Trainee Ch.20.2

Chapter 20.2: Theme Song (7)

In the blink of an eye, it was already 11 p.m.

Liang Zhisheng, the most laid-back of the group, was the first to return to the dorm. He had dinner at 7, rested until 8, then practiced for another hour. He wasn’t exactly working hard, but he wasn’t slacking off either—ranking somewhere in the upper-middle range among the 101 trainees.

At twenty-five, his “advanced age” meant he no longer had the boundless energy of teenagers who had just come of age. After enduring the grueling grind of postgraduate entrance exams, his body couldn’t take the strain anymore—staying up late gave him dizziness and nausea, overexercising left him with backaches. His beloved iced soda had been replaced with longan and goji berry tea—he was fully embracing the health-preservation lifestyle.

But when he got back to the dorm, not a soul was there. He ended up waiting a whole hour before Li Xu finally arrived.

After his shower, Liang Zhisheng returned to dorm 707 carrying a washbasin. He glanced at the two empty lower bunks and asked, “They’re still not back yet?”

The red-haired boy sitting on the top bunk was wearing wired earphones and turned a page in his music theory book. “Xu An just got back not long ago. He went downstairs to shower. Didn’t you run into him?”

“Nope, must’ve missed him,” Liang Zhisheng replied as he pulled out a hanger and started drying his freshly hand-washed class uniform. “Yuki hasn’t come back at all?”

Without even lifting his head, Li Xu replied, “No.”

“Sigh, youth is a beautiful thing.”

Only after sighing did Liang Zhisheng realize this roommate didn’t look very old either. Switching to a joking tone, he changed the subject: “Seems like neither of us feels any sense of crisis.”

Li Xu said matter-of-factly, “Too tired to get up early. It’d mess with the quality of our classes.”

“Does Class B have their professional courses first thing in the morning?”

“Yeah, vocal lessons at eight.”

“Brutal. Class A and Class C both start at 10:30 a.m. But for us, it’s dance class,” Liang Zhisheng shrugged. As he moved the hanger to the side, he suddenly paused mid-action, as if something had just dawned on him. “Wait a second—doesn’t that mean Class F also has class at eight?”

“You’re only realizing that now?” Li Xu closed his book. Music theory was the best kind of sleep aid—he hadn’t been reading long before he was so drowsy he could barely keep his eyes open. “That’s why I suspect Miura doesn’t know there’s an early class tomorrow.”

“He takes things pretty seriously. No way he wouldn’t know,” Liang Zhisheng instinctively defended his roommate, who had left a good impression. “He probably just wants to get in more practice since his foundation isn’t that strong.”

“True. People who can stick to eating breakfast every day usually have amazing willpower. Wonder how long he’ll last.” Li Xu lay down and pulled up his blanket. His way of speaking was as blunt as ever. “I’m going to sleep. I’ll try not to wake you guys when I get up in the morning, so hopefully you won’t disturb my sleep either.”

“Should I turn off the lights?”

“No need.”

Liang Zhisheng didn’t take the slightly unfriendly exchange to heart. It was better to speak openly than to bottle things up and make people guess. Plus, what Li Xu asked for was perfectly reasonable—it was one of the most common dorm conflicts. It was better to get it out in the open early on.

It also reminded him that they should probably establish some dorm rules when they had time.

About fifteen minutes later, the doorknob turned—Xu An had returned from his shower.

Though it had only been a few hours, his face looked exhausted—it was obvious dance practice had taken a toll on him.

“Shhh—”

Liang Zhisheng held up a finger to his lips and pointed at the top bunk, where Li Xu was already asleep.

Xu An understood immediately and nodded, then took his hair dryer out into the hallway to dry his hair.

Skincare, grabbing his clothes, tidying up his desk, turning off the lights, setting his alarm—once everything was ready for bed, Liang Zhisheng glanced at Miura Yuki’s bed before climbing into his own.

That guy still hadn’t come back.

He thought worriedly: He better not have actually forgotten that Class F has an early class tomorrow.

In the dead of night.

The dorm building was silent. All the rooms had their lights off and doors closed. Only the hallway remained lit, in case any trainees needed to get up during the night.

Liang Zhisheng woke from his sleep to go to the bathroom. Still groggy, he fumbled down the ladder in the dark, half-asleep as he felt his way to the door.

The doorknob turned with a stubborn creak, and the bright hallway light squeezed through the crack in the door, falling onto the floor like a beam of moonlight.

He had his back turned and his eyes half-closed as he stepped out, practically sleepwalking, so he didn’t notice anything unusual in the dorm room. But when he returned and caught a glimpse of the room in the corridor light, he suddenly realized—his lower bunk was empty.

The blanket was folded neatly, exactly the way it had been when he left that morning, which meant the person had never come back.

Frozen in place for a few seconds, Liang Zhisheng slowly climbed back up the ladder and reached for the alarm clock beside his pillow. The time displayed was 3:40 a.m.

—3:40 a.m.!!?

He hadn’t thought much of it before, but seeing the time gave him a shock that instantly wiped away all sleepiness. He rubbed his eyes hard—no mistake, it really was almost four in the morning.

What was going on? Was his roommate out all night?

His first instinct was to worry that something had happened to Miura Yuki. If it were a college roommate disappearing for a while, it might mean they’d gone clubbing or out for a late-night snack. But here, they were in a closed filming environment—nothing but seven floors up and down, nowhere else to go.

The only possible place was the practice room.

But Class F had an early class at eight. Could someone really be staying up in the practice room in the middle of the night?

He honestly wasn’t sure.

After thinking it over, Liang Zhisheng decided to go look for Miura Yuki. Better safe than sorry—and since he was already awake, a few minutes of lost sleep didn’t matter much.

With that thought, he decisively climbed down from bed, grabbed a military green padded jacket, threw it on, and rushed out the door.

Taking the elevator down to the third floor, Liang Zhisheng headed straight to the nearest large classroom. When he pushed open the door, it was pitch-black inside. Just to be sure, he flipped on the lights and took a look—empty.

After backing out, he tried the next room—Class A’s classroom.

Although the chances of Miura Yuki being in Class A were extremely slim, since he was already here, he figured there was no harm in checking.

To his surprise, the lights in the room were on.

Inside, a blond boy wearing a baseball cap was dancing to a backing track. The sudden sound of the door startled him, disrupting his rhythm. He turned his head, eyes wide with surprise.

This was one of those moments where neither person expected anyone to be here at this hour.

Although this boy was also blond, he clearly wasn’t the missing roommate Liang Zhisheng was looking for. His hair was a much more vivid golden hue—almost like flowing golden sand under the lights—visually quite different from Miura Yuki’s.

He was—

Mo Li, former member of Fir-Nine and now a trainee in Class A.

The two, who had never interacted before, stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before Liang Zhisheng finally broke it, cutting through the awkwardness of the music playing without anyone speaking:

“Sorry, did I disturb you? The soundproofing is too good—I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

“No, no,” Mo Li replied quickly, jogging over to pause the music on his tablet. He smoothly slipped into social mode. “You’re not disturbing me at all—I was just about to finish this run-through.”

Liang Zhisheng: “…”

Unless his ears were failing him, the theme song had only played halfway.

No wonder—he was a former boy group member who’d already been through one season of a survival show. A seasoned veteran.

Li Xu should really take notes.

“Were you here to practice too?” Mo Li asked.

Liang Zhisheng quickly denied it: “No, no! I’m looking for someone.”

“Looking for someone?”

“Yes. Have you seen Miura Yuki?” Liang Zhisheng gave a simple description. “A blond guy from Class F, very light hair color, tall and thin—gives off a cold vibe at first glance.”

“Oh, I know who you mean.” Mo Li rubbed his chin in thought. “Su Junzhe was teaching him and someone from Class C the theme song here earlier. They danced from ten to midnight. I don’t know where he went after that. Why, he’s not back at the dorm?”

“He still hasn’t come back. I’m a bit worried,” Liang Zhisheng said, tugging at his padded jacket, half his face shrunk behind the collar from the cold. “Thanks, I’ll check the room next door. Want to come with me?”

Mo Li shook his head. “You go ahead. I’m going to keep practicing a bit longer.”

Liang Zhisheng figured he must have gotten too absorbed and lost track of time, so he kindly reminded him, “It’s almost four—it’s really late.”

“I know. I’ll leave at four.”

“Four…?”

The corners of Liang Zhisheng’s mouth twitched slightly beneath his oversized collar. Seeing the other’s this-is-perfectly-normal.jpg expression, all his thoughts condensed into one sentence:

“Then I won’t disturb you.”

He didn’t understand the world of trainees.

Liang Zhisheng continued checking the other classrooms one by one, bundled in his army green padded jacket and slowly shuffling down the hallway like a ball of green rice cake.

Eventually, he really did find his missing roommate in Class F’s practice room.

Soft LED lighting, backing track playing, the only blond boy in the room—it was the same setup as Class A.

The only difference was that no one was dancing.

The pale blond trainee lay motionless on the floor, body curled slightly, with his earphones—still connected to a tablet—scattered beside him. A notebook lay open, draped over his face like a white cloth. From afar, he looked disturbingly like a lifeless corpse.

Startled, Liang Zhisheng rushed over in long strides, crouched down beside Miura Yuki, lifted the notebook, and reached out to check for breath—

Thankfully, he was still breathing.

He looked a little closer—Miura’s peaceful expression looked more like he was just asleep rather than unconscious.

‘Sorry, I’ve clearly watched too many horror and suspense films. At least he’s okay.’

“Yuki,” Liang Zhisheng said helplessly, giving his sleeping roommate a light shake. “Wake up.”

“…Mm…”

“The sun’s already up and shining on your butt!”

Miura Yuki furrowed his brows slightly. The persistent shaking and noise finally made him slowly open his eyes, squinting sleepily as he muttered, “Is it morning already…?”

“I lied,” Liang Zhisheng said, folding up the notebook and lightly tapping that pale blond head. “It’s four in the morning. Were you planning to spend the night in the practice room? Do you remember you have class at eight? I woke up and saw you weren’t in bed—scared the hell out of me.”

“…I see…”

Miura Yuki let out a few drowsy hums, his groggy look making it unclear whether he really heard anything.

He raised an arm to block the overhead light. His voice, still hoarse from sleep, sounded like a mumbled dream:

“Sorry… I was too tired… just wanted to rest a bit, but didn’t want to waste time… was going to lie down and practice singing, but accidentally fell asleep… ahh, how is it already four? Slept so long… really, you didn’t need to worry… I would’ve gone back on my own when I woke up… but I should still apologize… sorry for disturbing your sleep…”

Liang Zhisheng: “……”

Wait a sec. This guy talks that much? And that fast??

If his usual speaking speed was 0.75x, then this was not just normal speed—it was at least 2x!

And if you listened carefully, Miura Yuki’s voice, though muffled with sleep, wasn’t slurred at all. He had rattled off a whole string of sentences with zero hesitation, every word perfectly clear despite being half-asleep.

Unlike before, when even a short sentence would have several syllables slurred together and his voice would trail off toward the end—giving off a timid, socially awkward vibe—now he was…

Unlocking a whole new side of himself?

“It’s no big deal. I happened to be awake,” Liang Zhisheng teased. “You’re actually pretty lively, huh, Yuki?”

“Lively? Haven’t I always been—”

The voice suddenly cut off. The pale blond boy shifted the arm that had been draped over his eyes up to his forehead. Still half-asleep, he stared at Liang Zhisheng for a few seconds. His dazed gaze gradually cleared.

A few seconds later, he silently moved his arm back down to cover his ink-black eyes once again. His voice dropped a few notches—somehow sounding a little guilty:

“…Yeah, maybe a little.”

…

[Finally someone came to fish Yuzu out]

[“Fruit Scoop” lol]

[Is Liang Zhisheng a mom friend in training? ]

[I feel like a night shift security guard watching the surveillance feed—monitoring Yuki’s personal safety with dedication]

[First time hearing Yuki say so much]

[Freshly woken-up Yuzu is way too cute sobs]

At four in the morning, the livestream room had only a handful of viewers. The barrage of comments was so sparse it looked like the balding scalp of a middle-aged disciplinary dean going through a hair crisis. But just a few lines were enough to snap someone wide awake.

Lai Yudong broke into a cold sweat.

—W-well… he really is pretty lively, huh…

Full of regret, Lai Yudong threw his arm over his face, firmly shutting the eyes most likely to betray his emotions. His skin, exposed where his sleeve had rolled up, pressed coldly against his eyes, shocking his brain back into awareness—and little by little, the memories from before he fell asleep began to resurface.

Su Junzhe’s A-class crash course didn’t wrap up until 8 PM. Compared to the previous “each person dances their own part” free-for-all leader choreography mode, this session was far stricter, with Su Junzhe correcting movements one by one in front of the mirror. But the trainees who stuck around weren’t the type to quit halfway. Even as their uniforms were soaked through with sweat, no one uttered a single complaint.

So, even though everyone was starving by the time class ended, they just lay on the floor for a long while before slowly getting up.

Lai Yudong and Zhou Rui supported each other as they made their way to the cafeteria. When they saw the bland, low-oil, low-salt dishes, they sighed in unison.

“I really want fried chicken.”

“Yeah.”

“And an ice-cold Coke would be perfect.”

“Milk tea.”

—That was the conversation they had.

After eating and resting for a bit, the two of them sneakily crept over to the A-class room, where, as expected, they caught Su Junzhe again. Facing the subtle “You two again?” expression on his face, they obediently stood at the back and assured him they’d just follow along and not make trouble.

In the blink of an eye, it was already midnight. Their team anchor Su Junzhe finally clocked out, and the little trio disbanded. Lai Yudong returned alone to the F-class room and continued practicing for a while.

What happened next was… well, self-explanatory.

At the time, he was so tired his eyelids felt glued shut. Falling asleep in the practice room was completely understandable. What he hadn’t expected was for Liang Zhisheng to come looking for him—and even less for his mouth to start chattering away like a triple-shot pea shooter, spewing all kinds of nonsense like he was making up for all the things he hadn’t been able to say these past few days.

In short, he’d crashed and burned in a situation he hadn’t anticipated at all.

“Need me to pull you up?” Liang Zhisheng asked with a chuckle, looking down at the pale blond boy playing dead. He figured the kid was just feeling shy about not seeming “cool” enough.

A childish mindset. Totally normal.

If Lai Yudong knew he was being seen as an immature little kid, those almond-shaped eyes of his would’ve gone round with disbelief.

Among his peers, he was always seen as the go-to emotional counselor—mature and dependable. How could someone like that possibly be caught up over trying to act cool? Besides, he wasn’t trying to act cool at all. Don’t judge a book by its cover!

Lai Yudong carefully moved his arm aside and peeked through the gap to observe Liang Zhisheng’s expression. After confirming that the other hadn’t shown any sign of doubting his carefully maintained persona, he quickly shook his head and sprang up from the floor. “Sorry for the trouble.”

Liang Zhisheng stood up with him. “Don’t be so formal all the time. You’re making it feel like we barely know each other.”

[Didn’t you just meet last night?]

[It’s past midnight now, so technically the night before last.]

[Which still counts as just having met lol]

The comments weren’t wrong, but Lai Yudong had no intention of arguing back in person. He simply smiled politely and said, “Okay.”

“All right, all right, let’s go,” Liang Zhisheng said, stretching lazily before heading toward the door. “If I don’t get to bed soon, my drowsiness is going to wear off.”

“Wait a sec.”

Lai Yudong gathered his scattered earphones and tablet, then jogged over to catch up with Liang Zhisheng, who was waiting for him by the door. He accepted the diary the other handed him, then turned off the lights and closed the classroom door behind them.

At last, another day of training had come to an end.

“Did you eat dinner?” Liang Zhisheng asked considerately.

“Yeah.”

“Showered yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Then let’s walk faster. The hallway’s freezing without air conditioning. Next time you’re practicing this late, remember to bring a jacket.” Liang Zhisheng wrapped his padded coat tighter around himself as he nagged, “Just look at you—wearing only that thin shirt. If you catch a cold, you’ll be sneezing and sniffing onstage. That’s not idol behavior at all.”

“The practice room wasn’t cold,” Lai Yudong defended.

Liang Zhisheng firmly rejected the suggestion, leaving no room for argument: “But your training intensity is high. You’ll definitely sweat a lot. With the temperature difference between indoors and outdoors, going from hot to cold makes it even easier to catch a cold.”

Lai Yudong dragged out his response weakly, “Yesss—”

Liang Zhisheng continued with his reminders, “Remember to take a shower when we get back. Don’t just collapse onto the bed. Even if I’m dead tired, I’ll still force myself to drag you into the bathroom.”

“No shower, no sleep.”

“Good. Oh, and keep your voice down when we return to the dorm. Don’t wake the others. Though honestly, you get up so quietly—like a ghost—you probably won’t make much noise anyway.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Li Xu has early classes too. Keep an eye on him when you wake up. He said he won’t disturb us, but yesterday his alarm rang forever and he still didn’t wake up—I had to shake him awake.”

“No problem.”

[Liang Zhisheng is starting to look more and more like my mom.]

[But you’re probably not as good-tempered as Yuki, lol.]

Lai Yudong figured that even an idiot should have more or less figured out this roommate’s personality by now.

In college, he’d definitely be dorm leader material.

His string of responsive answers made Liang Zhisheng glance over in surprise. He cast a sideways look at the well-behaved, fair-haired boy. Though every reply was brief, it was a big improvement from their earlier interactions, which had relied mostly on body language.

Feeling relieved that the other was finally listening, he joked, “Nice. I thought all you knew how to do was nod and shake your head.”

Lai Yudong: “……”

He wasn’t mute from poison or anything.

“By the way—”

The moment those three words came out, Lai Yudong’s eyelid twitched. He already had a bad feeling about what was coming next.

“Why aren’t you as talkative when you’re not just waking up?”

Lai Yudong: “……”

See? You can dodge it once, but it’ll catch up eventually.

Luckily, he had already prepared a countermeasure.

“Because I…” Lai Yudong paused, then forced out two words with difficulty, “…get shy.”

[Damn, Yuzu really is socially anxious?]

[Confirmed by the man himself, lol]

[The aloof-cool-boy faction just suffered a crushing defeat]

The socially anxious persona — it could only be certified by him personally.

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