Debut or Die!

Chapter 5

The intro to the wildly famous song was followed by the sprightly voice of the vocalist. As I struck the iconic starting pose that I still somehow remembered, one of the judges spat out the water he was drinking.

Oh, same here! I’ve got a crush on you, too

My heart keeps racing I feel like popcorn!

POP! POP!

The popping beat resonates

My heart feels like it’s gonna explode!

The only person who was bopping her head along to my simple steps and watching attentively was Youngrin, the judge who had asked to see me dance. It seemed like she was the only judge capable of keeping a straight face, especially during the part of the song that half of all people my age could dance from memory.

POP! POP!

You’re my popcorn (Oh yeah!)

You control

CON CON CON CON

Control my heart

The chorus of Marshmallow’s “POP☆CON,” which had been released 10 years ago, exploded from the sound system and rang in my ears. Infamous for being one of those songs you should never listen to while studying for the CSAT exam, “POP☆CON” made numerous students fail their listening tests after getting its bizarre lyrics and addictive melody stuck in their heads. For the record, I had been one of their victims, but couldn’t retake the test because I didn’t have the money to do so.

POP POP!

Popping popcorn (Oooh)

The song was so popular that lots of people made dance covers and uploaded them online. That was how simple the choreography was. If I was being perfectly honest, even elementary school kids could easily pick it up with a little practice. If I had performed this ten years ago when the song was still popular, the judges would have roasted me alive. However, I chose the song because I thought I could evoke a feeling of nostalgia and the judges would hopefully consider it a funny song choice.

It went without saying that I was dancing as best I could with a totally straight face. Even if others found my performance funny, it would raise eyebrows if I gave them the impression I wasn’t taking it seriously. I needed to communicate to them that I had worked hard to prepare the dance to the best of my abilities.

As a matter of fact, I had worked very hard on it. Through repeated practice, I leveled up and completed the “First Movement” and “Ten Movements” missions. It seemed like I had made a few mistakes since some of the judges were laughing hysterically but whatever. They’d evaluate me however they wanted, it was beyond my control now.

I completed the choreography up until the final pose of the first verse. Hanging my head, I heaved as I tried to catch my breath. The sound of applause brought me back to reality.

“Thank you,” I said.

Although Youngrin grabbed the microphone first, the choreographer guy was the first to speak. I noticed that his eyes were red, most likely from laughing so hard he’d cried. “Oh wow, sheesh… That was the last song I expected to hear. Moondae, weren’t you like ten-years-old when “POP☆CON” came out? Did you perform that for a talent show as a kid or something?”

“No, nothing like that. I chose this song because I’m a huge fan of Marshmallow.”

This response made the judges laugh even harder. The last album that Marshmallow released came out four years ago. Since the peak of their popularity had been so long ago, it was a very peculiar thing to hear a twenty-year-old declare that he was a big fan of them. The age gap was so huge that it wouldn’t do anything to damage my prospects as an idol. Normally it was the first rule of being an idol that you never expressed any interest in the opposite sex.

Sure enough, the choreographer guffawed once more. Next to him, Mewdy muttered to herself fondly, “Aw… That’s cute.”

“He did his best. I’ll give him that!” The male idol judge said, weighing in.

It seemed that any suspicions he’d had that I was lying about my lack of experience had completely disappeared.

Finally, Youngrin spoke, “This doesn’t mean you did well.”

I had a feeling she’d say that. This was the moment when the editors would cut to a close-up and include some dramatic sound effects. They’d also probably add a huge red caption of what she’d just said, repeated three times, with a “da dun” sound. Imagining how the show would be edited here, I waited patiently for her to finish speaking.

“First of all, I can tell from the way you move your body that you’re not very skilled at dancing. Even if you receive a positive evaluation now for creating a good atmosphere in the studio, you have to understand that future missions will be very challenging.”

“I will be prepared.” I meant the status window would be prepared, not me.

“All right.” Youngrin seemed like she had more she wanted to say, but she settled for just nodding gravely. Finally, she smiled slightly and said, “In any case, I can see that you worked hard. Well done.”

“Thank you.” I felt like I had said that at least ten times today. Is it always going to be like this?

As I thought to myself, the judges put down their microphones so their voices were inaudible to the contestants, and started discussing amongst themselves.

Now, the program’s next cruel twist was about to be introduced. From the first round, the contestants were to be ranked from first to seventy-seventh place and seated accordingly. The contestants would immediately go to their assigned seats after the judges gave their evaluations, even though they were only temporary rankings. If a seat was filled but the next contestant performed better, everyone would move down a rank and yield their seat. One of the show's selling points was the frequent shots of the lowest ranking contestant moving to their new rank in tears.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem as though that would be my fate. I guessed I’d rank at about… twenty-fourth place.

“Park Moondae ranks… seventeenth!”

They had no doubt purposely seated me about five ranks higher so they could film some shots where I moved down in rank, which meant that my actual rank was closer to what I had predicted. I have a feeling my rank went up by four or five places just because I made everyone laugh. It was likely that given time, as the judges became more objective, I’d have to give up my spot to the middle and high school kids auditioning after me. I found it kind of amusing that I was bowing my head gratefully when in reality I was dissatisfied.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll put you through some hardcore training, so you can get a better ranking next time,” said the choreographer with a grin. His friendly demeanor would change the moment I didn’t improve, so I was glad I had the status window.

Hopefully, I can create a scenario in the future where the choreographer is moved by my progress.

I bowed once again and headed to the set where all the seats were arranged. They were each labeled with a number, and the higher the rank, the more luxurious and comfortable the seats were—the difference was glaring. My seat at seventeenth place was a leather chair like the kind you might find in a corporate executive’s office.

After sitting down, the contestant across from me who ranked fifteenth approached me to say hello. He had a friendly demeanor and seemed to be around Moondae’s age.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied.

“Your singing was amazing!”

“Thank you. I’m sure you did great as well.”

“I’m sorry? Hahaha!”

I meant to say I couldn’t be sure since I didn’t see his performance, but judging from his ranking, he probably did. And thankfully, he didn’t seem to take my words the wrong way.

He just laughed loudly and pointed at the name tag on his chest.

“I’m Lee Sejin!”

Hearing his name, I almost groaned out loud but tried to keep my face neutral as I replied, “I’m Park Moondae. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”

Bringing the conversation to an end as naturally as possible, I turned to look at the stage just in time to see the next contestant come on stage. However, all I could think about was the name I had just heard.

Lee Sejin. That was the name of one of the contestants who had successfully debuted through the show. You could say I’d just met someone who was destined to emerge victorious from the show.

There was one problem, though. A year after the show ended, he was involved in a drug scandal. Worse, he was responsible for distributing. I was pretty sure I had seen his name on the nine o’clock evening news while eating at a soup joint near my studio apartment.

[Lee Sejin from “Idol Incorporated” arrested on suspicion of distributing drugs]

Let’s not talk to him again… The earlier I cut ties with him, the better. All right, I should use this time to check my status window.

[Name: Park Moondae (Ryu Gunwoo)]

Level: 5

Title: None

Singing: A-

Dancing: D

Physical attractiveness: C+

Charm: C

Trait: Infinite potential

Status abnormality: “Debut or Die!”

Points Remaining: 1

I must have received a point after leveling up just now, most likely because I’d completed the “First Performance” mission. I’d also been assigned stats for dancing and charm, both traits hadn’t been assigned any grade yet when I was practicing. Did that mean I could only receive points from official performances? I wasn’t sure what the exact requirements were yet.

In any case, just as I had assumed while practicing, this Park Moondae really had no talent in dancing, even though he possessed a passable “charm.”

Couldn’t any average person manage a D for dancing? I concluded that I’d have to invest points in dancing two or three times if I wanted to be able to get anywhere at all. On the other hand, the physical attractiveness stat gave me hope. Although I hadn’t used any points on that category, the level had gone up since I’d been taking care of my looks.

This meant that I could increase my stats without having to use the level-up feature in the status window all the time. It was promising news. There was another popup, however, which was quite peculiar. It was a small one that appeared next to the status window.

[A successful performance!]

You’ve impressed the majority of the audience!

Pick your general trait ☜ Click!

Something weird is happening again. Still, seeing words like “success” and “impressed,” I had a good feeling this was going to be a reward. I pretended to scratch my head and subtly pressed the button. Upon doing so, something interesting appeared.

It was a picture of a gray slot machine. The images in the slot were already spinning round and round beside the lever that had been pulled down. It gradually slowed to the point that I was able to make out a few of the inscriptions on the slots. Several of them were colored yellowish copper, while most were just gray.

[Stouthearted]

[Eraser for Embarrassing Moments]

[Crocodile Tears]

[Sleep is for the Dead]

[Look at me!]

[......]

I mean, it’s nice that I can guess what each trait is for from the slogans, but... aren’t they a little cheesy? No longer so enthusiastic, I watched the slot machine closely since it would stop soon anyway.

With several dramatic “poof” sounds, pieces of confetti exploded from the slot machine. It finally stopped on a yellowish copper slot.

[Trait: “Sleep is for the Dead (D)” obtained!]

When activated, you will not feel tired even without having slept.

Comes with an additional 30% increase in the rate of acquiring experience points from 00:01 a.m. to 4:00 a.m.

Lasts for 1 week (single-use only).

This would absolutely come in handy in the future. The name is still so... cheesy. In any case, it was literally a random prize system—an essential feature of any luck-based, doomed-to-fail game. Things were getting fun.

I noticed that, at the very bottom of my status window, “Sleep is for the Dead (Deactivated)” had been added to the trait category. I’d have to consider carefully when the best time to use it would be.

“Contestant Kang Minjo ranks… fifty-sixth place!”

The evaluations continued and aside from the potential druggie next to me, I hadn’t seen any more of the winning members yet. I watched the next contestant come on stage. He had long limbs and a slender build. He was alone, so I could tell he didn’t have connections with any of the other trainees. The contestants already seated by their rank started whispering to one another. It wasn’t because he came on stage alone.

“Oh, wow!”

“That’s insane.”

It was because he was super good-looking. I could hear the judges openly reacting loudly from below the ranked seating set.

“He’s got such big, beautiful eyes, like a deer.”

Even I could tell that, based on looks alone, this guy didn’t have to worry about not being able to debut. Frankly, he needn’t have bothered going on a survival show. I’m pretty sure he had a future in the entertainment biz no matter what. However, the name on his tag wasn’t one that I recognized.

[Seon Ahyun]

If he hadn’t been able to debut despite being so good-looking, he must be incredibly untalented. He was more handsome than most of the idols I took fancams of.

Hmm, if he has a status window like me, all his stats excluding physical attractiveness would have to be between D and F. If only I could see other people’s stats, I’d know for sure.

Much to my surprise, the moment I had that thought, a window appeared next to the contestant… So I could see other people’s stats, too.

[Name: Seon Ahyun]

Singing: B- (A)

Dancing: A (EX)

Physical attractiveness: A+ (S+)

Charm: B (A+)

Trait: Fortitude (Deactivated)

Status abnormality: Lack of self-esteem

Those were some impressive stats. With those grades, it’d be a breeze for him to rank within the Top 10 in this round. Did the letters inside the parentheses indicate his maximum potential? That meant he had a promising future ahead of him. However, it was the last category that stood out to me the most.

[Status abnormality: Lack of self-esteem]

Seriously? With those looks? It’d make more sense if his status abnormality was “arrogance.” Regardless, it was a huge advantage to be able to check the other contestants’ stats. If things didn’t work out, I might even be able to make a living working at an entertainment agency as a casting manager.

As I read each category curiously, I heard the emcee’s voice.

“All right, could you please introduce yourself?”

Seon Ahyun picked up the microphone with trembling hands. “U-uh... H-hello...”

The kid wasn’t stuttering merely from stage fright. His speech pattern was awkward, and it was obvious something more was wrong. He was showing clear symptoms of a speech disorder. I could also tell that he was very self-conscious about his stutter—he was exuding anxiety and embarrassment.

That explains it. I immediately understood Seon Ahyun’s stats better. But with his good looks and talent, the production team could have made a dramatic, moving story about his speech disorder. So why wasn’t he able to debut in my previous life?

Is it because of the “lack of self-esteem” status abnormality? I wonder if I can find out more…

[Lack of self-esteem]

Despises himself.

All stats decrease by two levels.

Another window had popped up. I didn’t expect to be given more details after only thinking about it.

How useful. Maybe I should check my own status abnormality to see how many days I have left to live.

I was being sarcastic, but to be honest, I was honestly shocked that his status abnormality was so harsh. If I had gotten his debuff while gaming, I would have just called it quits. Frustratingly for the poor guy—this was real life, which meant there were no resets.

“Ahyun, do you perhaps… have trouble speaking?”

“I-I-I got into an a-accident… wh-when I was young…”

“Oh…”

And so began the telling of his sad backstory. More accurately, Seon Ahyun attempted to explain to the judges about his condition, while the production team tried their best to turn it into an emotional moment. The contestants around me began to deliver contrived reactions as well.

One of them—who looked particularly emotional, tears already gathering in his eyes—was sure to be used by the production team as a reaction shot. He was even delivering a line, “That’s so sad...” Such an overreaction could read as inappropriate when it came to sensitive topics like this, though.

If the editors didn’t incorporate his response carefully, he’d receive backlash from the viewers for being insensitive. I stared straight ahead without any change in my expression. After saying a few empty words of encouragement, the judges gently asked him to perform.

“Well then, Ahyun, let’s see what you have for us.”

“O-okay…”

His performance wasn’t that bad. Overall, it was a stage the judges would see favorably overall. Once again, the information in the status window was correct—his performance was weaker than his actual abilities.

“Seon Ahyun ranks 18th place!”

This is what happened when you didn’t have a steady mindset and a good strategy. It was hard to believe that he ranked lower than me with those stats. The judges’ evaluation was good overall. Either the judges thought he was talented, or they just didn’t want to voice any negative remarks.

“Good job.”

“We look forward to your next performance.”

The judges each offered a heartwarming compliment or two. One of them even gave the kids a thumbs up, but Seon Ahyun looked dejected, and just hung his head in disappointment. Trying his best to smile, he stepped down from the stage and was led by the emcee to sit next to me.

Should I say hi…?

Seon Ahyun glanced at me but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was snubbing him, but it was also too much of a hassle to strike up a conversation. When I nodded to him in greeting, the kid jolted in surprise and nodded awkwardly several times.

“Next up, we have… five contestants who’ll be evaluated at the same time! Choi Jinsoo, Hong Sung…”

As I counted the remaining contestants in my head, I sighed softly. We still have a long way to go.