Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

The air in the waiting area still carried the gust of wind that Jiang Yang had stirred up when he ran down.

Wang Yijun stood in the shadows at the entrance of the passageway, leaning against the wall with her hands in her pockets, her gaze fixed on the lingering spotlight on the stage in front of her, which had not yet completely dimmed.

He could still hear the screams from the audience, hear someone calling Jiang Yang's name, and hear the selection manager urging the next group to get ready on the walkie-talkie.

Wang Yijun's expression remained as indifferent as usual, showing neither nervousness nor excitement.

The stage costume has been changed—black, with a clean cut, and a very thin silver trim on the collar, almost invisible under the emergency lights in the corridor.

His makeup was done, a bit heavier than usual, to accentuate his brow bone and the corners of his eyes.

But the way he stood there was exactly the same as when he sat in the corner of the practice room reading a book or leaning against the wall watching others practice dancing.

With a straight back, relaxed shoulders, and a slightly tucked chin, he resembled a tree that neither would be moved by the wind nor bothered to be moved by it.

A staff member jogged past and paused when he saw him standing there: "Wang Yijun, get ready—you have three minutes left."

"Um."

The staff member glanced at him, hesitated, and then jogged away.

Wang Yijun turned her gaze away from the stage, lowered her eyes, and looked at her right hand hanging at her side.

He slowly clenched his fist, then relaxed it.

My fingertips were slightly cool, but my palms were warm.

It's not nervousness.

He can distinguish between tension and excitement.

His current state is more like a quiet, almost imperceptible eagerness to try.

This feeling is similar to when I first became a trainee.

Three years ago, when he first joined his current company, he thought he would be excited.

It was an entertainment company that wasn't the biggest, but had a very good reputation within the industry.

It is known for training trainees who have "no weaknesses".

Solid basic skills, stable stage performance, and good image management.

Everyone who comes out of there is like a product honed on an assembly line; there are no major flaws, and it's hard to remember them at a glance.

Wang Yijun has always been a person who fits that standard.

He dances cleanly, sings steadily, and has an outstanding appearance, consistently ranking among the top trainees of his cohort.

His mentors' evaluations of him were always "good", "keep it up", and "no problem".

He initially thought it was a good thing.

He later discovered that there was a wall between "no problem" and "very good" that he could never cross.

He remembered one monthly exam where he performed a dance he had choreographed himself.

The pace was faster than usual, the movements were larger than usual, and he even smiled for once at the end.

After reading it, the tutor remained silent for a few seconds, and then said, "There has been progress."

However, you could tone down that expression at the end; stage presence and personal image need to be consistent.

He nodded and said, "I understand."

That night he sat alone in the practice room until very late.

He didn't cry or get angry; he just sat in the corner with his knees curled up, staring at his face in the mirror for a long time.

He asked himself, "Why am I laughing?"

The answer is "Because I want to laugh".

He then asked himself, "Why shouldn't I laugh?"

The answer is "because the supervisor said it should be kept."

He never smiled again after that day.

At least not in the practice room.

He stayed at that company for three years, where he learned how to maintain "consistency" and how to be a trainee "without weaknesses".

But that feeling—

When I dance, my heart races, my lips curl into an uncontrollable smile, and I feel like something is igniting me from within.

—He hasn't done that in a long time.

Until he came to "Absolute Debut".

He remembers the day of his first stage performance. After he finished singing and dancing on stage, five mentors sat in the audience, and each of them gave a few comments—most of which were polite, professional, and without any faults.

Until He Xu appeared.

Back then, He Xu was still a contestant, sitting in the back row of the contestant bench with his hands in his pockets, looking relaxed.

However, when Wang Yijun happened to pass by the practice room after the initial stage performance, she saw through the crack in the door that the person was standing in front of the mirror, dissecting the stage positions for a group of strangers.

"Your shoulders are too tight. Engage your core—not your stomach, but your deep core—yes, can you feel it?"

His voice was hoarse and deep, carrying a subtle balance between impatience and seriousness.

Wang Yijun stood at the door for three minutes.

For those three minutes, only one thought occupied his mind—

This person seems to never consider the concept of "consistency" when they dance.

Later, he was promoted to Class A and moved into a four-person dormitory, where he discovered that He Xu was sleeping in the lower bunk.

Later, when it came time to form groups, he chose He Xu first.

Later, He Xu withdrew from the competition, then came back and became a mentor.

The words they've spoken together probably don't equal the number of words he and Li Bufan have exchanged in a single day, but that unspoken understanding—

He knew why He Xu scolded him, and he also knew why He Xu didn't scold him.

At that moment, the lights in the waiting area flickered.

The spotlight on the stage is being repositioned, and the final preparations for the contestants to go on stage are in the countdown.

The stage manager's voice came through the walkie-talkie: "Next group, Wang Yijun's group, please take your positions."

Wang Yijun straightened up from the wall.

He moved his neck, and his cervical spine made a slight clicking sound.

Then he stepped up the stairs, his steps as steady as his usual gait.

When he walked out from the side of the stage, the spotlight had not yet fully illuminated.

He could feel the gazes of the audience fixed on him. Dense, intense, and expectant.

He stood at his designated spot, lowered his eyes slightly, and waited for the prelude to begin.

-

He Xu stood in the shadows backstage, one hand supporting himself against the wall, the other clutching a thermos containing warm water.

The spotlight is chasing after Wang Yijun's figure on the stage.

The man was dressed all in black today, with silver thread on his collar gleaming coldly under the light. His movements were as clean as a knife cutting tofu, and even his breathing was perfectly timed.

Even through half a wall, He Xu could feel the surging roar of the audience.

But he couldn't quite make out what those voices were saying.

His ears can now only hold his own heartbeat.

Thump, thump, thump, the impact pounded into my chest, so fast it felt like it was being squeezed out from between my ribs.

tension.

very nervous.

very nervous.

I'm so nervous.

"Damn it." He Xu cursed under his breath, switched the thermos to his left hand, and wiped his right hand on his trouser leg.

A thin layer of sweat covers my palms, and it keeps seeping out again after I wipe them; it just never ends.

Jiang Yanbai leaned against the wall next to him, looking as relaxed as if he were waiting for a latte.

He glanced at He Xu, his gaze sweeping from He Xu's knuckles gripping the thermos to his slightly tense jawline, before slowly saying, "Is it really necessary?"

"..." He Xu ignored him and cursed again, "Damn it."