Chapter 5: Initial Evaluation (5)
Liu Qichu was not only naturally friendly, he was also a chatterbox.
From the moment he sat down, he hadn’t stopped talking, forming a sharp contrast with the other trainees in Class F who were all downcast. It was unclear whether he was simply too optimistic or just didn’t take the situation seriously at all.
Lai Yudong found it hard to handle, and each of his responses was short and uncertain.
“Yuki, look, look! Another overseas contestant! What a pity he’s half Chinese and half Thai—doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fellow countryman here?”
“Uh… not sure.”
…
“Sigh, definitely a mistake. Zhou Rui chose a song that’s way too difficult.”
“Mm.”
…
“Finally it’s Qu Xincheng’s turn! Do you know him? He’s from the same company as Teacher Fu Hanyu. Trainees from big companies must be amazing!”
“I think so too.”
…
“Eh? I think that’s my friend’s dance teacher?”
“Is… is that so?”
…
There was no helping it—less said, less risk of saying the wrong thing.
When Liu Qichu spoke to Lai Yudong yet again—or possibly was just talking to himself—the reaction cam that briefly passed over them caught the moment, and the live-stream chat finally couldn’t hold back:
[This little bro talks so much lol]
[The question is, does Yuki even understand him? 2333]
[? Why wouldn’t he understand?]
[Liu Qichu’s probably just trying to lighten the mood? Can’t blame him—Miura Yuki is so cold and aloof.]
[Initial performance aside, Yuki really does give off an icy-cool vibe.]
[He’s just not talkative, it’s not like he’s being rude. Probably just his personality.]
[Or maybe it’s part of his persona.]
[An aloof pretty face? That’s so tacky hahahaha]
[What’s wrong with that? I like tacky!]
Lai “Aloof Pretty Face” “Tacky to the Core” Yudong: …
It didn’t seem like this could be explained clearly anymore.
Which brings us to Lai Yudong’s real personality.
In real life, Lai Yudong was the type that was easy to get along with. Although he wasn’t as outgoing and proactive as Liu Qichu, who seemed like a social butterfly on steroids, he was cheerful, laid-back, and kind to others. People often came to him to vent their troubles—he was known among friends as a “walking emotional support station.”
Aloof?
Not a chance. That word couldn’t be further from who he was.
If it weren’t for the “overseas trainee” identity holding him back, he would’ve been chatting away with Liu Qichu already.
As for why the audience had this impression of him, it wasn’t entirely because he was stingy with his words. Otherwise, the live-stream comments wouldn’t have started calling him things like “cool guy” and “boss” the moment he walked on stage—labels that had nothing to do with him.
A huge part of it had to do with his face.
Yes, Lai Yudong had a face that felt naturally distant.
His eyes were classic almond-shaped, with hooked corners and slightly upturned tails. His narrow gaze sparkled with intensity, and the slightly angled brows above gave him a sharp, commanding look. The exquisite balance of his features made even a simple glance feel aggressive.
The styling that came as a “bonus” with his transmigration only enhanced this edge—his ash-blond hair made his fair skin look almost luminous, and the primrose-colored contacts added a striking sense of sophistication that was hard to ignore.
The moment he appeared on screen, Lai Yudong looked just like a character straight out of a novel.
Building on his striking appearance, his tense, unsmiling expression, tall and lean figure, and refined posture all became evidence supporting the “cold and aloof” label.
In short, a cold-faced cool guy had suddenly burst onto the scene.
Was this… false advertising?
Lai Yudong muttered inwardly.
If Lai Yudong were a seasoned veteran of the entertainment industry, he’d probably be thrilled right now.
It’s a simple truth—
Labels help cement an impression in the audience’s mind.
Even if the “aloof pretty boy” persona is a bit cliché, it’s distinctive and memorable—unlike generic traits often seen in yearbooks, like hardworking, gentle, sincere, kind, helpful, or down-to-earth.
Not that there’s anything wrong with those qualities—but in the vibrant, competitive world of survival shows, they become forgettable. Out of 101 contestants, at least 80 could fit those descriptors, and if not, their die-hard fans will still try to force the narrative.
To debut, the most important thing is to be noticed.
And even if we take the most charitable view—Lai Yudong wasn’t faking a persona; what the audience saw was the real him, misunderstood due to circumstances beyond his control.
Looking further ahead, audiences today love a good contrast. That cold and distant exterior hiding a warm and approachable personality? Might just work in his favor.
Unfortunately, Lai Yudong, still naïve and clueless about the idol industry, wasn’t thinking that far ahead. His only goal was to survive one round at a time.
[Am I the only one who finds this hilarious? Hahahahaha]
[I’m jealous of Qichu’s personality—he’s not afraid of awkward silences at all]
[No no no! If you ever meet someone like that in real life, you’ll know how terrifying an overly friendly stranger can be!]
[Why do I feel like Yuki isn’t actually cold and aloof…]
[He just looks super awkward]
[If I put myself in his shoes, I’d be awkward too]
[Me trying to talk to my extrovert roommate be like：]
“—Ah!?”
Just as Lai Yudong was completely absorbed in reading the stream chat, a sudden force clapped him hard on the shoulder. Along with a startled exclamation right next to his ear, the shock made him jolt so badly he slid straight off his seat.
Thankfully, he managed to catch himself with his hands—otherwise, he might have ended up rolling into the row of trainees in front of him.
And he definitely didn’t want to go viral because of a livestream accident!
“Yuki!?” Liu Qichu quickly scrambled to help him up, looking guilty as he apologized over and over. “Sorry, sorry! I got too excited!”
“You didn’t twist anything, did you?” A brown-haired boy sitting in the row ahead turned around, rambling with concern. “If you hurt your ankle over something this silly, what would you do for the theme song evaluation? That’d really put you at a disadvantage.”
Then he added a gentle jab: “Though given your dancing skills, it might not make much of a difference—but still, getting injured is never good.”
“…I’m fine,” Lai Yudong replied numbly.
“Really? Don’t push through it if you’re in pain.”
“Mm.”
On the surface, Lai Yudong looked completely calm. But inside? He had shattered into a thousand little pieces. Thank goodness hardly anyone in the chat noticed that embarrassing moment—he’d already lost face too many times today. At this rate, he was going to develop a whole new level of shamelessness.
He sneaked a glance at the brown-haired boy’s nametag. His name was Liang Zhisheng, and there was no ranking sticker next to it—it seemed he hadn’t been on stage yet.
“You’re too enthusiastic. It makes other people uncomfortable,” Liang Zhisheng said, turning slightly in his seat. “See? You scared him.”
Liu Qichu scratched his head sheepishly. “I’m really sorry. My friends all say I get a little hyper when people are around… I’ll be more careful next time!”
“It’s fine.”
To be fair, Lai Yudong didn’t dislike enthusiastic people like Liu Qichu. In an unfamiliar environment, meeting someone who actively reached out in kindness was actually a stroke of luck.
After a brief hesitation, Lai Yudong softly asked, “What were you trying to say just now?”
Up to this point, it was the first question he had asked as a contestant.
“Oh, oh! You mean that!”
Liu Qichu perked up instantly.
He tugged lightly at Lai Yudong’s sleeve, eyes sparkling like a puppy wagging its tail in excitement. “It’s Jiang Yangfan! The Jiang Yangfan, in the flesh! He’s probably the most popular contestant out of everyone here. I watched the drama he was in—Soft Words!”
—Jiang Yangfan?
Lai Yudong blinked and looked toward the trio standing center stage.
The boy in the center position had especially striking visuals. His hair was dyed a soft, gentle-looking milk tea ash-brown, and a faint smile played on his lips. He radiated the warm, boy-next-door charm—like the beloved second male lead in a TV drama.
The other two weren’t bad-looking either, but they paled slightly in comparison beside the center.
[Jiang Yangfan/ Jiang Yangfan/ Jiang Yangfan/]
[Why’s Brother Fan in a group? Who are the other two?]
[Zhang Mingche and Yu Yizhen—they’re from the same company as him.]
[Wait, who’s Jiang Yangfan?]
[Please check out the dreamy Jiang Yangfan’s drama Soft Words~]
[Zhang and Yu were also in some web dramas.]
[Brother Fan stands out so much with those looks!]
[What is this, a web drama team reunion?]
“Oh right! You probably don’t know who Jiang Yangfan is,” Liu Qichu exclaimed, slapping his own forehead before helpfully explaining, “See the one in the middle with the light-colored hair? That’s Jiang Yangfan.”
Lai Yudong nodded. “Mm, I know.”
Liu Qichu blinked in surprise. “Huh? You know him? He’s that famous—even overseas?”
Lai Yudong thought, ‘Know him? He’s one of my mom’s ultimate faves among her many celeb crushes.’
But of course, there was no way he could say that out loud. Instead, he pointed at the name tag on Jiang Yangfan’s shirt and replied succinctly, “The name tag. It’s written on it.”
“…Oh, right,” Liu Qichu said, realization dawning.
Just like most of the audience, Lai Yudong only recognized Jiang Yangfan out of the trio.
And it wasn’t because Jiang Yangfan was some huge star. His breakout work, Soft Words, was a modern idol drama that had only enjoyed a brief moment of popularity. It faded from attention soon after airing, quickly replaced by the next trending series on the hot search.
But Lai Yudong’s mom had been a die-hard fan of that show. Her favorite character was the one played by Jiang Yangfan—the second male lead. She even changed her profile picture to him.
So there was no way Lai Yudong wouldn’t remember.
Compared to the fleeting fame of Jiang Yangfan, Zhang Mingche and Yu Yizhen were complete nobodies. If the stream chat hadn’t given a quick rundown, Lai Yudong wouldn’t have even known they’d starred in web dramas before.
That was the reality for most web dramas in this fast-paced, disposable content era—a microcosm of the entire entertainment industry.
Lai Yudong looked at the soft and radiant light-haired boy standing on stage and had only one thought:
[Can I bring a signed photo back to my original world?]
If it could make his mom happy, he wasn’t entirely against risking his cover just to ask for an autograph.
Between debuting in a boy group and getting a signature, the latter seemed far more achievable.
But, of course, reality had other plans.
System: [That’s not possible for now.]
Lai Yudong: [“For now”?]
System: [We’ll tell you once you debut.]
Lai Yudong: [You might as well just say no.]