Debut or Die-Chapter 440

It’s already been more than five years since we first rang in year-end after debut. By now, everyone follows a pattern when preparing for awards shows and year-end music programs.

The “prepare at ease” type

Thanks to years of experience, they stay calm in mind while pushing themselves hard physically—or pushing hard physically so they can remain calm.

“Phew. I think we can take our time on the next move.”

“Okay~ then let’s skip ahead and lock in everything from Part B today. Cheong woo-hyung, sound good?”

“Yeah. Should we extend practice time?”

“Let’s do that.”

Most of the group falls into this category. Next...

The “prepare anxiously” type

Worries, concerns, and insecurities about mistakes. They brood over every possible outcome and fall into anxiety whenever they rest.

“Is it because of me that we’re taking extra time? Don’t answer, either way we’ll work hard. Right, we’ve given ourselves plenty of time...”

“Hyung, if we devote that much time to the bridge, it means the choreography’s focal point shifts there! Then my pre-arrangement will sound awkward—”

“Enough.”

...If you cut them off at that point, they calm down, inspired by those in group 1.

“When you rest, don’t think about anything.”

“But...”

“Don’t.”

I made their breaks feel like real breaks. And the smallest group is...

The “easygoing fun” type

“You know, cramming’s basically cheating, right?”

“Got it?”

“Heehee!”

They go through the motions of practice, but aside from synchronizing the group, their moves and gestures are already stage-ready.

“True skill matters most!”

“...So if you can’t do it, practicing is pointless?”

“Nope! Effort becomes true skill.”

“Ahem.”

They’re glib. In any case, preparing for year-end always creaks along but works out fine.

“Stop it!”

“Rae bin, eat!”

I dodged the dried sweet potato Cha Yoo jin hurled at Kim Rae bin and replayed our practice video. It looked solid.

“...Hmm.”

Actually, if we kept classifying, there’d be one more.

The “anxious yet playful” type. But no one here fits that category. It’s common when studying for exams, but once money’s involved, it heals itself. In other words, we earning money don’t apply—though I, in unpaid fields, sometimes do: anxious yet paralyzed.

“Could the next status ailment be getting a national medal?”

—“What?”

On a weekend night after practice, I lounged in the bathtub with a cold non-alcoholic beer and my waterproof smartphone in hand.

“Isn’t it weird I’m so worked up over a medal that only postpones enlistment for a few years?”

—“I’m telling you, hyung, it’s not weird!”

On the other end, Geun-dal nearly wailed. Hearing his real voice after so long made me appreciate the difference from chat popups.

Anyway, his opinion was steadfast: he saw no strange signs in me. ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) And why I obsessed over a medal was...

—“...Everyone hates the military, right?”

“....”

—“And as the date nears, even more so.”

That’s true. Since I’ll enlist twice, like a biological imperative, the closer it gets, the more I fixate. Those who’ve been through it know its cruelty.

“But you’re not going, so what do you know?”

—“Sorry.”

Sorry? Swapping bodies with an older person, I deserve at least a military exemption medal. And I know he’s not the expert on the military.

“No, you must have observed me closely to be certain.”

—“Yes! Exactly that!”

Geun-dal explained breathlessly.

—“I really examined everything as if my own status window would open—no one-quarter system residue in you, hyung! Seriously!”

“Okay, I get it.”

The wall might cave in. I lowered the call volume and conceded.

“So what if a mission fails?”

—“I said it’s not!”

Fine. I told Geun-dal I’d allow him to run regular status checks like a rap routine, then dropped the subject.

‘If the feeling’s bad like last time, I’ll run toward wherever no one is.’

After all that, the thrilling year-end settlement period arrived.

“Mundae-mundae~ our Q3 settlement deposit is December 20, right?”

“Yeah.”

No, not that settlement—but the time when everything we did over the past year gets quantified in sales and qualified in public recognition.

Yes. Awards season.

“The Artist of the Year is... TeSTAR!”

“Congratulations!”

“And Album of the Year goes to TeSTAR.”

“Last Grand Prize, Singer of the Year... congratulations, TeSTAR.”

Purr-purr-puff! Fireworks, drumrolls, announcements, cheers—and TeSTAR’s signature song playing under it all.

“Thank you! We’ll work even harder!”

“We’re coming back soon!”

Screams, applause, roar. At every ceremony we attended, we cleanly took a Grand Prize—because our company didn’t send us anywhere they wouldn’t grant one. Efficient.

Backstage at headquarters, we moved to shoot promo photos of our trophies and received endless congratulations from coworkers.

“Hyung! Wow—”

Spacers, newly debuted female idols, AR team staff, management director—even Mirinae.

“Congratulations!”

“Congratulations....”

In this industry, competitors glare as if they want to smash your head and claim your trophy, yet they still say congrats.

“...That junior, Seong Harin-ssi—does she dislike us?”

“Probably.”

Anyway, year-end was pretty fun without any anomalies. Who hates doing well and winning awards? Our special stage drew praise too.

TeSTAR saber stage was insane.

What’s that called? Sword dance? Almost drooled watching.

Currently a staple among real-time trending vids: TeSTAR T1A stage.

It tasted like the end of trials and tribulations, the peak of our prime.

...Of course, we didn’t win every category. Digital Single went to Yeong Rin, Album to VTIC. That dynamic held even after VTIC enlisted—because the leader stayed to attend.

“Thank you.”

Cheongryeo arrived solo at the most prestigious awards in a navy semi-formal suit instead of stagewear.

“I dedicate all congratulations and awards to our hardworking members fulfilling their duties.”

He showed no awkwardness or haste at attending alone, only his usual composed, flawless self. He even hinted,

“I’ll show you more next year.”

Waaaah!

“Thank you.”

As Cheongryeo bowed slightly, Big Sejin—smiling admiringly—whispered over dramatic BGM,

“A solo album, right?”

“Yeah.”

Here we go fighting again. With him, if he drops hints at a full VTIC reunion or sneakily builds in a group-track arrangement, I’ll put up the “Colorful K-Pop Star Award.”

I stared at the company’s clumsily made sponsor-placation plaque—a brand-new category added this year for no reason.

‘Instead of crafting this, they could’ve subdivided “Rookie” awards.’

But it’ll probably disappear next year, so it’s rare.

“It’s an award—congrats.”

“Yeah.”

Cheongryeo, whom I met backstage, praised it too. I handed it to the staff, and Cheongryeo—watching calmly—said something unexpected.

“Haven’t you heard the good news?”

“What?”

“Has your dog had puppies?”

“Uh, junior, did you fall asleep in science class?”

He meant, “What nonsense is that?” I felt the same.

I glared at him to speak properly. Cheongryeo regarded me as if pondering, then smiled slightly.

“Hmm, never mind.”

“Eh?”

“I just meant, let me know if there’s good news.”

Why?

“I’m curious.”

He left in a car, then texted a short video:

—“Happy birthday.” (video)

...The clip showed a dog receiving a new bed instead of a torn one.

‘What does it mean?’

I figured it’d be fun to ask, so I left it. By now he’d learned that messing me over backfires on him too.

Thus the final Music Awards of the year concluded, leaving behind countless temporary trophies.

What remained was...

“We’re coming back!!”

Yes. A new year, a new activity period. We’ll make our comeback in the January when all performance metrics are fully recorded. And instead of regular music shows, we’ll use a format with far more attention and airtime:

“We’ll comeback at the January awards.”

“Yaaaay!”

Even though everyone already knew, the excitement was palpable—it was our first comeback in a while. The head office had nearly pressured us to comeback on ToneA in December—it was their awards show, after all. But we refused.

“Good call resisting until we could polish the stage!”

“Solid judgment!”

“Happy New Year comeback? Best idea ever!”

...Maybe we were overly hyped, but seeing them already humming victory tunes and doing all-night practice was impressive.

“...Alright. I’m positive this will go well!”

“Hyung! I have a superstition about that!”

“...?!”

“I’m kidding.”

“Hey!”

And so, on Monday, January 9, right before our comeback, we’ll appear on a New Year’s late-night radio special. Of course it’s calculated.

“It’s not real promotion, more like viral marketing.”

“I love that it’s daring but not over the top, with a touch of unpredictability!”

Since it’s talk-focused, we can say just what we want. We’re not newbies anymore. We want to give fans the joy of guessing what album will drop. And because it’s a limited medium, there’s no fear of all our promo being used up.

‘It’s like a pre-party.’

I smiled and greeted staff in the radio booth’s media room.

“Looking forward to working with you.”

“Waaaah! Yes!”

Writers and staff welcomed the group warmly; everything went smoothly.

“TeSTAR, you’re on in 16 minutes!”

“Yep!”

We sat on a couch in the outer chamber, waiting to enter. Since it’s a surprise appearance, we planned to feel like we were breaking in.

“Mundae...”

“Ah. Thanks.”

I squeezed the stress ball Seon Ah hyun offered and blinked slowly.

‘This waiting is the worst. I’ll stay alert but do nothing.’

I mentally rehearsed what to talk about on air.

Blink.

‘Greet, manage audio feedback...’

Blink.

‘Make sure Kim Rae bin doesn’t spoil the songs.’

Blink.

‘For the final goodbye, Bae Sejin will...’

Blink.

I saw a dark ceiling. I closed and reopened my eyes.

Blink.

Nothing changed.

“....”

Wait—dark?

“...!!”

I sat up. Realized I was lying on a bed.

‘What?’

Not a couch, a bed?

‘This isn’t right.’

I felt around and tapped a button on the wall. Lights came on, revealing a cozy bedroom.

“...!”

Walls plastered with TeSTAR posters. The layout looked familiar, but first—I’d woken up somewhere else.

“Phew.”

I took a deep breath. Having survived anything, I shouldn’t be surprised—yet...

‘How can something happen so out of nowhere?’

No popups. No status window. No psychological clue.

‘First, check the status window...’

Then it happened.

[Hyung!]

“Ugh.”

A sound echoed in my head, like a vibration carrying meaning.

‘A vibration?’

I realized it was a sensation I’d experienced before—when Geon woo lost control of the study session in Ryu Geon woo’s body and I used it.

“...No way.”

This can’t be. I fought the tremor and wanted to reply to that inner voice.

Whoosh.

Strange calculations flashed in my mind, then a popup appeared before me:

[_____]

What is this?

[What is this_]

Okay, got it.

‘It’s a chat popup.’

Like Geun-dal used to send me. And it meant one thing.

“Damn.”

I recognized my own voice with a different nuance, then raised my smartphone to see my face on the front camera.

“....”

I really am Ryu Geon woo, damn it.

“Damn.”

[Hyung? Are you in my body right now?]

“Yes!”

They said there were no more system features left for me! Even that thought went out as a chat popup, but whatever—what can I do?

‘Connect.’

Geun-dal could access Park Mundae’s status window! Sharing eyesight and all. I wasn’t sure if I could, but I’d try.

‘How do I call up the status window?’

I focused.

Park Mundae, status window, system, connect, link... link.

[-CONNECT-]

Suddenly, I felt his sight and sensations. The pre-broadcast radio standby of Park Mundae. Geun-dal was right: we could share perception.

‘Ha.’

I barely had time to feel relieved. A hologram popped up in the shared view.

A familiar status-window popup:

[Sudden!]

Status Abnormality Mission Failure: Restoration to Original State

– All things return as if nothing happened

: Ends in 23:59:59 (1 day)

“....”

[I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s going on! It only says mission failure!]

And instinctively I realized what had happened.

Ah, shit.

“It was on your end.”

“What??”

“It was on your end.”

This damn one-quarter system abnormality didn’t strike me—it struck him... ten minutes before radio standby, with a body swap!

[Aaaah!]

That was just the beginning.