Trainee Ch.94

Chapter 94: Finals (5)

Time flew by in the blink of an eye.

Thursday was the Vendela evaluation class, Friday was the debut group dance lesson, and Saturday was the final rehearsal before the competition. Every day’s schedule hinted that the grand finale was drawing ever closer.

The rehearsal wrapped up close to midnight, and the trainees boarded the bus heading back to the dormitory.

For those already accustomed to staying up late, it was still considered early. Everyone on the bus looked full of energy; the several hours of rehearsal hadn’t drained them much at all.

Of course, another reason was that the live broadcast of the finals was less than twenty hours away. Some of them would likely be too nervous and hyped up to sleep.

White Rose’s team sat at the back of the bus. The very last row had five seats, and the row in front had two seats on each side. Together, the two rows neatly seated all nine of them.

Lai Yudong sat right in the middle of the five-seater row, the only one with a perfect view of everything happening on the bus—including the indescribable atmosphere in the rows ahead, where the Aurora team sat.

Things had been subtle with the Aurora team ever since the moment they picked their seats.

It all started when Qu Junwei chose the window seat.

Normally, the return bus ride wasn’t filmed. But since the program was preparing a finals special, the staff had installed GoPros for fixed camera shots.

Everyone had assumed that Qu and Cheng would sit together. The two of them intended to stay professional and keep up their “partnership,” so naturally, the seat next to him should have been reserved for his good buddy, Cheng Jinghao.

But instead, Zhao Yifeng casually sat down there as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

In that instant, the atmosphere inside the bus froze.

[omg]

[This was Zhao Yifeng’s personal decision, fans please don’t overreact]

[Kid, you’ve been holding back for too long, huh…]

[Zhao Yifeng, get up! Let my ship sit together!!]

[Nothing’s scarier than sudden awkwardness]

Meanwhile, Lai Yudong noticed the two boys on either side of him—Su Junzhe and Jiang Yangfan—itching to move. Both of them craned their necks to get a better look, until their fidgeting became too obvious. In the end, Lai Yudong had no choice but to press one down on each side to keep them still.

You can’t watch drama while holding a watermelon and squatting right in front of the people involved!

Other people hide under the car to eavesdrop, but those two? Their heads were practically bumping into the ceiling!

Countless shocked stares did nothing to shake Zhao Yifeng. Not only did he show no intention of getting up, he even let out a lazy yawn, looking completely at ease as if he’d just casually taken the first available seat.

No wonder his fans joked that he was “arrogant and domineering for life”—he carried that attitude into even something as small as seat-grabbing.

Now that he was already seated—and given that no seniors over sixty were present—Qu and Cheng had no grounds to force Zhao Yifeng to move. Besides, it wasn’t as though the two of them truly wanted to sit together. With such a rare chance to take a break from “acting,” they’d be fools not to seize it.

It was practically a godsend—they were like Niu Dalang and Niu Erlang finally being split apart.

So, Cheng Jinghao deliberately muttered, “Being apart once in a while isn’t so bad,” before turning and sitting down in an empty seat across the aisle.

That row now looked like this—

Li Xu, Cheng Jinghao, aisle, Zhao Yifeng, Qu Junwei.

Li Xu: “……”

He was just sitting there minding his own business when suddenly he got kicked by a dog.

Seeing Li Xu’s classic “subway uncle staring at his phone” face making a comeback, Lai Yudong nearly burst out laughing.

At this moment, the person Li Xu hated most was probably Zhao Yifeng.

The undercurrent in the Aurora team was so strong that every single expression of theirs was worth replaying and analyzing. In contrast, the White Rose team radiated an entirely different kind of youthful energy.

In the row ahead—

“Good thing we listened to Yuki’s advice and pre-recorded the practice room version. Otherwise, we’d still be dancing at this hour,” Bai Xuanhe said, folding his arms behind his head. “And if we kept dancing, we’d just hype ourselves up and end up unable to sleep tonight.”

“Why would dancing hype you up? Wouldn’t it make you more tired?” Qu Xincheng asked curiously.

“Because he’s the type who gets high on energy when people are around,” Jin Xiheng laughed.

Bai Xuanhe protested unhappily: “Of course it’s because dancing makes you happy!?”

In the row behind—

“I thought today was going to be the full cast rehearsal, but turns out we had to wait until the second round,” Su Junzhe complained regretfully.

Because it was the all-important finals, there were actually two rounds of rehearsal.

Lai Yudong recalled what the directors had explained: “But we probably won’t have time to catch up with them. The schedule is packed.”

“If not, then we’ll just have to wait until after the competition. After this, a lot of people might not get the chance to see each other again.” Su Junzhe then shifted the topic. “Oh right, will your families be coming to the venue?”

“Probably not.” Lai Yudong couldn’t imagine why the parents from a parallel world—who technically didn’t have a son like him—would suddenly show up at the finals.

The next step after being handed “pain-free parenthood” wouldn’t be a heartwarming family reunion, but dragging him off to the police station for questioning.

Su Junzhe tilted his head toward the other side: “What about you, Qin Xu?”

Qin Xu shook his head. “I don’t know. They’ve been in Thailand this whole time.”

“Wow, then it’s pretty coincidental that the three of us ended up sitting together.”

[So tragic, my three babies]

[It’s okay, darlings! Mommy’s here! I already got my ticket to the finals!]

[So jealous of those who can go watch live]

[The ticket prices froze my motherly love solid]

The bus arrived at its destination. Under the moonlight, the eighteen trainees filed off one after another—one group heading straight for the dorm building, the other scattering toward the practice building to finish recording their final practice-room version.

Lai Yudong, having eaten the last “inheritance” cup noodles left by Zhou Rui, was just finishing up when Li Xu returned from recording.

“Still eating instant noodles? Careful you’ll wake up all swollen,” Li Xu scolded irritably.

While tidying up, Lai Yudong replied, “It won’t taste as good once we leave here.”

“Only you could get all philosophical over cup noodles.”

“You know, sneaking spicy strips during class definitely tastes better than sharing them with a group after class.”

Li Xu: “……”

Convinced.

Before bed, Lai Yudong looked at the camera and said good night, then covered the lens with his jacket—his every word and action identical to Liang Zhisheng’s very first demonstration.

Once the lights were turned off, the dorm sank into darkness, lit only faintly by the negligible glow of the hallway light leaking through the crack of the door.

In the pitch-black, Lai Yudong slipped into his blankets. Overhead, he heard the rustle of a quilt being turned again and again—someone clearly wasn’t sleeping peacefully.

A few seconds later, Li Xu’s voice drifted down from the top bunk: “We’ll debut together, right?”

[Babies, even if the camera’s covered, the audio is still on!]

[Don’t talk about this, I’ll cry myself to death]

[Heart-to-heart talk before the finals?]

[Feels more like a farewell talk before parting ways…]

Xu An’s reply was brutally cold: “The chances aren’t high.”

Even the sound of rustling bedding stopped dead at that.

[Is Anmu implying someone won’t make it? Him or Hong’er?]

[Aside from Yuzu, none of 707 are safe]

[Yuzu’s third-round ranking was only one spot higher than Anmu’s]

[If 707 all fall in the finals, I’ll be the first to assassinate Sky]

[Assassinate Sky +1]

Sensing the mood was spiraling out of control, Lai Yudong spoke up to ease the tension: “No one knows the outcome until the very end. There’s no need to stress about rankings while waiting—knowing the result and stressing after won’t change a thing either.”

Li Xu let out an annoyed click of his tongue. “I get it, but can you really not care at all?”

“I can’t, but it won’t affect me too much,” Lai Yudong said with a teasing tone. “And I won’t be so heartbroken over rankings not matching expectations that I end up crying.”

Xu An sounded genuinely surprised. “Would anyone actually cry? Besides for elimination?”

“Yes, there would.”

Li Xu: “……”

He chose to mute himself.

[Yuzu’s words sound loaded?]

[Sounds like someone has cried before, and only Yuzu knows about it]

[Li Xu went silent—could it be him?]

[But Hong’s ranking has never dropped]

[Yuzu said “didn’t match expectations,” maybe he meant the first round reaction—Li Xu was near the elimination line then]

[Not gonna lie, I like watching Li Xu cry, it hits different / pokes fingers]

[You’re all guessing who cried, but I’m the only one stabbed by Yuzu’s words—flashbacks to the third round rank drop]

After that, no one said another word. One by one, they drifted off to sleep in the quiet.

The last night in Dorm 707 ticked away, minute by minute, second by second.

…

The day of the finals dawned bright and clear.

Fans of every trainee switched to matching debut-support avatars. Giant screens in shopping malls were taken over by the top-ranked contestants’ fans, and the same went for subway and bus stop ad slots.

Outside the recording venue stood flower walls fans had stayed up all night to build. Each wall was themed in its idol’s support color, covered in lavish bouquets. If not for the prominent life-size standees, stepping inside would feel like entering a carefully curated garden.

Most flower walls also incorporated unique designs highlighting the trainee’s personal traits.

Take Miura Yuki’s wall, for example.

Fans used primroses matching his support color. Up close, there was even a faint citrus scent. The support slogan—personally chosen by Yuzu himself—read: “After enduring the cold winter, a butterfly emerges from its chrysalis.” The debut declaration was: “Lai Yudong, debut in the top ranks!”

Even the crystal letters standing alone in front of the life-sized standee read “Lai Yudong,” with not a single trace of “Miura Yuki.”

It had to be admitted—his fans carried a kind of willful defiance toward the program.

What’s that? Miura Yuki?

No—we want Lai Yudong.

Since he wasn’t allowed to sign with his real name at fan meetings, they would give him back his true name.

He must be Lai Yudong.

That afternoon, with still several hours left before the finals, the eighteen trainees donned their matching uniforms and arrived early at the recording venue.

The support flower walls lined the path they had to walk, everything on display before their eyes.

Lai Yudong spotted his flower wall at first glance.

He couldn’t tell whether it was his emotions coloring his view, or if it truly was the objective reality—but whether it was the design of the lettering or the overall layout, he felt that his wall was the most refined and beautiful out of all eighteen.

“Not bad, yours even uses your real name.” Li Xu, after admiring his own flower wall, moved on to the others one by one. “Your fan club’s got good taste too—using that color in such large areas, it doesn’t look gaudy or cheap at all.”

“I think it looks great too.”

Out of courtesy, Lai Yudong shifted his gaze toward Li Xu’s wall.

The first thing that came into view was a bold slogan—

“Change your name, change your fate—Li Hong, shine forever!”

Lai Yudong: “……”

Lai Yudong: “Li Hong?”

Thank heavens! That nickname, shouted so often in the barrage that he’d nearly started saying it by accident—now he finally had a justified reason to say it aloud.

Li Xu’s eyelid twitched violently. “Don’t call me that.”

“Xiao Hong.”

“Shut up.”

“Brother Hong.”

“Get lost.”

Daily mission: tease Li Xu 1/1, accomplished.

The trainees didn’t linger outside for long. Even though security had cleared the area before their arrival, nothing could contain the fans’ enthusiasm—waves of screaming voices rose and fell around the barricades.

The group quickly headed inside the recording venue and went to the dressing rooms to prepare hair and makeup.

During this time, a few returning trainees were assigned pre-finals warm-up livestreams backstage by the production team. One of them was Liang Zhisheng.

The program team knew exactly what the audience wanted to see.

With a clear target in mind, Liang Zhisheng asked the staff a few questions, then went straight to find his old roommates.

The first he spotted was the light-blond-haired boy sitting at a makeup mirror.

With his phone clipped onto a selfie stick, Liang Zhisheng crept closer step by step—then suddenly thrust the camera forward, pointing it right at his roommate. “Let’s see—whose good eldest son is this?”

Lai Yudong turned his head in delighted surprise. “Liang Zhisheng!”

The next second, the makeup artist pressed down on his head and turned him back into position.

Makeup artist: “Don’t move.”

Lai Yudong: “…Okay.”

[Pinned down by the makeup artist lmaooo]

[Crying for coc again today]

[Let him look! Let him look!]

[It’s Mama Liang’s good eldest son /doge]

Liang Zhisheng let out a snort of laughter, then circled to stand beside Lai Yudong, raising the selfie stick so both of them were in the frame. “Long time no see—finally not through video this time. Oh, and don’t cry, it’ll mess up your makeup.”

“I won’t cry.” Lai Yudong glanced sideways at him, the corners of his lips involuntarily lifting. “I knew you’d come. I’ve been waiting a long time.”

Taking advantage of the fact that his hair hadn’t been styled yet, Liang Zhisheng reached out and ruffled Lai Yudong’s head. A few weeks apart hadn’t made their relationship distant—instead, it seemed to have drawn them even closer.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I’m here to witness your debut.”

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