Debut or Die-Chapter 398
Ryu Geon-woo didn’t look back at the screen. But words kept pouring out.
[Mom and Dad never knew that when you said you wanted to be an idol, you’d actually come on a show like this and look so amazing.]
“Really...!”
Why do broadcasters, generation after generation, cling to such lowbrow, sensational hooks?
Bae Se-jin ground her teeth beneath her mask. Regardless of how he felt, wild guesses like “Geon-woo must be so touched” spread rapidly through the comments.
[Make sure you debut and let us see your face. Fighting, our son!]
Clenching both fists, Ryu Geon-woo kept his head down as the screen slowly shifted—so slowly it felt cruel to Bae Se-jin.
“Sigh...”
A brief message from Shin Jaehyun’s mother flickered by, a gentle BGM swept over the set, and then the boss’s voice came on.
[Now that you’ve seen your family’s messages on stage, please share your thoughts.]
The camera cut to each trainee in order as they took the mic. Kim Rae-bin, tears glistening as he sniffled, looked both pitiable and endearing—but the real moment came when the mic finally reached Ryu Geon-woo.
He took the mic with both hands and held a silence just long enough to be barely acceptable in a live broadcast.
Then he spoke.
“...Thank you.”
He bowed deeply, then raised his head with surprising vigor—though his voice trembled.
“I will definitely debut and show you my best.”
Whether addressing his parents or the public, his quavering resolve drew appreciative gasps.
“Aaaah~!”
Sympathetic but affectionate exclamations.
Yet Bae Se-jin, knowing the truth, felt conflicted.
“He looks miserable.”
He seemed to be gritting his lips in gratitude, but it was really sorrow or shock he was holding back...
...Huh?
“Wait.”
Snapping herself out of sentimental illusion, Bae Se-jin looked again at his face objectively.
Park Mundae biting the inside of his lip—he was pure anger.
“...??”
‘He looks furious right down to his toes...?’
On stage, Ryu Geon-woo stood up straight, eyes blazing with motivation he couldn’t explain.
“They met Mom and Dad after so long; must’ve cracked him up! lol It’s why we love model students.”
“Geon-woo, please debut for real.”
“Isejin, why are you so moved you’re spaced out? So funny lol.”
Despite Bae Se-jin’s inner turmoil, the finale pressed on steadily.
The boss thought he’d weighed every factor before deciding, but in truth someone with knowledge of the future had whispered the lineup into place. With a dramatic pause, he called the survivors one by one.
[Shin Jaehyun.]
Cheers followed each name: Ryu Geon-woo, Jin Chaeyul, Jung Woo-dan, Cha Yoo-jin, Oh Yoon-shin...
And finally Ryu Cheong-woo.
When the odd number of seven was reached, some viewers feared it might end too soon, and the contestants’ faces flickered with anticipation.
‘What an invaluable experience!’
—or rather, all the other trainees except the already awestruck Kim Rae-bin looked like that.
Feigning nonchalance, the boss drew out the moment before announcing the last wild-card pick—an addition he’d hesitated over until the “orchestra collaboration,” when he couldn’t resist perfecting the group.
[Kim Rae-bin.]
[...!?]
[The final member of the group.]
Kim Rae-bin nearly jumped out of his shoes, catching the mic backward—it was a bolt from the blue for him alone.
“Me? ...Yes!”
“kkkkkkkkkk”
“Why does Rae-bin look like that? lol”
“My face when a professor pretends to know me in lecture.”
The image of Rae-bin’s ferocious glare melting into a dough-boy grin was hilariously touching, and the announcement concluded.
Half VTIC, half TeSTAR.
“A tie.”
The VTIC leader, the first called, felt a brief thrill recalling his wager with Park Mundae.
In sum, the Wise finale was a success. The two additional eliminations evoked regret, but most agreed the boss made solid choices—even the cut-offs were well-judged. After all, it was a lineup of already-vetted idol members.
[“Best-ever lineup,” says fans]
[“Final winners announced on Leti survival”]
[“Wise’s new group name revealed”]
On the confetti-strewn, firework-lit stage, Park Mundae—the face of TeSTAR—had launched a remarkably strong debut. Yet his mind burned coldly.
“Damn that bastard.”
He’d reached a grim certainty.
[Big Sejin: Mundae, you killed it today 👍 Rest up!]
I checked the chicken gifticon he’d sent and, as I tapped “Sure,” a popup slid into view.
[Hyung... are you okay?]
I responded evenly.
“I’m not okay.”
[]
The popup froze, as if unable to type a word. They might suspect what I meant, but it wasn’t that.
I was furious at being played.
“You’re lying.”
[...What?]
“My parents being alive is a lie.”
To be fooled like this...
My phone vibrated insanely, but I ignored the typos in the popup and kept murmuring.
“It doesn’t add up.”
Too many logical holes.
“If you couldn’t call at all, fine, but if they sent mail, that means they had internet.”
Then...
“No need for voice calls. They could have sent video or demanded a video chat.”
Even slow internet can send at least a photo.
After a pause, a cautious reply came.
[Maybe your parents refused to show their faces...?]
“An excuse, sure. But I suspect it’s more than that.”
I turned off my phone.
Shock had initially blocked me from analyzing it, but the moment I saw “mail from the Antarctic station” on the screen, a thought struck me.
“Were my parents really researchers there?”
[!??]
“I took it for granted, but if that were so, I’d have memories about their workplace.”
They wouldn’t have stopped being researchers the moment they stepped through the door at home.
“They’d at least reminisce about their station, but they just went to work and came home—period.”
Like an afterthought tacked onto a story.
“That’s not normal. Never.”
The popup was silent, then spilled a few words.
[Actually... I was wondering too. Researchers have stable jobs. Yet you didn’t inherit any money...]
“Right.”
I’d questioned that myself—researchers earn well, and I have no memory of squandering money, yet I inherited almost nothing.
“And I never questioned that.”
“So... chances are the ‘Antarctic researcher parents’ are fabricated.”
[....]
“They engineered it.”
I don’t know how the system overrode everything, but it had planted the “researcher” premise deeply enough for me to accept it. It even erased my real memories of meeting Park Mundae so the hint could stick.
“But it wasn’t seamless enough to escape notice.”
[...You noticed on your own?]
“Exactly. If I met them in person, I’d feel it—even more so if I saw photos.”
So they blocked any visual proof entirely.
The popup warped.
[That’s so mean and underhanded.]
Once. Or a hundred times—it didn’t matter. It stung to be fooled.
‘Tampering with my memories is even worse.’
Especially... those dwindling memories.
No time for self-pity. I kept deducing, while Geon-woo rapidly voiced his own theory.
[Then... this definitely isn’t the past, right? A dream, maybe? Like that hundred-day reverie I once made.]
“The latter maybe, but not the former.”
I muttered.
“If someone truly from the past can’t appear, then we didn’t travel back. All the settings have been jumbled from the start.”
[......]
“It could be a good thing.”
Motivation would be rock-solid.
[Hyung.]
I made a decision.
I wouldn’t hide it from Cheong-ryeo—I’d share the incompleteness of this place. Sitting in the soon-to-be-dismantled waiting ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) room, he listened and casually analyzed.
“So our goal doesn’t change, right?”
“...True, but we need more care when choosing.”
I frowned.
“If our memories are flawed, we could make the wrong decision at a critical moment.”
Even a tiny discrepancy can trigger a butterfly effect.
‘Better to check for any dissonance now and then.’
Cheong-ryeo shrugged.
“As long as you remember the info we need, you’re fine. Memories always distort over time.”
“......”
“What you must guard against... is the side-effects of faulty memories.”
I guess so.
“Feelings.”
“...!”
“Data, logic, judgment—stick to those and you won’t err. You only need to pick one.”
He declared.
“The goal.”
“......”
“Right?” 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺
“Right.”
I hadn’t expected to say that, but talking with him cleared my head. Gritting my teeth, I vowed:
“No matter what, I’ll be first and get out of here. That’s the goal.”
“You always state the obvious, don’t you?”
Shut up.
I sat up straight, ready to dive in.
“First... about our debut concept.”
His grin faded slightly. I crossed my arms.
“VTIC’s first album concept was world-building.”
“TeSTAR’s probably not different.”
“Maybe. But our track charted highly.”
“Haha, true to a survival-show alum with double-digit ratings.”
He meant they couldn’t dream of that rank without the show.
“Anyway, I think it’s too niche for short-term impact.”
“I’m not so sure. It did well overseas.”
...Did it? I never watch debut MVs or analyze outfits for male idols.
“What exactly is the concept?”
“The afterlife.”
“Uh.”
I nearly choked.
“Too much.”
“Haha, telling that to TeSTAR?”
“......”
“With enough investment, nothing’s too much. Execution is what matters.”
“......”
[Isn’t that what you used to say...]
Hey, I know—shut up.
“Going for mass appeal now isn’t great strategy anyway.”
Cheong-ryeo tapped his chin.
“LeTi’s always had decent support in overseas K-pop fandoms. That’s our play.”
“Overseas.”
“Yes. The English-subbed Wise episodes on WeTube have strong views—the best I’ve seen from a survival show.”
He smiled.
“Let’s dominate overseas and build on album sales.”
“Wait.”
Who made that call?
“If we produce hit singles, we can still chart domestically. Isn’t it still a good era for male-idol appeal?”
Years later, only top-tier groups could compete on streaming, but right now a lot still perform well.
“And that’s why it won’t work.”
What?
The smile vanished from his face; indifference returned.
“Efficiency would be terrible.”
“......”
“Another group has already captured mass appeal.”
And I realized which group he meant.
“...TiHolic.”
In reality they’re veteran idols making a living via variety shows. We even guested on their show. They no longer aim for music success, filling the gap with entertainment.
But not here.
Here, TiHolic is in their heyday.
“Yes.”
Cheong-ryeo nodded.
“Our rival is TiHolic at their peak.”
