Debut or Die-Chapter 427
VTIC’s charity concert quickly began to take shape. The lineup was spectacular.
“I can’t believe Maximate is on it too.”
“I thought VTIC was just playing with themselves—how did they talk everyone into this?”
“Wait, the person they booked is booking someone else? Isn’t this a pyramid scheme—like guest-by-lucky-letter recruiting? LOL”
From famous idols to solo balladeers and rappers, even trot singers. I’d even heard that MallangDalkom was reuniting for a rare appearance. It felt like a major variety show was putting it on—popularity was through the roof.
So we’re going to go see those Testa guys first, then stay to watch everyone else?
Not at all.
“The guests are purely for the broadcast.”
They’d split it into Part 1, VTIC only, and Part 2 with guests. Only Part 1 would be offline with fans; Part 2, pre-recorded by the guests, would be mixed in and streamed online and on CVN.
Smart move.
If fans bought tickets just to see the full VTIC before their hiatus, they’d be furious if half the show was guests. At the same time, every guest’s name added prestige to the event, strengthening VTIC’s brand as host.
This scheme must be Cheongryeo’s handiwork.
Even the network was so excited they’d already started promoting it.
If we’d turned it down, that would’ve been awkward.
Seeing how it was set up, I had no regrets deciding to participate. Since the format was similar, there would definitely be slick YouTube commentators comparing it to our haphazard bundle-deal TV concert.
“This is the difference in planning? Classy VTIC versus doomed T1 Stars’s Testa.”
Exactly. When dealing with those VTIC bastards, you watch for traps. I nodded to myself, pleased to have avoided the minefield.
Anyway, time passed until the second Sunday of October, afternoon. Testa was in the TV station’s waiting room, changing costumes.
“Come to think of it, it’s been a while since we’ve all been Testa together like this.”
“That’s right, hyung~ It’s been quite some time since we last appeared on a music show.”
Today we were scheduled for the advance recording of this charity concert, VTIC’s Save the World. That meant the audience seats would be filled only with fans booked for broadcast.
“It really is just like a music show.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of our very first pre-recording debut—someone tried to prove they got lunch boxes and set off SNS notifications at dawn; everyone panicked.
“MallangDalkom seniors go right before us... yeah. And I hear VTIC seniors go right after us.”
“Oh~ Today?”
“In that case, I’ll let them know we’ll come to greet them after our stage!”
After some small talk and final preparations, we headed for the stage. Cameras were lined up all across it.
They even have drones.
Even though it wasn’t a music-show network, they’d clearly put some effort into it. Staff looked a bit scarce, but since it wasn’t live, they could cover it in editing.
We’ve got this.
“Hello, everyone!”
“Is anyone hungry? Ah, you’re good? Okay!”
Lights and cheers glittered before me. The audience section—big enough for about a thousand—was packed. Somewhere in the crowd had to be Geundal, but she wasn’t popping up any fan-paid messages—that was so her style.
I waved with a grin. The harness belt on my costume swung along.
We’ve got sixteen minutes, right?
Perfect for four songs plus a special performance.
—So how about “Savior,” “Promise,” “Black Hole,” “Wheel”?
Then at the final arrangement of “Wheel,” we’d add Drill and elevate it into “Daybreak.” I thought it struck the best balance between our latest tracks and crowd-pleasers.
Recording should take about two hours.
“All right, we’ll get started.”
As with any pre-recording, we finished some banter and fan service toward the crowd, then formed up. Bending forward from my usual spot at the right flank, I thought,
I’ll be hidden behind the dancers, then pop out into frame—got to nail that angle...
Then.
Thud.
Suddenly.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Huh—ugh.”
The lights and backing track warped. My ears rang, and colors flooded my vision.
That was strange.
“...Mundae?”
It felt like I’d been sleep-paralyzed—my body was off-kilter.
Poisoned?
I felt some strange chemical reaction inside me. My heart pounded; the hairs on my arms stood on end.
What did I do?
“Mundae!”
I staggered, bracing myself with an arm.
My elbow felt cold. The gritty stage floor pressed against my cheek.
No—was my face smashed into the floor?
“...!”
In that moment, my hearing cleared.
“Over here!”
“Get him moved—move him!”
I felt tension flood to the tips of my limbs. Coming «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» to, I seemed to be backstage, covered with a blanket or something.
A hand gripped my shoulder.
“Mundae! Mundae, look at me—where are you right now?”
It was Isejin.
I gulped air.
...At the TV station.
“What were you doing?”
“Stage—cough!”
My breathing started failing again. Fuck.
I coughed as if choked—not from pain.
From shock.
So suddenly.
Like being chased by a killer in the dead of night, or standing on one foot at a rooftop ledge—overwhelming pressure slammed into me.
My vision spun.
“Call 911! Get an ambulance—now!”
“Let’s assess the situation first...”
“Mundae can’t breathe—what assessment? Now!”
I raised a hand. Then struck my own face.
Smack.
My fist barely clenched, so the sound was pathetic, but the pain snapped me back.
“...Wait.”
“...!”
“Get... up!”
I didn’t refuse Ah-hyun’s offer to help me stand. Swallowing saliva, I said,
“If I rest a bit, I think I’ll be fine.”
This was a mental issue. My body was fine.
The problem was what triggered it...
“...I don’t know.”
In this industry, plenty of people have panic attacks; everyone would assume that—but you need a trigger for it to make sense when it hits.
There wasn’t one.
Fuck, I’d just been looking at the audience and forming up—so then...
I collapsed on stage.
Damn.
“What’s the mood up there?”
“Is this the time to worry about that?!”
“Hyung, wait.”
Isejin spoke calmly.
“You probably didn’t see it—your spot was hidden.”
“......”
“Got it? They’ll just think you slipped.”
I knew that, but...
“Hyung, are you feeling cold? Like your temperature dropped?”
“Just... hold on.”
My hands must have been shaking. I heard people sprinting off to grab more blankets.
Then I heard Cheong-woo talking to staff.
“Give it to me. I’ll call the ambulance myself.”
“No, wait—”
My brain wasn’t working. Don’t call it—
“Give it to me.”
Cheong-woo snatched a smartphone from a staff member like he was stealing it, then crouched next to me. In a low voice so others wouldn’t hear, he asked,
“Hyung, did you see something weird up there? Tell me to clear it, I’ll pass it on carefully.”
“No, I didn’t.”
That wasn’t it.
My head felt like it would explode. No, it was my heart—or spinal cord—amping up...
What the hell is this.
My thoughts were a wreck. I’d never experienced anything like this.
My heartbeat echoed in my skull. My hair stood on end.
Meanwhile, I heard arguing nearby—our manager wrestling with someone.
“He’s taking calls—get him to stop!”
“A moment, I’ll hang up...”
“Who is it?”
“...!”
The voices cut out. It was suddenly quiet. The manager looked flustered, then reflexively answered me when he saw I was conscious.
Whoever it is...
I read his lips.
Damn.
“Hand it over.”
“Hey!”
With trembling hands, I snatched the phone from the manager and brought it to my ear.
—“Hyung.”
Cheongryeo.
Apparently word of my meltdown had already reached the other waiting room. I had to think—this required thought.
He wouldn’t call unless...
Obviously not just concern.
—“How are your symptoms?”
...That’s when I realized.
—“Are you feeling excessive vigilance?”
—“Unexplained pressure; if it’s your first time, hyperventilation, fear, crisis—everything feels out of place.”
—“Is it like that?”
Right.
How did he know?
—“...”
A brief silence, then his low voice returned, as if drained of color.
—“Those are failure symptoms.”
“...What?”
—“Hyung, you called it a ‘status ailment.’”
What was he talking about?
I’d purged that ages ago—and I’d long since climbed past Gold 2. But what the hell...
Wait.
Status ailment.
I suddenly recalled the weird afterimage I saw at the beach after the ancestral rites.
[Sudden Onset]
Status Ailment: “■■ or ■■”
It sounded absurd, but if it wasn’t hallucination...
“....”
“Hyung, what are you hearing?”
His voice buzzed from the phone.
—“Hyung, have you recently felt you absolutely had to do something?”
The moment I registered that.
I saw it.
Through crackling noise, finally the notification scrolled up:
[! Status Ailment: “Achieve results or die”]
Fail to sell one million albums within the set period, and you die.
But it didn’t end there. Below was an extra line:
[※Penalty of ■■■]
: Time reduced (¼)
And then it hit me.
On that plane, the moment I regained consciousness, I’d checked the date on my phone.
—Saturday, July 9
Now I recalled today’s date.
Second Sunday of October.
—Sunday, October 9
Exactly three months. One quarter.
...One quarter of a year.
That meant if you looked further at that extra line...
[Remaining Time: D-1]
Fuck.
I felt a chill up my spine, without even time to shudder, the thought struck me—
They’re calling it one day left.
So I was anxious? My survival instinct screamed to do anything at once?
My head answered.
No.
Let’s calculate calmly.
The dates had indeed passed.
That meant.
It wasn’t one day left—it meant the remaining time was less than a day, so it rounded to one day.
And this was.
—“Hyung.” 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮
Not encouragement, but a warning that I was fucked.
[Remaining Time: D-1]
[Remaining Time: D-0]
—“Get up now.”
—“From now on, absurd things will happen.”
Beep—
[! Failure]
Status Ailment: Achieve results or die
✽✽✽
My heart pounded.
—“Now.”
I stood up.
“Mundae?”
Then I ran down the corridor. My head was ringing.
“Mundae, that way—!”
Grinding—
Thud.
Stage rigging began falling above me.
I rolled and then broke into a sprint toward the edge of the stage.
