Trainee Ch.39

Chapter 39: Halftime Break (1)

“That’s one big camera.”

As soon as he said that, the comment section lit up with speculation.

[What does Yuki mean by that?]

[OMG, don’t tell me something happened off-camera between them?]

[?? Sounds like Yuzu was b*llied]

[Probably a dig at Zeng Kai only apologizing where cameras are rolling, lol]

[Written as “apologizing to Yuzu”, but read as “apologizing to the audience”]

[Either way, it explains why Zeng Kai never bothered to apologize to Zhao Yifeng]

[Got it. Yuzu’s the easier target.]

This batch of viewers was sharp — they all more or less hit the nail on the head. If only they’d stop mixing in such weird idioms.

Lai Yudong’s single comment pretty much summed everything up.

Zeng Kai had been snide with him, so he was snide right back.

Zeng Kai ignored him when there were no cameras, so he made sure to highlight the presence of a camera now.

Zeng Kai made things difficult for him on camera, so he implied that this apology was ambiguous in intent.

Just four words, and he hit multiple sore spots.

As expected, Zeng Kai’s face turned as if he’d been punched in the air — humiliated and awkward. He coughed a few times to ease the tension and said, “I think you misunderstood. I really did come here to apologize.”

Lai Yudong tilted his head. “Why?”

“At first, I thought you were just a pretty face and nothing else — that you only got attention by taking shortcuts. So my attitude toward you…” Zeng Kai struggled to squeeze out a few words, “wasn’t very friendly.”

[Oh, it’s the classic “man hurt by another man” syndrome]

[And what’s wrong with being a pretty face? Better than being a useless potted plant like you]

[Brother, you don’t even have the looks to back you up…]

Lai Yudong: “……”

At first glance, it didn’t sound like anything was wrong.

He was referring to what Zeng Kai had said.

Getting so much attention after the first day of filming was indeed due to his looks — and for that, he was subtly shaded.

To trainees who had worked hard, someone like him—a lucky guy who just dropped out of the sky—did seem unfair. Like he’d stumbled cluelessly into an unfamiliar world and accidentally snatched someone else’s reward. That was why he had repeatedly stated that he could understand their resentment.

But this time, he couldn’t accept it.

That excuse might explain the shady comments and the cold shoulder, but it couldn’t cover the rest of Zeng Kai’s nonsense. And by now, he was fairly certain that Zeng Kai and “hard work” were about as related as fish and bicycles.

“But after spending a few days with you, I realized that was just my bias…”

Zeng Kai’s voice echoed down the hallway in a steady stream, like he was loudly reading a scripted self-reflection letter—one of those you turn in late to the teacher and read aloud even though it doesn’t help anymore.

Lai Yudong sighed inwardly. He had no interest in dissecting the true motives behind the apology. Arguing about it would do him no good.

He just wanted to get on the damn bus, go back, and take out his colored contacts.

[Too many complaints to count]

[Peppermint A-group drama till the very end]

[Explosion-level drama squad, are you kidding me]

[Is Yuzu about to fall asleep lol]

No, he was just wondering how much longer Zeng Kai planned to talk.

“…So, I hope… uh… you won’t take it to heart.”

Zeng Kai stumbled his way to the end of a long-winded, evasive speech. He sneakily glanced at the light blond-haired boy, whose expression hadn’t changed once, completely unable to read what the other was thinking.

His sincerity? About fifty percent, give or take.

The “genuine” part was that he’d been thoroughly slapped in the face by the very “pretty-boy vase” trainee he used to look down on. Never in a million years did he expect he would end up the one making a fool of himself. So he re-evaluated the past few days and, belatedly, changed his opinion of Miura Yuki. The guy had broken down the choreography, studied movement patterns, practiced, and even stepped in to save the team — hitting above the minimum standard in every aspect. In hindsight, Zeng Kai admitted his prejudice had been unfair.

The “fake” part was that Miura Yuki’s popularity had skyrocketed beyond anything he’d imagined — after all, he’d never seen Los Angeles at 4 a.m., nor had he seen his commute home at 4 a.m. The only thing he was sure of was that he’d ended up as Miura Yuki’s stepping stone. And idol fans were ferocious, like modern-day Leeuwenhoeks with microscopic attention to detail. If he didn’t settle this quickly with the person in question, public backlash would be inevitable.

At the very least, maybe he could ride on some of Yuki’s buzz — or drag him down a little.

All in all, a bit scheming, but not smart enough.

Unfortunately, Yuki wasn’t biting.

Lai Yudong stared calmly at his former teammate until the latter began to squirm under the gaze. Only then did he offer a polite but distant smile.

“You should be apologizing to the people who voted for you.”

With that, he didn’t leave even a crack for rebuttal. He gave a small nod and turned to leave.

[Our baby’s airtight again! Amazing!]

[So classy, but still didn’t accept the apology]

[Yuki really knows how to talk]

[Smart and decisive — not just a nice guy. I love him even more now]

[Yuzu keeps bouncing between “genius” and “tiny dumbass,” lol]

[Help, I think I like Yuzu more for his personality than his looks now]

[Told you — Yuzu’s more than just a pretty face]

Lai Yudong skimmed through the comments briefly. Seeing that the general tone was praise, he relaxed.

Zeng Kai’s stunt had been just as tricky as the ambush-style questions during interviews.

Accepting the apology or rejecting it would both draw criticism.

The former would anger viewers who shared his perspective — and even upset himself.

The latter would make him look petty, maybe even ruin his carefully maintained image.

Even though the comment section looked relatively supportive, the internet was far bigger than this one friendly corner. Some netizens thrived on stirring the pot, and those who disliked him would always find something to nitpick.

Being cautious wasn’t just about maintaining the persona of an “overseas contestant” — it was also a way to protect himself and his fans.

He could handle being insulted — but dragging down the people who liked him? That wouldn’t sit right.

“Hey! Wait!”

Seeing the blond-haired boy leave without giving him a chance to explain, Zeng Kai panicked and raised a hand to stop him. But just as he took a step forward, someone shot out from behind him — bouncing cheerfully like a lamb — and skipped right past.

“Yuki! You’re done too?”

Su Junzhe landed precisely at Lai Yudong’s side. He looked up with a radiant smile and naturally hooked his arm through Yudong’s as he tugged him forward:

“My teammates were called in for interviews earlier than me, so I thought I’d be heading to the bus alone. Didn’t expect to run into you right after I walked out — what a coincidence!”

He looked delicate, but his grip was surprisingly strong. Lai Yudong was dragged along for several steps before he adjusted his pace to match.

Zeng Kai, now completely ignored, was left standing awkwardly behind them, all alone.

[Why does it look like Yuzu’s getting kidnapped lol]

[Su Junzhe really showed up at the perfect time]

[Su Su looks so fresh — I’d believe you if you told me he just finished makeup and was about to go on stage]

“The producers asked you any questions? — Ah wait, this part hasn’t aired yet, right? Are we allowed to talk about it?” Su Junzhe chatted away, quickly shifting topics, “But they didn’t ask much this time. Last time after group selection, they grilled me.”

Although Su Junzhe usually came off as outgoing and cheerful, it was rare for him to be this proactively close to someone. The level of enthusiasm he showed now was so out of character, it almost felt like he’d been possessed — making it hard not to wonder what kind of scheme he had brewing.

The answer quickly revealed itself.

“They asked me what my standard was for choosing teammates. I said I tend to admire the hardworking and ambitious type — people who give up halfway really frustrate me.”

[Zeng Kai: ?]

[So Yuzu fits that criteria perfectly]

[Dream mentor-disciple collab loading…]

[Su Junzhe didn’t even pick Miura]

[He got first pick — of course he’d go for someone strong]

“…Mm. I think so too.”

Lai Yudong glanced sideways at the curly-haired boy with a subtle look. His words seemed to carry some pointed meaning — possibly directed at a certain someone behind them — but that innocent, radiant smile made it hard to assume anything malicious.

Setting that aside, what he said did explain a lot about his behavior during the theme song evaluation period.

As expected, career-focused types admired other career-focused types.

——

No matter what the final results would be, the first performance had officially come to an end.

Taking off his colored contacts, Lai Yudong felt like he’d shed a heavy burden — like a thousand-pound weight lifted from his shoulders. Looking back on the entire process felt like surviving a grueling ordeal in hell with tears in his eyes. Only a hot shower and a good night’s sleep could purify his soul now.

One by one, his roommates returned to the dorm after washing up.

“Finally, some rest. I feel like my bones are falling apart.” Liang Zhisheng climbed onto his bunk and flopped down immediately, curling into his blanket like a dried-out salted fish with no dreams, not even bothering to move a finger. “We can sleep in tomorrow, right?”

Li Xu burrowed under his covers: “Didn’t the production crew say we’re filming promo materials tomorrow?”

Liang Zhisheng began to question his own memory. “Wasn’t that the day after tomorrow?”

“It’s past midnight,” Lai Yudong reminded him.

Liang Zhisheng twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be so technical. You know what I meant.”

Xu An, the last one to climb into bed, turned off the dorm lights and groped his way to his bunk in total darkness.

A few minutes later, Liang Zhisheng’s voice floated down softly from the top bunk. “You guys asleep yet?”

Lai Yudong opened his eyes. “No.”

“If you hadn’t answered, I would’ve dozed off,” Li Xu replied coolly. “What’s so important you have to say it now? The cameras aren’t rolling?”

“No,” Liang Zhisheng sighed. “It’s just… this time of night makes people sentimental.”

“Sentimental? The performance’s over. What is it now — thinking about the rankings?”

“Yeah.”

“…What?”

Li Xu had said that as a joke — deliberately choosing the most unlikely answer — but to his surprise, the other boy admitted it dead seriously. “For real? I thought you couldn’t wait to leave?”

Liang Zhisheng carefully picked his words. “I guess I was kind of influenced by other people’s drive — or the atmosphere, maybe? That kind of thing. Especially after doing the stage today… the feeling’s different.”

Li Xu shot him down mercilessly. “You’re just on a post-stage high. Sleep it off.”

“…Fair point.”

Liang Zhisheng sobered up instantly, like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on him. “But still, thinking about how we might be saying goodbye in a few days… I feel a little reluctant. It’s been a long time since I lived with other people.”

Li Xu didn’t seem to want to continue the topic. After a few seconds of silence, he let out a scoffing laugh and tried to mask his feelings with impatience. “I should be the one saying goodbye to you guys.”

“Our rankings are tied together,” Lai Yudong reminded him quietly.

“Oh please. You’re a shoo-in.”

Lai Yudong took it as encouragement. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Why are you thanking me? What’s it got to do with me?” Li Xu replied immediately. “Whether you make it or not isn’t up to me. I’m just analyzing the situation.” He paused, then added with suspicious certainty, like he’d secretly read the script, “Anyway, you’re definitely getting through.”

“Xu An’s the most solid pick here,” Liang Zhisheng sighed with admiration.

“Exactly. That’s why he’s fast asleep, unlike you — dragging your half-asleep roommates into your late-night anxiety spiral,” Li Xu grumbled, flipping over. “Quit emo-ing. I’m exhausted.”

“Alright, alright. Sleep.”

And with that, the conversation ended.

Lai Yudong didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when, somewhere in a haze between dream and wakefulness, a soft creak creak sound reached his ears.

He blearily opened his eyes and saw a figure quietly climbing down the ladder from the top bunk. The person moved stealthily, grabbed something from the desk, then opened the dorm door and slipped out.

The hallway light briefly lit up a head of bright red hair — in his hand was a thermos.

—Li Xu?

Lai Yudong didn’t think much of it. He figured his roommate had just gotten thirsty in the middle of the night.

He slowly sat up. Since he was awake anyway, he decided he might as well drink some water too — but when he shook his own cup, he found it empty.

Guess I’ll have to go fill it.

Yawning, Lai Yudong slid on his slippers, cradled his cup, and shuffled out into the hallway. The water dispenser was at the far end, next to the washroom, but as he glanced down the corridor, he didn’t see the familiar red-haired figure anywhere.

Maybe he’s in the bathroom, he thought.

That guess wasn’t wrong —

But the reality wasn’t quite what he expected.

When Lai Yudong reached the water dispenser, he stood dazedly staring at the restroom beside it. The scene before him instantly drove away all traces of sleepiness.

Li Xu, who had been sneaking around earlier, was now standing at the sink. He had unscrewed the base of his thermos and was pulling a phone out from a hidden compartment inside. As the two of them stared at each other in stunned silence, the phone slowly lit up, signaling it was turning on.

“……”

“……”

It was hard to explain why they kept running into each other in such scenes.

Li Xu’s expression was no less spectacular than last time. In a panic, he was about to call his roommate over to quickly enter the restroom, so as to avoid exposing his actions in the hallway camera footage—only to have the other person rush in ahead of him like a streak of light, eyes gleaming like a hungry wolf spotting prey.

In a hushed voice that barely concealed the excitement in his tone, the other asked, “Can I borrow your hotspot?”

Li Xu: “?”

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**TN

Los Angeles (洛杉矶) – not sure why he mentioned LA.