Debut or Die-Chapter 395
Step-by-step hype and survival story.
With the injection of a new contestant whose unique color was unlike any in an in-company survival show and a stage so boldly “LeTi-style” that viewers couldn’t help but say, “That’s so LeTi,” the word of mouth was strong. Not quite the utter chaos of AJUSA, but Wise had become known as a ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) remarkably entertaining survival show. On the eve of its finale, viewers’ attitudes ran as follows:
“Why even bother with audience voting if they never use it?”
“LOL did the producers completely forget?”
Speculation swirled over the mysteriously vanished viewer votes.
“If they don’t use it in the final, that’d be legendary.”
“I bet the CEO scores us and they just apply some ‘adjustment’ to it, lol.”
“Please, make the CEO check our ranks on camera so I can save Cha Yujin.”
And that identity was revealed in the very next episode, episode 9, aired right before the finale.
At first, everyone thought it would be a simple “behind-the-scenes” episode—a breather showing trainees rehearsing their final stages.
“A rest episode.”
“Cha Yul brought Geon-woo a blanket and pillow? How is she that angelic?”
“Boy group playing ‘air ball’ during their break... Hats off to CEO Kim for gathering all those personalities into one face.”
“Wow, Ryu Cheong-woo literally hasn’t slept—still fierce as ever, national-team caliber hasn’t gone anywhere.”
“Finally releasing Shinjay Hyun’s glasses pictorial B-cuts. About time you saw the demand, broadcasters.”
They mixed viewers’ burning questions—how close the trainees were, their mistakes, how they played when resting—into an entertaining package. The usual survival-show tension dipped, but many praised the producers for knowing exactly what viewers wanted.
“Special episode? Time constraints, fair enough. It was well made, so okay, lol.”
“Still feels like they’re prepping the final for ages—can’t wait for the stage.”
But the producers had one more move left, revealed at the end.
After all the endearing behind-the-scenes footage and sweaty, passionate rehearsal cuts...
The camera cut to the stage.
“???”
In the upper corner blinked “LIVE BROADCAST.”
“What the—”
“Is this live right now?”
“Episode 10 was supposed to be the finale... Doesn’t it air next week?”
Just as viewers had grown comfortable with the side-story flow, they were thrown by the sudden live broadcast screen.
[“Contestants, we have an urgent announcement before the finals.”]
CEO Kim Tae-in, seated at the judges’ table, took the mic again.
As the camera captured the puzzled, tense contestants, his voice continued:
[“The results of viewer voting have arrived.”]
[“!”]
[“The public’s choice is the absolute measure you will face from here on. Anyone who doesn’t meet that standard...”]
He deliberately paused for breath, then finished the line everyone expected:
[“Is eliminated.”]
Onstage, contestants blinked or dropped their gaze. Viewers howled in the comments:
“Out of nowhere??”
“Ahhh, no—”
“I really didn’t see this coming, what do I do?”
“Their faces are killing me...”
Yet at the same time, the new tension and the curiosity of finally seeing the vote results snapped viewers’ focus back instantly. That’s the power of a survival show. Ignoring the flood of crying emojis and exclamations in real time comments, the CEO calmly announced:
[“First, those safe from elimination.”]
He named four: Kim Rae-bin, Oh Yoon-shin, Jeong Woo-dan, Han Kyung-mo....
“Lower than I thought.” “They must be his CEO picks, so fans weren’t desperate enough.” “Crazy orchestra suffered loss in cumulative votes from the last ep.”
Reactions and hot takes flew, but thanks to the word “safe,” everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Then confusion set in as he moved to the remaining eight.
“So top half and bottom half now?”
“I seriously have no idea.”
“In my eyes, six of these are top half.”
With only twelve contestants and no prior vote tallies, no one could neatly split them.
[“Bottom half, I will now announce.”]
With tense BGM, the CEO called names one by one.
[“Park Nam-ho.”]
“Aigo...”
“ㅠㅠ Nam-ho worked hard!”
“No way...”
Starting with a contestant who hadn’t stood out—exactly as expected—and gradually calling surprises.
“ㅠㅠㅠ aaaaah!”
“Just debut all 12 of them, you crazy bastard.”
Viewers mourned yet accepted it—until the last bottom-half name:
[“And... Ryu Cheong-woo.”]
[...]
Cheong-woo, expression calm, stepped forward. But comments erupted:
“No way.”
“Impossible.”
“????”
“Fabrication?”
A former national-team pro, with a lucky totem and insane skill surge, knocked out by votes? Ridiculous. A few seconds of stunned disbelief, then viewers realized: he was a late-entry new face.
“Because he joined later.”
“Vote is cumulative—you came in weeks late.”
“So they basically expect the补给반 to all be eliminated? Joke’s on us.”
Despite the shock, no one thought the CEO would actually eliminate all four bottom names.
“They called four—there’s no way all four are going.”
“Please no, please...”
“If they send off Cheong-woo, CEO Kim really is tone-deaf trash.”
Then, as viewers hoped, the CEO spoke again:
[“The bottom four chosen by votes were originally set for immediate elimination.”]
That implied they would not go immediately.
[“But to form an idol group, you need not only fans’ support, but one more element.”]
[“The idols themselves.”]
“Yeah right, what obvious bullshit is this?”
“A group without idols? Weirdest thought ever.”
Ignoring the uproar, the CEO continued gravely:
[“So we will hear their opinions.”]
Contestants looked up in bewilderment as the camera cut away.
[“Wise contestants, you will now each vote for two people you want to continue with you.”]
[“!!!”]
The safe contestants stared at each other in confusion; the CEO’s serious face cut in.
As an in-company survival, Wise’s selling points included the trainees’ deep bonds and group consciousness—and the producers were exploiting that for one final stunt.
[“Based on your votes, the two with the most votes will survive to the finals.”]
[“Results... will be revealed next week, before the Wise finale stage.”]
The camera pulled back, capturing the stunned frozen stage. Fade out. Colorful ads began, but viewers couldn’t stop commenting:
“Wow.”
“Producers are devilish bastards.”
“They’re handing this to the kids? You decide? Screw you.”
Even before AJUSA Season 1 aired, Wise was burning its last blaze of audacious hype just before the finals.
I stepped off the stage thinking, “Oh.”
These producers know their craft. A bland behind-the-scenes ep would’ve lost buzz; going sensational was a choice.
“And they picked good wording.”
It wasn’t “vote who to eliminate” but “vote who to save.” That’s mildly generous—still monstrous, but not beyond humanity.
Though if a survivor chosen by colleagues later causes trouble... I don’t care. I’m shooting for the fastest, most efficient group debut here.
“The problem is Cheong-woo’s position’s become awkward.”
A cartel among original trainees meant vote limits.
“I’ll have to handle that.”
So the moment I dropped the mic, I sought out the one who still hadn’t decided whom to send live on air.
Cheongryeo.
“You call this ‘letting it happen naturally’?”
He answered, unperturbed, with a smile:
“Of course. It’s this easy.”
“...”
“With the finale looming, anyone’s shaken by a small shock—and planting one choice in their head is trivial.”
To keep them from giving votes to anyone.
“Reasonable, but...”
I frowned. “Why not tell me sooner?”
“If I told you, you’d tweak your pre-work—and you’re not one to wait quietly, right?”
“...”
Damn, can’t argue that.
“Understood? From now on, let’s do it like this: I’ll remove the elements I want gone—you add the elements you want saved.”
Meaning Cheong-woo.
He added helpfully, “If you can’t decide, just ask me. I’ll do it for you.”
I stared, incredulous.
“It’s not a favor—it’s your job. Is there anyone in the bottom half better than Cheong-woo?”
Same goal; his comment made no sense.
He chuckled.
“Really? Fine. If you can’t do it, I will.”
“...”
I smirked.
“Okay, I’ll handle it first.”
You think I’d lose my temper? If it fails, I’ll even use a cat’s paw—whatever to squeeze that guy to the core.
“Fine.”
He grinned and strolled off down the hall, apparently to persuade other trainees.
A popup hovered over his retreating back:
[“So... will you persuade other trainees too, hyung?”]
But first, I had one thing to check.
I pulled up the popup that had appeared on stage earlier:
[Quest: Reputation-Gathering Activity 2/N]
│■■■■-----〉│ 50% complete!
Reward: You’ve received a package...
At 500 K Exp earned, the mid-quest reward popped up. Of course, I’d spent about 100 K on recruiting comrades already.
“127 Section had that feature.”
I’d seen it during test play.
“With many choices and varied endings, the main quest is broad and long-term.”
“And they gave solid mid-quest rewards to keep us playing.”
Likely random items.
I went to Mail and opened the “Progress Reward” package:
[Package of boundless possibilities]
“An encouragement from the stars.”
Could be something great, but with my luck, I’d get gold.
“I’ve already got about 4 K gold.”
I tapped to accept with a blank stare. Then: 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞
[Package contents – Invitation]
[A comrade (★★★★) arrives...]
Huh? The stars burst forth—and it wasn’t gold but a comrade.
Not that I needed one.
“★★★★....”
I remembered the 4-star comrade I’d seen before summoning Big Se-jin.
[★★★★ Jang So-hyun / Lead Dancer]
“She was in Malang-Dalkom.”
I’d nearly choked seeing her in the inventory. Didn’t accept her, fearing I’d awaken her, but I did add her.
From that, I knew:
“Maybe comrades with bonds show up more often.”
I’d speculated similarly.
“Then... could it be?”
Anyway, the glow faded, revealing:
[★★★★ Jeong Woo-dan / Lead Vocal]
“...??”
It’s that VTIC guy.
[“It’s Ju-dan-nim, right?”]
Right, that Ju-dan.
“What the—”
I moved to stash him in inventory—but there’s no decline button?
[Confirm]
Only that. Is it auto-register?
[“Seems so..?”]
No matter. I could delete him later if needed.
I tapped “Confirm”—and:
Crackle! The button burst with star effects again.
“...??”
[Fortune Chance]
A bronze-embossed phrase appeared, then vintage pipes spun words.
“This is....”
A luck event in the game. Gears clicked, then froze, combining words:
[Bonus Effect – Awakening!]
Three seconds later:
[Comrade: Jeong Woo-dan has successfully awakened!]
“What.”
What did I just witness?
This insane system gave a bonus in the most fucked-up way possible.
The moment I confirmed it, I tore down the hallway, checking every rehearsal room.
“I have to find him.”
Or else everything goes to shit...!
With my mind racing, I flung open a few different rehearsal rooms by priority—until I finally found someone with his head against the dance-studio wall.
Jeong Woo-dan.
Meaning... VTIC’s Ju-dan.
“......”
“......”
He said nothing and didn’t lift his head. I crept in to avoid attracting attention.
“Proceed carefully.”
My mind whirled.
At that moment, Cha Yujin, warming up in a corner, saw me and shot his hand up.
Wait—no way...
“Moon Dae-hyung!”
Of course.
“...Moon Dae?”
The head-down guy flinched at the name, then jerked his head up.
“Fellow senior Park Moon-dae?”
I was screwed.
The guy looked around in confusion, then paled when he saw Cha Yujin and, behind him, Kim Rae-bin.
“TeSTAR... wait.”
“Uh, senior.”
“No, I mean....”
He mumbled to himself, cold sweat on his blank face.
I needed to get him out of here.
Thank goodness no cameras were in sight yet.
But before I could gesture to Cha Yujin to grab one arm and guide him out, Ju-dan spoke.
Much calmer now:
“Where are the producers?”
“Why... do you want them?”
“I’m withdrawing.”
“...?!”
My head spun.
