Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

He Xu had lived for twenty-four years, and for the first time he felt incredibly bored.

Back when he was with Banxing, his daily schedule was even fuller than that of the artists—he would lead the A class trainees at nine in the morning, give a private coaching class to the B class at two in the afternoon, and give individual tutoring to a few kids who were about to debut in the evening, while squeezing in time to reply to messages, review choreography, and revise plans.

Back then, his most frequent phrases were "I'm busy," "We'll talk about it later," and "Don't bother me."

it's good now.

Nobody bothers him anymore.

On the fifth day after Han Yu moved in, He Xu began to realize a problem—it seemed that everyone really was treating him as a "patient".

He woke up at eight in the morning and habitually picked up his phone to check the work group chat. He saw that Lao Yuan from the choreography team had posted a choreography demo in the group and tagged everyone: "Who has time to take a look?"

He Xu had just typed "I" and hadn't even sent the message when Lao Yuan withdrew it even faster.

Immediately following was a private message: "Teacher He, please rest well and don't worry about this."

He Xu stared at the message for three seconds, deleted what he had typed, and turned his phone face down on the bedside table.

Then he got up to wash up, went to the living room, and found that Han Yu had already left—leaving a note on the dining table: "I'm going to the recording studio, I'll be back at noon. There's porridge in the fridge, heat it up in the microwave."

He Xu stood in front of the dining table, looking at the note, then at the refrigerator, and then at the empty living room.

He didn't heat up the porridge.

He opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of mineral water, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and then leaned against the sink, lost in thought.

The sky outside the window was grayish-white, neither cloudy nor sunny, and looked rather uninteresting.

The sound of a car driving by came from downstairs, mixed with the indistinct voice of a neighbor making a phone call on their balcony.

After finishing the bottle of water, He Xu threw it into the trash can and walked around the living room.

The cushions on the sofa were neatly arranged, and there was nothing on the coffee table except for the box of throat lozenges left by Han Yu. The TV remote was in the same spot, without even changing its angle.

He went to the balcony, opened the window, and leaned halfway out to look around—the neighborhood was quiet; people who went to work had already left, and those who didn't go to work hadn't gotten up yet.

He Xu stood on the balcony for about three more minutes, then came back, closed the window, went back to the living room, and sat down on the sofa.

Pick up the phone, unlock it, then lock it again, unlock it again, then lock it again.

He wanted to find something to do.

Anything is fine.

So he sent Shen Yiheng a message: "Is there anything I can do to help with the show?"

After sending the message, about five minutes later, Shen Yiheng's reply popped up: "It's nothing, you should get some rest."

It was followed by the sentence: "Don't worry about it."

He Xu stared at that line of text for a few seconds, then exited the dialog box.

He scrolled through the work group chat again and found that no one had posted any choreography-related messages in the last two days.

Everyone tacitly refrained from disturbing him.

He knew they meant well.

But this kindness made him feel stifled.

So he sent Zheng Zaiyuan another message: "I heard that you two live nearby. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Jung Jae-won replied quickly: "He Xu, you just need to rest! I can handle the choreography for the second performance!"

He Xu stared at the screen, tossed his phone onto the sofa cushion, leaned the back of the sofa against the backrest, and began to stare blankly at the ceiling.

This took all morning.

When Han Yu returned at noon, He Xu was still in that position.

He opened the door and came in, changed into slippers, carrying two takeout orders. He glanced at He Xu, who was sprawled on the sofa, and then at the situation in the living room.

"...What did you do this morning?" Han Yu placed the takeout on the dining table, walked over, stood next to the sofa, and looked down at him. "Did you sit all morning or just sprawled out like that?"

"I sat here all morning," He Xu said in a flat tone.

"You've been sitting here all morning?" Han Yu looked him up and down. "You've been sitting here all morning, how did your phone fall out of the sofa cushions and onto the floor?"

He Xu turned his head to look—the phone had somehow slipped off the mat and was now face down on the wooden floor, the black screen resembling a silent little tombstone.

He bent down and picked up the phone: "...I forgot."

"Forgot?" Han Yu repeated the word. "You could forget something like that?"

He Xu didn't reply. He lowered his head, wiped the phone screen, and placed it on the coffee table.

Han Yu watched his actions and then looked at his expression, but didn't ask any further questions. He simply opened the takeout bag, took out the items one by one, and arranged them neatly: "Let's eat."

He Xu sat up from the sofa, walked to the dining table, sat down, picked up his chopsticks, and began to eat his rice.

Han Yu sat opposite him, ate a few bites, put down his chopsticks, and watched He Xu mechanically put food into his mouth, remaining silent for a few seconds.

"He Xu, what's wrong with you today?"

"Nothing much."

"Nothing much?" Han Yu leaned back in his chair. "From the time you texted me this morning to the time you texted Shen Yiheng, were you trying to ask everyone in your contacts if they had any work?"

He Xu paused for a moment with his chopsticks.

Seeing his reaction, Han Yu continued, "Do you feel like you're unnecessary if no one asks you to do work?"

That's a very direct statement.

He Xu put down his chopsticks, looked up at Han Yu, and said calmly, "...You're overthinking it."

"Are you overthinking it?" Han Yu leaned forward slightly, his gaze falling on He Xu's face. "Then tell me, what's the deal with this message you sent—"

He picked up his phone, found the message He Xu had sent him that morning, and read it aloud: "'Is the recording studio busy today? Do you need me to lend you a hand?'"

He Xu's fingers curled slightly.

"You," Han Yu pointed at He Xu, saying each word clearly, "you haven't stepped into a recording studio for four years, and you're telling me you're here to lend me a hand?"

He Xu lowered his head and remained silent for a long time.

"...So what do you think I should do?" he finally spoke, his voice lower than before. "I'm sitting here, nobody's contacting me, nobody's messaging me, I don't even have anything to do—what the hell am I supposed to do?"

Han Yu looked at him without saying a word.

"I know you're worried about me getting tired," He Xu continued, his voice still calm, but the restlessness was barely contained. "But I'm not even tired right now! I'm so bored I'm practically growing mold!"

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the corner of the ceiling.

Han Yu waited until he finished cursing and his breathing calmed down a bit before slowly speaking: "You're just like you were when I left Banxing back then."

He Xu turned his head and glanced at him.

Han Yu did not avoid his gaze and continued, "That year when I left Banxing, I was in the same state—I had nothing to do, but I had no idea what to do with myself."

"At that time, I kept thinking to myself—am I useless?"

"No one is looking for me, no one needs me, so I started to doubt whether I was a useless person."

He Xu's lips moved as if he wanted to refute, but he swallowed the words back.

"But you're different," Han Yu said. "You're taking a break, not being laid off. People aren't asking you to work because your ears need rest. Those jobs aren't offered to you because they know your voice and hearing aren't fully recovered."

He paused, lowering his voice slightly: "It's not that I don't need you, it's—" He thought for a moment, considering how to phrase it, "it's that I'm afraid you won't be able to handle it."

He Xu looked at Han Yu.

"Can you afford to wait?" Han Yu asked him. "If I can, I'll wait. I'll get it sooner or later!"

He Xu remained silent for a long time.

"What can I do?" he said, his voice hoarse. "Just wait."