Trainee Ch.55

Chapter 55: Second Performance (10)

The more frenzied the audience was, the more nervous Lai Yudong became.

Having gone through the first performance didn’t ease his anxiety; instead, it only heightened the pressure. His meteoric rise in the rankings came with greater expectations, and he worried he wouldn’t be able to deliver a stage worthy of fifth place.

Especially at the moment he stepped on stage and saw the sea of light boards packed even closer together.

If the glow sticks at the first performance could be described as scattered stars across the audience, then at the second performance they resembled strokes of dye brushed onto a canvas—vast swathes glowing in primrose yellow, like layers of rolling mountains.

Just one glance made him feel like he was about to faint.

That was when the reality of being in fifth place truly hit him.

For the final line of the track, the Bloody team had originally planned to recite it together. But when their voices overlapped, it gave off a strangely awkward vibe, almost like an English speech. So they decided to record each version separately and pick the one that sounded best.

In the end, Lai Yudong’s version was unanimously chosen.

Even he cast his own vote for it, purely for the sake of stage effect.

The reason was simple: his vocal range and tone fit the scene perfectly, and his pronunciation was clean without breaking immersion.

The blackout before the ending pose, followed by the sudden lights-on, was also his idea.

In the rehearsal version, there had been no pause or lighting change—the moves connected directly. Not only did the reversal lack impact, but biting open the blood capsule also risked looking fake.

So, he shared his thoughts with his teammates, and their leader, Zhang Mingche, took responsibility for communicating with the production team.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the entire stage flow was designed by Lai Yudong.

When the performance ended, the audience’s reaction was unexpectedly explosive. Fans shouted themselves hoarse in support, and the names that rang out the most often were, of course, the trainees in debut positions—“Mo Li,” “Su Junzhe,” and “Yuki”—resounding like three forces dividing the world, with no one willing to be outdone by another.

Lai Yudong nervously opened the live comments.

[This is insane, how am I supposed to vote for this group?]

[Good thing I’m not at the venue, no way to trip me up]

[Wonder if they can beat Jiang Yangfan’s votes]

[Hard. 135 shared across a thousand votes is just a bit over 300, and the rest of their teammates aren’t even high-rankers]

[The Bloody team is definitely going viral. Only a fool would fixate on being first in votes—no one cares except the fans]

[What kind of damage-control talk is this? Now even first place in votes isn’t good enough?]

[The direct fancam view counts will decide, lol]

Lai Yudong selectively ignored the gunpowder-filled comments, skimming only for the ones he wanted to see.

It seemed like no one was mocking him for being stiff when he danced.

Thank goodness.

“Thank you to the Bloody team for that brilliant performance.” The host, Fu Hanyu, stepped onto the stage and naturally moved the program forward, transitioning into the voting-promotion segment by calling names. “Yuki, I heard you were voted as the center?”

Lai Yudong nervously raised the mic. “Yes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“At first, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to handle it, and that I might drag the team down.” Lai Yudong deliberately slowed his pace of speech—not only to stay in character, but also because he was genuinely nervous, afraid he’d speak too fast without thinking.

Jin Xiheng reached out and patted him on the back, wordlessly showing that wasn’t the case.

With his teammate’s support, the tension in Lai Yudong’s body eased a little. “But my teammates have all been very kind, patiently teaching me, never once annoyed with me. I’ve picked up a lot of skills over these past days, and I hope everyone can see my progress.”

He curved his lips into a faint smile. The cold, dangerous aura created by his makeup and styling was softened by the gentleness in his eyes.

“I’m really grateful for my teammates’ help and encouragement. Even though the training was tough, what I remember most was how fun and enjoyable it was. We’ve created a really beautiful memory together.”

“And I’m also very grateful to the Starseekers for supporting me—whether you came to the venue in person, or are watching from behind a screen, your love has given me tremendous courage, and it’s also given me the freedom to make my own choices. Once again, thank you all from the bottom of my heart.”

When he finished, he gave a solemn bow.

Since this round’s voting-promotion segment wasn’t as dramatic as the first performance, Lai Yudong felt his speech was pretty proper and by-the-book.

[Yuzu mentioned his teammates—last time he didn’t even say a word about them.]

[“Kindness,” “fun and enjoyable,” “beautiful.”]

[Big Peppermint A grave-digging moment]

Lai Yudong: …

He didn’t mean it like that!

After the promotion segment ended, everyone walked offstage.

Something suddenly occurred to Lai Yudong, and he turned his head toward the curly-haired boy lingering behind. “Your back injury…?”

Su Junzhe blinked in surprise a few times. “It’s not a big problem.”

Lai Yudong understood immediately. “So… it still hurts a bit?”

“…Is that even a valid interpretation?”

“Isn’t that exactly what you meant?”

Lai Yudong didn’t think he was misunderstanding. If Su Junzhe had completely recovered, he would have just said so outright, instead of using such vague wording.

“Don’t worry, I’m not stupid. Of course I’ll go if it hurts.” Su Junzhe’s eyes curved as he smiled, two shallow dimples appearing. “Hurry and catch up with the others.”

Still uneasy, Lai Yudong reminded him, “If you feel unwell, go to the infirmary.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know~”

They arrived at the room where the voting results would be announced. Everyone entered in order and took their seats, sitting before the big screen that would decide their fate.

To be honest, Lai Yudong didn’t really want to face this part.

Based on average ranking and audience popularity, he should place third within his team.

If his personal vote count ended up being third place, the mismatch between strength and popularity would make him embarrassed to face his teammates. But since votes were decided by the audience, he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—blame the fans who supported him. He would only place the responsibility on himself.

But if his ranking fell below third place, the discrepancy with his real popularity could mean two things: either his offline popularity was weaker than his online one, or he wasn’t the first-choice pick for many viewers. This reasoning left him a little downhearted, making him wonder if he had let the Starseekers’ expectations down.

As for higher than third place? That was out of the question. With the first-round ranking laid bare, it was better to stay realistic.

No matter the outcome, it seemed there was no way for it to be perfect.

The vote tally was revealed starting from the lowest.

Sixth place—

Zhang Mingche, 54 votes.

Zhang Mingche gave a calm, light smile, not surprised at all by his number of votes.

[Even the lowest vote count is that high]

[But Zhang Mingche is ranked 25th overall—if he were in another group, that’d be at least 100 votes]

[For comparison, Pei Lan from the Stolen Fire team—ranked 33rd—got 119 votes]

[That’s terrifying]

[This is the real battlefield…]

Fifth place—

Jin Xiheng, 66 votes.

Jin Xiheng let out a breath of relief. It was a little higher than what he had expected; he thought he’d only scrape together a miserable twenty or thirty votes.

[Teacher Jin has leveled up]

[Isn’t Jin Xiheng the lowest-ranked in this group?]

[28th place, not much different]

[As long as he isn’t dead last in votes, I’m satisfied]

[Ugh, Teacher Jin was really great this round!]

Fourth place—

Bai Xuanhe, 109 votes.

Bai Xuanhe let out a surprised “Wow,” his tone carrying a trace of delight. “Over a hundred?”

[Can you believe this is the vote count for someone ranked 14th?]

[Brother Bai is way too easy to please]

[Suddenly I’m starting to think all of Bloody’s votes belong to just these three]

[The rest are gonna be a huge drop, right?]

Next came the third-place reveal—a true watershed moment of fate.

Lai Yudong swallowed nervously, bracing himself with every ounce of focus to face his results.

He dared to dream extravagantly of 150 votes.

But even if he had 120, he would already be satisfied.

A few seconds later, the tally was announced.

Third place—

Mo Li, 204 votes.

Mo Li’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t expected it to be him at this stage, but he quickly attributed his surprise to the massive jump in vote counts, rather than the unexpected ranking itself. “Jumped straight to two hundred?”

Lai Yudong: “…!?”

Huh??

Third place wasn’t him???

[Holy shyt, that’s nearly a hundred-vote gap?]

[That’s a real cliff between rankings]

[Wait, 204 votes is only third?]

[Huh?? Yuzu beat Mo Li? Our boy’s that strong?]

[Why is that strange? Everyone knows Yuzu’s offline support is top-tier /lolcry]

[Didn’t a ton of Yuzu fans spend big just to snag venue tickets the other day?]

[Yuzu’s fans might not be the biggest in numbers, but they definitely go hardest offline]

[The public fan stats already showed: the Miura fandom station has the most followers, the most daily commute photos, and proxy photographers treat them like a literal gold mine]

Lai Yudong was so shocked he didn’t even dare to breathe loudly.

He realized that every time he confidently guessed his own ranking or vote count, reality smacked him in the face almost immediately—and the gap between his expectations and the outcome wasn’t just a little, but huge.

Sorry—it was him once again underestimating the Yuzu fans.

Buy against him, and you’ll end up with a seaside villa.

[No way Yuzu takes first place, right?]

[Hard to say. Su Junzhe’s offline fanbase is also really strong, and his overall popularity has been steadily climbing. I’d call it fifty-fifty.]

[I can accept Yuzu getting a high vote count, but not him being first in the group.]

[+1, hate it when someone wins without contributing.]

[Lmao, the blood capsule was Yuzu’s idea, the two-tone effect was also his idea, and the blackout/spotlight with the English ending was his suggestion too. How’s that “no contribution”?]

[There’s no way people seriously think choreographing a part of the dance is more important than designing the entire stage flow? No way, right?]

[Stirring up hate with malicious narratives—your fave is doomed if you keep this up]

[If you’re so dissatisfied, then fine—have him wipe the fake blood off his face and leave when the lights go out, don’t join the final segment ^_^]

Lai Yudong: shivering.jpg

The live comments were brimming with aggression, both sides sticking firmly to their arguments.

Although Lai Yudong couldn’t control the final outcome, if it were up to him—whether by rational analysis or emotional preference—the best result would be second place.

Any higher would be impolite.

Even if his contribution to the team wasn’t zero, the second performance was supposed to be a position evaluation, with the emphasis on dance. He hadn’t choreographed anything himself and had been freeloading one-on-one lessons from different teammates every day. To walk away with first place would feel undeserved.

That would most likely spark backlash, hurt his public image, and ultimately do more harm than good.

Under countless tense gazes, the remaining two vote counts were revealed simultaneously.

Second place—

Miura Yuki, 214 votes.

First place—

Su Junzhe, 224 votes.

[Congrats to Susu!]

[The top three are only ten votes apart!]

[What a pity, they didn’t surpass Jiang Yangfan’s tally]

[This group only has six people, but their total votes are still a hundred or two higher than the other two seven-member groups…]

[A real clash of titans (leans back)]

[Too bad the group with the highest total votes doesn’t get any bonus points]

Lai Yudong quietly let out a breath of relief. The outcome had turned out to be a win-win for everyone—well, aside from Mo Li maybe suffering a minor heart attack. Luckily, the second-and-third-place scuffle wasn’t too big of a deal.

But landing second place really had given him a fright; he almost couldn’t calm down.

Meanwhile, the teammates all rushed to congratulate Su Junzhe.

“Congrats to our group’s number one!”

“Awesome, Xiao Su!”

“Great job, you were perfect this round.”

“Thank you, everyone.” Su Junzhe responded with calm composure, neither elated nor humbled. “This was the result of all our efforts together. Being able to put on such an amazing performance is really wonderful! Thanks for all your hard work!”

Squeezed to the outer edge by his enthusiastic teammates, Lai Yudong finally had his chance once the others finished. He stepped forward, smiling sincerely as he congratulated him. “Congratulations on first place.”

Su Junzhe raised his face into a bright smile. “And congratulations to you, too.”

———————————————————

**Author’s Note:

Dance team member votes overview:

《Bloody》 (6 members) –

Lai Yudong, Mo Li, Su Junzhe, Bai Xuanhe, Jin Xiheng, Zhang Mingche

214 + 204 + 224 + 109 + 66 + 54 = 871

《Stolen Fire》 (7 members) –

Qu Xincheng, Pei Lan

179 + 146 + 141 + 119 + 73 + 49 + 22 = 729

《Riddle》 (7 members) –

Jiang Yangfan

256 + 121 + 118 + 55 + 52 + 27 + 19 = 648

Different fandoms have different cultures. Yuki-stans are especially known for dominating offline events.

For example, if Xiao Su has 100 fans, maybe only 10 of them show up in person, but if Yuki has 100 fans, around 20 will—just to exaggerate a bit.

The upside is, they’re big spenders.

The downside is, once their idol debuts, even the tiniest merch like photo cards will be ridiculously overpriced—and still sell out instantly.

<< _ >>