Debut or Die-Chapter 399

“Of course, in the past—even VTIC and TeSTAR, who weren’t first-tier at that time—there were other top-tier idol groups.”

‘And now that group is TiHolic.’

I fell silent for a moment, recalling how those guys folded before our variety appearance’s “being stranded is better than a billion won” nonsense.

Thanks to that, I got stuck with the magical girl theme as punishment and it really stirred up reactions.

Back then they acted like complete pushovers on camera, but off-camera they’d been enjoying an absurd peak in popularity.

After them, no boy group was really called “mainstream” until TeSTAR finally kept the lineage alive.

“This is TiHolic’s peak right before their enlistment.”

“And with this title track released March 22, they’re projected to rank eighth on the year-end streaming charts.”

Cheong-ryeo predicted that dreadful future without batting an eye. Judging by his expression, he’s had to restart many times because of those TiHolic bastards.

But listen.

“We’ll definitely do this.”

We’re not in a situation where we have to clear status effects over several years.

“What we’re aiming for is a one-shot. We don’t intend to win awards consistently over the long term.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means there’s no need to overthink the future.”

Image management, consistency, fandom retention, sustainable concepts—none of that matters.

We only need to outshine TiHolic this year.

“We’ll win by sheer volume.”

Because this year we settle it.

Cheong-ryeo stared at me intently.

“I never thought you’d believe dumping massive resources as rookies would succeed.”

“If you can’t digest it, you won’t succeed.”

I grinned broadly enough to show my teeth.

“But half our members have succeeded before. They remember what success looks like.”

“......”

They’re veterans who’ve stayed first-tier for anywhere from five to decades. Already a proven product.

“We just need the right strategy.”

“Tell me.”

I laid out my plan in timeline order.

Two albums.

And near-fraudulent tactics.

“The structure is solid.”

Cheong-ryeo stroked his chin and smiled faintly.

“Assuming you have good songs.”

He’s the one with eight years’ worth of song database compressed into his mind.

I laughed too.

“This should be workable.”

The next day, as soon as he entered the recording studio, he rattled off seven songs from memory in an instant and produced near-finished tracks.

It was a feat that made you question if he was human, but by now I’m used to it.

I played through the tracks.

Some I recognized, some I didn’t.

And I picked...

“This one.”

“Ah.”

An R&B track by a certain rapper who’d had a decent career until a DUI ended it.

“Good choice.”

He nodded in agreement. Even without my natural knack for snatching good melodies, it scored well in his estimation.

“He probably hasn’t even recalled the top note yet. He’ll think of it one drunken autumn night three years from now.”

“......”

Was that why it was appropriate?

In any case, it didn’t matter.

“Good. Let’s arrange this.”

And the guy to assign it to...

“Do you compose at all?”

“I know the theory exactly. But creation is in the realm of feel.”

“The B-side tracks were solid.”

“You’re not asking me to explain the difference between a title track and a B-side, right?”

Right. I’ll hand it to the company to produce.

‘I’d like to slip the members’ names into the credits for composing and writing, though...’

I still needed to pick one more song. As I racked my brain,

“You have a member who works on songs, don’t you?”

Ah.

Obviously referring to Kim Rae-bin.

He grinned.

“Try awakening him.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“But the attempt is up to you, hyung.”

What a pain. Maybe I’ll hit the “draw ten times” button and dump all the failures on his face.

I pressed the ‘draw ten times’ button with a reluctant expression.

“Nothing’s coming up. It’s not that easy....”

[Leap toward soaring...]

“...??”

[Wow!]

[★★★★★ Kim Rae-bin / Main Rapper]

“......”

“......”

“You drew him.”

“......”

Unbelievable.

Is this system manipulating probability while I watch?

‘Is it because it caught his bluff about his parents?’

If it still thinks that works, it’s an idiotic premise. In any case...

‘I’m not refusing.’

I accepted Kim Rae-bin as a colleague immediately. No delay intended.

A short while later,

Kim Rae-bin—who was supposed to return to Gangwon Province tonight, rest for two days, and resume work—was still at the company building for a meeting.

“Hello!”

“Oh, hey.”

I found him and pressed the awakening button. His reaction can be summed up:

“...! So this is a fake world? Then... Grandma, Grandpa, and my sister must also be... fakes?”

“Given that awakening is possible, you’re likely real!”

And the feedback turned into questions, repeating in an endless cycle.

“What exact trigger caused this phenomenon?”

“...?? If they flew on a private jet over the Pacific, whose jet was it?”

No hesitation in his questions.

Before I knew it, this guy had gleaned that I could telepathically contact the “real Park Mundae.”

‘Real?’

Even I don’t fully believe it, but Geon-ryeo relayed at least one of those popup messages.

And he asked again...

“Then which is more appropriate: calling you Ryu Geon-woo hyung or Park Mundae hyung?”

“...Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“...! As expected, even for a short period you prefer the name used during the time you had relationships with many people.”

Right—think whatever’s easiest.

After a long while, having adapted somewhat, Kim Rae-bin seemed to be running complex theories and formulas in his head.

Then, after another acceptance process, he concluded:

“If my biased ability is needed, I’ll do my utmost!”

Productive, at least.

I still wanted to verify once.

I grabbed his shoulder.

“Even if you feel you’re infringing on others’ rights a bit?”

“...I trust your explanation that everyone will tacitly allow some things to restore reality...”

“Good.”

He asked many questions, but pinning things down at the start made it easier.

I patted his shoulder.

“Thanks for joining.”

“Thank you, sir!”

With our newly awakened member, we returned to the officetel.

Of course, there were side effects.

“Cha Yoo-jin! You—”

“I told you to speak informally to Kim Rae-bin! It’s his fault he registered his birth late!”

“He’s actually older than me in real terms; that matters in Korea! You can’t excuse that!”

“......”

It looked like a heartfelt reunion between me and Cha Yoo-jin in my officetel, but we ended up like this.

No doubt Cha Yoo-jin had teased that memory-less seventeen-year-old a lot.

In any case, Kim Rae-bin regained composure through Ryu Cheong-woo and accepted the melody file I handed him.

It was that drunk-driving rapper’s ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) song.

“I want to salvage just the melody for arrangement, though it’s so kitschy.”

“Yes. I’ll match it to the top note and riff... Which genre direction are you considering?”

“House, if possible.”

As we talked business, Kim Rae-bin nodded seriously.

Then I tossed another bait.

“Rae-bin. Sorry, but I need one more thing.”

“Yes?”

I switched to the next file.

“This one. I want both songs to use similar instrumentation for a linked feel.”

When I played the second melody I’d chosen, Kim Rae-bin’s face lit up.

Right—he’d felt guilty rearranging someone else’s track as his own, but this was different.

‘...Actually, this also fits.’

—VTIC delayed their comeback schedule, and in a butterfly effect this track wasn’t released. The composer must’ve given up.

Something like that.

“Understood.”

Unaware of the added future tidbit that another guy would later think up this hit melody, Kim Rae-bin nodded enthusiastically.

“Shall we start working quickly?”

“Let’s do the latter first.”

I smiled faintly.

“We’re releasing that one first.”

The beginning of our linked-release scenario.

LeTi’s rookie boy group debuting via an in-house survival show.

[Wishze debut countdown... Will they change the music landscape?]

It didn’t take long for debut announcements—using Wise’s stylized spelling—to appear.

“The boss must be thrilled; the In-Heart teaser’s insane.”

“They’ll come out with something dark and grim—that’s a good sign.”

“Really excited. They’ve all been wearing hats; will they dye their hair?”

After the survival show ended, the public’s attention briefly waned, but nearly two months later the fanbase barely budged.

Because the two veterans didn’t miss their timing.

“You can give the public a break, but you keep the fans engaged.”

“Just live streams and practice cam, okay?”

In no time, Wishze’s behind-the-scenes YouTube series launched.

After debut, it would even serve as a reality prequel to maintain continuity.

That was all good, but then came the problem.

The debut song concept.

“Afterlife is way too niche.”

“YES! Too depressing!”

“Isn’t that dark vibe what this agency’s existing fans expect? And magical-boy... hmm, the boss will probably veto it.”

Despite being outnumbered in awoken members by VTIC, their seniority carried weight in this tight debate.

“Wait—we’re not the only members here; let’s hear from the others.”

So Ryu Cheong-woo mediated and asked the two unawakened guys for objective feedback.

Chaeyul and Sin-oh.

The responses from the duo Park Mundae calls “Yes Men” went like this:

“Wow... can’t we do both?”

“Right!”

“......”

It was wrong to expect too much from trainees who haven’t even debuted.

Park Mundae bit back his silence, but Woo-dan couldn’t help but crack a grin.

“Indeed, both magic academy and afterlife have demand. Using the right symbols, interpretations can get deep.”

“...??”

“Mundae—sorry, Geon-woo hyung—have you ever tried ideas like this?”

With that, Park Mundae realized the utility of Woo-dan’s occasionally jackpot-worthy concepts.

Fifty days after that meeting...

“Has it dropped?”

“It’s out—omg, amazing!”

“Play it now!”

As domestic and overseas fans formed through Wise eagerly counted down, the music video finally premiered.

“Wow.”

Viewers saw a camera drawn into a dark school raining meteor-like particles, members posed against various facilities inside.

Choreography and close-ups set against strange phenomena.

[One

Two

Three

Now grant my wish]

Indeed, VTIC and TeSTAR had woven their debut-song concepts into a new keyword:

〈School Legends.〉

The theme of their debut single “Wish.”

“LeTi packed it with all their strengths lol.”

“Knew they’d nail it—love it even more.”

“They’re so handsome.”

“I thought the world-building would go overboard, but it’s not bad—feels a bit like a game.”

By weaving nuances of thrill, fear, mystery, and pursuit between a powerful dance track and dynamic camera work, they amplified the overall tone.

And the setting was a school.

Whether polarizing or not, it provided season-specific integration, since it wasn’t midsummer yet but warm enough due to global warming.

‘Just right.’

First-week sales hovered around 100,000—very respectable, considering it was before album inflation and for a debut.

‘The real album purchases from the international fans we attracted will start with the next album.’

They’d made a massive impact with a track and concept that screamed global fandom appeal.

It was time for the next step.

After the final debut stage, Park Mundae—now Ryu Geon-woo—declared to Cheong-ryeo:

“As planned, for the next promotion, don’t stretch the gap too long. Do a repack within a month or two. No objections.”

“And then?”

He glared at the questioningly obvious reply and stated the near-fraudulent strategy.

“And... we flip the concept completely. Drop a fully mainstream track.”

In other words, a betrayal.

They’d let overseas fans think the next album would deliver the same deep world-building and intense dance vibe, boosting pre-orders...

‘Then suddenly release a domestically-targeted, chart-friendly single.’

That way they maximize album sales and gain a foothold on streaming charts.

They’d minimize the sense of betrayal through B-sides, but no rookie group would normally pull such a profit-driven switch.

And that wasn’t the end.

“Before that, let’s ramp up individual activities.”

What’s the best way to get people to listen to a new single once? Book appearances on shows viewed by the public during comeback season.

Promotion.

But consider this.

‘What if we build up ten promotional appearances per member and drop them like a simultaneous blitz?’

Each member would make a memorable individual impression on a program, then promote the new song.

“That’d definitely grab attention.”

Park Mundae planned to leverage being a group of eight first-tier idols who precisely know their appeal—right where it counts.