Trainee Ch.103

Chapter 103: Group Variety Show (Extra 3)

After debuting with the group, Lai Yudong became even busier than he had been during the talent show.

Although he no longer had to practice dance for the time being, his schedule was now filled with all sorts of big and small activities.

For instance, group interviews and magazine photoshoots.

And on the personal side — cosmetic product ambassador roles, endorsements for daily goods, and appearances at commercial events.

Landing an entire product line endorsement from a top luxury brand right away was out of the question. Blue-blooded luxury houses were simply a dream — even national idol Fu Hanyu couldn’t easily secure one, let alone a newly debuted rookie idol.

Getting a spot as a brand representative at a luxury event was already considered a very good opportunity.

Even though Lai Yudong was a freelancer without company backing, his post-debut resources were surprisingly strong — on par with center Su Junzhe and main favorite Mo Li from Si Jia Entertainment. It was a solid slap in the face to the anti-fans on forums who had been predicting his downfall.

However, all this success wasn’t because he ranked second in the finale.

The reshuffling of positions within a group after debut is an unchanging truth. Setting capital influence aside, when idols are at the same general popularity level, brand endorsements depend on their image and their fans’ purchasing power — luxury brands especially emphasize the former — while variety show opportunities depend on the idol’s persona, popularity, and personality.

To put it cruelly:

If you’re ugly, have poor presence, or your fans are broke — brands don’t want you.

If you lack popularity, don’t appeal to audiences, or can’t deliver entertainment value — variety shows don’t want you. And dance specialists are the most likely to end up bored at home, since it’s nearly impossible to find shows purely focused on dancing.

None of those harsh realities really applied to Lai Yudong. In fact, this was exactly where his advantages shone.

Especially at live commercial events.

Crowds were so large it was hard to tell who were fans and who were just passersby. The sound of shutters and camera flashes went off nonstop. Photographers kept calling for him to look at the camera. Every candid shot uploaded to various bot accounts passed the “no need for retouching” test — even without fan management, random onlookers were praising him.

Even his haters, when trying to nitpick, had no choice but to start with: “Although he is good-looking…”

Yuzu Fans: Satisfied.jpg

To be fair, compared to the trainee period, his current workload was much lighter. He was getting enough sleep, keeping a normal (daytime!) schedule, and not even using up that much physical energy — the only downside was that he was constantly on the road, always traveling from one place to another.

So, what was really making Lai Yudong tear his hair out wasn’t work — it was school.

Although the system had promised to provide a “humane” solution for his studies, due to his university’s unusual academic setup, the final outcome was that… no special arrangements were needed.

Normally, at XX Media University, taking a leave of absence for over two months requires filing for suspension. Lai Yudong’s participation in the talent show had just barely exceeded that — but luckily, the school ran on a trimester system, with a short winter term dedicated to practical coursework.

Here’s how it usually went—

Final exams took place in November. After that came the winter practical term, which ended in late January, right before the official break. Students had to submit a practical report and short papers for their courses.

As luck would have it, the talent show began filming in November — right after his finals — so he was able to count the show as his “winter term practice.” No need to apply for leave, and no need to suspend his studies.

Even better, the final episode filmed on January 15th — just before winter vacation.

Sounds perfect, right? The timing fit exactly.

Except… he hadn’t written a single word of his practical report or his papers!!

Someone save him!!!

So this was the real side quest — a race against deadlines!?

Even though his job wasn’t heavy, his schedule was packed solid. Lai Yudong barely had a moment to breathe, much less write. He could only work on his assignments in transit, squeezing in paragraphs whenever he could.

He’d never experienced doing homework on a moving bus as a kid — but now, as an adult, he finally got to try it.

Then, just one week before the official start of winter break, his calendar finally opened up. Lai Yudong thought he could finally take a breather…

Only for Si Jia Entertainment — the company managing StarEpoch — to drop a bombshell announcement that made him see stars.

—Group variety show recording.

On the day of recording, the company arranged an eight-seater van. One by one, everyone loaded their luggage into the trunk before boarding and heading to the filming location.

“By the way,” Bai Xuanhe started the conversation, “do we have any students still in school in our group?”

“I’m not, and neither is Mo Li,” said Su Junzhe from the back row, tugging at the back of Bai Xuanhe’s seat. “But Lai Yudong definitely is. Last time we went live together, he was still cramming for his final papers on the way there.”

He naturally switched to using real names.

From the front row, Li Xu turned around. “Wait, really? You didn’t take a leave of absence?”

“It’s the practical winter term, so I don’t need to,” Lai Yudong sighed. “But after we finish recording the group show, my assignments are due. My documents are as empty as an eaten takeout box. If I can’t turn them in, I don’t even know if I’ll have to take a make-up or retake the class.”

“People rarely fail those papers,” Zhao Yifeng said, cutting in mercilessly. “Can’t you apply for an extension? Just a few extra days?”

“If I delay any longer, it’ll be the New Year. The professors will have gone back to their hometowns. And practical reports can’t be postponed. If you fail metalworking practice, you have to wait until the next year to retake it—this winter term might be the same.”

Zhao Yifeng tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Then why don’t you just… celebrate New Year first?”

Lai Yudong’s face fell. “But I don’t want to fail.”

“If you squeeze in the time to work on it, you might pull it off,” Mo Li said, speaking with the experience of someone who’d done group reality shows before. “Recording a group show doesn’t mean you’re filming 24/7. You’ll have free time at night to write.”

Zhao Yifeng: “That sounds like a triathlon.”

Lai Yudong: “……”

Pretty accurate, actually.

After asking around, they found that aside from Bai Xuanhe, who had graduated the previous year, and Su Junzhe and Mo Li, who hadn’t continued their studies, everyone else in the group was still a university student.

However, only two of them hadn’t taken a leave of absence — Lai Yudong and Zhao Yifeng.

Zhao Yifeng was in his fourth year, and most of his coursework was already finished. Hardly anyone still attended classes at that stage, so not returning to school wasn’t a big deal for him.

In short, the only one truly tormented by final exams was Lai Yudong.

Su Junzhe patted him on the shoulder in consolation. “Cheer up and enjoy recording the group show, okay?”

“…Okay.”

Lai Yudong couldn’t help but sigh inwardly — truly the model of professionalism; even his teammate’s way of showing care was so uniquely on-brand.

When they arrived at the destination, everyone got out of the van and began unloading their luggage.

In front of them stood a two-story detached villa, complete with a delicate little garden enclosed by a wooden fence — a naturally cozy and minimalist aesthetic.

This would be their dormitory for the next year and a half.

“Feels like a ‘rich family experience pass,’” Bai Xuanhe said, hesitating at the door. “I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice before — it looks expensive just to rent.”

Standing beside him, Li Xu looked just as wary, afraid that stepping inside might somehow get him charged. “We don’t have to pay for rent and utilities, right?”

“I… don’t think so?” Qu Xincheng said cautiously.

“Then I’m moving back to the school dorms,” Lai Yudong said as he stepped forward, pushing open the slightly ajar front door and walking along the path inside.

He tilted his head in confusion. “Aren’t you coming in? It’s cold out here.”

Everyone hurried after him. “Coming, coming!”

The filming crew and staff had arrived earlier and were already waiting in the living room.

The moment their figures entered the camera’s frame, the livestream barrage appeared right on cue.

[Looking forward to the group show!]

[SE group fans checking in!]

[The show got arranged so fast—props to the team!]

[Hehe, #2 and #3 entered together]

[I still don’t remember the final rankings…]

[No big deal, I don’t even know how to spell the group name]

The group reality show followed the same structure as the talent program — airing in both live-stream and edited episode formats.

Everyone sat on the couch according to their debut rankings — even numbers on one side, odd numbers on the other.

Lai Yudong sat between Zhao Yifeng and Su Junzhe.

The first task of the show: choosing a team leader.

Mo Li looked around. “Has anyone ever served as a team leader during performances? Or does anyone want to volunteer?”

[The captain’s obviously going to be Lai Yudong, right?]

[#2’s personality suits it best]

[He’s the most well-connected too — seems like he’s the only one close with all six others]

[Just your average social genius]

[Wait, this group actually doesn’t have many extroverts — only Brother Bai and Yuzu? Su Su’s hard to tell]

[A group needs someone who can talk as leader]

[Let Yuzu decide for himself, don’t force him into it lol]

Qu Xincheng quietly shrank back.

Su Junzhe deliberately pretended to forget that he’d once been a team leader.

Bai Xuanhe looked cheerfully around, full of energy.

Zhao Yifeng and Li Xu both turned their gaze toward one particular person.

Lai Yudong: “……”

Yep. Looked like there was no escaping this.

Rather than being pushed into it — which could spark fan wars — it was better to step up on his own.

After all, he didn’t mind being leader. As someone who got along with everyone, he felt it was his responsibility to act as the glue keeping the team together.

So he raised his hand. “Can I do it?”

As expected, it passed unanimously.

[From now on, it’s Captain Lai!]

[Captain Yuzu, leader of the Fruit Family!]

[This group’s got so many fruit and plant names lol]

[Jun (Mushroom), Yuzu (Pomelo), Mo Li (Jasmine), Feng (Maple), Cheng (Orange), He (Crane), Lizi (Plum)…]

[We’ve got a fungus and a small animal mixed in (???)]

The staff moved the process along — next up was deciding on a fandom name.

Now that a captain had been chosen, it naturally fell to Lai Yudong to lead the discussion.

“The fan name should be closely connected to the group name,” he suggested.

Bai Xuanhe thought for a moment. “How about HumanEpoch?”

“…It’s definitely connected,” Lai Yudong said, “just… in a questionable way.”

[Aaaah, StarEpoch and ApeEpoch!]

[That’d be GorillaEpoch!]

[Why is the fan name longer than the group name lmao]

[Abbreviated HE — our rival fandom would be BE]

[No! I refuse to be called that!]

[Brother Bai, your name sounds so elegant, how are your naming skills this bad (covers face)]

Lai Yudong continued to steer the direction. “Maybe something related to stars?”

“Then… Twinkle?” said Bai Xuanhe again — and this time, he even sang, “Twinkle, twinkle, little star~”

“……”

Collective silence.

“The meaning’s nice,” said Zhao Yifeng, ever the advocate of encouraging feedback. “Twinkle — as in, sparkling. But it feels more like a supplement to the group name rather than an echo of it, doesn’t have a strong sense of connection.”

“I don’t mean fans can’t twinkle,” Lai Yudong quickly clarified, patching the point with his usual diplomatic touch. “The show Climbing to Stardom used the term Starseekers, which focused more on the process of searching and discovery. The final stage — where we shine for them — reflects that relationship.

Of course, shining together works too… it just loses a bit of that sense of choice and being chosen — hmm, that feeling of destiny? Or maybe it weakens the sense of bond?”

He paused for a moment, then delivered the finishing blow: “Also, ‘twinkle’ is a verb. It’s like naming your fandom sleep, run, or eat. It just sounds weird.”

[Such a well-reasoned argument]

[He even considered the part of speech I’m dying 😂]

[‘We are Twinkle!’ … yeah that’s weird]

[Don’t like it, reject Little Star]

Su Junzhe nodded in agreement. “Our group name already sounds futuristic and sci-fi. The fandom name should match that vibe.”

“How about Observer? Or maybe Witness?” Li Xu suggested.

Mo Li shook his head. “Not very catchy, and at first glance the English doesn’t feel that connected.”

The discussion stalled. Everyone fell into thought.

The room grew quiet.

Then, a spark flashed in Lai Yudong’s mind — a word popped up.

“How about Stargazer? It means astronomer, astrologer, or star-watcher. It carries the sense of both observing and interpreting — and it starts with ‘Star,’ just like our group name.”

After explaining, he looked around with hopeful eyes.

“I like that,” Zhao Yifeng said first. “StarEpoch and Stargazer — there’s a kind of cosmic romance to it.”

Qu Xincheng, timid as a bunny, chimed in softly, “Starting with the same word makes it sound like part of a series. I think it’s… pretty nice?”

[245 line has the same taste]

[Yuzu’s so creative! And his explanation’s perfect! No wonder he came up with the Xi Yu ship name (proud)]

[Stargazer — is that how you spell it?]

[My brain just generated a dozen terrible pun versions 😂]

After a quick show of hands, the fandom name was officially decided: Stargazer.

Immediately after, they selected their official support color from a palette provided by the staff — a soft, elegant light blue called Xinglang Blue.

StarEpoch,

Stargazer,

Xinglang Blue.

It was as if everything was guided by the stars themselves.

————————————————————

Author’s note:

Support color: Xinglang Blue

Hex code: #bcd4e7

Chinese traditional color. The term “Langguan” (郎官) corresponds to a constellation in classical lore, inspiring the color imagery.

Information reveal —

Heights:

Lai Yudong 186 > Bai Xuanhe 184 > Zhao Yifeng 182 > Li Xu 181 > Qu Xincheng = Mo Li 180 > Su Junzhe 179.5 (curly hair adds a bit to barely reach 180)

Lineup: Bai – Feng – Yuzu – Su – Mo – Qu – Hong (c-position couldn’t be taken; the even-numbered line is taller, so it’s asymmetrical left to right, lol)

The main text mentioned several times that Yuzu is very tall:

Once during a popularity vote, “1 cm taller than the flight attendant requirement of 185 cm.”

Once at the hospital: “A 186 cm tall person is hard to support.”

Once during Su Su’s birthday surprise, the group hid, and the tallest stood at the very back.

And a few other instances — I thought everyone knew Yuzu was 186 cm! (shocked)

Being too short invites jokes like: “Legally ban men under 180 cm from joining talent shows.”

Plus, photos can be brutal — standing next to female idols or actresses in heels makes it even worse (:」∠)_

<< _ >>

**TN

Xinglang Blue comes from the term 郎官 (Langguan), which historically referred to certain court officials, but in astronomical lore, these officials were associated with specific constellations or “star positions”.

“Xing” (星) literally means star, linking the color to the heavens.

“Lang” (郎) refers to the officials — a metaphorical way to connect human refinement with celestial order.

Together, Xinglang evokes the image of a celestial attendant or star-related dignitary, giving the color a sense of elegance, clarity, and serenity.

Thus, Xinglang Blue isn’t just a pale, soft blue — it carries poetic and symbolic weight, representing refinement, calmness, and a subtle connection to the cosmos.