The Reluctant Center

“Wh—What?”

Li Shu’s face still bore traces of his earlier crying jag. He stared blankly at Ling Tinglan, unable to believe what he’d just heard.

But Ling Tinglan, unmoved, kept his face stern and repeated himself. “I said, since no matter which side you pick, you’ll be targeted by the others, why not just become the center?”

“There’s no way we’re letting someone bully you on our turf.”

Li Shu had never even dreamed of this path, yet Ling Tinglan had tossed it out so casually.

For a moment, Li Shu wondered if he was the one who had gone crazy, or if it was Ling Tinglan.

Whether in the company or in this current group, Li Shu was well aware of his own limits. His dance wasn’t the best, his stage presence wasn’t the strongest, and he didn’t even have much of a “personality.” He was someone with no standout traits. What right did he have to compete for the center position?

But Ling Tinglan and Jiao Wangshu didn’t see it that way. Even if Li Shu’s overall skills weren’t top-tier, he was still far ahead of them. And in their eyes, the rest of Team B for “Neon Confession” was even worse. Given that everyone’s ability was roughly equal, why couldn’t Li Shu be the center?

The spectator sees more than the player.

Perhaps Li Shu was just lacking a little bit of courage.

Now, the two of them would give him that push.

“Well said.”

Jiao Wangshu nodded in agreement, but he began to think. “However, if Li Shu suddenly declares that he wants to compete for center, I’m afraid they’ll stop their infighting and turn their guns on him instead.”

This concern was not unfounded. In fact, this scenario was one hundred percent likely.

“So… we’ll have to make it so they absolutely can’t say no to you being the center!”

Looking at Jiao Wangshu’s sparkling eyes and Ling Tinglan’s eager expression, Li Shu felt nothing but absurdity. How was that possible?

Yet, strangely, his throat tightened and his eyes stung. He couldn’t bring himself to refuse. Maybe he hadn’t realized it himself, but deep down, he still held a glimmer of secret hope.

In any case, after that night’s talk, in the days that followed, Jiao Wangshu and Ling Tinglan pressured Li Shu into intense practice.

Their goal was the first stage evaluation.

Team B of “Neon Confession” still hadn’t decided on a center, but that couldn’t stop their training progress. So the members came up with a bizarre solution: a “dual center.”

With Song Shijun and Quan Shangxun taking turns occupying the center, they only needed to adjust the stage blocking. Everyone else accepted this plan. As for Li Shu’s opinion, it didn’t matter.

Compared to his “teammates” who ganged up on him, Li Shu clearly preferred the atmosphere of Team A. What was Song Shijun’s skill level compared to Su Xingran and Lev?

Since both teams were performing the same song and their practice rooms were next door, Li Shu didn’t even have to change his dance moves. Every day, after “clocking in” at Team B, he seamlessly flowed into Team A.

Sometimes, even the cameraman following them would look at his footage and wonder, “Since when did Team A of ‘Neon Confession’ have six people?”

That day, it was Team A’s practice room again.

Heavy footsteps landed in neat rhythm, occasionally punctuated by a few sluggish missteps that broke the harmony.

“I told you, this hand movement should be slower.”

Su Xingran maintained his smile—if the bulging veins on his forehead weren’t so obvious.

Over the past few days, Su Xingran had deeply understood: what bromance? What fan service? If he were guilty, the heavens should just strike him with lightning rather than making him teach a group of uncoordinated, brain-dead pigs to dance.

In Team A of “Neon Confession,” only he and Lev were competent. But Lev was currently giving one-on-one help to You Youyou.

Perhaps the space cadet boy had a special buff; Lev could magically synchronize with You Youyou’s brainwaves and understand his “You-speak.” Their teaching progress looked surprisingly good.

This left Su Xingran to suffer alone, leading Ling Tinglan, Jiao Wangshu, and Li Shu.

They say whoever teaches homework goes crazy. When he saw Ling Tinglan, for the umpteenth time, successfully tying himself into a knot while arching backward, Su Xingran’s murderous intent flared again.

The veins on his forehead jumped twice. He squeezed out a sound through gritted teeth:

“It’s fine. I’ll demonstrate one more time.”

With that, Su Xingran raised his hand. His entire upper body, guided by gravity, performed a smooth and steady backbend. Because of the large movement, the hem of his sweatshirt lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of his lean waist. His body, though appearing slender and fragile, suddenly burst with muscle and erupted with immense power.

This was a striking contrast with his usual image. Su Xingran looked thin but was far from weak. It was obvious that without strong core strength, this move would be impossible.

Many people have prejudices against idols’ appearances, but in reality, they compare their own flab to idols’ muscles.

After all, idols not only control their diets and go hungry but also spend hours in practice rooms training in singing and dancing. Isn’t that basically daily dieting plus high-intensity cardio and strength training? Those with weak constitutions would have croaked long before debuting.

Demonstration over, Su Xingran panted lightly and turned back.

He saw the three, lined up from shortest to tallest, standing like a Wi-Fi signal, clapping like seals with dumbfounded expressions. What were they being so cheerful about?

Su Xingran’s vision went dark, the overwhelming foolishness making his head ache even more.

Time in the practice room flew by. Soon, it was time for the first group evaluation.

Because the first stage was a group battle, evaluations for both Teams A and B were held simultaneously. This allowed the trainees to directly see the gap between the two groups and also added some buzz to the show.

PD Jiang and dance instructor Jin arrived late, having just finished the previous group’s evaluation.

Team A performed first.

Before the official start, everyone had to find their stage positions.

Ling Tinglan wobbled past Su Xingran.

Whether by reflex or some ingrained boy group instinct, Su Xingran had forgotten the torment of the past few days. His “fan service root” suddenly activated.

He smiled and said softly to Ling Tinglan, “Don’t be nervous.”

—AKA, super-nice male vocal fry.

Too bad it was too quiet, and Ling Tinglan’s ears were too slow.

He whipped his head around with a thunderous motion, his confusion tangible: “What did you say?”

Su Xingran stood on the stage, took a deep breath, and forcefully closed and opened his eyes. He shouldn’t have talked to an idiot!!!