Trainee Ch.59

Chapter 59: Halftime Break (3)

Pretending to be strangers in front of the cameras—what kind of bizarre request was that?

Lai Yudong stared incredulously at the red-haired boy in front of him. After thinking it over for a while, he finally arrived at what he believed to be the most logical explanation:

“You’re trying to maintain your persona?”

He honestly couldn’t think of a second possibility.

Surely it couldn’t be that the guy was truly some kind of solo-fan purist, shutting out even his own CP with Lai Yudong?

He really didn’t want to jinx himself by saying it aloud.

“I…”

Li Xu was caught off guard by this strange train of thought. The corner of his mouth twitched; he wanted to refute it, to say he had never once tried to force some persona, but he couldn’t even come up with a harsh retort.

Expressionless, he took a sip of his iced cola, using the chill of the drink to steady his mood.

“Our dorm’s popularity is pretty high right now. It’s already surpassed Dorm 502, who had the most heat at the beginning of the competition—the drama group that Zhang Mingche tied his group votes to.”

“Mm.” Lai Yudong nodded, indicating he was listening.

The “drama group” referred to Jiang Yangfan, Yu Yizhen, and Zhang Mingche, who had been on the same team during the initial stage. Audiences often mentioned the three of them together, but lately, their presence on the barrage chat seemed to have dropped off.

Maybe their group fans just didn’t have the energy anymore.

“A lot of Dorm 707’s group fans are trying to pull Liang Zhisheng up, but judging by last week’s ranking, I don’t think he’s going to make it.” Li Xu gave a self-mocking smile. “Of course, I’ve also benefitted a lot from the dorm’s overall popularity. Since you can only vote for three people in the second round, most of the time it’s your fans or Xu An’s fans who tack on votes for me and Liang Zhisheng. After all, voting for us doesn’t pose any threat, so it’s like doing a good deed.”

“Especially your fans—there are too many first-love-type show fans who just aren’t ruthless enough. They really care about whether you’re comfortable or not. Plus, since you helped me revise my rap lyrics, they kindly threw me a good number of ‘friendship votes.’ I have no idea how they even came to the conclusion that you and I are on good terms.”

Lai Yudong watched Li Xu mumbling to himself, thoughtful.

That last sentence sounded like a complaint, but between the lines it carried a faint joy at their relationship being acknowledged. It was obvious he wanted to secretly savor it, yet he couldn’t help but come right up to the person involved and bring it up—just short of humming smugly that those fans really had sharp eyes.

Mm. No need to deny it, no need to spell it out.

Let him be.

“And then?” Lai Yudong asked calmly.

Li Xu drew in a deep breath. “I don’t want to ride on your popularity. Even if I can’t debut, I just want to rely on my own ability.”

“Got it.” Lai Yudong pulled a pack of chicken nuggets out of the brown paper bag, tore open the sauce packet warmed by the food—a string of casual movements that eased the atmosphere. “Since you’ve already thought it through, I won’t interfere. But I still want to say what I think.”

He tilted his head, holding up a nugget dipped in sauce. “I don’t think Dorm 707’s popularity is because of one or a few of us. The four of us are all indispensable. If you were swapped out for Zeng Kai, it’s not like he’d automatically get dragged along too.”

“So, it’s not my popularity. It’s our popularity.”

The streetlight reflected in his jet-black eyes, like stars fallen to earth.

Li Xu silently looked at the blond boy beside him. The other had just spoken words that stirred his heart, only to stuff the nugget into his mouth right after—as if waiting another second would starve him to death.

Li Xu pulled his gaze back, shoved the rest of his burger into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

The words had been too beautiful, enough to shake his resolve.

“And besides, people will think the two of us are fighting,” Lai Yudong added.

Li Xu: “…”

Li Xu: “Is that really important?”

“Maybe?”

The atmosphere grew quiet. The two of them ate their hard-won fast food, each lost in their own thoughts. From a distance, the streetlights cast their glow over the bus stop, stretching their shadows long—like a still from an art-house film.

If not for the biting chill of the December night wind, reddening their ears and stiffening their fingers, the scene might have been even warmer.

“Miura,” Li Xu suddenly spoke.

“Mm?”

“What will you do if you don’t debut?”

Of course, Lai Yudong couldn’t answer with switching servers to do missions.

So, following the path of his original life, he gave a normal reply: “Study.”

“Your life is so boring.” Li Xu shot back.

A textbook remark from a rebellious teenager. Lai Yudong wasn’t surprised; he just gave a dismissive smile. “What about you?”

“Haven’t decided. Since I signed the contract, I can’t join another talent show in the short term. And a small company like mine won’t give me resources or cobble together a group to debut. So I’ll just write songs and see if I can make it that way. Sigh. If that doesn’t work, maybe I’ll debut under a skin as a virtual streamer. That’s pretty popular these days.”

Not bad—very two-dimensional.

Lai Yudong dipped another nugget in sauce. “You’re not studying?”

If he remembered right, Li Xu was a year younger than him. If his studies had gone smoothly, he should be in university or college by now.

Of course, there was also the possibility that he’d already stepped into society.

“I filed for a leave of absence.” Li Xu gazed into the distant night sky. “I’m giving myself two years. If I can’t make a name for myself, I’ll go back to school. If I can, then I won’t.”

“Very bold,” Lai Yudong commented.

If it were him, he couldn’t give up a stable education for the sake of a fleeting passion. At most, he’d wait until after graduation—unless he had absolute certainty.

He was the cautious type, the kind who didn’t dare gamble recklessly with his future.

“It can’t wait any longer—I’m already eighteen. Xu An was only seventeen when he joined Hear my Voice.” Li Xu said listlessly. “I don’t want to live a rule-bound life, trapped in a school that feels like a steel cage, reading books that are useless for actual work. What’s the point of that?”

“But…” Lai Yudong hesitated. After a brief struggle, he decided to urge him toward schooling. “For those who are forced to give up their studies, your so-called rebellion is just another kind of conformity.”

Li Xu turned his head and stared at him for a few seconds. “That… kind of makes sense.”

Lai Yudong: “…”

He accepted it so quickly that Lai Yudong suddenly had nothing to say.

“Anyway, I’ve already filed for a leave of absence. Thinking too much about it won’t change anything.” Li Xu was open-minded about it, his forward-looking drive fitting his personality perfectly. “Then what about you? After you finish studying, what will you do?”

“Something related to my major,” Lai Yudong replied vaguely.

“For example?”

“A TV station or something.”

On the surface, Lai Yudong was calm, but in truth his mind was screaming Please stop asking, bro! He was terrified that one more question would expose him.

If pressed further, his only answer left would be: work as a janitor at a TV station.

He was really bad at lying.

Tricking Zhao Yifeng that the haunted house was “healing” didn’t count—that was just joking around.

Fortunately, Li Xu didn’t press the matter. His attention shifted elsewhere: “A TV station? But if you debut, doesn’t that mean you can’t go there?”

Because he couldn’t reveal the system’s surreal mission requirements, Lai Yudong had to follow the logic of ordinary reality: if this was the real world, and he had been dragged into a talent show and successfully debuted, then what would he do next?

After some thought, he answered, “It’s fine. I don’t necessarily have to go to a TV station.”

Lai Yudong couldn’t really say he loved broadcasting and hosting. What drove him was more the principle of “if you’re going to do something, do it well.” It was the same mindset that pushed him to practice singing and dancing for the stage.

He didn’t have any must-achieve dreams. To him, being an idol or being a host were simply two different kinds of jobs—neither inherently better or worse. Like getting HE1 or HE2 in a game.

But if he had to pick one, he’d definitely choose the latter. He had more confidence in his own field of study, and he didn’t like doing things without certainty.

As always—he was the cautious type.

Of course, all of the above only applied under the “real-world” assumption. In truth, there was no such dilemma.

The system had said that completing the task would unbind him from it, and he would receive a mysterious reward. So debuting meant the end of the mission. At that point, the only option before him would be to return to his original world and continue studying.

Mission completed, reward obtained, life back on track.

That should have been a happy ending for all. But his forward-thinking, cautious nature made him overthink everything. The joy was diluted by a stream of questions.

If he left, what about the fans in this world? What about the boy group that debuted?

How would his absence be filled?

Would they create an NPC based on him named Miura Yuki? Or would it just be a case of debut today, disappear from the industry tomorrow, erased from all records?

Either way, his conscience wouldn’t sit well with it.

Lai Yudong couldn’t give up the family and friends of his original world, but he also didn’t want to irresponsibly abandon everything here and run away. Yet, for now, he couldn’t think of a perfect solution.

It was too hard. Could the system really handle it properly?

He wasn’t convinced.

…

The set meal for two was quickly wiped clean.

After spending a while outside in the wind, making sure the smell of fried chicken had completely faded from their clothes, the two of them retraced their steps and headed back.

Lai Yudong snuck a guilty look left and right before climbing back into the restroom window. If sneaking out had made him feel like a delinquent ditching school to hit an internet café, then sneaking back in made him feel like a thief trying to steal a bike key.

Too thrilling—his heart could hardly take it.

The last time he’d felt this much adrenaline was when he realized during a Chinese test that he’d memorized the wrong week’s poem.

Oh wait, no—that time he mentioned ‘fanservice’ on a livestream.

Lai Yudong handed the three-piece disguise kit back to Li Xu, then stepped out of the bathroom and was greeted by the barrage he hadn’t seen in a while.

[Missing person returns]

[What were they talking about for so long? So curious.]

[Bet they went to steal the master recording qaq]

[Stealing the master won’t help—they deliberately avoided cameras. The hallway cams picked up nothing.]

[I suspect they actually climbed out through the bathroom window]

Netizens were basically Sherlock Holmes.

Remembering their heart-to-heart, Lai Yudong tilted his head toward the red-haired boy. “So… do we still need to…?”

Li Xu shot back, “What do you think?”

Lai Yudong replied decisively, “No need.”

“…You’re way too firm about that.” Li Xu rubbed his temples, exasperated, then let out a sigh of surrender. “Fine, whatever. Do what you want. You always have a bunch of crooked logic anyway.”

[I didn’t understand a single word. What’s going on with them?]

[Stop talking in riddles!]

[Did they have a fight?]

[Doesn’t look like it. They seemed to be getting along just fine before the talk.]

“I don’t spout crooked logic,” Lai Yudong muttered. “Go ask Liang Zhisheng—he’d definitely back me up.”

Li Xu’s face darkened. “Don’t. I don’t need him nagging me to death.”

“Looks like you know it’s your fault.”

“What kind of twisted logic is that?”

[Why are you tattling to the parents?!]

[Yuzu’s little brain works pretty fast hhh]

[Well, our Dong-baby is both a face-pick and a words-pick]

[It’s charisma-pick]

[Face-pick + words-pick, no problem there]

[Wait, who’s Dong-baby?]

[Dong-baby = Lai Yudong = Miura Yuki = Yuzu]

Lai Yudong’s feelings were complicated.

Seeing his real name appear in the barrage was like a player with a special hidden identity suddenly being forced to reveal their true self—switching from immersive roleplay to a full-on real-person livestream. The shift was hard to get used to.

Just like that one comment.

“Lai Yudong” and “Miura Yuki”—the two names had now been equated.

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