Trainee Ch.33

Chapter 33: First Public Performance (6)

[I’m losing my mind ahhhhhhh]

[Baby, aren’t you usually pretty good with words? Say more things I like to hear!!]

[I want to punch the screen and drag Yuzu out of there]

[Huff huff, it’s like being gently reminded by your boyfriend before he leaves for work]

[Isn’t this more like a son telling his mom not to wait up for dinner before heading out?]

[Girlfriend fans and mom fans should fight it out]

[The mom fans’ motherly love has already mutated]

[How did you all even hear what Yuzu said so clearly (faints)]

In an instant, the barrage of comments shot up like bamboo shoots after the rain, flooding the screen. The sheer volume startled Lai Yudong—he thought he must’ve said something controversial that sparked a public debate.

But after taking a closer look at the content…

Okay. Crisis averted.

As long as the audience liked it, he was fine.

At the same time, a fan who had screen-recorded the close-up clip immediately uploaded it to the forum. The thread icon changed from “New” to “Hot” in under five minutes, with likes soaring past triple digits and still climbing.

Fans without any official allegiance and those from other fandoms couldn’t resist clicking in to see what all the fuss was about—what kind of content could rise to hot-topic status so quickly?

Just like that, a large-scale case of fans jumping ship and falling into his pit was born.

Although fans were busy drooling over his visuals, they still faithfully showed up to catch him arriving and leaving work. In fact, the positive fan experience only made more people want to see him in person offline—especially after the video of him getting off work was posted early this morning and quickly became a trending topic. It was basically a weapon for locking in die-hard fans.

As long as you called his name, he would definitely respond—no one could watch that and not be moved.

Lai Yudong was completely unaware of the fans’ excitement. After speaking to the camera, he threw himself into practice. He wanted to go over all the choreography he had learned yesterday before his teammates arrived, and shake off the drowsiness still clinging to his mind.

According to the plan he and Zhou Rui had agreed on, they needed to finish breaking down the entire choreography today, then share the movement routes with their teammates before dismissal so they could familiarize themselves in advance. Tomorrow, they’d start blocking positions, and the day after that, they’d have class and be evaluated on the results.

Half an hour later, Zhou Rui arrived at the practice room with the other Group B trainees.

“Morning, Yuki,” Zhou Rui said as he set his water bottle down by the wall. He rubbed his eyes, clearly exhausted, and added, “You got here way too early.”

[Zhou Rui: We said we’d grow together, but you’re secretly training behind my back!]

[My Real group isn’t real anymore—wuwuwu]

[But they’re still the earliest to arrive.]

“Morning.”

Lai Yudong was squatting on the floor with a tablet in his arms. He had just finished reviewing the progress the whole group made yesterday and was now going over the part he’d broken down by himself during the night but hadn’t yet taught the others.

He looked up at the grayish-brown-haired boy and asked with concern, “Didn’t sleep well?”

“Don’t even mention it,” Zhou Rui replied with a miserable face. “I tossed and turned all night and couldn’t fall asleep. Before I knew it, it was already past eight. I figured there was no point trying to go back to sleep, so I might as well come to the practice room early—and turns out you got here even earlier than me.”

Lai Yudong suggested, “Want to catch a nap later?”

After all, their group had a full two hours of rest time after lunch.

“We’ll see. If I can fall asleep, I will. Otherwise, I’m seriously afraid I’ll just drop dead.”

Zhou Rui had been anxious since yesterday. Being alone with Lai Yudong and practicing together offered some relief—at least he had someone to train with—but the moment he returned to the dorm and saw Zeng Kai and Luo Feiran sleeping soundly in the dark room, the anxiety surged up again. He nearly wanted to shake them awake.

But that was just a fleeting thought. His personality wouldn’t allow him to actually do something so extreme.

Compared to him, Lai Yudong was in a much better state. He was a bit mentally drained and helpless, but not to the point where it affected his sleep quality.

If his teammates didn’t want to learn, it was useless for him to be anxious. He couldn’t possibly string them up like marionettes and force them to rehearse, nor could he perform the whole routine by himself on stage, playing eight different roles.

If it were his usual self, he would’ve already had a heart-to-heart talk with them for the sake of the team and tried to resolve the problem. But given the persona of being an overseas trainee, he didn’t want to take the risk on something with such a low success rate.

Besides, this was technically the team leader’s job. Unfortunately, Shu Tengjie seemed to have a bias against the idol industry, and his attitude hovered just around the barely-passing line.

What’s more, the team’s problem wasn’t simply about not wanting to practice.

Zeng Kai—one of the more troublesome teammates—not only strongly disliked the assigned performance song, but also had quite a few issues with both Zhou Rui and Lai Yudong.

His resentment toward Zhou Rui was easy to explain: the moment it was announced that he didn’t get center position, his unwillingness to practice was practically written all over his face.

As for his dislike of Lai Yudong, that was easy to explain too. First, letting Zhou Rui fight for center had cost him the position, but that was a minor reason. The bigger issue dated back even further. That now-infamous line—“Being good-looking sure is something, huh”—had come from his mouth.

Lai Yudong had heard about that from Li Xu.

Back then, Li Xu happened to catch a clear look at the person’s face. He didn’t want to make things too ugly, so he chose not to call him out by name when he clapped back. Now, having brought up the incident on his own, he only had one condition: that Lai Yudong not mention the embarrassing scene he had witnessed in the bathroom.

If he hadn’t added that final line—“You two are in the same group, so be careful not to get dragged down,”—Lai Yudong might’ve almost believed this was just a fair exchange.

What a classic example of someone whose mouth said one thing but actions said another—a great roommate, really.

Actually, even if Li Xu hadn’t said anything, Lai Yudong had more or less already guessed it. He hadn’t wanted to take ownership of that line, but judging from the way Zeng Kai treated him, odds were high that he was indeed the one who’d made that snide remark.

If Zeng Kai were in Class A or B, Lai Yudong might’ve found his perspective logical. But as it happened, both of them had gone from F to C class—it wasn’t even a case of the pot calling the kettle black; it was like one hundred steps laughing at one hundred steps.

As time went on, the rest of the team gradually arrived at the practice room. Zeng Kai was ten minutes late—making him the only team member who didn’t show up on time.

Which pretty much confirmed Lai Yudong’s suspicion.

The guy clearly wasn’t focused on practicing—his mind was probably still stuck on losing the center position that had been within reach.

The day’s practice didn’t go much differently from the previous one. With the looming evaluation and performance, Zhou Rui was growing increasingly anxious. Lai Yudong knew that talking wouldn’t help at this point; only concrete progress could ease that worry.

So even though he was already so exhausted he could barely move, he pushed through and practiced until 4 a.m.—an hour later than the night before.

The center position was the core of the performance. If Zhou Rui got dragged down by uncooperative teammates, then their whole group would truly be doomed.

Fortunately, their main vocal and main rapper were both responsible and hardworking. Zhao Yifeng, in particular, was extremely dedicated when it came to improving his weakest area—dance—and was progressing by leaps and bounds.

With the three key positions forming a solid triangle, they were barely managing to keep this rickety tricycle of a team standing.

“Hopefully they’ll at least glance at the movement routes before going to sleep.” Zhou Rui turned off the lights in the practice room. He was so tired he kept yawning, but still couldn’t stop worrying about some of their teammates.

He wasn’t even hoping they’d memorize everything—just that they’d get a little familiar with it so that rehearsals would go even a bit more smoothly.

Lai Yudong zipped up his winter coat. “The movement routes are simple. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“But if they don’t know the choreography well, it’ll affect how they remember the routes.”

“It’s fine, we still have one more day.”

That’s what Lai Yudong said out loud to reassure him, but deep down he was already mentally prepared to get scolded by the instructors. In fact, he was half-hoping they would get scolded—maybe then certain teammates would finally start putting in some effort.

The two of them headed down to the first floor and walked toward the exit.

Even though Lai Yudong had already shared his thoughts in front of the camera earlier that morning, there was no guarantee things wouldn’t play out like they had the night before. So he pushed down his exhaustion and made an effort to walk out the doors in as good a state as he could manage.

Sure enough, he had only walked a few steps in his winter coat when enthusiastic voices rang out from a distance.

“Yuzu! Look over here, sweetheart!”

“You’ve worked hard! You’re getting off so late tonight!”

“Yuki, keep it up!”

Lai Yudong looked over. The flashlights from phones lit up one after another like a mini light show, forming clusters of light beams that gathered into glowing orbs. He couldn’t tell if it was his poor eyesight or a faulty memory, but it seemed like the lights were more numerous than they had been yesterday.

Zhou Rui exclaimed in surprise, “Looks like more people are waiting for you tonight.”

Even Zhou Rui noticed—so it wasn’t just his imagination.

Lai Yudong was puzzled. Could it be because it was Friday versus Saturday? Maybe everyone had the weekend off?

That was the most reasonable explanation he could come up with.

Whatever the reason, one thing hadn’t changed: they were all here to see him—though it still gave him a faint sense of being on the receiving end of a prison visit.

Just like the night before, Lai Yudong smiled and responded to everyone, though the thick coat made his movements a bit clumsy as he raised his arms above his head to form a heart.

The fans’ shouts grew even louder.

“So cute!!!”

“Baby, hurry back to the dorm! It’s cold outside!”

“Are you not shy with us?!”

Oh right—there was that whole “shy with strangers” thing.

But they were standing so far away that he couldn’t even see their faces clearly. Would that really trigger social anxiety?

Sorry, this was a blind spot in his knowledge as a fake introvert.

The interaction with the fans lasted a full five minutes. The friendlier Lai Yudong acted, the more enthusiastic the fans became, which in turn compelled him to respond in kind—thus forming a strange but positive feedback loop.

Zhou Rui, standing beside him, was so sleepy he was practically swaying on his feet, nearly bumping into Lai Yudong with his eyes still closed.

In the end, the fans couldn’t bear to keep their idol standing out in the cold, and reached a silent agreement to stop calling out his name. They held up their lit phones like guiding beacons, quietly watching as he walked into the dorm building.

Just when they were reluctantly thinking that was the last glimpse they’d get, the pale-blond-haired boy suddenly turned around right before closing the door. He breathed onto the glass and used his finger to draw a perfect heart.

His beautiful face peeked out from behind the heart, and with both hands, he formed small hearts using his thumbs and index fingers.

Finally, he gave a bright smile and waved goodbye—disappearing behind the fading heart on the glass.

A series of uncontrollable “Oh my god!”s erupted from the crowd.

“Someone look at this!! I’m dying!!!”

“Did anyone record that!?”

“I had my flashlight on and didn’t hit record!”

“I thought he went inside, so I stopped filming!!”

Everyone was so hyped they looked like they might sprint an entire 800 meters on the spot. Two fans who didn’t even know each other ended up hugging each other and jumping up and down from sheer excitement.

“I feel like I’m dreaming…” one of the girls murmured in a daze. She slowly lowered her phone, still shining with its flashlight, and immediately opened the forum to record her emotions in real time.

—

[Thread Title] Anyone not voting for Yuzu is asking for trouble!

OP: That girl who went to watch him get off work yesterday was right! Miura Yuki is so good at fanservice! Who was it that said Yuzu has bad hearing? As long as you call his name, he will turn around to look at you! And sometimes he’ll even pull a sneaky comeback for a surprise! This kind of idol needs to debut and stay forever glued to his seat at every fansign!

1F: Was there in person. I’ve gone insane.

2F: Yuzu wearing that thick winter coat doing a heart sign looked like a little penguin www

3F: He’s not socially anxious around fans at all! Super sweet!!

4F: Drop the video from tonight or I swear I’ll beg you (on my knees)

5F: You’ve got me curious now. I’m definitely going to stake out the venue one of these days.

6F: Already fantasizing about future fansigns…

…

Whether other people were doomed or not was unclear—but Lai Yudong definitely was.

Because Monday had arrived far too quickly: the day when the mentors and professional instructors would go group by group, evaluating everyone’s practice progress.

“Next group, Group A performing ‘Peppermint’.”

Lai Yudong was sitting on the floor with his knees drawn to his chest. He glanced at the visibly stressed Zhou Rui, then slowly got up and trudged toward the front like a prisoner on his way to execution, utterly devoid of hope.

Please, almighty God of Survival Shows—let him not get dragged down by his teammates.

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