Debut or Die-Chapter 381
“I immediately confirmed adding the ally. Then I swallowed and checked the list.
The current status of the allies I’d recruited so far was displayed.
[Ally List]
[Shin Jaehyun: Heading out to find allies (//-^├)]
[Cha Yoojin: Having a calm conversation with production (ㅇㅅㅇ)]
It should have ended there, but one more line was added.
The one I’d just recruited.
[Lee Sejin: Studying the script intently (｀ㅅ´9)]
Script. Anyone could tell this meant an actor—so it really was Bae Sejin.
“Sigh.”
A pop-up scribbled like with a big brush burst onto the screen.
[Whoa—hyung, go ahead and awaken him right now!]
Right.
[Ally: Would you like to awaken Lee Sejin?]
–Use 1,000 Exp
I reached out to tap the accept button, then paused.
[?? Hyung?]
No, this wasn’t right.
Only then did my head clear and I remembered.
‘We’re filming right now.’
I’d already turned in my phone. Even if I awakened him now, he’d be unreachable for at least four days. I couldn’t leave him awake and confused while filming continued.
“Ah... you’re right.”
I’d finish the stage first, then awaken him.
[Nep! Fighting!]
I closed the ally list pop-up again. But this time I wasn’t anxious. Instead, I felt... motivated.
‘Once we’re done, I’ll awaken him and contact him right away. I should tell Cha Yoojin too.’
Convincing him wouldn’t be easy... but even thinking about it felt pretty good. My mind cleared.
[Lee Sejin: Rereading the script (｀ㅅ//)]
...Not sure why that emoticon suddenly added a slash, but anyway—this was fine for now.
I smirked, closed the ally list, and prepared to return to the practice room.
That’s when I heard it.
“Uh... excuse me.”
“...!”
That voice was familiar. But...
‘Why am I hearing this here?’
I turned my head, and sure enough, saw him: Lee Sejin, looking sheepish.
“Do you know where the sinks are?”
“....”
Right. It was break time, so he could wander freely.
I raised a hand.
“Over there.”
“Ah~”
Go—go quickly. But instead of walking away, he hesitated.
“Thanks. Oh—Geonwoo, is it okay if I call you that?”
“Yes.”
“Oh—you’re so straightforward!”
He grinned.
“You were amazing on stage today. Thanks to you, I really enjoyed it. Thank you~”
“No, thank you.”
I chose my words carefully.
“Thank you for your kind words.”
“Aww, I’m not just flattering you. I saw your first stage, and it was all really great. I bet you’ll debut soon, seriously!”
Is he testing my memory?
‘That can’t be it.’
He must just see networking value and want a contact. Predictable.
‘That hasn’t changed.’
I relaxed my arm. Fine—after the fame mission ends, I’ll awaken him anyway. Let him call.
I’ll play nice.
“Thank you. ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) I also learned a lot watching your stage. Your movements and expressions matched the song perfectly; I really took note.”
“Oh.”
He suddenly shut his mouth.
‘Didn’t expect that?’
But before long, he spoke as if nothing happened.
“Thanks. I feel energized now~ So... since this is fate, shall we exchange numbers?”
Just like at AJUSA.
More bittersweet nostalgia than bitterness. I shrugged.
“My phone’s not with me right now... if it’s okay, I’ll give you my number.”
“Yeah, great!”
I entered my number into his phone. It felt weird.
“I’ll text you, so we can chat again later—us~”
“Yes. Well, I’ll go back and prepare now. Thank you.”
“Mm, yeah.”
I turned and walked away, as if unaware he wanted to keep talking.
‘Need to clear my head.’
He always chatted so much—I’d slip up if I relaxed. Anyway, I’d been polite; he wouldn’t take offense.
‘It unfolds the same everywhere.’
Networking, mutual-benefit relations.
I smirked, rounded the corner, and hurried on.
Just before I bumped into someone, I stopped—Cheongryeo.
“There you are. You’ve come far.”
“Somehow.”
“‘Somehow’ doesn’t seem right... ah. Of course.”
He glanced past me around the corner, confirming Lee Sejin’s retreating back, then muttered flatly.
“I checked—he’s hard to recruit. Third-year, established group member.”
As if I didn’t know.
“He was just for networking—exchanging numbers.”
“Hm. Planning to persuade him by explaining the situation?”
“....”
“You tried that on him before.”
Randomly, out of the blue?
A thought flashed that maybe I could, but...
“No, the stage comes first.”
It’s crazy not because I can’t do it—but because everyone avoids it.
Until I awaken him, I won’t bother him with unnecessary talk.
“You’re right. Smart choice.”
Stating the obvious.
I returned to the practice room—to perfect the stage.
A few days later, the show’s first audience-attended shoot began.
“Thank you~”
Once again in the judge’s seat, Lee Sejin from Zyro greeted politely and sat. They’d re-called the less busy idols from mid-evaluation, and he’d nabbed the seat—no small pleasure.
Still, he was intrigued by the stage.
Monitoring likely competitors is always beneficial. And now he had an acquaintance here.
Ryu Geonwoo—the trainee who did that jazz stage.
Lee Sejin scrunched his nose as if wincing.
‘Something was off about him.’
He’d always been unusually good, attention-grabbing. Remembering him wouldn’t hurt. But talking to him...
‘Felt like he just wanted to get close again.’
Like reconnecting with a childhood friend he’d drifted from.
‘Maybe someone he knew before?’
A neighborhood buddy. Or an older brother-figure from the neighborhood?
‘Ah, who knows.’
He killed questions without answers.
‘No reply yet, anyway.’
After this stage, he’d reach out and learn more.
Even if someone seems distant, if they’re talented, it’s worth the effort. Lee Sejin straightened his posture—filming was about to start.
“Wise’s third stage—begin.”
At the boss’s crisp cue, the set moved into place. What unfolded was a debut-team stage worthy of a major label.
‘...Infuriating.’
Lee Sejin repressed boiling feelings: competitiveness, a sense of crisis. He ranked them.
This side is weaker than Zyro, that side nearly equals Zyro...
‘Well, great stages don’t guarantee success, though.’
That agency’s last girl-group, Sweet & Sour, didn’t soar on skill alone; they pivoted to a goofy concept.
But knowing only half of these will debut...
‘Damn it.’
He resolved to whip the group into shape somehow. Handling people was his strongest skill. He felt a little drained thinking idols worry about that more than stages—but his gaze sharpened under the lights.
“Next battle keyword—revealed.”
Time passed, and the awaited match arrived. The screen lit up:
[Sexy]
A roar—half gasp, half cheer—rose from the crowd.
‘Ah—when I saw that, I knew they were serious.’
He forced a bitter smile and, as a junior idol, responded appropriately. Then the first team’s stage began.
–Kneel down, woo!
A sharply angled, autotune-and-wave-heavy performance screaming “fatal attraction.”
‘Hmm.’
There’s demand for that... it seems.
Lee Sejin prepped a quick review, jotted neat notes, and predicted the last stage’s reaction.
‘...That team.’
He’d known from mid-evaluation: the one with the most consistently output-strong contestants on the show. The team that included Ryu Geonwoo, whose number he’d exchanged.
‘They didn’t give them the last slot for nothing.’
Spoilers were already floating online; everyone was hyped. Many in the audience were likely messaging “who’s next?” on SNS, guessing the members.
Then the moment the board lit up:
[Shin Jaehyun, Kim Raebin, Jung Udan, Cha Yoojin]
[+ Ryu Geonwoo (excluded)]
Aaaah! Aaaaargh!
Tremendous cheers mixing shrieks and moans. Fans stunned at seeing Geonwoo excluded, yet excited for the team itself.
‘They’ll go nuts.’
Success was visible. The program would shine. Lee Sejin stifled a bitter grin. They’d picked a song from a top-tier boy group two years ago: wild, masculine sexy—similar to the first team’s direction.
‘They’ll win.’
When two acts share texture, the better one wins. The midpoint gave it away.
‘...They’re good.’
Even from verse one, but he watched seriously.
The contestants formed a bud-shaped formation under gray flicker lights.
–Cut off
A low voice and elegant accompaniment began:
“...!”
Lights turned violet as the members moved smoothly—waves of torso motion linking formation. Lee Sejin realized immediately:
‘They tweaked the arrangement.’
A few instruments were dropped. Electronic sounds gone; bass and strings emphasized.
And the movement—languid, relaxed instead of forceful. Velvet shirts and black pants clung to their motions.
–And leave it behind, your way
(So sick)
When Raebin, hair swept back, finished the intro, Shin Jaehyun took over seamlessly, delivering his part with gestures alone—no backup dancers. Yet the audience was riveted.
‘That’s hard.’
A stage with gaps, no fixed choreography—keeping it full is tough even for pros. But they didn’t stop there.
–Don’t look back, it’s only torture, pointless
You lost your game, leave it behind
During the interlude, a complex group dance unfolded. High-difficulty moves meshed like gears.
Snap.
The center’s presence triggered peripheral limbs and props to shift, forming stands and rods. Members interacted like set pieces, highlighting the center.
They shifted seamlessly between tight choreography and loose sections, maximizing each moment’s appeal.
–An already ended story
By the second verse’s midpoint, Lee Sejin decided: 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂
‘Clever.’
A choice only possible with insane skill—but if he were in their position, he’d choose it too.
“.......”
The stage thrived. He shook off thoughts and re-focused, watching a stage entirely different in tone from mid-evaluation. Then another question surfaced:
Was it just the arrangement?
“...!”
And he realized: Cha Yoojin. At mid-evaluation, Cha’s intensity and explosive thrill made the stage feel wilder, more like the original. Here, he’d dialed back brightness and saturation.
‘It’s not that he doesn’t stand out.’
Take the second verse’s final chorus:
–Love is a kind of disease
An epiphany comes so late
So—
When Cha Yoojin grasped the mic and looked into the camera, his gaze was half-lidded—killing the flash to sell the mood. A shaded allure. So convincing he could pass as a trainee of that agency.
Controlling that was both shocking and strategic. Viewers would find it uniquely captivating. I can practically see boss LeTi reevaluating already.
Plus, this stage’s structure had solid support:
–So, oh, oh, oh
Ryu Geonwoo. At precise moments he delivered difficult super-high live notes.
‘Sometimes I felt the audience gasp.’
Yet if that were all, he’d be just a parts supplier. But he struck once more.
‘There.’
The so-called “saint” part—standing, sudden stillness that commands focus. Not super-high notes, just a high range. In other words, a segment even talented singers dread.
–It’s done
It’s over
Cut it off
Geonwoo sang it dreamily, blending breath into tone. Flawless control unimaginable from someone who’d been ad-libbing wild high harmonies. It would’ve been easier to belt it out.
One long breath—no pause—and float through that line, without AR?
–And leave it behind, your way
(So sick)
That single cut was their killing point—he seized it brilliantly. And with that voice he elevated the entire stage. A reminder that a team needs a main vocal—his presence screamed it.
“.......”
A strange déjà-vu washed over him.
‘Why?’
But the bridge ended and the finale approached. Every member nailed their role, aiming to win over the audience. Then the ending:
–Cut off
Aaaaahhh!! Ears-splitting cheers and applause, a sea of lightsticks swaying. Lee Sejin didn’t take his eyes off, watching sincerely to the last note.
His competitiveness still burned, but the sense of crisis was gone. In its place...
‘...Ah.’
A loss he hadn’t even noticed. A strange feeling, as if his place had been quietly stolen.
‘What am I saying?’
What did I eat today? Lee Sejin bit his lip, controlled his expression. When it was time for his critique, he smiled and spoke.
“It was truly excellent—really!”
That very day, Wise episode three aired. The audience saw, no spoilers needed for the excluded members. And finally—viewer voting opened.
The agency survival show Wise was expanding its viewership from a pond frog to a reservoir fish, riding the wave of episode three’s stir.
[Spot the real elimination in LeTi survival (Spoiler)]
[Wise current status.jpg]
[Ryu Geonwoo at risk of elimination]
Comments, unlike early broadcasts, had ignited with fights and questions.
–Change the title: it’s risk of elimination, not elimination
–Whoa, nerd guy out?
–Can someone explain?
└ A top-tier trainee versus a mid-insertion civilian in a one-on-one deathmatch, and the latter won
└ Crazy
└ What crazy—anyone could see the former performed better
Debate raged: Geonwoo did well, Chaeyul did well, the boss flipped out, is it real elimination or not?
Understandable.
‘The editing gave tension where there was none.’
Unlike other deathmatch teams that felt tense, they edited mine like a kindergarten game.
[Ryu Geonwoo: Let’s work hard together.]
[Ryu Chaeyul: Waaa!]
[Oh Yoonshin: (enthusiastic applause)]
[Pint-size trio]
The BGM was equally innocent.
Geonwoo’s role was trimmed similarly.
All the footage of him scheming to draw out yes-man opinions was cut. It just showed him caring for teammates and building a stage in unison.
[Pure harmony]
[Ryu Chaeyul: Totally great!]
[Oh Yoonshin: Me too.]
[Ryu Geonwoo: Then I’ll write it that way.]
[Unanimous support]
He came across as slightly awkward and blunt but considerate.
[Q: How was the leader?]
[Ryu Geonwoo: Everyone’s a beginner here... I’m older, so I’ll try harder.]
My “I had to lead” interview was woven in—portraying me as pure, almost unseasoned.
“Hmm.”
It was fascinating—I cracked open a beer at that timing.
‘Even doing the same thing at AJUSA made me look like a weirdo.’
Editing power is astonishing either way.
Anyway, this team enjoyed a sweet practice period and nailed the performance.
But then the boss’s critique was brutally harsh.
[President Kim Taein: This isn’t something you can call fun.]
[!!]
[Producer with a stern face]
He told them to stop playing house.
Interestingly, they didn’t edit it to feel unfair.
[President Kim Taein: Isn’t this the time when you should be showing off your best work?]
[President Kim Taein: (Geonwoo) even gave away all his parts.]
[Ryu Geonwoo: ......]
[President Kim Taein’s sharp advice]
[Silence on set]
Instead, it felt like the boss delivered a real wake-up call to an amateur team.
‘That edit definitely had the boss’s hand in it.’
So a casual viewer might think, “Yeah, they were too soft-hearted for a survival show,” and feel confused.
They even close-uped Geonwoo’s nervous sweat.
Then the boss shook his head and said firmly:
[President Kim Taein: Here’s the winner.]
And the screen lit up: “Ryu Chaeyul wins.”
‘Brilliant timing.’
At first glance, one might think public opinion would side with “They needed more desperation,” but that wasn’t so. Another factor came into play.
–They did great—what nonsense is this?
The stage was outstanding.
‘Can’t deny it.’
–The cute stage on LeTi was so refreshing—what the heck? ㅠㅠ
–I was like, “This is my vitamin,” then the boss killed the vibe
–I was shocked Geonwoo could do this... their chemistry was insane...
Fans claimed unfair evaluation, sparking fights between those with different tastes.
–Chaeyul’s concept fits better anyway
–Duh, Geonwoo was the leader lol they hopped on Chaeyul’s bus
└?? They performed together—also the leader choice was a bit lazy
–How dare they trash a team that nailed the marine-cute concept?
–Honestly the underclass lost to Geonwoo’s supplementary class and the boss dropped them ’cause it wasn’t his taste—pissed me off lol
–They both did well—let’s blame the rule-maker boss instead!
Such uproar drew newcomers who, curious, watched the stage and stayed.
And the newly arrived viewers began weighing in, adopting the cool, objective evaluator stance.
–They did well... but maybe not the boss’s taste? Survival show rules
–Both the member who showed something new and the one who fit the concept did well—deathmatch favored the upper-class member
–I prefer this to Geonwoo’s first stage, don’t know what the boss’s problem is
“That’s enough.”
I put down my phone. There was nothing more to see.
I don’t regret being used as drama fuel. It broadened the game.
‘Anyway, I’ll flip it in the next team round.’
Whether misunderstood or not, having people divided over my performance is good.
‘When I win over the haters, it’ll feel even sweeter.’
Meanwhile, my other allies were sailing smoothly.
“Hmm.”
I leaned on the sofa, sorting things out.
First, Kim Raebin’s deathmatch aired as the first stage, instantly drawing reactions.
–Kim Raebin isn’t a LeTi trainee, right? LOL totally LeTi material
–Producer?? lol you’re debuting for sure, don’t even think about escaping camera-free zones
–Thought the Geonwoo loss was clickbait but... crying
The guy who smashed the deathmatch was an unknown contestant, and thanks to his looks, he settled as a participant without backlash.
The slurs he ate at AJUSA were smoothed over. People said he was eccentric, but...
–Why is Raebin like that? Acting like a private first class lol
–Intern offstage, boss onstage—this guy loves it
Coaching paid off.
And the preview for episode four—Shin Jaehyun vs Cha Yoojin—already had everyone hyped from practice and mid-evaluation.
Chronologically, it went like this:
–That supplementary class is the exact opposite of LeTi lol why did he come
–Why is he so good?
–Yoojin’s gonna win?
–No, Shin did great... but the boss... weird vibe
Entertaining stuff.
Usually corporate survival shows feel predictable—they pick someone to push. But Wise is full of variables, and viewers are hooked on the unpredictability.
A shocking underdog win by the supplementary class—that freshness hooks viewers.
–Totally unexpected; flips the whole thing
–So entertaining for casual watchers
–I don’t know idols—would this be fun?
└ Yeah, like watching drama, it’s fine
The spark met the kindling.
Plus, the show drove the wedge in.
After the preview, they blatantly announced:
[Recruiting Applicants]
[We’re accepting new challengers to debut with the Supplementary Class.]
[Visit the Wise website and click the button below. We appreciate your support.]
They slapped a manifesto in viewers’ faces to add more variables—on a bigger scale.
‘Nice imagery.’
Actually, I proposed it and Cheongryeo sold it.
–Great idea. Low risk. I’ll back it.
‘No downside for the company.’
They get noise marketing and can cut you anytime. Plus, if a promising talent applies, they can lock them for the next round.
It didn’t end there.
Right after came a massive announcement that should have been the main event:
[!Global Voting Begins!]
[Send support to your favored contestants. Your votes can decide their survival.]
Viewer voting kicked off. They didn’t specify exactly how powerful the votes were, driving people crazier.
How much will a corporate survival show heed viewers?
‘They announced eliminations and new contestants at once—these guys know their stuff.’
Thanks to this uproar, the show’s gains kept piling up: awareness, fanbase, even the contestants’ characters.
My character was crystallizing too.
–Totally calm, kind big dog... nerd glasses guy packing campus dreams—never seen this before
...A nerd big dog.
‘Why?’
It’s funny that they call me a dog despite the early image shift since Park Mundae, but awareness was skyrocketing.
Now when I stepped outside, people recognized me—and some even camped out in front of my officetel.
That’s a bit of a problem.
I stood and peered out the balcony window.
“Hmm.”
I saw a few suspicious figures loitering, waiting for a taxi.
‘I think Ryu Cheongwoo might get hassled.’
He’d secured a secure officetel as a former national athlete, but still—there’s a limit.
“I need to talk to him.”
[With those people?]
“No—with Ryu Cheongwoo.”
Perfect timing: he’d just finished his club meeting and returned here.
As soon as he came out of the shower, I asked,
“Cheongwoo.”
“Hm?”
“Aren’t you uncomfortable with those people? They said there’s room in the company dorm, so if I stayed away a bit, they might leave.”
He frowned briefly, then answered.
“No, it’s fine. But you—are you okay with it?”
“Hmm.”
What did he mean?
“...It can’t feel good being misunderstood by strangers.”
Ah, that’s it.
He must’ve watched episode three live and checked the comments on the way.
‘I see.’
I wondered how he’d react if he knew he’d been on a show like this.
I just smiled.
“A show goes through many hands; misunderstandings are inevitable. You can get flamed more harshly than your mistakes.”
“.......”
“But you also get bigger recognition. Prove yourself more thoroughly.”
Our eyes met. I nodded.
“I like this work. Especially being on stage.”
“...I see.”
He sighed—a sigh I couldn’t interpret—then smiled again.
“Well then, congrats. You’ve found something to dive into passionately.”
This felt truly sibling-like.
I pushed the strange feeling aside and sat back down.
“Thanks.”
“No problem—keep it up.”
We bumped fists. Then Cheongwoo asked, as if remembering something.
“Hyung, any plans tomorrow? Or wanna grab a drink?”
“Hmm. I might have to go out.”
“Work again?”
“Yeah.”
In a way, it’s similar.
[Finally??]
‘Yep.’
I waved at him as he went to his room and summoned that window.
[Ally: Would you like to awaken Lee Sejin?]
–Use 1,000 Exp
Bae Sejin’s awakening.
This time I didn’t hesitate—I hit the button.
A burst of light.
[Leap toward flight...]
“Sigh.”
Even if it fails, it’s okay. My fame stat is high—I can pour resources until it works...
[First awakening successful!]
That’s right!
It’s satisfying to see it take effect reliably.
Clenching my fist, I was about to check Bae Sejin’s status in the ally list—
...If only it hadn’t popped up.
[Ally: Lee Sejin event triggered!!]
[Lee Sejin has realized... Σ(ㅇㅁㅇ)]
What?
The pop-up shook, then with a “puff-puff-exp” of golden fireworks, the effect rippled.
[Ally rename event complete!]
[Lee Sejin → Bae Sejin]
“.......”
Forget everything else—I needed to grab his contact info and call him right away.
“Actor, here...”
“Thank you.”
Lee Sejin gladly took the water bottle handed by staff.
His manager had vanished again for hours, so his return was delayed, but he accepted it matter-of-factly.
‘I don’t expect anything.’
As long as there’s work, it’s enough. And there was plenty.
He reviewed tomorrow’s shoot notes again until...
What the heck.
“Ugh!”
“...Sejin?”
Lee Sejin bowed his head.
His head rang, a cold shiver followed, and his vision snapped back...
And everything was revealed.
‘What is this?’
Nothing unfamiliar was forced into his mind. It was simply as if a veil had lifted or glasses had been donned, and countless details became clear in his brain: internal monologues, conversations, thoughts, events.
–Why did I even join AJUSA?
–I’d like to continue...but no.
–I’ll change my name to my mother’s surname.
–I’m Bae Sejin of TeSTAR. Please take care of me on today’s shoot!
The influx of information was overwhelming.
But as time passed, that clarity anchored itself firmly as truth in his mind.
“.......”
Lee Sejin—no, Bae Sejin, now fully restored—staggered to his feet.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
He felt no pain.
Without excuse, he sat back down. Or rather, he had no time to explain. He had no idea what was happening.
‘Why am I here? Actually, it’s stranger if this isn’t home... but.’
In the end, the self that didn’t match reality organized itself and affirmed its identity only after the manager returned.
At that moment, Park Mundae received ridiculous news.
On the communication tab of the status screen:
[Bae Sejin still has no contact info....]
“Heh.”
He stared at the blank contact field for his ally Bae Sejin, then made a clear decision.
‘None? Then I’ll make one.’
He resolved to find him directly.
