Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

He Xu lay on the floor, listening to those words, his elbows propped on the ground, and remained silent for a moment.

Then he slowly sat up by supporting himself on the floor, his right leg bent, his ankle already swollen, and a bluish-purple color spreading under his skin.

He glanced down, then bent his knees and tried to move his ankles, his brow furrowing again.

The short boy was still squatting beside him, his eyes already red: "Hyun (brother)..."

"I'm fine," He Xu's voice trembled slightly. "I'm not really injured."

He supported himself on the floor and slowly moved to the edge of the practice room, sat down against the wall, stretched out his right leg, and pressed the swollen area on the outside of his ankle with his hand.

The man in the white polo shirt glanced at him, making sure he wasn't occupying the center of the practice room anymore, and clapped his hands again: "다시, 처음부터. (Let's start over.)"

The music started playing again.

The people in the center of the practice room started moving again.

Park Do-an, Kim Kyung-kyu, and the others returned to their respective positions, as if nothing had happened.

The short boy was pulled back into the group by another trainee of similar age.

He glanced back at He Xu, but He Xu had already lowered his head and was pressing his palm against his ankle.

The image lingered for a few seconds on He Xu leaning against the wall, pressing his ankle, before being cut off.

Jen didn't pause and immediately opened the second video file.

The scene shifts to a trainee dormitory, dimly lit with the curtains drawn.

The image quality is still that old-fashioned, grainy surveillance quality, and the Korean date stamp in the lower right corner is about half a year later than the previous video.

When Jiang Yanbai saw the bed, his breathing became lighter.

He Xu curled up on the lower bunk by the window, the blanket pulled up to his chin, his whole body huddled into a small ball.

His cheeks were flushed with an unnatural redness, as if he had a fever.

Her eyelashes were closed, her eyelids were slightly swollen, and her breathing was shallower and faster than normal.

On the floor beside the bed was an empty thermos and a half-eaten strip of fever reducer.

At this time, it was already dark outside the window, and the main lights in the dormitory were not on.

Then the door was suddenly pushed open.

Three people—Park Do-an, Kim Kyung-kyu, and the boy who stood to Park Do-an's right during dance practice, named Lee Seung-hwan—rushed in at the same time, bringing with them a stream of air mixed with sweat and the coolness of the night.

Laughter, conversations, and the muffled thud of sneakers on the floor mingled together in the cramped space.

"Ah—I'm so tired today." Kim Kyung-kyu's voice rang out first. He tossed his backpack onto his upper bunk and lay back on the bed. "I'm not moving until my legs are loose."

Lee Seung-hwan didn't reply. He walked to his bed, took off his coat and casually draped it over the back of a chair, then snapped on the overhead light.

"Hey, do you want the light on again?" Park Do-an leaned against the doorframe, changing his shoes, his tone slightly impatient. "Everyone outside is asleep."

"걔아직안잤잖아. (He's still awake, isn't he?)" Lee Seung-hwan gestured with his chin towards Heo Wook's bed. "눈떴다. (He's opened his eyes.)"

Everyone looked in that direction.

He Xu did indeed wake up.

When the light came on, he frowned, his eyelids twitched, and then he slowly opened his eyes a crack.

Their gazes met those people through the light illuminating most of the room.

He didn't speak, but simply pursed his chapped lips.

The short boy—Jen said his name was Ahn Min-soo, and he was the youngest trainee—squeezed out from the back of the crowd.

He carried a cup of freshly poured hot water, walked quickly to He Xu's bedside, placed the cup on the bedside table, and lowered his voice, revealing a clear sense of urgency:

"Hyung, did you take your medicine? Are you still running a fever?"

He Xu's voice was hoarse, characteristic of a cold and low-grade fever: "...응. 먹었어. (Yes. I ate.)"

"물더갖다줄까요? (Would you like another glass of water?)"

「괜찮아.（No need.）」

Ahn Min-soo was about to say something more when Kim Kyung-kyu's voice came from behind him, tinged with impatience. Though separated by half a dormitory room, his tone was casual and nonchalant: "Min-soo, he's not running a fever. He's just being lazy and lying down."

Ahn Min-soo straightened up and turned his head: "Hyung is really sick!"

"아파? 아프면병원가야지, 여기서누워서뭐해? (Sick? Go to the doctor if you are sick. Why are you lying here?)"

Lee Seung-hwan was already sitting on his bed, the light from his phone screen reflecting on his face. Without looking up, he said in a half-joking tone, "욱아, 너도충분히잤겠지? 오늘은네가빨래하는날아니야? (Wook, have you slept enough? Isn't it your turn to do the laundry today?)"

The tone sounded like a casual joke, like the kind of lighthearted banter between teenagers.

But the underlying meaning in that joke was clear—how long have you been lying there? It's time to get up and get to work.

When the second video file was about halfway through playing, Jiang Yanbai suddenly reached out and pressed the space bar.

The image freezes, Lee Seung-hwan's face is fixed in the center of the screen, and a half-joking, nonchalant smile is still on his lips.

Jiang Yanbai's fingers were still pressed on the space bar, his knuckles turning white.

Jen stood to the side without saying a word.

The room was quiet for a few seconds, during which the hum of the air conditioner was amplified several times over.

Jiang Yanbai closed the laptop screen.

The movements were light, but swift and decisive, as if he would have lost control of his hand if he had been a second later.

"...I can't take it anymore," he said, his voice muffled in his throat, as if something was blocking it. "I can't bear to watch anymore."

His breathing was heavier than usual, and his chest heaved more, as if something was stuck in his chest cavity, unable to go up or down.

Jen leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed, and quietly looked at him for a few seconds before speaking: "I know what you're thinking. You think it's bullying."

Jiang Yanbai suddenly looked up, his gaze landing on her face: "Isn't that right? You saw that video. They—that person, the teacher in the white polo shirt—didn't care at all that He Xu had sprained his ankle; he told him to stand up and keep practicing!"

"And then there were those guys in the dorm later... Kim Kyung-kyu said he was 'lazy,' and Lee Seung-hwan made him do the laundry even though he knew he had a fever—"

He paused, as if choked by his own words: "And then you're telling me this doesn't count as bullying?"

"I didn't say this isn't bullying." Jen's tone remained calm and professional, devoid of emotion. "What I'm saying is—what we see are just snippets. Surveillance footage, behind-the-scenes material, daily scenes in the trainees' dorms—these materials aren't complete records. We don't know the cause and effect, we don't know if those conversations were taken out of context."

"When Lee Seung-hwan said, 'Isn't it your turn to do the laundry today?' In Korean trainee dormitories, there is indeed a rotating duty arrangement. He might have just been reminding He Xu that it was his turn, rather than forcing him to do the work while he was sick."

Jiang Yanbai stared at her for a few seconds: "You're speaking up for them."

"I'm thinking about things for you." Jen took half a step forward. "Do you think I wasn't angry after watching those videos? I was angry too. But anger won't solve anything, it will only make you impulsive."

Are you familiar with the South Korean trainee system? Do you know how deep the cultural differences are between seniors and juniors there?

Jiang Yanbai was speechless.