Debut or Die-Chapter 408
Shin Jaehyun’s memories ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) form layers upon layers of great depth.
Like sedimentary strata at the bottom of a sea, piled up after countless lives and endless repetition, Shin Jaehyun had never deliberately touched what he didn’t need.
Therefore, there was no end in sight.
Nothing moved.
His first attempt, sparked by the one-time shock of that cheat called “awakening,” swayed only where the water was shallow—at the very top.
The most recent memory.
Reality.
Thunk.
A ripple rose.
And by coincidence, that most recent life bore a very unique pattern, unlike the average.
A life he’d believed could never restart.
“You decided to stay in reality even if that shitty thing happened....”
Crude as it was, that phrase, heard just before, was accurate.
Cheongryeo lived through the time after failure.
Thunk.
Like tiny waves, recollections of that time rippled.
It began with an opportunity created by the same person.
“You can’t restart now.”
Park Mundae, having subdued him, staggered out of the villa and said those words.
And perhaps more important were the words that followed.
“What you have now will never disappear.”
Those words floated in his mind like a buoy throughout VTIC’s long hiatus—so unfamiliar, yet so lasting.
He wasn’t moved by any concrete meaning.
They became a vague marker.
If he truly couldn’t restart, what choices could he make?
What could he hold on to?
First, he brought in a dog companion—he’d never again confuse which dog he was raising.
He wrote new songs—he could no longer claim future hits ahead of time.
He did solo activities—he no longer measured success solely by the group’s achievements.
Still, VTIC did not sink.
Failure did not vanish. But a life in which what he built atop failure also endured.
Yet even through it all, a question remained.
“Why am I doing this?”
Not hollow so much as pure—a question born of feeling no driving force behind his actions.
A life without missions.
A strange landscape to forge without an answer key, and unfamiliar to his ignorant mind.
Shin Jaehyun slowly reacquainted himself with this settling into everyday life.
Thunk.
Ripples layered.
Then, the wave unwittingly conjured a memory of very similar form from the hidden depths—the very first restart.
“What the hell....”
He’d believed it was his one and only chance.
Therefore, that life he thought he could no longer restart also existed there—his younger, ignorant self.
He could not see precisely what shape that memory took; it remained only as data, not an original.
“Right.”
Unworthy of reading, Shin Jaehyun felt.
It should have ended there.
But the unconscious stirred again from that point.
...?
In an instant, the ripple created a tiny crack in the strata of his memories, like a root growing upward.
And it trembled faintly across the deep sea—no more than a vibration.
Yet through the many layers of attempts and repetitions, similar shapes appeared between the layers.
Very rarely, occasionally.
Chance confluences.
Witnessed through rain streaks.
Performances despite injury.
Though the exact circumstances, emotions, or pains were not revealed—his sea of experience had already grown unfathomably deep and multi-layered.
All only vague impressions.
Yet sometimes, even a trace sufficed.
Proof that he had existed there.
That unique, brilliant moment that felt like it would never return, no matter how many times he restarted.
“Please.”
Thunk.
That wasn’t the life he believed couldn’t restart—it was the life he simply did not want to.
Moments when he thought it wasn’t opportunity but loss.
“I knew it.”
Glimpses of Park Mundae, fighting tooth and nail to avoid restarting, flitted through his mind.
“...I think I was like that too.”
But those things, crushed beneath the strata, had no value.
They were useless sentiments.
Whatever that moment had felt like, once he failed, he would restart.
So he regarded it as an inefficient impulse that only delayed the next step.
“......”
The ripple vanished. The surface stilled once more.
His strata remained firm, and the deep sea remained invisible.
Shin Jaehyun thought:
Nothing had changed.
Still no absolute advantage to returning to his previous reality.
VTIC could never sustain the glory of its past peak.
The group’s spotless reputation now carried an unbreakable stigma.
Those vacant positions in the lineup would remain empty forever.
And yet.
And yet.
He did not want to discard it.
Just as long ago, when he stayed despite knowing everything would vanish if he restarted.
Simply because he wanted to.
Was that unreasonable impulse the very driving force of life?
Cheongryeo opened his eyes.
Their gazes met—one observing, the other concerned.
“Ah.”
He reflexively traced his finger under his chin.
As expected, there was no moisture.
Those few seconds of ripple passed like a fleeting wave, not a massive surge.
But they left a mark.
“.......”
Cheongryeo acknowledged it.
His own impulse to return to reality.
Whether he could redo it here or not, whether Mundae’s words of it being a one-time chance mattered—it did not.
So he spoke.
“No new information, huh.”
“.......”
“I do have a question.”
And in fact, he asked the question he’d long summoned but never articulated.
“Why do I want to go back to reality?”
Park Mundae did not bark, “Where the hell did you hear anything I said so far?”
He merely sighed and spoke.
“Your reality is yours by right, so of course you don’t want to abandon it. Who’d willingly discard what’s theirs?”
“...!”
Life is inherently one’s own, so wanting to preserve and own it fully is only natural.
Shin Jaehyun slowly recovered that impulse and desire.
So Park Mundae roughly spoke again.
“Let’s go back, you bastard.”
“.......”
He still could not give a rational reason why they should, but perhaps not knowing was the essence of the impulse.
And now he could act on impulse.
Cheongryeo spoke.
“All right.”
“.......”
“And...I think we need to change the plan.”
He resurrected the holograms.
Even as countless windows exploded around them, no one flinched.
“If we absolutely refuse to remain here, I think there’s one more viable method.”
“.......”
“What do you think?”
The person before him did not refuse—instead, he nodded.
“Speak.”
Tick.
The clock began again.
“Phew.”
The “Paused” state ended, roughly an hour or two after that dramatic agreement with Cheongryeo.
“Damn tired.”
I pressed my temples as I returned to my room.
Fortunately, after we agreed, the frozen time yielded surprisingly productive conversation.
“And...I don’t totally not know why that bastard ended up like that.”
But that didn’t erase the fact he’d backstabbed me. I’d log it as a debt he’d have to pay.
“How about it?”
Learning what he could do even now was a boon.
I reviewed strategy based on facts uncovered by analyzing his UI windows.
As he said, the GM status window did have some useful features. Though extreme, I’d need safeguards.
“I need to add a step or two.”
I mused.
All the while, pop-ups chimed.
[Hyung, I’m so relieved, really....]
[You said it wasn’t that dangerous, but still!]
[I will keep watching that person! Promise!]
I get it already.
That chatterbox ranted for an hour straight, then finally, “I feel exhausted,” and disappeared.
“Geez.”
No wonder—knowing how frantic he’d been. I smacked my tongue, recalling the remaining Gold and the now-inactive “Gold Shop.”
“You’re working hard.”
In any case, since Gold-2—Kwon Hee-seung—is sending such signals, we seem to be on the right track.
“Phew.”
I lay down on the bed, finally relaxed.
Instead of pop-ups, my smartphone buzzed incessantly—it was the group chat.
–Bae Se-jin hyung: OMG
As soon as time resumed, they flooded me with impressions and questions. I explained this systemic situation and that Cheongryeo had helped sway him.
From “You’ve suffered so much” to “Solving paranormal incidents—Park Mundae hyung, your skills are incredible!” came every kind of comment...
And finally it reached this.
–Cha Yoo-jin: We can do telepathy! LIIIIIIITTTT 😎
–Big Se-jin: So this was what Mundae was talking about? lol like a cartoon!
They were analyzing the chat-window ability.
Surprisingly, it still existed and could be summoned.
But only the room owner—Seon Ah-hyun—could open the chat.
–Seon Ah-hyun: I was a bit startled, but I’m glad it helped. If anything comes up, I’ll open it quickly!
–Seon Ah-hyun: 😊
–Ryu Cheong-woo hyung: Even if not for this, it could be used for emergency calls. If usable in reality, that’d be handy.
–Kim Rae-bin: Indeed. Though it consumes Gold as energy, being able to communicate in a crisis is such a benefit we should use without hesitation!
That would’ve made Gold-2 weep.
I answered questions about how to use the chat and where Gold came from, and only fell asleep past midnight.
Beating that bastard senseless would’ve been less profitable than gaining information and functions—so it wasn’t such a loss.
And the next day:
“Actually, I was there too.”
“...??”
“In the chat room.”
Judan murmured expressionlessly. I spat in surprise.
‘...No wonder it showed eight participants.’
Not Keundal—but him. He’d called in every companion.
At the table, Ryu Cheong-woo looked slightly stunned and asked:
“Um, were you uncomfortable and couldn’t speak up?”
“More than that, barging into a moving climax with an outsider is terrorism, you know.”
“......?”
Let’s just drink water.
Yet one boy took the bait.
“...! Did you think that because we’re different groups?”
“It’s not that, but that we share no narrative. It’s not mere affiliation. Context is key.”
“Oh.......”
That wouldn’t do.
I watched Kim Rae-bin sink into thought, then spoke:
“So I plan to make you not an outsider...”
“Do you have some past you still can’t recall? A second awakening?”
No, not that. I pointed at Cheongryeo exiting the room.
“I’ll use him.”
“...??”
I’d have to extract value from the bastard who’d worked us like dogs for hours.
A few days later.
I checked the parcel in my status-window mail tab from the main quest.
“They only issue companion-draw tickets here, huh?”
“That’s right.”
He now surrendered information willingly. I nodded and opened the mail details.
[Guaranteed 4★ Ticket]
[Guaranteed 5★ Ticket]
Tickets for those whose probabilities he’d manipulated. I already guessed which monster with five stars despite no bond it must be, but now it was just setting things up.
“How about creating a welcoming atmosphere so it’s less of a shock?”
“Yeah Party~”
Good suggestion.
I turned to Cheongryeo.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“You do it.”
If he had any conscience, he’d volunteer. He didn’t—so I’d make him.
And soon after:
“What’s going on?”
“Uh...?”
After wrapping a 1-night, 2-day variety-show shoot, Jin Chaeyul and Oh Yoon-shin returned to the unexpected sight.
“Hyung?”
“.......”
Cheongryeo, wearing a party hat and holding a huge sign that read Welcome VTIC in both hands, smiled.
I shoved a party horn into his mouth. His smile deepened.
They must’ve felt “kill us if you ask questions,” but fortunately they saw the living room first:
Candles, balloons, confetti.
The party triad.
Color returned to Jin Chaeyul’s face.
“A surprise party...? It’s not my birthday!”
“Exactly.”
“No.”
I applauded without expression.
clap clap
The others followed.
“A welcome-back party.”
“...??”
“It might shock you a bit, but it’s harmless, so don’t worry.”
Then I opened the two guaranteed tickets from mail.
[★★★★ Oh Yoon-shin / Lead Rapper]
[★★★★★ Jin Chaeyul / Center]
After a brief adjustment:
“Welcome. Senpai, we’re glad you’re back.”
“...??”
“Welcome to WISE.”
Judan waved. Chaeyul staggered upright, bewildered, and Yoon-shin looked about to faint.
I spoke solemnly.
“Sorry, but we need you to work right away.”
“Yes?”
“Our showcase is just around the corner.”
“Uh...??”
And so the K-pop hell joint camp was opened.
