Debut or Die-Chapter 376
Two people stepped onto the stage.
More precisely, three—but the third trainee was so overwhelmed by their presence that they were barely visible.
It wasn’t the trainee’s fault. It was the other two who were the problem—seasoned professionals who had already won top awards and tasted the very essence of the industry.
Cha Yoo-jin and Shin Jae-hyun.
“Hrmm.”
Even to the producer’s untrained eye, that stark contrast was obvious.
Both wore the same black school-uniform outfits, yet everything from how they wore them to how they stood was noticeably different.
And neither showed a hint of nervousness—both carried themselves with natural confidence.
“That, that.”
The producer’s lips twitched.
In truth, most of the supplementary trainees were meant to be eliminated—even a complete sweep was fine.
After all, he could then boast, “See how talented our trainees are?”
In other words, even if this supplementary class showed potential, he’d probably send them home.
He admitted he had a personal bias—
“He just looks too... performer-ish.”
The producer hated that the public saw performers as mere entertainers, but he couldn’t deny Cha Yoo-jin’s skills or looks. He only had to nod when he learned Yoo-jin was American.
“You need one or two standouts to balance things out.”
He wasn’t upset about adding that handsome rapper from earlier; he planned to eliminate him in the finals and keep him in reserve.
But that was past. Now, the stage lights went dark.
“......”
Woosh.
Dry ice poured across the floor, and red and blue beams pierced the darkness.
A humming like falling—
[Um, Umumum uum um]
A pop song by a solo singer famous for her mournful, chilly tone and bass line.
The intro began.
Thud.
With a minor-key guitar riff and drumbeat, the three dropped to their knees.
Then the choreography kicked in.
[His growling, howling,
raise me up]
They threw their limbs into aggressive, difficult moves, then snapped upright as if yanked by unseen strings.
At center, Shin Jae-hyun faced the camera and twisted his hand.
The motion rippled from his knuckles through his whole body; he used his torso with precision, lifting his chin.
A haunting smile and a flash of light.
[To the darkness, absence...
No]
The singing cut off abruptly, then silence.
Their paths widened.
They bent at the waist, flicked their hips, then fell backward, hands hitting the floor before flipping like acrobats.
The music surged.
[Tonight
he’s gonna find your room
and
take you to the wood]
Even amid those violent moves, his vocals—tinged with a scratchy edge—hit each note precisely.
The eerie, intense tone and movements, paired with their uniforms, created an uncanny atmosphere.
Then the chorus.
[Watch out!]
Cha Yoo-jin slammed onto the stage from above.
For an instant, every eye was drawn to him.
[Watch out!
for wolves]
Yoo-jin slid forward with deft footwork, grabbed the camera frame with speed, then released his hand.
His gaze glinted.
“...!”
The staging left only impact—it became part of the stage itself.
Yet its influence lingered.
The stage commanded attention.
[Wo, wowo woof
Wolf]
They shifted their shoulders and necks with a static motion.
Then a dance break: using the center performer like a buoy, the two on either side launched into even more complex moves.
Their angles were immaculate.
Yet each conveyed a different emotion.
One seemed ready to devour; the other exuded rich subtlety.
[Your guest who-o-o
comes in the dead
of the night]
Thud.
The song ended, leaving only a dissonant piano note.
The contestants collapsed to the floor, staring at the air.
“......”
Only labored breathing echoed through the hall.
Then, belatedly—
Clap, clap-clap-clap...!
Scattered applause filled the hall.
Though no live audience had been invited to the set, the crew and contestants offered hesitant applause for atmosphere.
The producer was slightly flustered.
“What is this?”
This stage wasn’t the quality he’d expected. It felt more like a year-end broadcast.
And thanks to those two, the third barely registered—perhaps that was jarring the quality.
It was a perfect overwhelm.
“No way they planned that....”
No, if they had, those guys would be running the show!
The producer banished his thoughts and, with genuine admiration, looked at the two performers onstage.
He honestly hadn’t expected them to be this good.
“Must be luck and synergy.”
Either way, he was very satisfied that this performance had delivered.
– Rehearsal atmosphere: good
– Choice of song: minor friction
After reading the production team’s rehearsal summary, he made up his mind.
He lavished praise on each person, then picked up the mic again.
“Who chose the song?”
“We decided together.”
Shin Jae-hyun rose and smoothed his outfit, answering calmly.
“A pop song might favor Cha Yoo-jin.”
Jae-hyun only gave a faint smile, as if acknowledging, and said nothing more—any reply would be awkward.
“Smart kid.”
The producer felt a swell of pride as he spoke his heartfelt impression.
“But... why does Jae-hyun seem more like the original artist to me?”
“...!”
Indeed.
At first glance, this striking stage looked exactly like the style Cha Yoo-jin preferred—flashy and daring.
But the song’s message was more layered.
“Depression.”
Shin Jae-hyun thought casually.
This song spoke of deep, terrifying resignation to depression.
And Jae-hyun could express it as naturally as breathing.
Not because he’d performed it many times. In this twisted, uncanny world, even the song selection changed.
Simply...
He’d done so many similar pieces.
This dark concept had been a VTIC staple every year since their fourth anniversary.
And critically...
“Because LeTi’s boss prefers this style.”
He didn’t bother glancing at his competitor’s face.
Cha Yoo-jin:
Overwhelming power, raw talent, dazzling skill—like he could devour the song.
But that wasn’t the sole criterion.
“Why is that, Jae-hyun?”
Shin Jae-hyun picked up the mic.
“If I had to answer... it’s about atmosphere. I’ve practiced this vibe for a long time.”
The correct answer.
The correct answer.
“He’s right.”
The producer smiled.
“I think Jae-hyun’s performance today was the most LeTi-style.”
“Thank you.”
Shin Jae-hyun bowed his head slightly, feigning deep emotion.
The producer turned his head slightly.
Cha Yoo-jin just stood still, yet the contrasting afterimage remained.
“Hmm.”
He changed his mind.
“This will make a great picture.”
“Here are the results.”
The stage lights went out and background light filled the screen.
And as if expected, the result appeared.
[〈Elite Class〉 Shin Jae-hyun – Win!]
[Elite Class confirmed!]
“Congratulations.”
Jae-hyun had won.
But the producer raised the mic again.
“However, I have one special privilege from the production team.”
Even if he eliminated someone in the finals, he could first include them to heighten the contrast effect.
“In this entire program, the boss of the show can nullify one trainee’s elimination risk—no conditions attached.”
“...!”
He made his decision.
“I want to see if I can improve him by giving him a chance first.”
If Yoo-jin made the cut, he’d feel “recognized” and strive to develop himself to please his benefactor.
If that still failed...
“I’ll make sure he never debuts.”
He could just hook him up with a mediocre agency. With that, the deal was done.
“Though Cha Yoo-jin lost, I see potential in him—he could become a great LeTi artist.”
“......”
“So, by my authority, I grant Cha Yoo-jin a boss pass as an additional contestant.”
Bang.
Text appeared behind the screen.
[Boss Pass!]
[〈Supplementary Class〉 Cha Yoo-jin – Contestant confirmed]
“Can you make me proud of this choice?”
“Of course! Thank you!”
But instead of showing gratitude, Cha Yoo-jin merely smiled and said so.
As if he’d expected it—or was simply happy to continue. It was refreshing.
No guilt, no tears.
“That, that.”
Watching Yoo-jin shake hands and pat backs of his fellow trainees, the producer composed his expression.
“Those Americans, always like that.”
It seemed the staff would have to work on his manners. But the pass was spent and couldn’t be revoked, so the producer simply nodded with style.
“This will help boost Jae-hyun.”
With that synergy, such a high-quality performance could have been luck. That’s how he saw it.
Soon the stage cleared, and as the producer made his final decisions, the next team came up.
The screen displayed the contestant’s name.
[Elite Class Ryu Geonwoo]
“Hmm.”
This time the vibe was different. The three in white jumpers looked nervous, but they showed no signs of distrust.
Instead, they glanced at the trainee in the center and adjusted their positions to his cues.
“Oh.”
The one who sang that atmospheric jazz?
The producer skimmed his notes on each team’s rehearsal and studied their outfits.
The sailor-style look every idol passes through once.
Blue collars on white outfits.
One even wore shorts. The producer almost chuckled.
“Your outfits suggest a cute concept—is that right?”
“We tried to create a fresh feeling.”
Ryu Geonwoo naturally took the mic, glanced at his competitors, then offered a slight smile.
“Including the cute factor.”
His teammates giggled. They looked so congenial one might think this was a team challenge.
“Hmm.”
– No conflict potential
– Geonwoo leading
After a quick read of the summary, the producer nodded.
“Let’s begin.”
He needed to see the stage for the storyline.
“Yes!”
The trainees bowed and formed around the sofa placed center stage.
The supplementary class sat; the elite class stood.
And Ryu Geonwoo perched himself on the armrest.
[Uhm!]
As soon as the backing track started,
With a refreshing beat, everyone bounced around the sofa like cushions.
[Oh, Ohoh icy eyes
Cold, but I like it!]
They tweaked the rhythm and pitched the “Ohoh” ad-libs differently.
Instead of the original’s relentless pull, the staccato delivery popped.
[Words that fizz like soda
Eyes hard as ice]
They sat down, sprang up, performed swooping motions, and landed—synchronized.
[Oh, so pretty!]
Unlike the original, they hit the high notes but matched the jumps perfectly.
A light, breezy rhythm carried through both song and dance.
[I see ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) the butterflies
Fluttering in my chest
A tangle of feelings]
“Whoa.”
They added stylish gestures to each potential killer moment, earning closeups.
And they hit each part flawlessly.
[It’s still okay
But my eyes are cold—please stop melting]
The lyrics didn’t feel cringey.
“What?”
Then the chorus returned.
[Oh, Ohoh icy eyes
Cold, but I like it]
Surprisingly, Geonwoo sang the chorus naturally with the right expression.
The round hat suited him strangely well.
[Oh, Ohoh icy ice
Your gaze is cold]
The high notes were clean, and the cool brightness sat seamlessly.
“...??”
Only the producer, unaware that he’d nicknamed this performer “Puppy” and that he’d survived five years in the industry, looked puzzled.
[If you reach out your hand
I’ll look back with warm eyes]
The tempo quickened; they moved the sofa aside and tackled a more complex routine up front.
The dance-break center was another trainee.
Then the next chorus split between that trainee and the supplementary member.
“Hmm.”
The producer nodded inwardly.
And finally—
[So cool!]
Park Mundae had hyped this part as “intense,” yet they covered the stage with a bright, cheerful explosion.
[Oh, Ohoh icy eyes]
Jumps, high notes, and clear tones balanced with harmonies, filling the stage impeccably.
A fresh performance that lifted your spirits just by watching.
These two with short training periods and one experienced trainee on one stage.
“No LeTi vibe.”
It certainly wasn’t the boss’s taste, but it was good.
A good stage is good, regardless of taste.
[Still, I like it!]
They nailed every remaining beat and final move in sync, ending with bright smiles.
“Oh.”
Clap-clap-clap-clap!
This time, applause broke out from all around—genuine and enthusiastic.
It wasn’t as overwhelming as the last, but it was high-quality, dense, and left you feeling good.
The producer gladly took the mic.
“That was a really pleasant performance. You three worked well together... great job.”
He offered individual praise, especially to the supplementary member, then got to the point.
“How was the rehearsal?”
Their faces brightened as they answered quickly.
“It was really fun and we worked hard!”
“Yes. Our senior led us well... we really enjoyed practicing.”
Geonwoo seemed a bit shy but nodded. The producer laughed.
“I thought so.”
Their faces lit up.
And right then—
“But ironically... that’s also a problem.”
“...!”
The producer turned to Ryu Geonwoo.
“Why don’t I see any desperation?”
“...!”
“Geonwoo, I don’t think this is what you do best... this is our second stage, right?”
“...Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you be showcasing your strongest skills right now? You even gave up your part.”
He met Geonwoo’s eyes seriously.
“You shouldn’t just accommodate your juniors—you should’ve been greedy to show more. This was a death match.”
The two trainees nearby looked fearful and worried, but Geonwoo merely swallowed.
The producer liked that gutsy reaction!
“This isn’t something you can call ‘fun.’ You need desperation.”
So, like a parent pushing their child off a cliff, he drafted his next move.
“You did well, but today you only ‘did well.’ That’s praise for a student, not a pro.”
Geonwoo’s face was expressionless, but his shoulders twitched noticeably.
“Right—that’s it.”
He needed a stimulus.
For him and for the viewers!
The producer suppressed a triumphant smile, then pressed the button with a tortured look.
“Here’s the winner announcement.”
[〈Supplementary Class〉 Jin Chae-yul – Win!]
[Contestant confirmed!]
Chae-yul.
“Congratulations. You’re now a contestant.”
“...! Th-thank you......”
She stammered, looking stunned.
“And Ryu Geonwoo, you’re at risk of elimination.”
The producer wore a triumphant grin.
At that moment—
“Huh?”
It flashed by, but it seemed like Geonwoo might’ve smiled briefly.
“...From relief?”
Yet on second glance, it was just his imagination. The producer shrugged and picked up the mic again.
“Please step off. Good work.”
And that concluded the evaluation.
Backstage, Cha Yoo-jin spotted Park Mundae comforting a tearful Jin Chae-yul, arranging her for the camera.
The cameras had already left, so Yoo-jin walked up and tapped him.
“Hyung!”
“Yeah.”
Park Mundae’s face showed no reaction—calm as ever.
With a subtle kindness even.
“Sad you lost?”
“No.”
Yoo-jin shrugged and looked back at the stage, smiling.
[The real judgment of win or loss isn’t by that old man.]
“...!”
His hyung looked momentarily surprised, then seemed to understand.
“So you did it on purpose.”
That was exactly right!
[Soon they’ll see that I’m the real winner.]
“Is that so?”
Yoo-jin tapped his shoulder lightly. As always, Mundae dodged it smoothly.
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
“Right.”
Park Mundae chuckled softly.
“Me neither.”
And that day’s filming ended.
Shortly after, the LeTi in-house survival show Wise finally aired.
