Debut or Die-Chapter 436
VTIC’s charity concert pre-recording collapsed during the VTIC over it.
And a hot junior idol almost got crushed by it.
Just listing these facts, there seems no way to avoid the barrage of people gleefully finding excuses to roast VTIC.
‘But they dodged it.’
No, they didn’t just dodge it—they turned it into viral gold.
[Uh... yup.]
I immediately started searching on my smartphone. Setting the date range from the day of the accident until now, and scrolling back from the latest public sentiment...
“.......”
[Oh, ooh...]
Even the guy sharing his screen was impressed. I touched my chin.
‘They’ve shifted the frame.’
They made the broadcaster the public enemy.
[Is it okay to go after the network? – Kim Sehwa’s TalkTalk]
‘The stage collapsed. But no one was injured, so it’s fine.’
If you had to summarize SBC’s two-sentence statement on the October 9 collapse of their stage set, it would read something like that.
The public-broadcast music show, where you have to greet the PD before you can go home, values hierarchy over substance—even at the moment of disaster.
.......
What fell wasn’t the stage set installed by VTIC’s concert staff, but the lighting rig maintained by the broadcaster itself.
This “mistake” happened just after the first ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ collapse’s shock had settled and right before VTIC would’ve taken all the blame.
“That’s seriously creepy—three solid days of pre-recording, anyone could’ve been hit by steel beams.”
“They still don’t know the cause; says they’re ‘checking.’ Feels like they’re just waiting for this to blow over lol.”
“There’s a rumor they halted the set right before airtime because someone in production thought something looked off.”
└ “Whoa, so someone almost got nailed checking it?”
“This is headline news material... damn, I’m so pissed I could scream.”
Only a matter of timing—if it had collapsed hours later, VTIC would have been the ones crushed by steel.
Whether host or performer, anyone on that stage could’ve been the victim. It was incontrovertible.
Then the narrative solidified:
– “The real problem is the network’s abuse of power!”
By splitting victims and perpetrators cleanly, only the perpetrator bears responsibility. And given the network’s notorious history of mistreatment in music broadcasting, this frame stuck.
“Underpaying talent is standard in this industry lol.”
“How many times have bad sets or slippery stages hurt idols and staff?”
“This happens every year... someone actually has to die before they fix this.”
They tapped into public outrage over the music show’s heavy-handedness and indifference, pointed out the outsourcing of stage maintenance, and exposed the safety negligence as a societal issue.
Then everyone eager for a soundbite chimed in, offering unverified but plausible “insights”:
“I was at the recording that day—there was nobody checking the stage, I swear.”
“Maximite recorded on the same stage the day before; I heard Letso complained about the lights... could it be? (blurry leaked screenshot)”
Thanks to that, rare accusations even emerged:
“Let’s draft a joint statement from the performers’ fanbases.”
“We can’t miss this chance. Demand an apology and compensation now.”
“Made a link to gather opinions for the statement (link).”
Some VTIC and TeSTAR fan communities even planned a joint statement to boost their own influence.
‘VTIC fans are deliberately angrier.’
Realizing the backlash could turn on them, they courted other idols’ fans and tore into the network. Fueled by anger that this might be VTIC’s last event before enlistment—and panic that VTIC could’ve been seriously hurt—they had all the righteous indignation they needed.
– “Official joint statement on SBC’s stage accident (photo)”
VTIC shed all blame and assumed the victim role.
‘Clever.’
They herded opinion so deftly no trace of manipulation remained. But this created a problem.
– “So what happens to the charity con?”
‘It’s awkward for a broadcast to keep this concert going.’
With the frame set that “the higher-ups at the network are the problem,” there was no scapegoat to cut loose. The network’s leadership must have been furious.
As a result, the charity concert’s broadcast was thrown into doubt—risking all their agency’s acts losing future airtime. A bold move.
If they were an active group, they couldn’t do this lightly...
‘But these guys are enlisting soon.’
With eighteen months before military service, they could afford to skirmish and make up later.
And here’s what they did with the charity concert:
– “VTIC charity con on SBC canceled.”
└ “Whoa.”
They brazenly canceled the terrestrial broadcast. Citing “scheduling issues due to the accident,” they effectively boycotted first.
‘They’re owning their mistake.’
VTIC’s fans and the general public loved it.
“LOL that’s badass.”
“No wonder they’re top three agencies.”
“A Billboard-charted idol agency would never let SBC off the hook lol.”
On the internet, when friends argue, you’re told to cut them off. This mega “soda-straightener” move was the perfect gut-punch.
Then the build-up continued:
– “Watch VTIC’s charity con here! (link) An infinite, interactive platform—no signup needed...”
The concert wasn’t canceled outright—it just moved exclusively online, heavily promoted on WeTube and socials.
Though it seemed they’d lose viewers, the outrage drove massive traffic instead—straight to WeTube Re-Caps.
[KPOP’s top idol agency teaches broadcasters a lesson!]
[Leti-class credibility—1-minute recap from collapse to now]
[Where to watch VTIC charity con? Right here! | IssueTalk]
Soon after those videos trended, the donation page and early-release clips went live on that platform.
The collapse turned “charity con” into a hot keyword, and donations soared.
‘And they’ll spin it again with the donation total.’
A virtuous cycle. I nodded after skimming the latest PR articles—this was old hat.
[Wow, I had no idea they pulled off the concert like this. Amazing!]
Grand Halldal, following my search trail and commentary, popped up in a chat-style popup to praise me. But...
“That’s not all.”
[Huh?]
“P&L match? Survived unscathed? This isn’t just that.”
I tapped the screen with a wry grin.
‘They’ve made a killing.’
[????]
Do you know what platform this is?
‘It’s their own.’
[!]
Leti holds half the shares in that live-stream platform.
They hooked an enormous number of new users with this viral moment—even people who wouldn’t join for a normal promo.
Plus, platform awareness skyrocketed.
‘Leti profited hugely.’
As a platform operator.
[But just because the agency profits doesn’t mean the group does... right? Like your agency...]
Oh—he already arrived at that inference.
‘Right.’
I confirmed coolly. He’d made similar comments when T1 Stars chased revenue diversification.
But this case was different.
‘Leti isn’t T1 Stars.’
Their circumstances with TeSTAR were worlds apart—in tenure and nature. I muttered without expression.
“VTIC practically owns Leti.”
[Whoa?]
VTIC, when renewing their contract, took a hefty stake in Leti’s stock.
In medieval fantasy terms, if TeSTAR was a hastily adopted ward, VTIC was the agency’s true heir.
Having debuted on Leti (albeit fictionally), I know the CEO cares about the group beyond mere profits.
‘Like a gamer bonding with their avatar.’
In an environment where VTIC’s brand value matters more than company gains, they’ve truly begun.
No wonder not a single male idol debuted from Leti’s direct junior lineup after VTIC. Unreal influence.
Look how T1 Stars and Spacer tried to poach them—they were shut out. Whoever holds decision-making power is ruthless.
...Cheongryeo.
‘As long as she’s pulling the strings, we won’t see any similar male idol debut from Leti.’
Unless she becomes executive herself.
Either way, without someone with that level of control, it’s impossible—and highly profitable. Cheongryeo will keep using this platform brilliantly for years.
[...Hyung, can’t TeSTAR just go independent and start their own agency?]
Don’t be ridiculous.
[Nod.]
Unless you can manipulate things from behind the scenes, an idol-founded agency is a path of hardship. TeSTAR needs more time and experience.
Not yet.
I flicked the screen down and shrugged.
Anyway, the charity con public narrative was settled. Next up: public perception of me.
[Oh, there’s an article saying you’re taking a break!]
From everything I saw, people figured I wasn’t posting on SNS because—thanks to the “unharmed” article—they assumed I was laid up.
“Classic Mundae.”
“I like that none of the group’s posting—don’t pick a fight with the network.”
“Our golden boy! He’ll hit us with a selfie bomb soon.”
“.......”
Yeah... I’ll work on that.
Now, on to the next step: the phone function.
– Missed calls (64)
Park Minha from Miraenae
Hyiljun Ha from Golden Age
Heeseung Kwon from Spacer
.......
‘Quite a few.’
Early on, when my phone was off, missed calls piled up, but they’ve mostly stopped over the past few days. Word must have gotten out that I’m resting.
Still, a steady trickle of messages came in.
– (Photo)
A flood of texts.
‘Not surprising anymore.’
It’s like they need proof of life.
Scrolling through a few days’ worth of dog-walking snaps, I called back the sender.
– ———–
After a brief ringtone, a voice cut in.
– Your phone’s on.
“Yeah.”
I propped the phone up and said casually,
“My doctor told me not to use it, so I stayed away for a few days.”
– Mm.
“How are you holding up?”
First, check.
“Remember the building collapse?”
I’d speculated everyone might lose that memory when this accident was written off.
But TeSTAR remembered.
Since we escaped together, it would’ve been odd otherwise. I wondered if the others did too... and got the expected reply.
– Yes.
“The same for Joo Dan?”
– Well, would you rather he not remember?
So he does remember. Got it.
“I just asked to guess how they recall it.”
– Hmm.
In a curious tone, Cheongryeo answered.
– What are you thinking?
“We were once infected by glitches in that false world—maybe it’s leftover system immunity.”
That ability Seon Ah hyun’s power gave him to ignore system laws.
If it remains, it makes sense they’d remember.
– Like I still have GM privileges.
“Right.”
– Could be.
He agreed easily. The conversation flowed without tension—unusual for him. Huh.
‘...Could this be the effect of digital detox?’
Maybe it loosened my mind... no, that’s not it. They’re just grateful to be alive.
On a whim, I spoke up.
“And...”
Something I should’ve said that day.
“Thanks.”
– ......
“For finding the key back then. I survived because of it.”
He still said nothing—struck silent.
It’d been a long time since I saw him this rattled.
– I... see.
His delayed reply was short, as if unsure how to respond.
Hmm.
‘Was I too scary?’
If he’d nearly died in that chaos, this calm resolution might feel novel. Seeing one’s own strategy succeed at last could lift long-standing resignation.
‘Hmm.’
I nodded.
“So, here’s the thing.”
No doubt he and Joo Dan contributed to our escape. Normally I’d keep my distance and mark the line, but—since they’re heading into the military break anyway—this much I can do.
‘I’m not looking to collect a debt.’
And I won’t let them hog all the credit. We earned our share too.
“It’s still before the charity con broadcast.”
I smiled.
“I have a proposal.”
Even holed up in this pension, under their close watch to make sure I’m “resting,” I had something in mind.
And a few days later, a notice went up on VTIC’s official account.
