Trainee Ch.71

Chapter 71: The Third Performance (7)

Although Lai Yudong was strict about practice time, the group dismissal time he set was 2 a.m., with the rest left for everyone to arrange according to their own needs.

On the very first day, some teammates stuck to their daytime routines and went all out, dancing through the night. At this rate, they might not even last until the third performance—turning the practice room into a crematorium of dreams, leaving behind only a few lifeless bodies.

Efficiency was more important than sheer hours spent.

2:30 a.m.

Lai Yudong, as usual, kept an eye on his teammates. After not seeing any sign of Yin Zizhen in the dance group for a long while, he looked around in confusion and found him sitting in a corner hugging his water bottle, head drooping—clearly asleep.

Well, he’d managed to drink himself to sleep.

Worried Yin Zizhen might catch a chill or wake up with a stiff neck, Lai Yudong went over and shook him gently:

“Wake up, don’t sleep here.”

His intention was to send Yin Zizhen back to the dorm to rest. Instead, Yin Zizhen suddenly shot up like a spring, shook his groggy head, and insisted on continuing practice.

He stubbornly held on until 3 a.m., when he finally left together with Jiang Yangfan.

Jiang Yangfan had spent the whole day as a personal tutor—working even harder than Lin Xiao, who was only responsible for the group choreography. Managing to last until 3 a.m. was already no small feat.

By comparison, the “Bloody” group was truly a bunch of freakishly energetic people.

4 a.m.

Song Yanxi and Zhao Yifeng both reached their limits, exhausted to the point where they couldn’t even lift their arms.

Lin Xiao, who was only forcing himself to keep going out of competitiveness, saw his longtime rival announce his departure. Five minutes after the others left, he too staggered out of the practice room.

At that point, the only ones left in the practice room were the “Stone Pier Duo” from Dorm 707.

[LOL, they actually outlasted everyone.]

[Hang in there, Li Hong! About three more hours until Yuzu’s shift ends!]

[Li Xu: You trying to kill me??]

[With the other two generals of the “Owl-Taming Plan” absent, who could possibly outlast Yuzu?]

[Yuzu isn’t just outlasting his teammates, he’s outlasting us Yuzu-fans/crying.]

[I heard the fanclub even recruited a batch of overseas fans in different time zones, just so they could upload livestream clips instantly.]

Li Xu, carrying the hopes of countless comments, declared his defeat at 5 a.m.

He figured if he stayed up any longer, he’d reach the weird little town ahead of the third performance.

“I really am leaving this time.” Leaning weakly against the doorframe, Li Xu double-checked with the spirited boy with pale-gold hair, “You’re not coming with me? You’re going to keep practicing alone?”

“It’s fine, you go on ahead. I just want to get these parts down.”

Lai Yudong picked up his iced Americano and took a sip. The bitterness made him frown slightly as if he were drinking herbal medicine. He truly couldn’t understand how Su Junzhe managed to drink this stuff like water without batting an eye.

Though he didn’t like the taste, the iced Americano really lived up to its name as the perfect weapon against sleep—remarkably effective.

“Did you forget what Liang Zhisheng told you?” Li Xu pulled out his trump card. “Rest well, keep a healthy schedule, don’t collapse in the practice room.”

“I usually rest fine, and it’s not like he’s going to show up and catch me,” Lai Yudong replied calmly.

Seeing persuasion was useless, Li Xu didn’t press further. As he left, he muttered in puzzlement: “Weird… does this guy not need sleep?”

Of course, Lai Yudong hadn’t secretly completed human evolution.

It was impossible not to feel sleepy. Ever since the theme song training began, he hadn’t had a single day of proper rest. Every morning he dragged himself to the practice room purely on willpower. Once immersed in practice, the drowsiness would temporarily fade—similar to how high schoolers grind through the college entrance exam.

Compared to the beginning, his sleepy hours had shifted later, so before dawn he usually wouldn’t be tired enough to want to sleep.

For trainees, hard work was the cheapest advantage. No one would be kept just because they worked hard. Emphasizing it too much only made it into a joke, highlighting that apart from effort, you had nothing worth showing.

But that was also the most important strength. Someone unwilling to put in effort was like a race car without a fuel tank—there was no point evaluating its looks or performance yet.

[Ahhhhh Xiao Hong don’t leave!]

[Yuzu has successfully outlasted everyone.]

[Only Yuzu-baby is left, so lonely T T]

With the departure of the last teammate, the practice room fell silent and empty.

It had been a long time since Lai Yudong practiced this late by himself.

He suddenly thought of Zhou Rui—back then, the two of them had been the first to pair up and practice together. Ever since, he’d always had different teammates walking out of practice with him each night. Being alone again after so long felt a little strange.

Fortunately, he wasn’t the type to lose motivation just because he lacked company.

He practiced for another hour. By then, Lai Yudong was drenched in sweat, hair clumping together as fat drops fell. His eyelids felt magnetized, uncontrollably closing.

He pressed his iced Americano against his eyelids. The ice had already melted, but the lingering chill was enough to force some alertness back.

After tidying up his appearance a little, Lai Yudong headed for the lounge.

It was also his first time recording the “end-of-shift diary” alone.

“Without realizing it, it’s morning again.” Lai Yudong tilted his head up to look at the camera above. He tried his best to mask his exhaustion, speaking softly as though chatting with a friend: “This song is really hard. There are so many parts I’ve never tried before—though, I guess there’s still a lot I’ve never tried?”

“But this song is unique, and it’s beautiful. It’s my favorite track for the third performance. If we can pull it off, the stage will definitely look amazing.”

“And it’s the one everyone chose for me. Mm… I don’t know much about it, but I’m guessing it must have been a lot of work, right?”

After the song selection ended, Li Xu couldn’t hide it. With a mysterious but faintly proud tone, he revealed that Mo Li’s team had also chosen ‘Grotesque’.

Meaning the two of them were up against each other—his fans had voted the other side down.

It was overwhelming—in every sense of the word.

Countless emotions melted into a faint smile, like the first thaw of early spring, glittering under the sunlight.

“Thank you all, for making me this lucky.”

[Baby… T T]

[It’s my greatest blessing in three lifetimes to have such a wonderful idol 5555]

[The heartbreak from my previous idol collapsing was healed by Yuzu]

[Oh my god, it really feels like Yuzu is speaking to me face-to-face…]

[Where’s the ranking!? Where are the tickets!? Bring them all to me! I can keep voting for another five hundred years!!]

The comments exploded in a frenzy.

Lai Yudong was startled. Up until now, the sparse flow of comments drifting across the screen made him think there weren’t many viewers online. But this end-of-shift diary had suddenly drawn everyone out in force.

He realized—whenever he spoke sincerely from the heart, the comments reacted with overwhelming intensity.

The drowsiness he had forced down came creeping back. Lai Yudong picked up his neatly folded cotton coat and, not caring whether his damp hair had dried, threw it over his shoulders and left the practice room.

Stepping out of the building, he was greeted by light breaking through the clouds—dawn spilling down like rebirth.

It was a bright, clear morning.

Standing alone outside, with no trainees getting off work and none arriving yet, Lai Yudong seemed like an out-of-place stranger.

Well, it was a very awkward time—just past six in the morning.

At that moment, a voice rang out from afar, full of energy:

“Lai—Yu—dong—!”

Each word enunciated, drawn-out and clear, the vast distance could not dampen it. It was as if it sought to shatter invisible barriers, carrying heartfelt sincerity toward someone as unreachable as the stars.

The one shouting was a fan waiting outside.

Lai Yudong froze for a moment. His muddled brain snapped awake as though splashed with a faceful of floral water. After Liang Zhisheng, this was the first time anyone had called him by his real name.

No longer “Miura Yuki,” but “Lai Yudong.”

It felt as if the distance between him and this world had quietly drawn a little closer.

He turned toward the voice. The girl who had called out was bouncing up and down in sheer delight, her ponytail tracing a graceful arc through the air. She waved an exquisitely made banner in her hand—though the distance was too great to make out the details.

Noticing that the idol himself had seen her gave her courage. She mustered her strength and shouted again:

“You don’t need to thank us—!”

The fan crowd erupted into cheerful laughter.

“Sis, you’re such a legend hahaha!”

“You held it in all this time just to say that??”

“A Yuzu-fan shouts across the distance only to tell her idol he doesn’t need to thank us!”

“Damn, I nearly spat out my breakfast from laughing.”

Countless lively voices overlapped. Though none of them were as loud as that first fan, and Lai Yudong couldn’t make out their words clearly, the joy was infectious. He couldn’t help laughing along with them.

There was no need to say more—he knew they were talking about the end-of-shift diary.

People often said idols needed to respond to their fans, to create a “two-way bond.” But at this moment, what he felt was the complete opposite.

He was the one being answered with love.

Soon after, more voices began calling out—

“Baby! Hands above your head in a heart! Mom wants to see!”

“Bunny ears!”

“Yuzu baby! Penguin spin!”

…

Lai Yudong worried they might strain their voices from shouting, so he did his best to grant their wishes. Since no teammates were with him today, he could linger outside as long as he liked.

Like a wishing well that granted every request—even without a coin tossed in.

It went on until Lai Yudong covered his mouth and sneezed. The fans immediately stopped making requests and one after another urged him to hurry back to the dorm to rest.

“Go take a shower right away! Don’t catch a cold!”

“Stop working the crowd! Your health comes first!”

“Hubby, see you this afternoon! Love you!”

“Go clock out, Mom needs to sleep too!”

Under their stream of nagging concern, the fans practically “escorted” him back to the dorm building, putting an abrupt end to the fanservice session.

He paused at the glass door and glanced back—only to hear the heartbroken cry of farewell:

“Hurry back inside! Bye-bye!”

It sounded like the same girl who had first called his real name, as though she were the Weaver Girl standing on the edge of the Milky Way, reluctantly parting with her Cowherd whom she could only meet once a year.

Lai Yudong smiled helplessly and waved in her direction before heading in.

Watching her idol’s figure disappear, the fan quickly pulled out her phone and poured her sadness into Miura Yuki’s private fan group.

…

[Post Title] Got a taste of what it’s like to be a waiting-wife stone

[OP]

Watching Lai-lai’s back vanish from sight, I feel so empty…

If I’m this wistful just from staking out after practice, what will I do when it’s a fansign and the staff chase us away once time’s up? What about when it’s the disbandment concert??

I don’t want to live a single day without LYD!!

[1F] Girl, you’re really thinking ahead—already worrying about the disbandment concert.

[2F] Hand over the after-practice video.

[3F] Have you voted on the Galaxy ranking yet? Today’s the first day, don’t forget.

[4F] New day, new chart! Yuzu-fans, all assemble! Listen to my orders—let’s secure those fansign slots!

[5F] I even took two days off work just to focus on voting.

…

While Lai Yudong was pouring his heart and soul into preparing for the third performance stage, his fans were just as fired up, charging headlong into the next round of rankings.

That afternoon at two o’clock—

Or to be precise, fifteen minutes before two.

Lai Yudong, who had finished work the latest, was also the first to arrive at the practice room. His dedication made Jiang Yangfan, the second to show up, wonder if he had ever gone home at all.

Jiang Yangfan stared at his captain in disbelief. “What time did you leave?”

“A little after six?”

Lai Yudong lifted his iced Americano against his cheek. He’d discovered that using young people’s “herbal medicine” of physical cooling worked faster than actually drinking it. He had just added fresh ice cubes from the cafeteria, and the chill instantly cleared his head.

“Why does it feel like you got off even later than after the first stage?” Zhao Yifeng had just stepped into the room when he caught this exchange, making his heart lurch.

In a light, teasing tone, he said, “So is today finally my turn to be taught how to dance, Teacher Yuki?”

Lai Yudong nodded. “Sure. Today I’ll teach you how to cross a small dirt mound.”

Zhao Yifeng: “?”

Their choreography had something like that in it?

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