Trainee Ch.102

Chapter 102: BUG Fix (Extra 2)

The so-called bug fix gave Lai Yudong a strange sense of contradiction — both rigorous and not rigorous at the same time.

If the talent show experience was going to be grafted onto his original world, there had to be one condition met: the two timelines had to be continuous. Otherwise, it’d be like connecting two water pipes with a section missing in between — nothing would flow.

He was missing the “Crazy Thursday” encounter, because that had been part of the system’s arranged background setting, not something he’d truly experienced.

So, the moment he picked up his phone, the system transmitted him to that point in time to fill in the missing experience.

Lai Yudong: “……”

So the cause-and-effect chain works backward, huh?

But since it came from the system, it somehow felt perfectly reasonable.

A flash of white light — and when he opened his eyes again, the scene had changed to the inside of a Kaifeng Fried Chicken restaurant.

It was mealtime, and moreover, the most special time of the week. The place was crowded with people coming and going; long lines snaked in front of the service counter and the self-ordering machines.

Lai Yudong turned his head toward the floor-to-ceiling window beside him. The reflection staring back was his most familiar black-haired self. The phone screen showed the date: November.

The finals’ live broadcast was on January 15th.

Time had rewound.

So now… should he queue up to order food, or stay put and wait for the production team to show up and “recruit” him?

Before he could figure it out, a warm, enthusiastic voice called out beside him:

“Hey there, handsome! Hello, hello — you’ve got a great look, I noticed you from way across the room. Now that I’m closer, you’re really good-looking! Ever thought about joining the entertainment industry?”

The man speaking was a middle-aged guy wearing a black baseball cap, black cotton jacket, black cargo pants, and black Martin boots, with a plain black backpack slung over his shoulders. Half his face was hidden behind a black mask — from head to toe, there wasn’t a single other color in sight.

“……”

It really did look like a scam group.

Normally, if he ran into something like this, his reaction would be the same as when he got a cold call about insurance — polite smile, firm refusal.

But this time, he had to jump right into the trap.

Lai Yudong: [Can I just agree right away?]

System: [No. According to your background setup, you’re invited on Thursday night and agree to join on Friday. You can’t mess up a key event like that.]

Lai Yudong: [If only you were this strict when typing my name.]

System: [Host, I understand you’re throwing shade at me.]

Lai Yudong chose to ignore the system’s complaint. The only reason he didn’t curse it out was because of his excellent personal character. A little sarcasm was enough; no need to stoop lower.

There was no point bickering with the system — the real challenge was playing hard to get with the production crew.

It was time to test his mediocre acting skills.

[So suspicious, lol 2333]

[If I didn’t already know it was the production team, I’d think they were trying to lure Yuzu to Myanmar to harvest his kidneys]

[Totally get Yuzu — I wouldn’t dare give my real name either]

[Holy sht, it really was a Crazy Thursday! I thought fans were just joking]

[What a legendary experience hahaha]

[To be fair, Yuzu does stand out a lot just standing there. No wonder the director noticed him]

Lai Yudong: “?”

Wait—why were there comments floating by?

Another bug??

System: [Apologies, I accidentally synced the production footage’s live comments.]

Lai Yudong: [……]

He didn’t have time to question the system — first, he had to deal with the production team in front of him.

Lai Yudong frowned slightly, putting on a puzzled expression. “The entertainment industry?”

“Yes, yes! I’m with the ‘Climbing to Stardom’ production team.” The man in the baseball cap raised the camera in his hand — it had been turned on the moment he spotted Lai Yudong. “You’ve probably heard of Sky Video, right? ‘Climbing to Stardom’ is a talent show exclusively produced by Sky Video. We’re gathering 101 trainees to help them fulfill their dream of performing on stage.”

“My dream is to become a TV host for Sky TV,” Lai Yudong said smoothly.

“…Not that kind of dream.”

[Yuzu: I want to be the show’s producer instead — take Fu Hanyu’s place, doge]

[Dream big, Yuzu]

[No wonder, he’s a broadcasting major]

[Hey, being a host does count as standing on stage!]

The man in the baseball cap thought the boy simply didn’t understand, so he gave a quick explanation of what an idol and a talent show were, even pulling out several IDs to prove his credentials.

Lai Yudong tried his hardest not to crack up.

Apparently, he really wasn’t cut out to be an actor — just re-enacting the memory had him on the verge of breaking character. If he ever joined a film crew, he’d probably need hundreds of retakes.

After a round of mental preparation, Lai Yudong gave the man in the baseball cap a thoughtful, skeptical look. His eyes were full of distrust as he said, “Sorry, I’m not paying any training fees.”

The man in the baseball cap choked. “We’re a legitimate program — no training fees.”

“Registration fee?”

“None.”

“Accommodation? Meals?”

“None.”

“Do we get a bonus if we’re selected?”

“…Also no, but we’ll provide a platform and resources.”

“Do I have to sign a sl*ve contract?”

“Ahem, there is a contract, but it’s definitely not a sl*ve one.”

[I’m dying, his scam awareness is top-tier]

[It’s Sky Video after all, can’t blame him for being cautious]

[It’s hilarious, but Yuzu’s thinking everything through kkkkk]

[If everyone had half of Yuzu’s caution, there’d be way fewer people stuck with nightmare contracts in the industry]

[How does Xiao Lai manage to be both smart and adorably clueless?]

—Clueless? Where did that come from?

Lai Yudong was puzzled.

Sure, the mistaken identity thing made him look like an idiot, but only Heaven, Earth, the system, and he himself knew about that. No one else knew he’d ever done anything stupid. Other than that… what had he ever done that counted as “clueless”?

He couldn’t figure it out, so he gave up trying.

“It’s like this,” the man in the baseball cap continued, speaking frankly in an attempt to show sincerity. “One of our trainees’ back injuries got worse — he needs surgery, so he had to withdraw at the last minute. That left us with one open spot.”

“We can’t easily find a new candidate through the agencies on such short notice, and you have a great look for an idol. How about joining us for a test recording?”

He began to paint the big picture: “If it works out, great — it’s a glamorous job opportunity. If not, it’s still valuable experience, a new adventure. You’re young — you’re still in college, right?”

“Yes.”

“Getting more life experience before entering the workforce is a good thing,” the man in the baseball cap said earnestly, his tone almost fatherly. “Most people can’t even make it past the open auditions. Even if they look good, it’s not that easy to get selected. This is such a great opportunity — it’d be a shame to let it slip by.”

The mention of school suddenly reminded Lai Yudong of something.

He’d been so focused on the talent show, his head filled with endless practice sessions, that he’d nearly forgotten.

Good thing it came back to him just now.

Lai Yudong asked seriously, “Can your company stamp my internship report for proof of practical experience?”

The man in the baseball cap: “……”

[Aaaah I’m losing it]

[I laughed so hard I blew snot bubbles]

[Laughing—then suddenly remembering I haven’t written my own internship report :）]

[dbq (sorry), but this is exactly how we college students think…]

[Yuzu: not here for the big dreams, just here for the stamp]

It was the first time the man in the baseball cap had ever heard such an absurd request.

Everyone else would ask about camera exposure, screen time, or which mentors were on the show — but this guy? He was already thinking about milking the company for benefits.

“…We can stamp it. That’s no problem.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lai Yudong said.

“How long do you need?”

“Can I give you my answer tomorrow?”

“Alright, but the schedule’s really tight. The official recording starts the day after tomorrow. If you don’t decide soon, the slot might be gone.”

“Got it.”

Before leaving, the man handed him a business card — and asked the crucial question: “By the way, what’s your name?”

Lai Yudong gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miura Yuki.”

“Uh, this is your…?”

“Stage name.”

[Lai Lai still thinks they’re a scam group]

[Earning Yuzu’s trust isn’t that easy!]

[The birth of Baby Pomelo 😂]

Lai Yudong felt a deep, wordless melancholy.

There was nothing sadder than this — to suffer not from a slip of the tongue, but from the consequences of a system’s mistake that somehow circled back into a pit he dug himself.

…

Things unfolded exactly as the system’s script described.

On Friday, he contacted the production team and agreed to join, then changed his look — dyeing his hair blond.

On Saturday, he went to the set, signed the contract, took his official profile photo, and filmed his first stage performance.

By the time Lai Yudong walked into the backstage lounge, every missing piece of his experience had been restored.

And in that instant, he was transported back to the correct point in time.

When he opened his eyes again, it was the night the finals had ended.

He had debuted — ranking second place.

Many of the trainees, the moment they got their phones back, vanished immediately —

some called family they hadn’t spoken to in ages,

some dove straight into taking selfies and editing photos,

some, deprived of the internet for too long, plunged into the bliss of surfing online again.

Lai Yudong was no exception.

He found a quiet spot where no one would disturb him, and with nervous anticipation, dialed the number he’d been waiting so long to call.

The phone rang twice before connecting.

“Xiao Dong?”

It was his mother’s voice.

That familiar, gentle tone made his eyes instantly sting — and tears began falling, one after another.

Here, there were no cameras, no audience.

He didn’t have to worry about his idol image — he could let his face crumple however it wanted, and let his tears flow freely, unrestrained.

“Mom, um… I…”

For a moment, he didn’t know how to put it into words.

It felt like he’d been dropped on a deserted island — cut off from the world for two months — only to return as a newly debuted member of a boy group. No matter how he phrased it, it all sounded too unreal.

On the other end of the line, his mother let out a soft laugh, already understanding what he hadn’t been able to say.

“I saw it on the trending searches. I couldn’t believe it — it really was our Xiao Dong.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“What for? Did you do something bad that I don’t know about?”

Lai Yudong sniffled. “I didn’t tell you or Dad anything… I just ran off to join a talent show.”

Even with time rewound, he hadn’t told his family — because the system warned him that doing so would alter the already recorded family VCR and the final episode’s broadcast.

So he had no choice but to deliberately keep them in the dark.

“It’s a little regretful I couldn’t be there to see it in person,” his mother said gently. “But isn’t this great? It means you’ve grown up — you have your own thoughts now.”

Then she added with a warm chuckle, “I’ll support you no matter what you do. And besides, you did wonderfully. I’m so proud of you. From now on, my Xiao Dong’s a big star.”

“Not really… debuting from a talent show doesn’t make you a big star yet…”

“But you’re already Mom’s big star.”

“…Mm. I know.”

Lai Yudong wiped his tears, a faint blush creeping up his ears.

“Mom, I’ll ask Jiang Yangfan for an autograph for you. What do you want him to write on it?”

“Jiang Yangfan? Oh, right — the male lead from ‘Soft Words,’ isn’t he?” Lai Yudong’s mother said casually. “No need for that. I watched that drama months ago — I’ve already changed my profile picture several times since then. And now you’ve debuted, why would I want his autograph? When you come home, sign me one of those… what’s it called again, a ‘To-sign’? Did I get that right?”

Lai Yudong burst out laughing through his tears. “Okay, I’ll sign one for you as soon as I’m back.”

“From now on, I’m your number one promoter,” his mom declared.

“Not my solo fan?”

“Oh, please,” she said, half-joking, half-maternal. “A mom’s heart has room for many people. I can give you the master bedroom, but the guest room’s gotta be for someone else.”

Lai Yudong was scandalized. “Wait— the master bedroom wasn’t mine already?!”

“Well, that was before you debuted. Totally different. This is a fan-mode limited edition room,” she teased. “Alright, alright, your dad doesn’t even have a room, but you’ve got permanent residency in the master bedroom. Isn’t that great treatment?”

Lai Yudong: “……”

He had no way to argue with that.

————————————————————

Author’s Note:

Information drop —

Ages:

Bai Xuanhe 22 > Zhao Yifeng 21 > Mo Li 19 > Lai Yudong 19 > Su Junzhe 19 > Qu Xincheng 18 > Li Xu 18

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