Debut or Die-Chapter 441

“Hup.”

I took a deep breath in and let it out. The pale face of Ryu Geon woo on my smartphone screen moved in sync.

...There’s no way to stay calm, but I have to sort this out as clearly as possible.

Park Mundae (me) and Ryu Geon woo (Geun-dal) have swapped bodies.

Park Mundae is the main vocalist of a top-tier idol group, about to make a comeback.

But Ryu Geon woo (Geun-dal), now in Park Mundae’s body, has no idol experience and doesn’t care about comebacks.

Park Mundae’s live radio broadcast starts in ten minutes.

“.......”

This is insane. I’ve been through enough absurd situations to know real craziness when I see it.

‘A live broadcast standby ten minutes before go time—are you for real?’

The only hope is that, like Geun-dal did, I can still share Park Mundae’s vision. Whatever status ailments or whatever, I have to figure out how to make it through the live show... Wait.

‘...Park Mundae’s vision is blurring?’

The radio waiting room was fading to gray.

This felt bad. What if the problem isn’t that Park Mundae’s system glitched again, but that a total novice like me messed up the connection?

‘Fuck.’

I could practically hear the broadcast plunging off a cliff. I scrambled to send a chat popup.

“Are you okay? Vision connection problem...?”

[T-tears...]

“.......”

[I’m sorry.]

I understood. But Geun-dal’s tears pooled in the shared vision, and through the haze I saw several people hurrying toward the radio booth.

...The producers!

[Hyung!! Hyung! They say we should go in now!]

“Hold on.”

There was no time for feelings.

“Give me your lock-pattern!”

[Uh...debut date! TeSTAR debut date!]

A lock-pattern based on the idol debut date? Who thinks of an unintuitive pattern like that?

I raced my mind through the possibilities.

‘No zero key on the keypad. Three points would be too few; adding the year makes five...’

Five digits. I traced the five-point pattern and lifted my finger. The screen slid open.

‘Of course.’

I immediately downloaded the broadcaster’s radio app on Park Mundae’s phone. It would substitute for his hearing.

‘Better than risking a mistake sharing his hearing mid-live.’

Honestly, I barely knew how I was still sharing vision.

Let’s get to work.

Once the download finished, I opened the radio app and used those few seconds to plan, discard, and refine my strategy—simultaneously. Then I rose from the bed.

“Listen up.”

[Yes!]

“You’ve got a surprise live radio appearance right before the comeback. The script is maybe five or six lines at most, and you can see incoming questions in real time. Since it’s multiple people, only answer when a question comes directly to Park Mundae.”

Otherwise, speak only when everyone speaks, and only after I signal you by chat, and speak slowly then.

That way, while I type out the answer, you can sprinkle in filler exclamations to cover the gap.

But one rule is crucial.

“When you add filler exclamations before answering—whether positive or negative—don’t include any nuance. You have to control that carefully.”

A single sarcastic or inappropriate inflection could doom us. Once the broadcast airs, there’s no take-back. Tension is mandatory.

[U-ugh....]

Geun-dal sent a death rattle in the chat window. I clenched my jaw.

‘Too much pressure and he’ll crack.’

I relaxed slightly.

“A reflex reaction or two is fine. You’re not exactly confrontational.”

Then the chat exploded.

[Please! Just manipulate me! I’ll do every reaction you tell me! Just write it out for me, okay!?]

He was desperate.

But I couldn’t adopt a puppet arrangement that pleased us both.

“Not happening.”

[Huh...?]

I perched on the sofa and bowed my head.

“This is live radio—you’re on camera too.”

[.......]

Meaning he had to control every facial muscle and reaction.

[Save me.]

Isn’t that why I’m doing this?

I sighed.

“If you really can’t handle it, there’s a surefire way to cancel the broadcast—”

[What is it!?]

“Just collapse on the floor.”

The most certain way to cancel a schedule: get carried out in an ambulance.

“.......”

After a moment of silence,

[Sorry, I can’t do it....]

I expected that.

TeSTAR was already receiving their final briefing outside the booth door. If a complete amateur could collapse with a clear head, he wouldn’t have come this far.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. But yeah, this would be too much for you {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} alone.”

[......Yes.]

“Okay.”

I’d already thought of this. Throwing an amateur with no live experience on the air? They’d stick out with awkward timing.

‘And they’d be compared to the on-air Park Mundae I showed before—worse problem.’

We needed one person to back him up, to riff with on the spot.

But sharing with all seven would cause chaos. There was only one answer.

I pressed my fingers to my temples and spoke.

“You only talk to one person.”

A taut, appropriate tension filled the booth entrance. TeSTAR had been active on broadcasts for over five years now, so this was natural.

Even members who frequent variety shows weren’t especially relaxed.

For example... Lee Sejin.

He’d already read the script looped in his head and checked his parts.

Next, he considered another crucial step.

‘Hmm, I could jump in there, too.’

Although it wasn’t explicitly assigned to him, he memorized which lines he could ‘steal.’

A habit since the survival show debut: always claim your share.

TeSTAR had grown so big as a group that there was no controversy, but the survival-show mentality of ranking individuals persisted.

Moreover...

‘There’s no harm in it, right?’

On stage, in photos, in producing, in interviews—there was always someone who could score extra points. I swear there’s a point-collector in this team for any activity.

Sitting it out while others work? That’s akin to standing still.

Lee Sejin wasn’t about to miss a point-score opportunity—ever, until retirement.

“Need anything else?”

“No, we’re fine~”

By now, members other than Lee Sejin were quite familiar with talk-format broadcasts. They needed to do even better.

‘Well, it’s nice that the members are reliable.’

Lee Sejin remembered the previous waiting room. Everyone managed their tension expertly and waited... when suddenly, a faint whisper crawled into his ear.

“Um, excuse me.”

A pleading tone edged with tears—two adjectives that never fit this composed person.

Lee Sejin snapped his head around reflexively.

“......?”

And locked eyes with someone whose eyes shimmered with tears.

Park Mundae.

Lee Sejin nearly jumped from his seat in shock, then steadied himself. His next words nearly came out.

“I-I don’t think you’re Park Mundae....” 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

“...!?”

“I suddenly woke up in a different body. I’m Geun-dal.”

“.......”

“Like, I’m in Ryu Geon woo hyung’s body....”

Almost before he could think, Lee Sejin dismissed any possibility that Park Mundae would pull such a prank four minutes and fifty seconds before going live.

The would-be trickster—claiming he’s someone else in Park Mundae’s body—begged his case in a rush of words.

He said he was communicating with ‘Mundae hyung’ by some magical method.

“He says Park Mundae hyung will tell us how to speak on the radio....”

‘Telepathy...’

A few cheesy movie and drama tropes flashed through Lee Sejin’s mind.

But after several unreal experiences, he’d developed some shock absorption. Instead of questions, one thought rose first:

Worry.

The last ‘impossible incident’ had been a building collapse.

Shivers ran down Lee Sejin’s spine as he spoke:

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine! I was just in bed....”

A brief relief passed, then:

“And...uh, he told me to say this....”

“...?”

A sentence followed, like reading from a textbook:

“Don’t tell anyone. Only you know. You know what happens if the live show fails...?”

“.......”

He was oddly coherent.

‘That really is Park Mundae.’

My head spun.

And Geun-dal’s desperate mosquito-buzz plea ended like this:

“Save me. Mundae hyung said to trust only Sejin-nim on the radio....”

...Park Mundae!!

Lee Sejin yelled inside without changing his expression.

Then Ryu Cheong woo turned his head from the front door.

“Everything all right?”

Lee Sejin hesitated briefly, but then:

“Oh—no! Let’s go in! Come on, let’s do this radio show right~”

Park Mundae was right. If the conversation tempo tangled up in sharing, it would be hell.

He gritted his teeth and forced a smile. Grabbing the back of Park Mundae’s—er, his own—neck, he cheerfully entered the booth.

But Lee Sejin and Park Mundae both missed one thing.

Seon Ah hyun was waiting right next to them... close enough to overhear most of the exchange.

A gap created by the overlap of a live broadcast and a bizarre phenomenon.

“.......”

“Ah-hyun? It’s time to enter the booth.”

“Mm!”

Seon Ah hyun swallowed hard, then with a pale face but determined steps, followed them inside.

...And thus, Monday, January 9, 11:47 p.m.

On that night when everyone else was busy wrapping up the New Year and the week ahead in reality.

“This is SongDJ’s midnight radio—Monday’s highlight, ‘Weekly Lucky’!”

She was just starting the final Monday corner.

“Today, we have very special invited guests.”

The seasoned radio host smiled as seven tall idols filed in.

Her gentle voice that comforted listeners so well rarely presided over such commotion.

‘They’re so young.’

TeSTAR greeted the production crew warmly as they entered.

Like true top stars, they skillfully found their seats and smiled naturally.

“I’m sure listeners will be very surprised.”

She glanced around the table, checking faces.

She already knew their names. Surprisingly, all seven were famous enough she didn’t need notes.

‘That blond youth must be Cha Yoo jin, the guy with the ponytail is Kim Rae bin, the handsome one in the hoodie is Bae Sejin...’

And the charming friend seated immediately to her right was the famously composed Park Mundae—except...

His hands were trembling like motorboats.

‘...??’

The host nearly rubbed her eyes. Then, with practiced poise, she delivered the planned introduction.

“Awarded Singer of the Year at the recent Golden Disc Awards, the undisputed kings of K-pop—TeSTAR!”

Her right hand slid under the table before she realized.

‘Did I really see that?’

Instinctively, Lee Sejin nudged her elbow.

And so, the hair-raising live radio broadcast began.