Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

"Hold……"

The sound was like a red-hot needle, piercing through the eardrum and burning along the nerves all the way to the depths of the brain.

He Xu's body tensed up abruptly, almost instinctively, and he ripped off his headset.

The moment the headset cord snapped, it made a soft "snap" sound, like something breaking.

The staff member was startled by the sudden situation, the headset cord still hanging in mid-air, and the color drained from his face.

He Xu tilted his head, covered his left ear with his left hand, and furrowed his brows.

Although the sharp crackling sound of electricity had stopped, a persistent buzzing sound lingered in my ears.

"He Xu? He Xu, what's wrong?" The staff member squatted down, his voice filled with obvious panic.

He Xu did not answer.

It's not that I don't want to answer, it's that I can't hear you.

My left ear felt like it was stuffed with cotton; all sounds were muffled and distant, as if blocked out.

The lingering "sizzle" sound still echoed in my ear canal, accompanied by a sharp, persistent stinging pain.

"The headset is short-circuiting." Wang Yijun was the first to react. She squatted down in front of He Xu and waved her hand in front of his eyes. "He Xu, can you hear me?"

He Xu blinked and lowered his hand from his ears.

"Yes," he said, his voice hoarse, "but I can't hear clearly on the left side."

Wang Yijun's expression changed.

The staff were already calling for help over the walkie-talkie, their voices incredibly urgent—"Group B waiting area, headset malfunction, athlete injured, call medical personnel! Quickly!"

A noisy response came from the other end of the walkie-talkie.

The staff member squatted down in front of He Xu, frantically checking the headset's interface and cables, repeatedly saying "I'm sorry" and "I didn't mean to."

Others in the waiting area also gathered around.

Lu Yiming was the first to rush over, his eyes already red: "Brother He Xu, what happened to your ear? Are you alright?"

Yan Chen squeezed his way up from the back of the crowd, his lips pressed together until they turned white.

"Excuse me, excuse me—" Medical staff pushed through the crowd, and a female doctor in a white coat squatted down in front of He Xu, holding a small flashlight. "Which ear?"

"Left."

The doctor shone a flashlight into his ear canal and then had him do a few simple tests—turning his head, swallowing, and opening his mouth.

"There's no obvious external injury to the ear canal, and the eardrum shouldn't be ruptured." The doctor put away his flashlight, his expression still serious. "But electric shock injuries can range from mild to severe, and they're not always visible on the surface. How severe is the tinnitus?"

"I can hear the voice," He Xu said. The voice was flat, as if it were describing someone else's story, "but it was like there was a layer between us, and there was high-frequency noise."

Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous?

"I don't feel dizzy or nauseous."

The doctor nodded, took out a bottle of saline solution and a pack of sterile cotton swabs from the first aid kit, and began to clean any residual conductive gel from his ear canal.

"He Xu, I don't recommend continuing to use in-ear headsets given your condition." The doctor lowered his voice, but his tone was firm. "The stimulation of the auditory nerves from electric shocks can be significant or minor, and wearing similar devices again carries risks."

"What do we do then?" Lu Yiming's voice trembled with tears. "It's almost our turn—"

He Xu raised his hand, signaling Lu Yiming to shut up.

"Switch to a hand microphone," he said.

Wang Yijun frowned: "Handheld microphone? Why are you using a handheld microphone for the floor work in the chorus?"

"Change the movements." He Xu stood up, stretched his neck, and his joints made a slight clicking sound. "I'll adjust it myself. If the headset isn't working, I'll listen to the ground loop."

"A ground-level sound system?" Zhao Tianyu was taken aback. "The speakers are facing the audience; how could you hear it clearly if you were standing in the middle of the stage?"

"Yes," He Xu said.

He spoke with certainty, but deep down he wasn't sure.

Ground-mounted speakers are usually placed at the front of the stage, facing the audience, so that the sound is projected downwards.

The person standing in the center of the stage can hear it, but the delay and reverberation will be much greater than with a headset, requiring an extremely strong sense of rhythm and body memory to keep the beat.

But he had no other choice.

"Blade, Group A and Group B, please take your positions."

The stage manager's voice came through the walkie-talkie, and the air in the waiting area suddenly tensed up.

He Xu took the microphone from the staff member and weighed it in his hand.

It's much heavier than a headset, and feels like a small weapon when you hold it in your hand.

He tried out the grip, which wouldn't affect his hand movements while dancing, but he needed to keep his grip tight at all times.

"Let's go," Wang Yijun said.

Six people filed out of the waiting area and walked up the side steps onto the stage.

The spotlights weren't fully on yet; only a few basic lights illuminated the stage in a dim, half-lit manner.

The audience was a sea of ​​black, their faces obscured, but one could feel the immense, silent oppression—over a thousand people sat there, their breathing forming a low, somber background sound.

He Xu walked at the back of the group, holding the handheld microphone in his left hand and letting his right hand hang naturally at his side.

His left ear was still ringing, but he didn't cover it or even frown.

The moment I stepped onto the stage, all the lights in the audience suddenly came on.

The stands seemed to be on fire—

Screams, applause, and shouts merged into a wave of sound that surged from all directions, crashing against the stage backdrop and bouncing back to hit everyone.

"Aaaaaaaahh ...

"Yang Sheng!!! Yang Sheng, look this way!!!"

"Wang Yijun!!! Wang Yijun!!!"

"He Xu!!! He Xu!!! He Xu!!!"

Some people held up banners, some waved light sticks, and some even stood up from their seats.

In the front row of the fan area, colorful light boards stood out conspicuously in the darkness—names like "Yang Sheng," "Qi Xunan," "Wang Yijun," and "He Xu" lit up one after another.

The LED screen above the audience seats was displaying the logo of "Absolute Debut".

The lighting team is making final adjustments, with several spotlights darting across the stage, each searching for its target.

The two teams stood facing each other in two rows on either side of the stage.

Group A consists of six people. Wang Yijun stands at the front of the line, He Xu stands to his left, and Lu Yiming, Yan Chen, Lin Siyuan, and Zhao Tianyu are lined up in order.

Group B has six members. Yang Sheng stands at the front of the line, while the remaining members stand on the other side.

Shen Yiheng walked up from the side of the stage, holding a script card in his hand, his steps neither hurried nor slow.

The screams from the audience rose another notch—his appearance was always the button that ignited the entire venue.

"Quiet, quiet—" Shen Yiheng raised his hand and made a downward gesture, his voice carrying throughout the venue through the microphone.

The screams gradually subsided, but the lingering excitement still resonated in the air, like a taut string.

"Next up is my long-awaited song, 'Blade'!"

A wave of anticipation rippled through the audience.

"Now, let's get to know the two teams that are about to take the stage." Shen Yiheng turned to the side and pointed to the left side of the stage. "First, Team A of 'Blade'—Captain Wang Yijun, leading his team members, will make a dazzling entrance."

All six members of Group A bowed to the audience at the same time.

Wang Yijun was the first to speak, her voice cool but clear: "Hello everyone, I am Wang Yijun, the captain of Group A, 21 years old, from Class A. Today we will use the stage to prove—who is the true master of 'Blade'."

A burst of screams erupted from the audience, even more enthusiastic than usual—Wang Yijun is usually very quiet, and today he made a rare statement that was somewhat provocative, which clearly pleased the fans.

Shen Yiheng stood in the center of the stage, the corners of his mouth curving slightly before he quickly suppressed it.

His gaze inadvertently swept over He Xu, only to find that he didn't have an earpiece wire on his ear.

Handheld microphone?

He frowned slightly, but the expression lasted for less than half a second before being covered up by his well-trained smile.

"Blade, Group B—" Shen Yiheng turned to the right side of the stage, "Captain Yang Sheng, please introduce your team."

Yang Sheng took half a step forward and stood at the front of the stage.

The light boards below the stage switched instantly—Yang Sheng's name lit up like a sea of ​​lights.

"Hello everyone, I'm Yang Sheng, the captain of Group B. I'm seventeen years old and from Class A." His voice was a bit deeper than usual, carrying a composure that didn't match his age. "Blade is a song by the PD, and it's also a song I've been dancing to repeatedly since my trainee days."

"I'm standing here today not because I want to win—"

He paused.

"It's because I don't want to lose."

"Yang Sheng!!!!"

"Aaaaaaah, what kind of statement is this?!"

"I don't want to lose!!! So cool!!!"

A subtle smell of gunpowder filled the air.

Shen Yiheng walked between the two teams and looked at each one.

"Both sides have already made some tough statements, so let's enjoy their performance."

"Now, both groups, please return to the waiting area and prepare. Group A will perform 'Blade' first."

Both teams bowed simultaneously and turned to walk off the stage.

He Xu walked at the back of the group, still holding the handheld microphone in his left hand.

As he walked down the steps, his left ear buzzed again.

He frowned and quickened his pace into the waiting area.

-

In the backstage observation room, a wall of monitoring screens broadcasts live footage from the stage.

The other four mentors sat behind a long table, each with a cup of coffee in front of them, each in a different posture.

Zhou Wei sat on the far left, with a score sheet spread out in front of him, his brows slightly furrowed.

"Is Team A of 'Blade' ready?" Jung Jae-won asked casually, his eyes never leaving the screen. "I heard they've been practicing quite well lately."

"He Xu led them smoothly," Xu Shutong replied, a hint of a smile in her voice, "and their progress was much faster than the other groups."

Zhou Wei didn't reply, but picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.

Jin Xian's gaze fell on one of the monitor screens—it showed the waiting area, where He Xu was standing in the corner, holding a microphone in his left hand, tilting his head as if listening to something.

"Why is he using a handheld microphone?" she suddenly asked.

Everyone's eyes turned to the screen at the same time.

Zheng Zaiyuan stopped writing, Xu Shutong leaned forward, and Zhou Wei put down his coffee cup, his brows furrowing even more.

"Isn't this set all headsets?" Jung Jae-won asked.

No one can answer.