Trainee Ch.66

Chapter 66: The Third Performance (2)

All thirty-five trainees had finished selecting their songs.

Looking around, the groups with relatively high popularity were “Anonymous” and “Grotesque.” The former had the 2nd and 6th place trainees from the second ranking, while the latter had the 4th, 5th, and 7th place.

The group with the highest total votes would, in all likelihood, come from one of these two.

Lai Yudong and his teammates entered the practice room assigned to the “Grotesque” group. In the past, during this stage, he would always sit quietly off in a corner. But this time, the moment he sat down, the others naturally formed a circle around him.

As per routine, they first watched the full performance video before dividing parts.

For the third performance, aside from the killing part, the other sections of the center position were fixed and generally not subject to change. So he didn’t need to participate in the part-distribution process.

The tablet was placed on the floor in front of Lai Yudong, and all seven of them huddled together to watch. When the song finished playing, the whole group fell into an awkward silence.

For one reason only—the difficulty was even higher than expected.

The demo had actually been the easiest part of the entire song.

Wasn’t this basically a trap to lure people in to be slaughtered?

If, for the others, it was like moving from “hard mode” to “nightmare mode,” then for Lai Yudong, it was straight into “hell mode”—the eighteenth layer of hell.

First of all, the center part had a rap section.

It didn’t contain as many lines as the rap position, but it was crucial in driving the song’s emotion—laying out the background and then leading into the protagonist. Stylistically, it marked the turning point, shifting from eerie and psychedelic to dark, fiery, and cool.

Something like “with a thunderous boom, the protagonist makes his dazzling entrance.”

Although the rap lyrics had already been provided—so he didn’t need to rack his brains to write them himself—it turned out that the rap was in English.

He had never even performed a rap in Chinese before. The only English songs he’d ever sung were Happy Birthday, the alphabet song, and his debut stage piece “Lose Heart.”

Now, somehow, the two hardest challenges had been rolled into one.

The consequences of failing at rap were even more awkward than failing at singing or dancing—especially since rap wasn’t something the general public easily accepted.

His mind went completely blank; all he wanted was to bolt out the door.

Secondly, the choreography was like acrobatics.

As center, he had to vault over a crouching teammate who was supporting himself with one hand, then immediately face the camera and perform that rap. Such a big movement made it easy for his voice to go unsteady. Later, there was even a part where he had to step onto a teammate’s back, leap down, and land directly into a synchronized dance.

By the way, the unlucky teammate serving as the human stepping stone was the same poor soul both times.

On top of that, there were several breaking moves—enough that by the end of the song the floor would be polished spotless.

If these moves weren’t executed with smooth confidence, the result would either be like a wobbly old man or a slime creature squirming across the floor.

Putting aside aesthetics, the choreography also carried a certain risk. That leap off a teammate’s back left him speechless.

Courage was only courage when it didn’t threaten one’s own or others’ safety.

Finally, there was the universal challenge facing everyone.

For example, the rapid, constantly shifting formations that had them darting across half the stage—or even the whole stage—as if they were late for a flight.

And then there was the music itself, which matched the story background: the composition and arrangement worked hand in hand to create the feeling of being in a bizarre little town. The trade-off was that the melody wasn’t easy to grasp; mishandling it would turn “grotesque aesthetics” into just plain “grotesque noise.”

[Seems like they picked a really tough song for Yuzu.]

[The center position actually has a fixed rap part? Does this mean I’ll get to see Yuzu rap??]

[Don’t get your hopes up too much. Does Yuzu look like someone who can rap…?]

[Sorry, Mom didn’t realize it was this hard hahaha.]

[I’m already worried this stage is going to be a disaster.]

[Yuki and Song Yanxi’s abilities are a little shaky, and Yin Zizhen, Zhao Yifeng, and Li Xu are weaker in dance.]

[This group is basically a vocal + rap lineup, huh.]

Lai Yudong: …

So basically the whole team is just opening blind boxes, huh?

The production team sure knew how to manufacture “surprises.”

Lai Yudong rubbed his temples, headache setting in. He consoled himself that no matter how tough things got, it was still better than having to personally choreograph the dance. At least their team had Jiang Yangfan, the designated dance ace, and if he remembered correctly, Lin Xiao was also pretty good at dancing.

The situation wasn’t too bad—overall the lineup was fairly complete, just a little heavy on the “specialists.”

One eternal truth: practice enough, and you’ll get through it.

Glancing around the room, Lai Yudong took the initiative to break the silence: “Should we pick a team leader first?”

Most of the group consisted of trainees he wasn’t very familiar with; as for teammates he had actually shared a stage with before, there was only Zhao Yifeng. Rather than pin his hopes on someone else, it was better for him, as the center, to take the initiative.

It wasn’t exactly in line with his personality, but this song had been chosen for him by the Starseekers. The spotlight shouldn’t be limited to just the stage—it also included their daily practice.

He had to step up and show strength; otherwise, all their effort would have been wasted.

Zhao Yifeng played along, speaking up: “Anyone who wants to be team leader, raise your hand—”

Five seconds passed. Nobody moved.

Seeing this, Zhao Yifeng turned his head toward Lai Yudong: “What do we do?”

[This group doesn’t have a “parent type” trainee.]

[Being team leader is a thankless job—you take care of everyone, get scolded if things go wrong, and unlike the center, you don’t even get a highlight on stage.]

[But a good leader is really important for the team.]

[True. If the leader isn’t responsible, then unless the members are disciplined on their own, the team atmosphere will just be loose and unfocused.]

For the consequences of a bad leader, see: the first performance.

Lai Yudong suddenly realized that their first performance had pretty much hit every possible pitfall—practically the full set of five poisons.

It was hard to imagine just what he’d been through.

When nobody volunteered to be leader, Lai Yudong was about to suggest rotating the role among them. But then Jiang Yangfan suddenly spoke up, catching him completely off guard.

“Can I recommend Yuki to be the leader? Zhang Mingche told me you always stay late practicing until the very end. That makes you really suited to lead the team. Plus, Zhao Yifeng’s attitude makes me feel like he already considers you the leader by default.”

“Is that so?” The person in question, Zhao Yifeng, looked utterly confused. “I was just asking for his opinion. Wasn’t he the one who suggested we pick a leader?”

Jiang Yangfan’s voice was as gentle and clear as jade: “Mm, but the way you ‘asked’ already carried the tone of seeking instructions.”

Zhao Yifeng: “…”

He really didn’t get it.

[Perfect, let Yuzu lead the team into grinding themselves half to death, hahaha.]

[Everywhere he goes, trainees become eagle-training victims.]

[lyd: Have you ever seen a practice room at 4 a.m.?]

[Correction: for Yuzu, leaving at 4 a.m. counts as going home early.]

The barrage comments hit right on the mark for Lai Yudong.

He calmly accepted the gazes of everyone now turned toward him and stated his stance on being leader: “I can be team leader, but I care a lot about practice time, so it might be a bit tough.”

“‘A bit’?” Li Xu muttered under his breath.

When he noticed the light-gold-haired boy’s eyes shift toward him, he quickly clarified, afraid it would be taken as undermining: “I agree that Miura should be the leader. This song is already really hard, so practicing more is necessary. Having someone push us is a good thing.”

“Since Jiang Yangfan already said I defaulted to him, I’ll just agree then.” Zhao Yifeng shrugged. He honestly didn’t care who became leader—as long as it wasn’t him.

The rest, without exception, all gave their approval.

Last time he’d been pushed into the center spot; this time, he was pushed into being leader. Lai Yudong felt as if fate itself had arranged everything. He tore off the sticker that marked the team leader and placed it on his practice uniform and on the part-distribution chart.

Center and leader both—wasn’t that too much pressure?

He stared at his name for a few seconds, then shook off the negative thoughts.

Next came part distribution.

Lai Yudong flipped through the lyric sheet, then propped his chin on his hand as he studied the chart on the wall.

Aside from the fixed killing part and sub-vocal 1 that came with being center, there was still one main vocal, three sub-vocals, and two rappers to be assigned. This time, there wasn’t a designated main rapper.

[The center position in this group is really a center. I checked all five groups, and “Grotesque” has the most center parts.]

[Between the main vocal and the center, they basically sing more than half the song.]

[It’s a very obvious center role, but if you can’t handle it, it’ll just be awkward.]

[Yuzu will definitely be fine! He’s been amazing in every performance!]

[Exactly—Dong-baby’s stage presence is solid. Even if he’s not the absolute best, he’ll never be bad.]

[Sure, Yuzu started from zero, but his progress is obvious, and he’s never dragged the team down.]

Lai Yudong: …

Great, more pressure.

Why did it feel like he was more nervous than he’d been for the first performance? Were the Starseekers maybe trusting him too much?

Zero and positive infinity were both numbers, but there was still a big difference between them.

“Let’s decide the main vocal first.” Lai Yudong stepped into his leader role. “Anyone want to take it?”

No surprise—both Zhao Yifeng and Lin Xiao raised their hands.

As two corners of the “main vocal triangle,” their rivalry was even more dramatic than Xu An occasionally joining in. If they weren’t locked in a direct battle, then they were ending up as competitors within the same team. And it always seemed to happen by coincidence—unlike Qu Cheng and the others, who were clearly doing it on purpose.

This time, though, since teams were picked openly, it was hard to tell whether Lin Xiao had genuinely wanted to join Grotesque, or if he was just dead set on competing with Zhao Yifeng.

The two of them sang the main vocal part in turn, then closed their eyes while waiting for the team vote.

In the end, Zhao Yifeng won the main vocal spot with a 4–1 vote.

Lin Xiao’s performance wasn’t bad, but his technique was a little too heavy-handed, and his vocal tone wasn’t an advantage. In another group, competing for the main vocal spot, he might not have lost.

That said, Lai Yudong truly admired Lin Xiao’s courage.

From the very beginning—competing for Class A on the debut stage—Lin Xiao had fought Zhao Yifeng again and again, only to lose each time. Yet even in repeated defeat, he continued to challenge his old rival.

If it had been him, he would never have kept raising his hand without being fully prepared.

He hated doing things he wasn’t ready for.

Human confidence had its limits; wearing it down again and again was never a good thing.

Even if his journey so far seemed smooth sailing, just relying on the push from the system tasks wouldn’t have been enough to carry him to this point. The support of the Starseekers gave him a huge amount of motivation and confidence.

It could be said that every word he had spoken to them was sincere, not empty flattery.

The remaining parts were quickly divided up. The group happened to have exactly two rappers, so choosing sections went smoothly—no sad situation of a rapper being forced to sing vocals.

Holding the lyric sheet, Lai Yudong compared it with the positioning shown in the video. The “lucky teammate” who had to be both flipped over and stepped on turned out to be Li Xu.

Fortunately, it was someone he knew, so it wouldn’t be too awkward when the time came.

If Li Xu hadn’t taken that rap part, the only one left would have been Yin Zizhen. And while the boy wasn’t so thin he looked like a sheet of paper, the idea of stepping on a minor who was nearly ten centimeters shorter than him felt far too embarrassing.

They officially entered the practice stage.

In the group, only Jiang Yangfan and Lin Xiao could break down choreography, so the heavy responsibility naturally fell on their shoulders.

“Our group is weak in dance, so there are a lot of areas we’ll need your help with,” Lai Yudong discussed with the two of them. “Do you think it would be better to split into smaller groups for teaching, or to take turns teaching everyone? Or do you have an even better suggestion?”

He had never been in a “normal” team before—either his teammates hadn’t been very skilled, or they had been too skilled—so he honestly wasn’t sure what regular practice modes were like.

He had gone through both hell and heaven; now it was time to come back down to earth.

“Personally, I prefer taking turns. Everyone has a different dance style and focus, so if we split into groups, we might end up with two different versions,” Jiang Yangfan answered thoughtfully. Then he added, “That said, even if we do take turns, I think it would be better for the two of us to first learn the choreography together, then divide up the teaching. That way, it feels more like a team.”

“Got it. And Lin Xiao, your thoughts…?”

When it came to matters outside of the main vocal position, Lin Xiao was relatively easygoing: “Either way works. Let’s do it the way Jiang Yangfan suggested.”

“You guys can practice on your own first. Once we’re almost done, we’ll call you over,” Jiang Yangfan arranged.

Lai Yudong nodded. “Thanks for taking this on.”

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