Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

The day before recording.

The atmosphere in the practice room returned to its tense state.

Class F was particularly affected.

Twenty people were crammed into a small space, standing in three rows in front of the mirror, and none of them had a pleasant expression.

The music has stopped, but the lingering echo of the last movement in the chorus hasn't faded yet.

silence.

Yan Chen stood at the front. He was the class monitor temporarily selected by Class F. He got a D in the initial stage performance and was downgraded to F in the theme song assessment. He looked like he had been hit by frost.

"...Let's do it one more time," he said, his voice hoarse, clearly indicating that he had been practicing for a long time.

No one answered.

Some people sat directly on the ground, some leaned against the mirror, and some squatted in the corner pulling at their hair.

"I can't come anymore—" A boy lay sprawled on the floor, his limbs spread out in a starfish shape. "My wrists are swollen. I've done that floor move in the chorus eighty times and I still can't get up."

"You only did it eighty times? I did it one hundred and twenty times." The person next to me chimed in, his tone filled with despair.

"At least you guys can do it, I haven't even memorized all the moves..." a weak voice came from the corner.

Yan Chen took a deep breath and clapped his hands: "Everyone, hang in there! Tomorrow is the recording!"

"The recording is tomorrow, what does it have to do with these people who can't even get on stage?" The boy sitting on the ground looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "Twenty people, only half can stay. With our level, who do you think will make it?"

These words were like a knife, precisely stabbing into the sore spot of everyone present.

Of the twenty students in Class F, only half were able to participate in the recording of the theme song.

The other ten people didn't even get a chance to stand in front of the camera.

The show's producers claimed it was to "ensure the quality of the stage," but frankly, it meant—you guys are too bad to be on camera.

Some people were secretly wiping away tears, some were staring blankly at the floor, and some were pressing their foreheads against the cold mirror and closing their eyes.

"I heard that He Xu is helping someone refine their movements in Class B..." someone whispered from a corner.

The air in the training room seemed to freeze for a moment.

Everyone knows what he's talking about: Before the assessment, it was already rumored that He Xu was teaching dance in Class A, and now that he's in Class B, it's probably the same.

Someone stood up.

"Shall we go and ask him for help?"

"Ask him? Why should he teach you? He doesn't even know you."

"But he taught the students in Class A, and he also taught Li Bufan from Class D. He's not the kind of person who hides his secrets, is he?"

"Don't forget, he's a contestant himself, and he also has to prepare for recording. Why should he spend time teaching you?"

The arguments rose and fell, but their eyes all carried the same thing—unwillingness to accept defeat.

They have no way out.

The recording is tomorrow, and only half of Class F can stay.

If we still can't find anyone to help today, then the ten chairs are basically already set up.

"Then I'll give it a try." Yan Chen stood up, his voice not loud, but firm.

"Are you going alone?"

"Okay." He adjusted his headband. "Wait for my news."

After saying that, he opened the door to the training room and ran out.

Someone watched his figure disappear down the corridor, remained silent for two seconds, and then followed him.

"Wait for me."

I heard sparse footsteps behind me.

All twenty students from Class F actually went along.

-

He Xu was found on the floor of Class B's practice room.

To be precise, he was lying on the ground in a "spread-eagle" position, with his sports jacket behind his head as a pillow, his eyes closed, and his chest rising and falling slowly.

I led Class B in dance practice for four hours this morning, and my voice is already a bit hoarse.

After lunch, he originally wanted to go back to his dormitory to lie down, but when he passed by Class A's practice room, Yang Sheng dragged him away to help organize the new rehearsals for recording.

They started working on it again, one eight-beat sequence at a time.

After finishing one round of scribbles, I did it again.

After finishing the second round, I did it a third time.

By the time everyone could recite the chorus in its entirety, he was no longer willing to speak.

So he went to the B class practice room, where the class had already finished practicing, and lay down.

The cool floor felt so comfortable against my back through my thin T-shirt that I didn't want to move.

The lights in the practice room were still on, and the hum of the air conditioner mixed with the faint music coming from the corridor, creating an excellent hypnotic effect.

He's almost asleep.

Then the door was suddenly pushed open.

"Brother He Xu!!!"

He Xu didn't move.

"Brother He Xu, are you there?!"

Still nothing.

"He Xu—ah! He's here! Lying on the ground!"

Footsteps rushed in from the doorway; it wasn't one person, but a group.

He Xu opened his eyes a crack and saw several faces approaching from above—some with round faces, some with long faces, some wearing headbands, and some with red eyes.

Twenty people crowded outside Class B's practice room, completely blocking the entrance.

At the very front was a boy wearing a headband. He Xu remembered him—Yan Chen from Class F. He got a D on the initial stage performance, but it seemed he dropped to an F on the theme song.

"Brother He Xu," Yan Chen squatted down, his tone as sincere as if he were praying to a god, "could you please take a look at us?"

He Xu closed his eyes.

"I won't look."

"Just for a little while!"

"Not even for a moment."

"The theme song recording is tomorrow, and only half of our twenty students in Class F can stay. If we can't practice it well by today—"

"Then let's go home." He Xu's muffled voice came from the floor. "Do what you need to do, don't waste time."

Yan Chen's expression froze.

The F-class contestants behind them exchanged glances, some showing disappointment, while others had already begun to back away.

A boy with a small braid pushed his way up from the back of the crowd, his voice trembling with tears: "Brother He Xu, we know you're in Class B and have no obligation to teach us, but we really have no other choice..."

"We don't want to go home." Another voice came from the corner, muffled, "We've practiced for so long, and if we don't even get a chance to stand in front of the camera—"

"So, after practicing for so long, what have you achieved?"

He Xu sat up from the ground.

It wasn't because he wanted to teach, but because these people were blocking the door and making so much noise that he couldn't sleep.

"What have you learned?" he asked again, his voice hoarse from using the equipment all day.

No one answered.

Yan Chen squatted down in front of him, his lips moved, but he didn't say anything.

The contestants behind him either had their heads down or were looking at each other, none of them daring to speak.

He Xu glanced at them.

"After practicing for so long, how many of you can actually do the floor work in the chorus completely?"

silence.

"How many people can avoid bumping into others while positioning themselves in the second verse?"

Still, silence.

"Where are the lyrics? You should have memorized them by now, right? -- Don't tell me you didn't even memorize the lyrics."

A very faint voice came from the corner: "Memorized it..."

"You memorized it? Then sing it for me."

The sound disappeared.

He Xu took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

He wasn't angry.

He found it laughable.

"The recording is tomorrow, so you came to see me today." His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried a weight that made you feel ashamed. "Why didn't you come sooner?"

Yan Chen's eyes reddened.

"From the release of the theme song until now, four days have passed, ninety-six hours. What have you been doing? What were you doing for the first three days? Why did you only realize you were in a hurry on the last day?"

"We practiced..." someone whispered in defense.

"Practiced? Practiced what?" He Xu's gaze swept over, and the boy who had spoken immediately shrank back. "I passed by your F class twice; once you were chatting, and once you were playing on your phones. Is that what you call practicing?"

The air in the practice room felt like it had been sucked out.

Some people started wiping away tears, while others lowered their heads even further.

Yan Chen squatted there, his fingers gripping his trouser leg, his knuckles turning white.

He Xu looked at them.

They were all covered in dust and dirt, with red eyes. Some of them hadn't even tied their training uniforms properly, with the hem of their shirts sticking out from their waistbands.

Poor?

Pitiful.

But he had seen even more pitiful ones.

He had seen trainees who had trained for three years but still couldn't debut, kneeling and crying in the practice room.

He had seen trainees who had been abandoned by the company squatting in the corridor all night.

He has seen too many people try their best but still fail to reach that threshold.

These people at least still have the opportunity to stand on this stage.

And they wasted four days of that opportunity.

He Xu wanted to say, "You deserve it," "Go home and stop wasting your time," and "Not everything in this world can be salvaged on the last day."

But the words stuck in his throat.

Because Yan Chen looked up and glanced at him.

He Xu had seen what was in those eyes far too many times.

He had seen it in Shen Yiheng's eyes, in Yang Sheng's eyes, and in the eyes of countless trainees he had mentored.

It's because I'm unwilling to accept it.

At this point, all that remained was resentment.

He Xu remained silent for three seconds, then stood up from the ground.

"...Come in, line up, I'll just do the dancing."