Trainee Ch.92

Chapter 92: Finals (3)

“Lose Heart” was a new song released by Xu An before the show, and it happened to be the additional track Lai Yudong drew for his first-stage performance.

Originally, it was an obscure song with comment numbers far from reaching the “999+” mark, but after Lai Yudong performed it in a completely new style that had little to do with the original version, the comments skyrocketed, quickly stepping into the “10k+” range.

Now when you open the comment section, the top posts are all fresh messages like: “Came here because of the buzz,” “The original singer still hits different,” “So this is how it’s supposed to be sung,” “After getting used to Yuzu’s version, the original feels odd,” and so on—evidence of the new wave of traffic.

Lai Yudong’s thinking was simple.

He wanted to prove his progress in the most direct way, and give this unforgettable talent show journey a complete ending.

From nothing to something—this was his final answer sheet.

As for why he didn’t choose to dance: he didn’t even know the name of the song he danced to on the first stage, and that stingy system absolutely refused to give him the dance machine’s choreography as a video tutorial.

So he could only pick the more difficult “Lose Heart.”

He wasn’t sure if he was torturing himself, or torturing the original singer’s fragile heart.

When his roommate asked, Xu An turned his head in shock, nearly bumping foreheads: “Are you sure?”

The reply was firm: “I’m sure.”

A flicker of delight passed through Xu An’s eyes—like a hidden gem of an original song being recognized again and again. The strength he drew from that was completely different from belting out on stage.

His mood bloomed like fireworks exploding in the night.

But the joy was quickly replaced by worry. Just as he was about to speak, he suddenly remembered the presence of the cameras.

Personal stage choices couldn’t be revealed ahead of time.

Gone was his half-dead look—Xu An sprang up on the spot like a coiled spring.

Lai Yudong tilted his head back at Xu An’s sudden movement, and the next second, a strong force grabbed his arm, pulling him up to his feet.

Lai Yudong: “?”

Was he about to be thrown out?

Though he had no idea what Xu An’s intention was, Lai Yudong still followed the pull and stood up.

Amidst the flood of bullet comments—[I want to hear the whispers too], [Is there something that even VIP members can’t hear?], [Why are you two taking the chat outside?]—he found himself being dragged out of the practice room in a daze.

Their final destination turned out to be the restroom.

Standing by the sink, Lai Yudong thought to himself that maybe the conclusion “fans follow their idols in every way, no matter how illogical” wasn’t entirely wrong.

After all, this was already the second time he had discussed unairable topics in a restroom—once with Li Xu, once with Xu An. The former had even turned the restroom into their regular secret meeting spot.

“Is this something extremely important?”

Lai Yudong’s first guess was that Xu An also wanted to sing Lose Heart.

He knew very well that someone who could tolerate his first-stage “world-shaking monstrosity” would never refuse his request. But out of respect for the creator, he had to take the initiative to inform the songwriter before registering the song.

If it was because they clashed on song choice, then he’d hurry up and switch to another one.

Thanks to a certain fan, his MP3 player was anything but short of Xu An’s songs. He might not have every track mastered to perfection, but with his level of familiarity, he could probably beat 99% of Xu An’s fans in a song-guessing contest.

Gradually turning into the shape of a fan.jpg

“Yes, it’s very important,” Xu An said seriously. “Your vocal range doesn’t quite suit this song. You might not be able to hit the high notes. And singing in English puts you at a disadvantage. Have you really thought this through?”

“Eh?”

So the “extremely important matter” turned out to be… song choice advice.

Lai Yudong looked in surprise at his roommate, who was two years older than him. Memories of their very first conversation resurfaced—back then, Xu An had unleashed a whole string of brutally honest critiques, with the very first being that his vocal range didn’t fit.

Maybe because the program was drawing to a close, lately he kept unconsciously comparing things to how they had been at the start.

As if everything was coming full circle.

The flower seed once cupped carefully in his palms had, without him noticing, grown into a budding white rose nestled against his chest.

It was a strange feeling.

Like flower petals scattered by the wind, his drifting thoughts were pulled back just in time. He gave the person before him a light smile: “Don’t worry. I’ll definitely sing it better than on the first stage.”

Xu An wavered. “But that time you…”

“That time I didn’t grasp the technique. Recently I learned it again.” Lai Yudong said this with utter seriousness, even though it was complete nonsense.

Not only had he not grasped the technique back then—he hadn’t even heard a single word of the song.

Xu An still wasn’t reassured: “Overturning a fixed singing method and starting from scratch is difficult. If you’re self-taught, you might not be able to break old habits, and you might not even notice your own issues.”

“It’s not self-taught,” Lai Yudong decided to bring in reinforcements. “Li Xu taught me.”

Li Xu had lent him a hotspot so he could download the original track. Since he studied by following the original singer, that basically counted as Li Xu teaching him.

Besides, Li Xu really had given him a few pointers on Lose Heart.

Tracing back, it all started during the third-round performance—

The two had been talking about their first impressions of each other.

“You know what? Your first-stage extra song had the destructive power of a missile blasting the eardrum,” Li Xu said bluntly, “I was simultaneously shocked that someone dared to sing Xu An’s new song, grumbling in my heart about how awful it sounded, and doubting whether you were even singing the same piece.”

Lai Yudong: “You fake fan.”

Li Xu: “?”

To prove he wasn’t a fake fan, Li Xu had insisted on dragging Lai Yudong into singing part of the verse to show his skills. The fact that he hadn’t sung the chorus seemed suspicious—probably because he couldn’t hit the notes.

All in all, the conclusion made perfect sense.

Xu An froze for a moment after hearing this. “Li Xu taught you?”

He hadn’t expected the expert to be right there in their dorm. He thought at the very least it would’ve been Zhao Yifeng, since those two seemed to get along pretty well.

Before Lai Yudong could answer, a familiar voice came from outside: “What did I teach?”

The very subject of their discussion strolled in, his blazing red hair forever the most eye-catching proof of identity.

Lai Yudong: “…”

Fate—so mysterious, beyond words.

He was increasingly convinced that Li Xu was like one of those NPCs in a game that get triggered at fixed events. Every time something happened involving the restroom, Li Xu’s shadow was there.

Not that he was calling Li Xu an NPC and himself a player, looking down on him or anything—it was just that, for now, he couldn’t think of a more fitting description.

But the more pressing matter was how to get through this situation.

In a flash of inspiration, Lai Yudong quickly came up with a countermeasure—make the other party realize it on his own.

So, he gave Li Xu a meaningful, mysterious look: “You know.”

Li Xu: “Huh?”

In an instant, countless possibilities flashed through Li Xu’s mind—like fanservice, ship-baiting, sugarcoating for fans—all the “idol survival show secret techniques” he had once preached.

A few seconds later, he gave a solemn nod. “I know.”

—OK, crisis averted.

Watching the whole exchange, Xu An was stunned, his mouth hanging open: “Amazing, it’s like you two have telepathy.”

Li Xu lifted his chin confidently: “Not really. He’s just easy to read.”

Lai Yudong played along casually: “Mm-hmm, whatever you say.”

And just like that, the life-or-death hurdle of Yuzu’s fate was safely crossed.

Li Xu gave the two standing by the sink a puzzled once-over. No matter how he looked at it, they didn’t seem like they’d come to the restroom together. “What are you guys doing in here? Gossiping?”

“Just chatting a bit about the finals stage,” Lai Yudong said quickly, afraid the topic would circle back again. He shifted the subject naturally. “Don’t let us hold you up—go on.”

“Go on where? I just came out to get some fresh air, wash my face, and calm down.” At the mention of it, Li Xu immediately felt irritated again, and his restless soul yearning to vent finally found people he could unload on.

He stepped further inside, just in case he got too worked up and his voice was caught by the cameras outside. “Why did you both pick Vendela? Can’t you take me with you? I really can’t stand it anymore!!”

Xu An: “What happened?”

Lai Yudong: “He’s lonely.”

“Lonely my ass.” Li Xu’s mouth twitched. “You two don’t know how creepy the vibe in my group is. It’s a completely different kind of horror from Pomelo’s first-stage team!”

Xu An: “Pomelo?”

Lai Yudong: “So this is the real you, Li Xu.”

Li Xu: “…Not important.”

As expected of a rapper—after “Anmu,” this was another case of his mouth running faster than his brain.

“It’s only the first day, and they’re already acting like they’re on a dating show? Two lunatics over there getting all lovey-dovey?!” Li Xu’s mouth fired like a machine gun, spitting out words in rapid bursts. “I’m not being discriminatory, but that kind of thing—ugh, I don’t even know how to describe it. You had to be there to understand how insane it was. Way more horrifying than the practice short clip! Because there was no BGM on-site!!”

Lai Yudong honestly couldn’t relate. “Explain in detail.”

“Right before I left,” Li Xu said casually, “Cheng Jinghao was lying on Qu Junwei’s lap, whining that he was thirsty but too comfortable to get up. Qu Junwei said he might as well die lazy, but then held a thermos with a straw to feed him water. And after he finished drinking, he even used his sleeve to wipe his mouth, all doting and tender.”

Xu An: “…”

Lai Yudong: “…”

“Oh, by the way, the thermos was Qu Junwei’s,” Li Xu added.

In Lai Yudong’s opinion, compared to the rest of the story, whose thermos it was didn’t seem all that important.

“Except Qu Junwei took a sip himself first, saying he was testing the water temperature.”

He took that back. It was very important.

“If I’d come out any later, I swear I would’ve puked right there in the practice room.” After finishing his vivid description, Li Xu felt like he was about to faint. He quickly twisted on the faucet and splashed water all over his face. “I have every reason to suspect those two weren’t just putting on fanservice. No way—it’s gotta be because of their rankings. They’re deliberately grossing each other out as revenge.”

Lai Yudong didn’t know whether he should be sympathetic or just laugh.

Though it sounded shocking, paired with Li Xu’s reaction, there was an odd sort of hilarity to it.

Especially when the meme “Subway Old Xu Looking at His Phone” popped into his mind—he thought he was about to burst out laughing.

With great tact, Lai Yudong pressed down the corners of his mouth. “What about your teammates? How did they react?”

“What kind of reaction do you think they’d have?” Li Xu rolled his eyes. “You know what Yin Zizhen and Zhang Mingche are like—barely say a word most of the time. Mo Li’s too shrewd to comment either. Every single one of them was silent as the grave, like a bunch of mutes.”

“What about Zhao Yifeng?”

“Him? He just sat cross-legged the whole time, resting his chin in his hand, staring at those two. Who knows what was going through his head. He didn’t even fight for main vocal this time—Qu Junwei and Lin Xiao went at it, and in the end Lin Xiao got it.”

“Probably because he ran into Lin Xiao again,” Lai Yudong said, shaking his head. “Boring. They should’ve had our group do a reaction video to your group.”

Forget the whole group—even if they just sent Su Junzhe over, that alone would’ve been a spectacle.

“You just walked away without saying a word?” Xu An asked curiously. “Doesn’t sound like your style.”

“You do know me well. I did say one thing.” Li Xu reenacted it: “‘You two look tired, want me to bring you a bed?’ …Wait, am I gonna get flamed by CP fans until I have to quit the show?”

His reaction time was a little slow.

Based on his broad experience scanning the bullet comments, Lai Yudong calmly replied: “No, they’ll just ship it harder—and think you were shipping it too.”

Li Xu: “…”

Li Xu: “So I was actually part of their play all along.”

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