Big Shot Ch.24.2

Chapter 24.2: Preparations for the First Performance (4)

After a while, Shen Xiu—still feeling completely out of place and lowkey violated—noticed that aside from his own team, everyone else was doubled over, laughing at Zhuang Yi and Song Chengwang’s performance.

Even though he just wanted to evaporate out of sheer embarrassment.

His very soul whispered in confusion: “What exactly are you all laughing at?”

This is humiliating! Shen Xiu thought.

Mortifying! If it were him, he’d want to launch himself into space and hide with his hands over his ears and eyes forever.

He swept his gaze slowly across every single trainee who was laughing like a hyena, then asked, serious as a judge:

“Is this… funny to you?”

These cringe-inducing dance moves. These straight-up deranged lyrics.

How were they still laughing?!

All Shen Xiu wanted was to leave this dimension and disappear.

Clearly, something was wrong with his team.

Maybe… maybe it really was just them?

Everyone else could laugh. Only they couldn’t. He himself felt pure secondhand shame.

Yes… this must be a problem with his own mindset. That’s it.

Having found the reason why he and his team weren’t laughing, Shen Xiu’s expression slowly hardened, his eyes full of determination.

The chilling “Is this funny to you?”, paired with Shen Xiu’s slow, deliberate gaze sweeping across the room like a death glare, hit harder than a slap.

Cold. So cold.

No one could tell if it was just their imagination, but the moment Shen Xiu locked eyes with them, the temperature in the practice room seemed to plummet by at least ten degrees.

Every trainee’s face froze mid-laugh. Smiles stiffened.

They instantly raised their hands to cover their mouths, frantically adjusting their expressions like guilty children.

In perfect unison, they shook their heads:

“N-No! Not funny at all!”

Shen Xiu’s expression was like a glacier—icy and silent, but absolutely threatening. The kind of cold that made your skin crawl.

Shen Xiu asked again, voice low and eyes shadowed:

“Really?”

Everyone: “!!”

The faint upward lilt at the end of his sentence. The way his eyes narrowed just a little.

That was definitely a threat. A warning. A final chance to repent.

Shen Xiu was mad. No doubt about it.

They all nodded like pecking chickens.

“Really, really!”

“One hundred percent serious!”

“Our mouths just spasmed a little, honest! We weren’t laughing, not even a bit!”

“…Oh.” Shen Xiu’s voice was calm again, but he sounded disappointed, and his brows furrowed slightly.

Apparently, they were no help in strengthening his or his team’s mental resilience.

Everyone exhaled in relief the moment Shen Xiu’s tone softened.

Shen Xiu’s wrath? Not something you want front-row seats to.

But even though his voice relaxed, his eyebrows were still furrowed.

He definitely hadn’t cooled off completely.

Best to get the hell out while they still could.

“Captain, I think we should go back and practice now.”

“Yeah, what he said, I agree completely.”

“Let’s go, let’s go—run!”

Shen Xiu’s icy glare lingered, and it was so intense they could practically feel the room grow colder.

Half of them were already rubbing their arms—goosebumps fully activated.

Song Chengwang and Zhuang Yi exchanged a look.

Seeing Shen Xiu’s furrowed brow and cold expression, they realized—maybe they’d actually gone a bit too far.

With an awkward laugh, they wrapped up their clown act and quickly led their gang of onlookers out the door.

…

In the equipment maintenance control room, Shi Buwen stepped on something that beeped twice underfoot.

“Huh?” He frowned and bent down, picking it up—it was a remote control for the air conditioner. He looked around at the staff at their stations and asked, “Whose brilliant idea was it to leave this on the floor?”

Muttering to himself as he pulled a tissue to wipe the dust off, he added, “Seriously, so careless.”

Just then, a staff member came back in from outside and overheard. Scratching his head, he sheepishly stepped forward: “Sorry, Director. I must’ve knocked it off while I was moving equipment earlier, then accidentally stepped on it…”

It clearly wasn’t intentional. Shi Buwen just waved a hand. “Just be more careful next time. Go on, get back to work.”

After the staffer left, Shi Buwen glanced at the display on the remote.

The temperature had been turned way down.

Frowning, he adjusted it back up to a normal room temp while muttering, “Good thing I stepped on it—any longer and the people in that room would’ve frozen into popsicles.”

…

Back in Shen Xiu’s practice room, everyone noticed something odd.

Ever since the other trainees left—those who’d come just to laugh at them—Shen Xiu’s mood had clearly improved.

The change was tangible.

The air wasn’t icy anymore. It didn’t feel like death was lurking in the corners of the room.

It actually felt… warm. Peaceful. Livable.

But the moment someone thought of Blood Romance, the mood dropped again.

No one spoke. Everyone just exchanged glances in silence.

Then Shen Xiu, remembering what Shang Yu had said, walked over to the media station and picked up the card on the table.

Sure enough, in small print beneath the main text, it read: “Choreography and lyrics may be appropriately adapted based on the original work, but the degree of adaptation must not exceed 20%.”

‘I won’t allow anyone to go through life without having seen Shen Xiu’s first stage performance of Blood Romance. If you watch it and don’t feel secondhand embarrassment, I’ll give you my head.’

‘LOL this whole group of cringe-lords gave me a stomachache from laughing.’

‘Oh my god, their skin must be made of steel. If it were me, I’d never show my face again. But they’re still out there in the industry trying to be idols!’

Clips of the performance are played on every variety show under the sun.

It becomes prime meme material for every video editor and meme-maker out there.

Even senior idols in the industry start teasing them about it.

One phrase sums it up: Cringe content lives forever.

Is this what awaits them if Blood Romance bombs onstage?

Too hellish to imagine.

But imagine it Shen Xiu did—right to the end. And by the time he was done, his back was covered in cold sweat.

“……”

What was supposed to be a short and sweet life… suddenly felt endlessly long.

No.

He refuses to let something this thoroughly, pervasively socially ruinous follow him for the rest of his life.

Gritting his teeth, Shen Xiu forced himself to recall every frame, every line, every move of Blood Romance.

And once he’d finished reliving the horror, he had a plan.

Looking up, he saw the worried faces of his teammates. Guilt pricked his chest.

He gave them a quiet, awkward reassurance:

“Don’t worry. I’ll take responsibility.”

In order to make sure his team didn’t get dragged into lifelong social death because of him, Shen Xiu decided—he’d carry this burden to the end.

Blood Romance, with its mess of chaotic elements, embarrassing lyrics, and nightmare choreography, was basically a three-layer psychological attack on sight, sound, and soul.

But when the team members heard Shen Xiu’s calm voice, and saw how steady he remained from start to finish, some inexplicable trust welled up inside them.

Right—this was Shen Xiu.

The undisputed top one of all trainees.

Sure, the luck of the draw was a bit… tragic.

But against overwhelming skill, what was luck?

The team members forced themselves to forget the hellish cringe that was Blood Romance, and spoke with determined voices.

“Captain, we believe in you!”

“Since we chose you, I’m not afraid anymore.”

“You can do it, Captain!”

Shen Xiu once again couldn’t help but marvel: What kind of divine teammates are these?!

Not only did they not blame him for his terrible luck, they even gave him emotional and verbal encouragement.

He absolutely couldn’t let everyone down!

With excitement in his heart, Shen Xiu grabbed the pen and paper from the table and quickly scribbled a list of needed items. He handed the list to Zhou Tong.

Pausing for a moment to choose his words, he asked, “Can you get these?”

He remembered Zhou Tong had said they could request items from the production team.

Hearing Shen Xiu’s calm voice, Zhou Tong took the paper and glanced at the list, utterly confused.

Thinking of the rules set by the production team, Zhou Tong nodded. “I can get them.”

Shen Xiu let out a sigh of relief. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all! I promise to complete the mission!”

Even though… he also had no idea what Shen Xiu needed these things for.

After giving instructions, Shen Xiu took the pen and paper and walked toward the door.

The other teammates gathered around Zhou Tong, staring at the list in total confusion.

Watching Shen Xiu walk out with a cold, aloof air, none of them dared to ask him where he was going, let alone call out to stop him.

Just as he was about to twist the doorknob, Shen Xiu suddenly remembered—he wasn’t alone anymore. He was the captain now. He couldn’t keep acting like before, only looking out for himself.

That would be irresponsible.

Even with his back turned, Shen Xiu could feel the team’s gazes falling on him. His palm gripping the doorknob had gone cold from nerves.

He forced himself to speak: “You guys go get the stuff together. I’ll be back soon.”

Everyone was surprised that Shen Xiu took the initiative to explain where he was going—after all, he had always seemed like the cold, lone-wolf type.

After the initial surprise, everyone began to speak up.

“Ye-Yeah!”

“Got it!”

As the practice room door closed, Xiang Yueting turned to the others with a proud expression. “I’ve always said that beneath Shen Xiu’s cold exterior is a gentle heart. You guys didn’t believe me, but now you do, right? See how much he cares about us?”

[So… what was written on the paper? Why didn’t the camera crew zoom in on it? Damn this show, always leaving us hanging in suspense!]

[That painfully awkward song from earlier… can it really be saved?]

[Judging by Boss Shen’s calm and confident expression, I think it can!]

——

With pen and paper in hand, Shen Xiu headed straight for the performance stage with clear purpose.

There were staff members around the stage doing equipment maintenance. When they suddenly saw Shen Xiu approaching, they were startled.

The lights hit Shen Xiu’s face, casting shadows that made his already cool aura seem even colder. One staffer mustered the courage to step forward. “Y-You… what are you doing here?”

Shen Xiu hadn’t expected anyone to be here either. He was briefly caught off guard by the question but answered honestly: “Scouting the stage layout.”

Staffer: “Huh?”

Shen Xiu was completely focused on the stage and didn’t notice the staffer looking at him strangely.

He walked every single nook and cranny of the stage three full times.

The first time, he drew out the lower half of the stage on his paper. The second time, he looked up to examine the upper structure, continuing to sketch and mark notes on the paper. The third time, he walked while comparing the actual stage with his drawing, occasionally making corrections.

The staff had no idea what he was doing—they couldn’t make sense of Shen Xiu’s process at all.

After Shen Xiu left the stage, everyone began to discuss in confusion.

“Shen Xiu… he’s not moonlighting as our stage designer, is he? But the stage is already built, there’s nothing left to change.”

“Maybe it’s just a personal hobby of his?”

“I’ve never heard of a trainee in a talent show checking out the stage layout while practicing a song.”

“Don’t tell me he’s checking the stage’s feng shui? After all, Shen Xiu did draw the short straw and get stuck with that cursed song our head director wrote.”

“I vote for the feng shui theory!”

[I vote feng shui too.]

[+1, the man truly lives up to the title of ‘boss-level’—even knows feng shui. His skills are impressively wide-ranging.]

[Ladies, bad news—Shen Xiu’s team’s practice room live stream has just been shut down!]

[What the hell, wasn’t this supposed to be a 24-hour live stream? What happened? Why did they shut it off?!]

Seeing the entire live chat cursing out the production team, the assistant director, thoroughly exhausted, rushed into the main control room—only to hear Shi Buwen’s voice barking:

“Turn it off, shut everything down—all of it!”

The assistant director felt like the few hairs left on his head were about to fall off. He was so stressed he wanted to cry. “Director Shi… what are you trying to do now?”

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