Chapter 25: Halftime Break (1)
The day after the theme song stage recording was completed, Lai Yudong, for once, didn’t drag himself out of bed for breakfast with his usual self-discipline.
It had been exactly one week since he transmigrated. Except for yesterday—when he allowed himself a slightly longer rest (six hours of sleep before getting up to practice again)—he’d been averaging around four hours of sleep a night, relying purely on willpower to power through.
Thankfully, he managed to pull off a relatively successful performance, not letting all his hard work go to waste.
The recording wrapped up in the early morning, and with nothing else on his plate for now except a notice to “gather at 9 PM,” Lai Yudong decided to sleep straight through to the afternoon. When he woke, he was completely groggy, sitting at the edge of his bed dazed for a good while.
“Sleeping too long causes oxygen deprivation in the brain.”
That was a gentle reminder from Liang Zhisheng.
Li Xu ruthlessly shot it down: “Come on, you only just woke up too.”
Liang Zhisheng muttered, “I was just trying to be helpful.”
“Then get off the bed first.”
“That’s a bit tricky. The blanket monster’s got me hostage.”
The two voices came from above his head. Lai Yudong quietly got up. He glanced at Xu An, who was still asleep in the bed next to his, and was surprised to find that he was once again the first one awake in dorm 707.
At 9 PM, the production team made an announcement over the PA system, instructing all trainees to gather in the first-floor screening room. In front of a giant screen were several rows of seats with backrests, like a mini theater.
Seating wasn’t assigned, so Lai Yudong sat with his roommates, wedged between Liang Zhisheng and Xu An.
“Are they organizing a movie night for us?”
“I heard a film starring Zhu Xiuming is about to be released.”
“Would the production team really be that generous?”
“Probably not. I think the first episode’s airing today.”
The trainees were all speculating about the production team’s intentions when, suddenly, the massive screen in front lit up. Everyone let out a synchronized gasp as familiar figures appeared on screen.
It was Luo Feiran and a few trainees from his company waiting backstage in the lounge.
[My favorite part — the reaction segment!]
[Public execution time, lololol]
[Serious question: does every episode have a reaction segment?]
[Usually, they only react to the first episode.]
Lai Yudong felt like he’d been struck by lightning.
He stared stiffly at the screen, watching the trainees awkwardly introduce themselves while Luo Feiran and the others groaned in the background. Just imagining himself becoming part of that chaos made it impossible to laugh along with the rest who were enjoying the show like it was all just harmless fun.
But he quickly calmed down.
His performance came later in the lineup — there was no way the first episode would get that far in terms of runtime.
As for episode two? He could live with that. He was willing to blindly believe what the comment section said — that they only do reaction segments for episode one. If he didn’t see it happen, then it basically didn’t.
Besides, his part might get cut anyway.
Lai Yudong consoled himself with this self-deception and earnestly used the opportunity to catch up on the first performances he’d missed before transmigrating — including top-ranked Su Junzhe, and Cheng Jinghao from the original A class who had been knocked out in a battle.
Just as he was starting to genuinely enjoy binge-watching the show, a flood of suspiciously spoiler-like comments suddenly swept across the screen.
[Warning: high impact moment incoming]
[Should we go through the motions or start laughing now?]
[Wicked Yuzu fans reporting in!]
[Camera director, please zoom all the way in on Yuzu’s face!]
[Already feeling bad for my Yu-baby ]
[Yu-baby, don’t look — it’s all bad comments!]
The content was… unsettling.
Lai Yudong tried to glean some clues from the barrage of comments, but he didn’t have time to make them out one by one. The next second, the scene on screen made his vision go black, and his expression instantly froze like an emotionless statue.
He had been caught off guard by the sudden appearance of his own face.
“Ah! It’s Yuki!”
Liu Qichu yelled out without the slightest trace of empathy, and in an instant, countless pairs of eyes turned toward the person now appearing on screen.
Lai Yudong: “…”
What the hell.
He nearly blurted out an expletive.
Someone please explain to him…
Why on earth had his first performance been mashed together with a bunch of other trainwreck clips to make a blooper reel for the first episode!?
Whoever edited this — you’re a menace to society!
The moment the person on screen started dancing, he shut his eyes in agony.
When the person started singing, he clutched his ears in despair.
[A lifetime goes by fast…]
[Did Yuki really think he got away unscathed? lololol]
[With material that golden, of course it had to go in the first episode.]
He was sorry. He’d been too naive.
“You okay?” Liang Zhisheng asked, trying not to laugh as he slung an arm over his roommate’s shoulder.
The pale blond boy, clearly mentally drained, curled up in his seat like a cooked shrimp, ears flushed bright red.
Lai Yudong weakly replied, “No…”
It was even more socially devastating than getting up there and doing the performance again! No wonder the comments had been so excited!
Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one suffering through this — there were a few other trainees featured in the same humiliation montage. Everyone had a good laugh, but overall, the atmosphere stayed friendly.
The first episode closed with the entrance of the once-legendary champion, Xu An.
Ending with a high-profile contestant to hook the audience was a standard move. But the Sky Video editors weren’t feeling generous — they intentionally cut the scene right at the moment his voice cracked, sparking a flurry of outraged comments accusing the show of malicious editing.
Hot-tempered Li Xu let out a disgruntled tsk.
In contrast, Xu An himself was remarkably calm. His expression was steady and unbothered, as if he had already foreseen this exact moment.
[Seeing Xu An stay so calm just makes me feel worse for him ]
[He probably saw it coming.]
[Who’s to blame? If your voice cracks, all you can do is accept the mockery.]
[An-baby’s the kind of kid who doesn’t let anything outside of singing get to him.]
Just as the comments said, Lai Yudong had already sensed it before.
Although Xu An was your textbook introvert with social anxiety, he handled everything unrelated to singing with an eerie calmness. It didn’t match the typical stereotypes — like how he reacted after being dropped to Class C, and now, at this very moment.
Calm — almost to the point of seeming cold.
It was hard to tell whether he was mentally unshakable, or just naturally indifferent.
The first episode wrapped up with the final — and most dreaded — segment: the reveal of the rankings as of Thursday night.
[Spoiler prevention mode: ON.]
A jarringly out-of-place robotic voice echoed in Lai Yudong’s mind.
Lai Yudong: [What’s that supposed to mean?]
System: [A newly added anti-spoiler feature for bullet comments. It blocks ranking leaks, song selection spoilers, and more — all to ensure an optimal mission experience for the host.]
Lai Yudong: […]
It was about as useless as banning students from looking at the essay prompt during a language exam.
Meanwhile, a collective groan spread through the auditorium. No one expected the cold, hard truth to be shoved in their faces so soon.
“I thought they wouldn’t show us the rankings. Didn’t they say it was a closed format?”
“It’s you who’s closed off, not your ranking.”
“Crap, crap — please let me be within the top 55…”
“No no no! I’m not mentally ready for this yet!”
As soon as the words were spoken, a name popped up in the bottom-right corner of the screen, along with the trainee’s company — the person in last place. That trainee’s expression stiffened visibly.
People around him whispered words of comfort: “It’s okay, this is just pre-show popularity. Do well in the first performance and you can definitely move up.”
The rankings continued to roll out non-stop, appearing one by one in a pyramid format to fill the page, then starting again on the next screen from the bottom right.
80th place: Luo Feiran.
…
64th place: Zeng Kai.
…
60th place: Zhou Rui.
…
Familiar names flashed by one after another, but none of the trainees from dorm 707 showed up — until finally:
56th place: Li Xu.
55th place: Miura Yuki.
54th place: Liang Zhisheng.
“Am I seeing things?” Liang Zhisheng rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
Lai Yudong didn’t know whether to be shocked by dorm 707’s perfectly consecutive triple appearance, or stunned that he had landed exactly on the edge of the elimination cutoff.
Only the top 55 in the first ranking announcement could participate in the second round of performances.
And he was the gatekeeper.
Lai Yudong let out a long sigh of relief. If he just pushed himself a little more, making it to the next round shouldn’t be a problem.
The only thing bothering him… was that his skills didn’t match his rank.
55th was way too high.
[55th?! That low??]
[Yuki is only 55th?]
[Wth, rigged! Total injustice!]
Lai Yudong: ?
That was way higher than his own expectation of being eliminated at 80th place in the first round!
Back then, when the comments said 80th was too low, he figured maybe they hadn’t watched the live broadcast and were just judging by appearances. But now — how could they think even 55th was too low?
Surely they were aware of how weak his actual skills were… right?
Could it be that going from F to C class salvaged his reputation?
[Yuzu’s at a disadvantage with no pre-show fanbase.]
[No, it’s not just about not having fans — this guy is just plain unlucky.]
[Yuki was discovered way too late.]
[Not a big deal. Yuzu’s trending now — next episode, he’s definitely soaring.]
[Gold will always shine, and handsome guys always go viral.]
Lai Yudong: ???
He agreed with the “unlucky” part — that one hit too close to home — but the rest of the comments? He didn’t get them at all.
Trending? Going viral?
Don’t tell me… don’t you dare tell me…
Did he seriously go viral on the hot search because of that cringeworthy performance he wished he could erase from existence!?
Even if it did go viral, how could anyone become a fan from that?
Lai Yudong: [What do the comments mean?]
System: [Stay tuned.]
Lai Yudong: […]
In the past, whenever he asked the system similar questions, it would either dodge, deflect, or give some vague answer that sent his blood pressure soaring. But this time, it was basically admitting something had happened.
He didn’t feel anticipation.
He felt fear.
The ranking announcement soon reached the most watched part — the debut lineup.
The moment 7th place appeared alongside Qu Xincheng’s name, the trainee from a major company let out a visible sigh of relief.
With the pressure of being backed by a powerhouse agency, plus the embarrassment of dropping from Class B to C after the theme song evaluation, he’d been carrying a lot of weight.
Then came the rest of the top ranks:
6th place: Su Junzhe.
5th place: Song Yanxi.
4th place: Zhao Yifeng.
3rd place: Jiang Yangfan.
2nd place: Xu An.
1st place: Mo Li.
[Only two of the debut spots went to true unknowns?]
[This lineup is seriously stacked ]
[5 influencers, 4 singers, 3 actors, 2 internet singers, 1 returning contestant — if the top 7 debut, this group’s doomed.]
[There is a difference between online singers and trained professionals.]
[Basically the difference between Class B and Class A?]
[LMAO, only fools take pre-show popularity seriously.]
[Congrats to Emperor Mo for taking first place! ]
The content of the bullet comments had nothing to do with him, so Lai Yudong stopped paying attention. Instead, he and Liang Zhisheng both turned to congratulate Xu An on securing second place.
Only Li Xu was a beat late to force out a smile. He’d looked downcast ever since the rankings were announced — though clearly, he thought he was hiding it well.
With the reaction segment for episode one wrapped up, the production team announced that they would be filming some promo materials the next afternoon, with the exact schedule to be announced over the PA system.
“Thank god we don’t have to get up early,” Liang Zhisheng said cheerfully — easily the happiest among the four of them. “Let’s take advantage of the lull before they give us the task for the first public stage. It’s only going to get more exhausting from here on out.”
Not long after they left the screening room, someone knocked on the door of Dorm 707 — apparently another person with the same “rest while you can” mentality.
It was Zhou Rui, who pulled a very confused Lai Yudong out of the room. Once in the hallway, he looked left and right to make sure no one was passing by, then dramatically revealed what he had hidden inside his jacket:
“Midnight snack — instant noodles?”
Lai Yudong: !
After a week of eating bland cafeteria food, the mere sight of those light, watery dishes was enough to make him want to cry.
At this moment, he solemnly declared: among all the trainees, Zhou Rui now ranked just below Su Junzhe — the man who taught him how to dance — in terms of greatness.
“Let’s celebrate both of us moving up a class,” Zhou Rui said, smiling a little sheepishly. “And also your ranking making it into the top 55. One cup of noodles each.”
He scratched his head awkwardly and added, “But most of all, I wanted to thank you for practicing with me. If I’d been doing it alone, I probably would’ve given up halfway.”
“It’s not that I motivated you,” Lai Yudong paused, then, after some thought, decided to speak honestly. “It’s that you were willing to work hard, and we just happened to sync up well.”
Zhou Rui was briefly taken aback. “That’s the longest sentence you’ve ever said.”
“……”
“I’m messing with you, haha! Come on, let’s go make those noodles!”
“What about Su Junzhe?”
“I asked him already — he firmly refused to eat any.”
As they walked toward the water dispenser at the end of the hallway, Zhou Rui suddenly smacked his forehead, remembering he’d forgotten to bring the sausage. He shoved the two instant noodle cups into Lai Yudong’s arms and said he’d be right back.
After a moment’s thought, Lai Yudong decided to go ahead and pour the hot water himself — it would take a few minutes for the noodles to soak, and he wanted to save time.
Before that, he figured he’d wash his hands — it felt unhygienic to open the seasoning packets otherwise.
But just as he stepped into the restroom, he unexpectedly walked in on an awkward scene.
A red-haired boy was leaning over the sink, palms planted on either side of the basin. His head was lowered in defeat, shoulders trembling just slightly. From him came the sound of muffled, restrained sobs — as if he was doing everything he could not to cry, but couldn’t hold back the emotional breakdown.
It was his roommate, Li Xu.
Lai Yudong froze.
He knew full well that people with this kind of personality didn’t respond well to blunt, direct questions in moments like this. He was about to quietly back out and give him some space — when Li Xu suddenly looked up.
“……”
“……”
Their eyes met.
————————————
**Author’s Note:
Partial rankings from Episode 1 of the show —
Mo Li 1 / Xu An 2 / Jiang Yangfan 3 / Zhao Yifeng 4 / Song Yanxi 5 / Su Junzhe 6 / Qu Xincheng 7 / Yin Zizhen 8 / Qu Junwei 10 / Yu Yizhen 14 / Qin Xu 15 / Zhang Mingche 19 / Bai Xuanhe 27 / Cheng Jinghao 28 / Chu Tianyi 33 / Jin Xiheng 36 / Lin Xiao 37 / Pei Lan 39 / Liu Qichu 46 / Liang Zhisheng 54 / Miura Yuki 55 / Li Xu 56 / Shu Tengjie 58 / Zhou Rui 60 / Zeng Kai 64 / Huang Yueru 72 / Luo Feiran 80