Trainee Ch.34.1

Chapter 34.1: First Performance (7)

It turned out that not being dragged down by teammates was simply impossible.

Lai Yudong found the experience rather surreal. It had only been a few days since the initial recording, and he was already using words like “being dragged down” to describe his situation on stage—rather than being the one holding the team back.

But the reality was no exaggeration.

While moving across the stage, Lai Yudong almost bumped into Zeng Kai, who had forgotten his blocking. He quickly sidestepped to avoid him, but since he didn’t have eyes on the back of his head, he ended up bumping into Luo Feiran, who had also stood in the wrong position. Luo Feiran cried out in pain, startling Lai Yudong enough that he hurriedly apologized with a quick “Sorry.”

The entire scene could only be described as chaotic.

Even though Lai Yudong returned to his original position in time and picked up the choreography where it left off, the stern expressions on the mentors’ faces were already irreversible—their cold, hard faces rivaled wind-dried sculptures.

[…Uh, this group can’t be saved. Carry them off stage…]

[At least Yuzu is still worth protecting.]

[The center’s okay too, but nothing stunning.]

[As soon as Teacher Zhao started singing, I forgave him for not dancing well.]

[Yuki is so unlucky. Everyone else is dancing—he’s dodging landmines.]

[Sorry, I know it’s tragic, but I can’t help laughing. Yuzu looked like a ping pong ball getting batted around.]

[Forget ping pong today—we’re playing Yuzu-ball!]

Lai Yudong: …

Human sorrow is not shared.

The outcome was predictable. Their group was harshly criticized by the dance mentor, Cao Yan. Even Fu Hanyu, known for his gentleness, didn’t hold back and said bluntly, “You all need to practice more.”

“Who’s the leader of your group?” Cao Yan asked, frowning.

Shu Tengjie raised his hand. “That’s me.”

“Then explain this—why are you all so unfamiliar with the choreography? How could your blocking be so off that you’re crashing into each other?”

“Sorry.” Shu Tengjie knew well that the first rule of getting scolded was to apologize, so he lowered his head and explained, “In our group, Zhou Rui and Miura were in charge of breaking down the choreography. Their pace was slower, so everyone learned the moves rather scatteredly, and we didn’t have enough time to practice.”

Lai Yudong’s eyelid twitched. He’s pinning this on them now?

Although Shu Tengjie hadn’t said it outright, the implication couldn’t be clearer. To any audience member unaware of what actually happened, it might sound like the two of them had dragged down the entire team.

And with his own name—someone who had started with zero dance background—tied to the task of breaking down choreography, of course it would come across as absurd.

No wonder Su Junzhe didn’t like teaching others. It’s one thing if people don’t want to practice, but if things go wrong and you still have to take the fall for it… who knows what these unrelated trainees might say to save themselves?

[Why didn’t Yuzu say anything to explain?]

[He barely speaks a few words usually—how can you expect him to speak up to the mentors?]

[Staying quiet is the smartest move.]

[True, but still… I feel so bad for him T_T]

[Great, now I’m getting emotionally wrecked by a tragic bias again.]

[Damn it! Going to vote for Yuzu now!]

Lai Yudong kept his mic muted and said nothing—not because he didn’t want to defend himself, but because there was no point. Arguing would just sound like excuses, and it wasn’t like the mentors were idiots.

Still, if they were lucky enough to make it into the second performance… he was absolutely going to avoid certain people.

Sure enough, the mentor known for having “keep it real” engraved in his soul—Li Ke—was the first to lose it when he heard that explanation.

The blunt, quick-tongued rapper was more riled up than the ones involved, immediately jumping in and rapid-firing a string of questions:

“Then why were those two doing the choreography breakdown? Why are the main vocalist and main rapper also dancing? If you thought it was too slow, why did you have Miura Yuki, who has no foundation, help with the breakdown? What is this—some kind of training ground for newbies? A pop quiz for him? What were the others doing? You couldn’t find a third person who could break down choreography? From what I saw, you didn’t even have your lyrics memorized. Were you singing well? And the two sub-rappers weren’t exactly doing great either, were they?”

He finished with a sharp, overarching judgment:

“Or is it that none of you actually put your hearts into practice?”

“…”

Shu Tengjie opened his mouth slightly, but for a long time, no words came out.

[SO satisfying!]

[Justice served! I couldn’t even bring myself to watch Peppermint A’s practice room these past couple days. It was giving me rage headaches.]

[Thank goodness the mentor sees things clearly.]

[Ruirui, seriously—next time, pick your teammates with both eyes open.]

[Zhou Rui is the real minesweeper here.]

[Praying that Yuki ends up in a better team next time.]

“Teacher.”

An unexpected voice cut through the tension. Facing Li Ke’s razor-sharp gaze, Zhao Yifeng raised his hand with composure and spoke calmly, neither arrogant nor submissive:

“Yuki did fine with the choreography breakdown—he was a huge help. So was Zhou Rui.”

It echoed the scene from the first stage, someone stepping in to resolve the situation. But this time, Zhao Yifeng’s tone was less flippant, more serious in front of the mentors.

Li Ke narrowed her eyes. “Then you all are the problem?”

“Mhm.” Zhao Yifeng didn’t hesitate.

Lai Yudong glanced over in surprise, but Zhao Yifeng’s calm expression didn’t betray any particular emotion.

As someone who wasn’t one of the weak links in the group, Zhao Yifeng wasn’t trying to make excuses for himself. Instead, he directly acknowledged where the real issue lay.

It wasn’t the slow teaching progress.

It wasn’t poor scheduling.

It was that someone had to take responsibility—and he chose to.

“We weren’t prepared enough. I’m sorry.”

[Brother Zhao, please stop being so lovable…]

[Gotta admit, I see Zhao Yifeng in a new light. He’s a decent guy.]

[People really shine by comparison.]

[Is it just me, or does Zhao Yifeng actually have the personality to be a good team leader?]

[Babe, the leader is Shu, not Zhao.]

With mentor Wu Xihe’s final comments, Peppermint Group A’s evaluation came to an end. Following them was Group B, whose performance was a complete contrast—every member was in top form, and not a single mistake was made.

If Group A was a pile of disorganized sand, then Group B was a finely tuned machine working in perfect harmony.

The gap was enormous.

Lai Yudong felt a kind of detached calm, as if he had transcended worldly concerns. He couldn’t think of any miracle fix for the situation. The only two thoughts occupying his mind were: “restart” or “defect to the enemy.”

Hopefully, as the “goalkeeper” of the team, he could at least hang onto his current rank.

If he ended up losing fans and getting eliminated because their first performance was a disaster, then come ranking announcement day, he was going to go toe-to-toe with every one of his ridiculous teammates. His good temper had limits. And if the mission failed and the story had to reset, then hey—his overseas-player persona wouldn’t matter anymore.

After the evaluation class, the eight of them returned to the practice room.

No one could muster up any energy in that atmosphere, especially when the team dynamic was already steeped in laziness and apathy.

According to the original plan, Zhou Rui was supposed to lead the next practice session. But just before they began, Zhao Yifeng casually grabbed Shu Tengjie by the arm. There was a lazy smile on his lips, and his voice had the drowsy quality of someone who’d just woken up:

“Leader, aren’t you going to say something?”

He deliberately emphasized the word “leader.”

Shu Tengjie adjusted his glasses. “What do you want me to say?”

“Let’s have a meeting,” Zhao Yifeng raised an eyebrow. “You don’t actually think continuing like this is going to work, do you?”

[Spicy! Brother Zhao is starting a callout session!]

[This should’ve been brought up long ago, but in this group, the “normal” ones are either too self-absorbed or too soft-spoken. Even Zhao Yifeng can’t take it anymore.]

[The way that’s phrased makes it sound like Zhao Yifeng isn’t included among the “normal” ones, LOL.]

[I’ve seen Yuzu look like he wanted to speak up so many times.]

[This poor kid’s getting pushed until he finally learns how to talk—LOL.]

[Someone save the social anxiety sufferer. Save Yuzu.]

Lai Yudong was leaning against the wall, drinking water. The moment he heard the sharp shift in tone, he gulped it down hurriedly and turned his head to look at the two who had suddenly gone head-to-head.

To be honest, he was genuinely worried they were about to start arguing. One of them had dared to snatch Xu An’s mic on stage in front of everyone, and the other had openly admitted on camera that he never listened to idol songs. Both had strong personalities.

If things blew up like what happened in Liang Zhisheng’s group, their already limited practice time would suffer even more, and the already fragile group dynamic could spiral into open conflict.

Of course, if they could actually work through it, that would be the best outcome.

At the very least—someone standing up and saying something was better than silence.

The eight of them sat in a U-shape on the floor, with one person at each end. Zhao Yifeng was at the bend of the U, slouched casually with his chin resting in one hand, legs crossed, looking the picture of unseriousness.

But every word out of his mouth hit harder than the last—each sentence a gut punch.

“I’ll start with a question: do you guys actually want to debut?

If you don’t, then skip everything I’m about to say—go outside, get some fresh air, take a break.

Don’t trap yourselves in this tiny practice room.

The world outside is much more exciting.”

[Brother, I think your speech is the most exciting thing here.]

[Help, I think I’m starting to like him a little??]

[Zhao Yifeng has this kind of personality??]

[So aggressive!]

[Who would dare say they don’t want to debut at a time like this, LOL.]

Seeing no one respond, Zhao Yifeng lazily glanced around and said, “Alright, then I’ll assume you all want to debut.”

“I looked into it a bit—our group has the shortest and least efficient practice time.

If you think extra practice is too much for you, fine. But at the very least, take the scheduled practice sessions seriously.”

“If there’s a problem, speak up. If you’re mentally overwhelmed, take a break alone, that’s fine. But don’t just zone out or walk off mid-practice without saying a word.

That wastes your teammates’ time. If you don’t want to be on stage, you might as well just quit the show.”

[Everything he said… Yuzu has experienced first-hand, LOL.]

[Yuzu: I am that “that teammate.”]

[Brother Zhao and Yuzu even went looking for Zeng Kai and Luo Feiran together.]

[Is this group really that dramatic??]

Lai Yudong sighed inwardly.

“Dramatic” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Their practice had dragged on until 3:30 in the morning.

Afterward, Zhou Rui broke down crying, saying he probably wouldn’t make it through the first performance—and that it was all his fault for picking the wrong teammates and dragging everyone down.

Lai Yudong had spent ages calming him down, but after today’s evaluation class, Zhou Rui’s mental state was probably shattered all over again.

Zhao Yifeng continued, “And another thing—if you’re throwing a tantrum just because you didn’t get the position you wanted, my advice is: first nail the part you do have.

Right now, it’s so bad you don’t even deserve the role you’re aiming for.”

He was this close to reading out Zeng Kai’s ID number.

Zeng Kai squirmed under the pressure, clearly uncomfortable, and tried to ease the tension:

“I think everyone’s just too anxious. We can definitely learn a whole song in a week. No need to be so stressed—this kind of vibe makes practice feel tense.”

Luo Feiran chimed in to back him up: “Yeah, we still have three days.”

“It’s only three days,” Chu Tianyi said coldly.

[Zhou Rui, why did you pick these guys? (vomits blood)]

[Starting to think they saved Zhou Rui’s life in a past life or something.]

[Pretty sure it was Zeng Kai who told Zhou Rui they should pick each other, so they wouldn’t end up as leftovers with no team.]

[…How would Zhou Rui, who was in Class B, even be left out??]

[Zeng Kai knew he wasn’t popular, so he sold himself as “unsellable inventory” and banked on Zhou Rui being too soft to say no. Plus, didn’t he also try to snatch center? He knew Zhou Rui was passive and wouldn’t fight him for it.]

[Bless Yuzu for bringing up Zhou Rui—Zeng Kai almost got away with it.]

“The choreography and formations are already taught. Three days is plenty,” Zeng Kai suddenly shifted the target, “The real issue is actually Zhou Rui and Miura…”

Seeing this play out just as the livestream comments had said, Lai Yudong silently looked up.

He was already mentally prepared to be scapegoated.

Let’s hear how ridiculous this was going to get.

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