Trainee Ch.13

Chapter 13: Dormitory Assignment (3)

Under Liang Zhisheng’s guidance, Lai Yudong successfully removed his colored contact lenses. He blinked a few times—his eyes felt as if they had just regained the right to breathe, pleasantly relieved.

Liang Zhisheng had originally offered to help him remove them personally, but Lai Yudong had recoiled in alarm. Having a stranger fiddle with your eyelids and pinch your eyeball? No matter how you looked at it, it just felt wrong.

One must protect their own eyeballs!

“You were really decisive about it…” Liang Zhisheng hadn’t expected this beginner to act so swiftly and cleanly. “The first time I tried to take out contacts, I struggled for over an hour and still didn’t dare pinch them out—oh, and by the way, you shouldn’t wear contacts for too long your first time. You need to build up gradually until you get used to them. But even after you get used to it, don’t wear them too long. It’s bad for your eyes.”

“Thank you,” Lai Yudong said gratefully.

As they say, luck balances out—in a dorm with such an understanding roommate, there was bound to be one who wasn’t quite so friendly.

“Move.” Li Xu passed by them holding a washbasin, heading straight out the dorm door. “Hurry up. Don’t keep me from sleeping.”

[This guy’s got a bit of a temper.]

[He’s a rapper. That’s just how they are.]

If it were anyone else, his tone—blunt and lacking any nicety—might have caused offense. But the two present were a little different: one was a socially perceptive mind-reader, and the other a laid-back, considerate “mom friend.” They instantly recognized that Li Xu was actually giving them a heads-up.

Liang Zhisheng checked the time. “He’s right, it’s getting late. Yuki, are you ready? Let’s go to the showers together.”

“Almost.”

Lai Yudong pushed his packed suitcase into the corner, setting it next to three others. Off to the side, he caught a glimpse of a keyboard lying flat on the ground—he had no idea who had brought it.

To haul such a bulky thing just to join a show—it had to be true love for music.

He guessed it belonged to Xu An.

After finishing his nighttime routine at record speed, Lai Yudong returned to the dorm with Liang Zhisheng. The other two roommates were already tucked in—Xu An curled up facing the wall, and Li Xu rolled over with an audible huff, clearly annoyed by the noise.

“Did they set alarms?” Liang Zhisheng whispered.

Xu An: “Mm.”

Li Xu: “Yeah.”

Liang Zhisheng: “…”

They were both still awake?!

He continued, “What time did you set them for?”

A muffled voice drifted down from the top bunk, sounding like it could cut out at any moment: “Ten… forty…”

Compared to the half-asleep Xu An, Li Xu’s voice was much more alert: “Mine’s for forty-five.”

“Pretty tight timing. Aren’t you guys doing makeup?”

“Mmm… not doing…” Xu An’s voice was even weaker now.

“I don’t know how. And even if I did, I wouldn’t bother—such a pain.”

Liang Zhisheng turned to the one roommate who hadn’t responded. “Yuki?”

Lai Yudong shook his head. His suitcase only had skincare, no makeup—not even a single bottle of foundation.

You can’t cook without rice, and he wasn’t even much of a cook to begin with. Best to abandon unrealistic fantasies early on.

Liang Zhisheng let out an exaggerated sigh of relief and joked, “Thank goodness—no overachievers in our dorm.”

“You talk too much,” Li Xu muttered, pulling the blanket over his head. His voice was muffled now. “You done? I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.” Liang Zhisheng picked up a shirt and tiptoed over to the camera in the corner. “Better cover the lens for sleep.”

He gave the camera a smile and said, “Good night.”

[Liang Zhisheng really knows how to engage.]

[If he’s not the “mom friend,” I refuse to believe it.]

[Good night!]

[Isn’t it technically good morning though lol]

The shirt covered the camera completely, turning the livestream screen into a dim, translucent black. In the quiet dorm, only the sound of Liang Zhisheng’s footsteps on the ladder echoed as he climbed up to his bunk.

Lai Yudong stood silently by the door until Liang Zhisheng gave him an “OK” gesture from the top bunk. Only then did he press the switch on the wall.

The light went out, and darkness fell over the dorm.

The wall clock’s hour hand had just landed on the number six.

——

At 10:30 a.m., the first alarm in dorm 707 rang right on time.

It had barely sounded twice before Lai Yudong, already half-awake, immediately shut it off. To avoid disturbing his still-sleeping roommates, he’d set the volume low. After quietly changing into the freshly issued Class F uniform, he saw the others still sound asleep.

He hadn’t woken up early for any special reason—he just wanted breakfast.

Who knew how long today’s filming would last? If it was anything like yesterday’s exhausting schedule, the last thing he wanted was to have his stomach grumbling on a national broadcast. It’d be bad for his face and his stomach.

[Someone in dorm 707 finally woke up?]

[Seems like it—I hear movement.]

[Who got up?]

[My guess is Liang Zhisheng or Xu An.]

[We can’t see a thing in that pitch black—next door’s had their lights on for ages.]

[They covered the camera before sleeping, lol.]

Only after stepping outside did Lai Yudong truly understand what the comments meant.

In the hallway, most dorm rooms either had their doors wide open or left slightly ajar. Dorm 707, with its tightly shut door and everyone still sound asleep, was a rare outlier. No wonder Liang Zhisheng had sighed with relief at the fact that none of them were hardcore overachievers.

Waking up early alone wasn’t a big deal—what was even more extreme was still to come.

Inside dorm rooms and in front of the communal sinks, some trainees were already applying makeup in front of the mirror. Powder puffs moved so fast they left afterimages, nose contours were drawn like there was no cost to shading, creating sharp bridges and deep-set eyes, and setting powder brushes kicked up clouds like smoke.

And yet, those people were already behind. The true elites had moved on to styling their hair with curling irons and setting spray.

So competitive. Ridiculously so.

Lai Yudong couldn’t help feeling inferior. In terms of polish, he was only slightly more put-together than a college guy rushing to an 8 a.m. class without washing his hair. He didn’t even have the means to step up his game, and could only accept, once again, that he’d lost at the starting line.

Fortunately, those who woke early to do full makeup and hair were the minority. Most trainees had bare faces, which meant he didn’t have to suffer public humiliation—at least, not yet.

When he arrived at the first-floor cafeteria, the smell of food hit him from a distance. The fresh, natural scent of oats blended with the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans. His empty stomach rumbled—coming down for breakfast had definitely been the right choice.

The cafeteria was nearly empty, with only a handful of people up for breakfast.

Carving out ten precious minutes to eat despite sleep deprivation—that, in a way, was a mark of true excellence.

[There are more people in the cafeteria than I expected.]

[So disciplined.]

[Or maybe just really hungry.]

The breakfast spread was fairly generous, the only drawback being that it was quite bland.

Lai Yudong took a small bowl of oatmeal porridge, a vegetable pancake, and a tea egg.

He had originally planned to take two vegetable pancakes, but considering the theme song evaluation rules might be announced soon—and they could be asked to jump into dance practice right after—he reluctantly gave up the second piece. Eating too much before intense physical activity wasn’t good for the stomach.

Among average adult males, his meal would’ve been considered modest. But in the nearly empty cafeteria, his portion size was surprisingly above average.

Jiang Yangfan from the web drama group had only a chicken breast and a plate of fruit salad.

A Class C trainee he didn’t recognize had a bowl of plain congee and a single boiled egg.

The most extreme case was Su Junzhe from the neighboring dorm—he had taken only a banana and an iced Americano.

Honestly, if not for the timing, you’d think they were sneaking down for afternoon tea instead of eating breakfast.

Of course, there were outliers like Yin Zizhen, a growing teen with a big appetite. He had two buns, two flower rolls, a bowl of mini wontons, and a glass of milk. Still growing, after all.

Lai Yudong couldn’t help but glance over—he hadn’t expected Su Junzhe to not only have a full face of makeup and hair perfectly styled, but to also have every detail down: headband, colored contacts, earrings, rings… not a single accessory was missing. And the guy had even arrived at the cafeteria earlier than him.

No wonder he could so casually drop a line like “Five hours is already pretty long.”

Actually… was it even a full five hours?

[Su Junzhe really is a Korean trainee—sleep? Evolved out of it.]

[What’s with Korean trainees?]

[I’ve heard their training is insanely intense.]

[Honestly, domestic shows should take notes.]

Lai Yudong sipped his porridge quietly as he read through the barrage of live comments. It was like getting a makeup lesson for the parts of the initial stage he’d missed.

As awkward as it was to directly face the stream of comments, he had to admit—it could be pretty useful sometimes.

Come to think of it…

Can you turn off the comments?

According to normal logic, the system’s barrage-comment feature should be like the default photo, calendar, and camera apps on a phone—pre-installed and undeletable. Therefore—

System: [It can be turned off, but there are conditional restrictions.]

Lai Yudong: […]

System: [Fun fact: default photo, calendar, and camera apps can also be deleted. Host, your thinking has been limited by outdated assumptions.]

Lai Yudong: [Isn’t that your fault!?]

If he had known earlier, he would’ve disabled the comments during the initial evaluation. Escape may be shameful, but it’s effective—at least he wouldn’t have had to watch an entire screen full of brutal ridicule in real time.

Finding out now was way too late!

And who would’ve thought the system wouldn’t follow any normal logic!?

System (innocently): [You never asked.]

Lai Yudong: [Well, you could’ve told me!]

System: [So, would you like to disable it now?]

Lai Yudong: […No. Not for now.]

As someone who’d been suddenly thrown into this world like a bundled-up package, Lai Yudong was at a natural disadvantage.

In this completely unfamiliar environment, with no rehearsal and no script, every word and action of his was under the scrutiny of the camera—one careless slip could easily make him the butt of the joke.

And yet, the barrage of comments served not just as a useful source of information, but also as real-time audience feedback. As long as he reacted quickly enough, he could stop himself from making major blunders—and when necessary, even adjust to match viewer preferences.

All in all, the benefits of having comments turned on far outweighed the drawbacks.

“—Five minutes till eleven. Don’t be late.”

A clear, crisp voice cut through his wandering thoughts.

Lai Yudong looked up in surprise. At some point while he’d been zoning out and sipping his porridge, the cafeteria had emptied—he was now the only one left.

He instinctively turned to look for the owner of the voice, but the kind stranger hadn’t stopped for even a moment. The person was already striding quickly toward the exit, disappearing from view with only the back of a Class C uniform left behind.

It was that same unknown trainee who’d only taken congee and a boiled egg for breakfast.

[Yuki’s pretty well-liked, huh lol]

[I wanna talk to a cool guy too ]

[Who was that Class C kid? He looked really cute.]

[That was Zhou Rui! Can you vote for him? He’s not doing great in popularity, wuwuwu.]

[What a coincidence—I voted for both Yuki and Zhou Rui.]

Well, now he had a name.

Lai Yudong dabbed his mouth with a napkin, unable to help but marvel at how different people could be. Some spoke harshly, some acted tsundere—saying one thing, doing another. Some were gently considerate, and some did good deeds without ever revealing their names.

Next time he ran into Zhou Rui, he definitely had to thank him properly.

But first—he needed to hurry to the main hall.

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