oh, do you want me to post online?”
I stared at him dumbfounded.
“Why would I just do that?”
“Ha ha!”
He knew perfectly well controversy-driven posts were hard to manage.
An official route was better.
“This company also gives trainees gigs.”
Big agencies often assign trainees as backup dancers or music-video extras for exposure, pairing them with senior idols of the opposite gender to avoid fan overlap.
And as far as I knew, LeTi did plenty of that until VTIC debuted and they changed tactics.
‘It’s award season.’
Right now, who was LeTi’s top female idol?
“MallangDalkom.”
The group behind the hit “POP☆CON.”
So, as a debut trainee, Ryu Geonwoo would be MallangDalkom’s dancer.
“I want you to push that.”
I looked at Shin Jaehyun, the veteran who knew everything about this agency.
He nodded reassuringly.
“Well, main vocal doesn’t strictly need that, but... if you really want it.”
“.......”
Oh, he really didn’t get it.
