Trainee Ch.79

Chapter 79: The Third Performance (15)

Initiator Fu Hanyu came to the backstage lounge. He was like a needle, pricking a balloon filled with high spirits—the atmosphere instantly grew heavy.

The live votes were announced one by one in the order of the performances.

First up was the Moonlight team. Xu An temporarily ranked at the top of the pyramid with 82 votes, while his teammates all hovered around the 30s.

Because both the voting rules and the audience numbers had changed, Lai Yudong wasn’t sure whether Xu An’s votes counted as high.

If the two thousand Starseekers were divided evenly among the thirty-five trainees, the average would be 57 votes per person. By that standard, 82 shouldn’t be low, but he couldn’t determine how wide the gap between high and low might stretch.

[Would 100 votes already count as high this time?]

[If you’re not one of the top few, I feel like even seventy or eighty votes would be considered pretty high.]

[Teacher Jin only got 24 votes??]

[The third performance’s votes are only tied to popularity. Even if we talk about skill, for Jin Xiheng to sing that badly and still get 24 votes—that’s already high.]

[The Moonlight group’s total votes are so low.]

The total count wasn’t listed, so Lai Yudong quickly did the math in his head: seven members added up to only 209 votes.

With the average for five groups being around 400 votes, this was barely half, and that was only because Xu An’s number pulled it up.

The third performance was way too intense.

Next came A Disappeared Love Letter.

The highest in this group was Qu Junwei. Unfortunately, with 79 votes he couldn’t shake Xu An’s first place. He could only line up in the second row along with Cheng Jinghao, who had 72 votes.

The second row had only two slots—CP fans were overjoyed.

But their total votes reached 282, surpassing the Moonlight group.

According to the rules, only the group with the highest total votes allowed its top individual to receive double bonus votes.

In other words, looking at just these two groups, the bonus votes would actually go to Qu Junwei, who was currently in second place.

Although the unfair rules could easily stir up conflicts between fans and even among the trainees themselves, it was understandable when viewed from the perspective of the assessment content. This round was a theme-based evaluation—no single person could complete the assigned theme alone. It wasn’t like the second performance, which emphasized individual ability.

So the most important thing was still the team.

With two groups’ data as reference, Lai Yudong more or less had a grasp now: debut spots started with an “8,” while those hovering near debut were in the “7” range.

Although his second-round ranking was one place lower than Xu An’s, based on his own summary of the bullet comments and experience from the first two performances, his offline popularity was slightly above the norm. That led him to believe his votes would be greater than or at least equal to Xu An’s.

Secure the 80s, fight for the 90s, maybe even break 100—that was his projection.

It was a reasonable guess, not likely to get slapped in the face.

“Next group, Grotesque.”

—Here it comes.

Lai Yudong took a deep breath, keeping his gaze calmly fixed ahead.

The way all the votes were displayed on the same chart at once was so intense his heart could hardly take it.

The sense of competition was overwhelming.

Fu Hanyu turned his eyes toward the light-blond boy. As expected, that one was bound to have the highest votes in his group: “Yuki, do you have the confidence to replace Xu An and take first place?”

Another question loaded with gunpowder.

Lai Yudong rose from his seat and took the microphone that was passed to him. He looked forward to being called on to speak more than usual this time; his gray-green contacts couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes.

“Because I didn’t get any bonus votes in the first two rounds, deep down I carry a small hope. The budding of hope growing into bloom is something worth being happy about. I’m very satisfied with our stage this time, and I also trust my teammates. For that, I’m willing to wait with full confidence.”

Without the need to maintain the fake persona of an overseas contestant, Lai Yudong’s pace of speech quickened to a normal rhythm. The usually soft and measured tone now carried a hint of brightness, and his word choice was no longer striving for minimalism.

Of course, that stiff “broadcast voice” was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t like deliberately putting on a “broadcast voice” in daily conversation. Not only did it lack the imagined charm people read into novels, but if mishandled, it could come across as greasy and affected.

It only ever slipped out in specific situations—like during events, or when he was nervous.

“But no matter which of us it ends up being, I’ll be happy,” Lai Yudong looked toward the black-haired boy with the straight-cut bangs and gave a faint smile. “Because Xu An is my friend.”

Every word was a pearl, each landing with weight.

Compared with the start of the show, Lai Yudong at this moment was like a completely different person.

But since his increasingly carefree behavior had already paved the way, to others it simply felt like he’d taken another small step toward being more outgoing. It wasn’t something hard to accept.

[Is it just me, or does Lai Lai look really happy?]

[Still lost in double-speed mode, hasn’t come back yet kkk]

[Is Yuzu a liberal arts student? He’s always so good with words, as someone with clumsy speech I’m jealous qaq]

[Why do I feel like he has an art-student vibe?]

[Art students are like Zhao Yifeng though (stereotype).]

[He’s not an art student, right? Yuzu can’t sing or dance.]

[Isn’t it possible art students could be in majors like animation, broadcasting, or directing?]

[I’m guessing he studied broadcasting. His very first line on the debut stage was with a broadcast voice.]

The netizens’ memory was far too good.

There was no need for them to remember his socially mortifying moments so clearly.

“Vote results, announced.”

As the words fell, the screen flashed with the seven members’ votes.

Xu An’s name was pushed down to the second row. Qu Junwei and Cheng Jinghao dropped to the third row, but another name slipped in between theirs, splitting the pair apart like the Milky Way separating the Cowherd and Weaver Girl.

At the top of the pyramid, displayed in bold, was Lai Yudong’s stage name.

First place—

Miura Yuki, 202 votes.

[Holy shit]

[??????]

[Shot straight to two hundred, what the hell]

[That’s almost 1.5 times Xu An’s…]

[Yuzu fans, don’t spoil him too much]

[Forget the vote count, I’m more curious how much this cost on-site]

[All I know is the finals tickets are being resold for five digits. Even with a budget of over ten grand, I still can’t get one.]

[Oh my god, Yuzu fans probably spent more on-site votes than lower-tier fans spent in total.]

[That’s just how Yuzu fans are—sorry if we scared you! /grin]

“So high!?”

“Too strong… over two hundred…”

“Is there even a competition anymore? My votes don’t even add up to a fraction of that.”

“A fraction? You mean two votes—you can at least compete there.”

The crowd erupted with exclamations one after another. Some even sucked in a sharp breath, frightened by the sheer gap in votes. The trainees all turned in astonishment toward the light-blond boy frozen in place.

With an overwhelming lead, he had left Zhao Yifeng’s 92 votes far behind, crushing every other contestant announced so far beneath him.

Like a mountain no one could surpass.

Lai Yudong: “…”

Wait a second—let him process this.

Was he bad at math or something?

He’d been guessing in the tens place—how did it suddenly jump to the hundreds? Wasn’t the hundreds place supposed to be just a choice between “0” or “1”!?

This was ridiculous! Was it really not 102 votes!?

Dazed, Lai Yudong rubbed his forehead. The result so far beyond his expectations left his mind spinning.

He wanted to pinch himself, but was afraid of shattering the dream. It felt like being wrapped in radiant bubbles, fragile under the weight of love that could burst at any moment, sending him crashing from the sky.

“Wow! Isn’t this a solid first place?”

Song Yanxi’s voice came from behind, yanking Lai Yudong’s thoughts back to reality. He snapped back to his senses and, like when crossing the street, instinctively glanced to his left—where he found the red-haired boy, for once, not wearing a scowl.

Strange—Li Xu’s face was doubled in his vision.

Could he really be dreaming?

“Congratulations, congratulations! You’re the hope of our Grotesque Village!”

Oh. Turned out it was Zhao Yifeng shaking his shoulders.

No wonder he felt so dizzy.

By the way, this guy had swooped in to snatch Yin Zizhen’s seat the moment they came down from the double-speed stage, just like back in the first performance. The only difference was that this time, after occupying the seat, he’d given a belated greeting to the original owner, all while grabbing hold of the younger brother’s hand and shaking it nonstop.

The live comments from Yifeng’s fans jokingly dubbed it: [My fave’s lifelong domineering rampage.]

“A very astonishing number,” Fu Hanyu said. He hadn’t known the vote count in advance; one glance left him surprised, though it was within reason. “Yuki, do you have the confidence to hold on to first place?”

Freed from the restraints of his teammates, Lai Yudong hastily raised the microphone: “I hope to keep it, and I’m also looking forward to the vote counts of the remaining two groups.”

[Did the math—Grotesque 575 votes]

[This group’s average is high. Even the lowest, Lin Xiao, has 39 votes.]

[Li Xu actually got more votes than Yin Zizhen.]

[The power of a stage name—Li Hong really is red now.]

[Li Xu made a comeback in the second performance against all odds.]

[Jiang Yangfan’s third-round ranking probably won’t make debut spots. Only 57 votes…]

The fourth group was Brownie.

Su Junzhe was the top contestant most likely to match or even surpass Lai Yudong’s vote count.

But whether or not he could take first place, his mood was heavy. That was because his group’s total votes were bound to be abysmal—like an advanced version of the Moonlight group: one person dragging along an aircraft carrier.

And sure enough, just as Lai Yudong had guessed—

Su Junzhe, 188 votes.

Brownie group, 306 votes.

Three members in the group had single-digit vote counts, while the highest among the rest was Qin Xu with 48. —Seeing this true overseas contestant gave Lai Yudong a little PTSD.

Nearly two-thirds of the group’s votes were thanks to Su Junzhe. To surpass Grotesque, they’d have needed two and a half Su Junzhes.

Still, 188 votes was already very high. He had pushed down everyone except Lai Yudong, creating a sharp gap between himself and Zhao Yifeng, who was temporarily in third.

“The last group, Anonymous.”

Lai Yudong instinctively tensed up. This group had many high-popularity contestants—they were formidable competitors.

Center Qu Xincheng, top-ranked Mo Li, and dark horse Bai Xuanhe.

If three of them broke a hundred, Grotesque’s team first place would no longer be secure.

Lai Yudong stared intently at the big screen, afraid that at any second his name would be knocked off the top of the pyramid.

Although he’d still be satisfied with second place individually, being pushed down after having reached the peak would inevitably leave both him and his fans with a sense of regret.

It just didn’t feel the same as being directly announced in second place.

Zhao Yifeng and Li Xu patted his thighs from left and right, while Song Yanxi kneaded his shoulders—like he was a wrestler about to re-enter the ring after a break.

“Vote results, announced.”

The screen flashed, and Zhao Yifeng’s name dropped to the third row.

Mo Li, 155 votes.

Third place.

At the top, “Miura Yuki” remained untouched.

[Congrats to Yuzu for taking the highest votes in the third performance!]

[That offline combat power is terrifying…]

[The “fake” fourth place: also fourth in on-site votes. The “real” fourth place: punching first, kicking second.]

[Did Li-fans get drained? The gap with Su Su is huge.]

[Don’t call out Li-fans, we’re still voting hard.]

[Instead of worrying about Li-fans, maybe worry about Yuzu-fans. Will they still have the energy and money to keep voting in the third stage?]

[Wow, Xiao Qu also broke a hundred. Only four contestants in total hit three digits.]

[The third performance is pure hell. I’m trembling while hugging my fave.]

Even so, Lai Yudong didn’t dare let his guard down.

He frantically tried to tally up the total votes for the two groups, terrified of losing at the most critical moment.

But with thirty-five names crammed into the pyramid-shaped chart, rows upon rows of numbers crawled across his vision like ants. The more he calculated, the more muddled he became—numbers he had just worked out a second ago slipped out of his mind the next.

No, he couldn’t do it anymore. His head was spinning; the math gave him a pounding headache.

Fu Hanyu’s voice came like a heavenly melody, putting an end to his useless struggle:

“Now, we’ll announce the total votes for all five groups.”

On screen, the pyramid chart shifted into a plain table. The song titles of the five groups were listed in the first column.

The rankings were revealed one by one, from lowest to highest.

At the end, only Grotesque and Anonymous were left.

“For the third performance, the group with the highest votes is—”

Two numbers popped up at the same time.

Grotesque, 575 votes.

Anonymous, 500 votes.

“Congratulations to the Grotesque team! Each member will receive an additional 100,000 votes, and Miura Yuki, as the top performer in the group, will receive an extra 200,000.”

[I’m crying, Yuzu finally got bonus votes]

[Even though Yuzu fans know these votes don’t matter that much, we still wanted our baby to be number one just once! He already has center position, so a first-place bonus feels only natural!]

[At least audience votes just cost money—you can buy them directly. Way easier than fan-club voting, lol]

[Yuzu fans should just crowdfund him a debut spot already (joking… kind of)]

Lai Yudong let out a long breath. The heavy stone weighing on his heart finally dropped.

The teammates all jumped up in delight, hauling their center out of his seat and wrapping around him like a bundle of zongzi, bouncing with joy as if at a campfire party.

The loudest cheers came from the two closest to him.

Li Xu: “Secure first, dominate first—total success!”

Zhao Yifeng: “Xiao Yu carried us! No need to worry about votes!”

Only Yin Zizhen, hampered by his height and build, was left straining on the outer circle. He stood on tiptoe, hands clinging to the shoulders of his teammates, trying hard to draw the tallest member’s attention.

Sharp-eyed Lai Yudong noticed the pitiful effort of the little one. With a smile, he reached a hand down from above, locking eyes with those wide, startled pupils.

Then, he clasped Yin Zizhen’s hand and pulled him into the lively circle of celebration.

In passing, Lai Yudong also hooked the aloof Lin Xiao into the group. Seven of them clustered together like sparks, and no matter the misunderstandings or rivalries of the past, in this moment they were united, rejoicing over this hard-earned victory.

“Thank you, everyone—for creating together the miracle called Grotesque.”

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