Chapter 24: The Team Members Are Too Driven, While the Captain Is Too Relaxed

In another training room, Hashim asked one of his teammates, “How’s it going next door? What song did they pick?”

He’d just sent a teammate to snoop outside Fang Xing’s group’s training room for information.

After only a few minutes of eavesdropping, Guo Keda noticed and locked the door.

“I overheard them discussing songs—not choosing one, but planning to write one on the computer,” the teammate replied.

“Writing a new song on the spot? He really thinks he’s some songwriting prodigy,” Hashim sneered.

“Captain, how’s our song coming along?” the teammate asked.

“Don’t worry. We’ll have it ready before tomorrow. I already have ideas for the arrangement,” Hashim said, beginning to work on his MIDI equipment to rearrange “Beauty Without Tears.”

“Beauty Without Tears” was the theme song of a wildly popular martial arts drama from the nineties in this world.

It was a memory shared by three generations; nearly everyone had heard it.

Rearranging such a classic song was actually quite difficult.

If the changes were minimal, it would sound almost identical to the original, and the audience would lose interest.

If the changes were significant, it all depended on skill.

Especially if rap was added—if the lyrics weren’t good, it would be a disaster.

This time, Hashim wasn’t just rearranging “Beauty Without Tears”—he was also preparing a song for the head-to-head battle.

The director had just informed him that Fang Xing agreed to participate in the PK segment.

Hearing this, Hashim’s eyes burned with the fire of revenge.

He already had his PK song picked out, waiting for the second performance to crush his opponent.

...

In just two hours, Fang Xing finished the high and low vocal parts and the arrangement for the performance song, sending the demo and lyrics to his teammates so they could get familiar with it.

“Copy the demo onto your phone. I still need the computer,” Fang Xing said to Shao Yu.

Shao Yu understood, smiling, “The production team wants you to join the PK segment again?”

“That’s right—the director just came to tell me,” Fang Xing replied casually.

“Hashim again?” Shao Yu was well-versed in the show’s tactics.

He knew, too, that this arrangement made things more interesting.

Just imagine it: What do the audience want to see?

Of course, they want to see Hashim and Fang Xing face off again—to see if the resurrected challenger can redeem himself, or if the ‘F Class Demon King’ will defeat the overseas returnee twice.

Fang Xing shrugged, indicating Shao Yu had guessed correctly.

...

“I’ll take the demo back and practice, you take your time,” Shao Yu said, bumping fists with Fang Xing before copying the demo onto his phone and putting on headphones to listen.

He had the habit of listening to a demo twenty or thirty times first, etching the melody into his mind before starting to sing.

...

Fang Xing immediately started arranging the second song.

Since the second song was a solo, there was no need for a demo—he could go straight to the arrangement.

Once finished, Fang Xing put on headphones, listening while heading back to the dormitory to rest, quite leisurely—a sharp contrast to the pounding bass coming from the other training rooms.

It remained so until dinner.

Shao Yu, Lu Ming, and a few others noticed their captain hadn’t pushed them to rehearse together yet and started to get restless.

In the training camp cafeteria, four of them carried their trays and sat beside Fang Xing.

Since each table only had four seats, Wang Huajun had to sit at the next table.

Lu Ming adjusted his glasses and asked, “Captain, when are we rehearsing together? I see the other teams have been rehearsing all afternoon.”

Fang Xing hadn’t expected their eagerness. “Have you all mastered the song?”

Shao Yu raised his hand, “I’m good. We could rehearse now and I wouldn’t mess up.”

He was professionally trained; singing harmonies was a basic skill. Once he learned his part, singing together was no problem.

Guo Keda interjected, “I’ve got those two lines of the main melody down. But I can’t guarantee the harmonies—I sometimes stray into other parts.”

He wasn’t a vocal major, so during multi-part singing, he had the common problem of drifting into others’ lines.

“No big deal. You can’t reach the high parts, so you won’t stray,” Fang Xing joked.

Guo Keda’s cheeks twitched, suddenly realizing it was true.

The song’s high parts went above D5, with the highest note reaching G5.

As he’d say: “Is this even singable by humans?”

Lu Ming chimed in, “Captain, a vocal coach is coming tomorrow to listen to our rehearsal and give us guidance. Maybe we should rehearse tonight so we don’t mess up tomorrow.”

In a boy group talent show like “Tomorrow’s Star,” few trainees had a vocal background.

Especially those from big companies, who joined at fourteen or fifteen and started training in singing and dancing.

By eighteen or nineteen, they were auditioning for shows, with little time for systematic vocal study.

So, aside from Fang Xing’s group, most trainees had weak vocal foundations.

Therefore, the production team arranged for vocal coaches to give professional guidance and help correct pronunciation issues.

With the coaches’ schedules tight—ten teams to guide—each team’s allotted time was limited.

...

To make progress, they had to seize the chance for individual guidance.

“Practice again tonight?”

Fang Xing hadn’t planned to rush; he thought listening and getting familiar with the music was enough for now.

But the team was anxious.

Lu Ming widened his eyes, pointed toward the training rooms, and whispered, “Hashim’s group hasn’t left their room since morning. They had lunch and dinner brought in. Not just Hashim’s—other groups are doing the same.”

Guo Keda added, “That’s right, they’re all competing like crazy. Captain, if we don’t keep up, we’ll be outdone.”

“Alright, let’s do one full rehearsal tonight,” Fang Xing reluctantly agreed.

That evening.

They rehearsed together twice. Though there were still flaws, the first joint practice was already impressive.

Fang Xing gave advice based on their individual issues: “Guo Keda, listen to your part a hundred times. Don’t sing along—just cut out your lines and play them on repeat a hundred times.

“Lu Ming, be bolder with your high notes. I can tell someone in your family works in vocals—you have a solid foundation, just lack confidence. Sing out bravely.

“Wang Huajun, keep listening to your lyrics.

“Alright, dismissed. Go to sleep. Up at seven tomorrow.”

“Wh...what?”

Guo Keda and Lu Ming’s eyes went wide.

They were used to staying up until two or three in the morning and sleeping until eleven or noon.

Not just them—actually, most trainees kept that schedule.

Even when lights-out was enforced, they’d hide under the covers with their phones.

Back in the dorm, Shao Yu handed out melatonin pills: “Take one and you’ll fall asleep in half an hour. The captain’s used to early morning vocal practice—for team harmony, you’ll need to synchronize.”

After the trials of “Nocturne” and “Wild Bird,” Fang Xing had already established authority within the team.

This performance song had amazed all four members, so they could only adjust their routines to match the captain’s.

Lu Ming swallowed the melatonin, lay in bed, and put on headphones to keep listening to the demo.

Every time he heard the soaring high notes, he grew nervous.

Because those were his lines, and the captain’s rendition was so beautiful—if he sang poorly, it would be terribly embarrassing.