Debut or Die-Chapter 413

Every time a comrade awakened, there was a phenomenon.

Namely, pain.

Clutching my head, staggering, feeling dizziness, a pounding ache at my temples as the memories poured back out.

Something similar happened to me.

The problem was that it overlapped more than twenty times.

“Damn it.”

I recalled the nearly depleted Reputation Points for the last time, feeling a burning headache.

Even though my body had already melted away, the fact that I still felt pain made me think that this skeletal, bizarre world was all a show.

And then the memories burst through all at once, like a broken dam.

–...!

Parents, the accident, the fire, entering school, cameras, a dog, the studio apartment, grades, heating, relatives, the school trip, debut, data, workbooks...

Layer upon layer, my past hammered against my mind like an echo.

“Fuck.”

My stomach churned, as if I were about to vomit.

But it wasn’t all for nothing.

“Ah.”

Of course.

I confirmed my father as a company employee and my mother as a private tutor, and gave a bitter laugh.

...It was good to have such clarity.

Next, as though my skull were being shattered, came memories of my Gold 2 period.

Kwon Hee-seung.

–Ah... really my life!

He had been a positive guy, living with determination.

But it didn’t stop there. The shocks of awakening piled up, and piled higher... taking me even farther back.

“Ugh.”

My insides felt twisted, yet my mind was, if anything, sharper in this awakened state.

And when I repeatedly replayed the image of Park Mundae waking up in that rundown motel after overdosing on sleeping pills—

Click.

The overflowing stream of memories finally rewound to the point just before the film broke off.

The life I’d forgotten just before entering Park Mundae’s body.

When I’d met Park Mundae sitting in front of some random motel as I was returning from the study room.

–Thank you... hyung.

Up until then there was little change. It was just a replay of the scene I’d seen during that final “truth confirmation.”

The problem lay in the years that had evaporated entirely from my memory.

The period after the civil service exam.

–Please take care of me.

Having given up on exam prep and taken a job, I got squeezed at a mid-level company with no real prospects.

I think I did my work decently, but that was it. An obscene amount of tasks came down inefficiently, and I worked late every night.

A life with no means, leisure, or finances to relieve anything.

Then I developed a quick, simple habit to disperse headaches.

Something I could watch in short spurts with no extra cost, in a field I knew well from my data-selling days.

“Idols.”

Before bed, I’d casually watch whatever videos popped up on streaming sites. It was handy because it didn’t drain a single ounce of energy.

I didn’t feel any thrill from the content itself. I wasn’t selling data anymore, so there was nothing to analyze.

It was just a nice mental diversion.

That’s when I came across that group.

The group that had originally debuted on ReListing! Idol Corporation.

Not TeSTAR but STier.

[STier – “Launch” Official MV]

After endless member dropouts due to drug trials and discord rumors, and fragmented individual fandoms, they only broke their hiatus when I started working.

But there was still no rebound.

This group’s growth had already plateaued and stagnated.

[STier’s Cha Yoo-jin, Kim Rae-bin & Ryu Cheong-woo begin unit activities]

Eventually more than half the members halted activities.

So the three who remained did unit promotions, but the atmosphere was far from good. The album sold decently and the songs were fine, but that was all.

Endless controversies had battered their image, and public favor was eroded to dust.

There was no further hype or growth.

They were just a giant cruise ship, built heavy by Idol Corporation, slowly sinking.

–The song’s not bad.

–Still got it—fighting!

Only a few mild comments like that.

Compared to their debut, the bubble had already burst.

Yet...

Without purpose, I’d unconsciously narrowed my broad viewing range to focus on them.

Instead... more deeply.

Not out of special interest or fandom, but I found myself mindlessly looking them up.

Maybe because they reminded me of my own situation.

A total lack of comeback potential, with no sharp solution or path forward.

Just a life running to maintain the status quo.

“The environment sucks.”

Investments dwindled, and their slapdash new agency’s planning and care were pathetic.

Yet they kept coming back, teeth clenched, giving their all on stage—and somehow that caught my eye.

And, strangely, I felt it was a shame.

“Me?”

I forgot as quickly as the thought passed. Still, it had been the first time I’d so intensely tracked an idol group for so long.

Of course, it didn’t last.

Not long afterward—

[STier activities conclude... “We want to express our gratitude and love.”]

As expected, STier disbanded the moment their five-year contract ended.

Because they’d never seen much success from start to finish, even the few who’d worked hardest disappeared without a trace.

That was the conclusion.

Nothing was left.

“......”

After that, my brief hobby of watching idols ended too.

“There’s nothing to watch.”

By then, no other idol group stirred any emotion in me.

It was absurd. Even the catharsis I’d gotten from a group I’d never attended fan events for simply evaporated.

And in my exhaustion and apathy, as predicted, that life vanished from my memory too.

Short reprieve, gone.

I’d entered Park Mundae’s body in the same confused state I’d been in before.

“But maybe some trace remains.”

I suddenly remembered the thought I’d had the moment I awoke as Park Mundae.

–At one time I’d over-immersed in this field for no reason.

“...Did I?”

Though I had no concrete memories, I’d casually felt that way—and perhaps it was a remnant of this time.

I lifted my head.

The System had probably purposely omitted this memory from truth confirmation.

Likely with no grand motive—just because it wasn’t related to my trauma, it thought it wasn’t necessary for the host’s continued survival.

Cheongryeo probably hadn’t anticipated that either.

“So.”

It seems the System still doesn’t know that memories, even if not traumatic, affect the human mind.

“Most people call that a fond memory.”

I let out an embarrassed chuckle at my own line.

The headache had quieted by now—a sign that the memories had fully settled.

My head was clear.

I’d hoped that clearing away the System’s dog’s-breakfast in my mind would free me entirely—but it wasn’t quite that thorough.

“At least I avoided being server-ified before I got my head straight.”

That was enough. The preparations for Plan B were complete.

“Keundal.”

I sent the signal.

As if waiting, the chat began.

[Apple has been invited to Error’s Gold Chatroom.]

[Error: Mundae, are you okay?]

An error unaffected by the System—Seon Ah-hyun—reacts immediately.

I typed into the chat.

[Apple: Yeah. I’m doing it now.]

Recalling our prior chat room strategy, just in case of leaks.

–Apple: As you all know, unnecessary reactions are prohibited.

And from Seon Ah-hyun’s suggestion, this idea originated.

–Error: So... because I’m the error, anyone entering this chat gets “infected” like a virus?

–Error: Then maybe we can use this to restore everyone else to normal?

–RAB: That’s a really noble and cool idea, but I worry about ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ time and space constraints—can we contact everyone?

–Sejini: And it costs Gold just to invite someone, so it might be tough. 😢

At the moment Seon Ah-hyun’s idea seemed dead in the water—

–Tiger: Why not infect the whole world at once? Like a virus!

That offhand remark hit the mark.

“I was going to detach for a moment and feed this to the GM directly to inject into the game.”

But I realized that wouldn’t be necessary. It just so happened that the very being of this world—the System—was right here.

[Character: Ryu Geon-woo (Park Mundae) ejected!]

Just as Seon Ah-hyun paused time from the GM’s side, I gained control of my body thanks to the chatroom connection.

“...!”

And I fixed my gaze on the two facing silhouettes—the two Cha Yoo-jins.

“Towards the colorless one.”

The final step was action.

In the chat window, full of errors, I invited the entity.

“Can I designate it?”

Soon the chat crackled with a response from Keundal.

[Apple: Yes!]

Good.

Then text appeared in the chat.

[■■■ has been invited to Error’s Gold Chatroom.]

“Yes!”

I clenched my fist. At this rate...

“Ah.”

In that moment, the System turned its eyes on me.

A new message popped up in the chatroom.

[■■■: So you prepared something like this.]

“...!”

Crackle.

The chat window cracked.

It trembled as if holding back tremendous pressure, then—

Wham!

It shattered.

Translucent holographic dust scattered and, amidst glitching, vanished.

The System’s voice echoed.

[You spent Reputation Points again for this.]

[Just before becoming the server—thank you.]

In this situation, that comment... surely not.

I opened my trembling lips.

“Reputation Points... the energy you harvest?”

The System smiled politely and nodded.

[Exactly.]

[By spending Reputation Points you pay energy to me, and I grow stronger in the game.]

The System’s voice grew louder.

[And this world becomes more solid, impervious to external attacks.]

The chatroom disappeared.

In the world restored from error, the System smiled at me in place of Cha Yoo-jin.

[You weren’t the player but the character. You have no autonomy to leave the game.]

“......”

The identity of the player, shown as ‘■■■’ in Cha Yoo-jin’s GM status window—

[The player is me.]

[I’m both creator and player, and you’re a construct of my game.]

[No game allows a character to directly harm its player.]

The System finished its explanation and nodded.

[And now that the system’s stability is proven, no auxiliary tools are needed.]

[Let’s proceed as planned.]

At that moment, for the first time, a hint of humanity flickered in its eyes.

The System, having merged with Cha Yoo-jin and learned the most core desires it once had, possessed...

An obsession with evolution and completion.

[Here.]

It nonchalantly took my status window.

Then it tore something out. Though its touch was gentle, the strength looked brutal.

No, more precisely... it ripped out the entire popup.

The one Keundal had summoned.

[Wait...]

And swallowed it in its hand.

“...!”

Keundal’s popup crumpled and disappeared near its fingers.

[Retrieved.]

The System chuckled softly.

And I...

I laughed along.

“Hey.”

I panted, having held my breath for so long.

The reason I’d prodded and prodded, fueling its superiority complex and victory, driving the situation here.

“That one is an error too.”

To prevent it from noticing too closely.

So Keundal wouldn’t realize that connecting to the chatroom would infect him with the error.

Think about it.

“This bastard originally parasitized one being.”

And Keundal had assured that once used, it couldn’t be reused.

Yet this time, with no suitable new host around, it had to recycle.

So it captured all three simultaneously, made their minds a single mundane brain, and built a completely new virtual world.

Server, administrator, character.

Thus it ran smoothly, but the days when it could handle everything alone were over.

Because it was structured, removing one cornerstone could bring it down. Just like now.

“You’re an error yourself now.”

[......!]

The System’s form trembled.

The glitch that began small grew, devouring its human shape and spreading outward.

The world collapsed from within.

Thunk!

“Hmm.”

The real Cha Yoo-jin, who’d been standing quietly, turned her head and summoned a status window.

“Interesting.”

[Player: Park Mundae (Ryu Geon-woo)]

And among that, the System’s form changed.

[...Hyung.]

A familiar face.

The one I’d spoken to in my mind when I returned to Park Mundae’s body.

Static flickered in the peculiar hologram mixing Ryu Geon-woo and Park Mundae.

Crackle.

The fully formed Keundal raised both hands and shouted.

[I... I really feel like I can move this??]

Done.