“Aaaaah I’ve been waiting for CROWN!!”

“All of CROWN wore actual crowns—Summer Bloom and Reckless were explosive!”

“My number one pick of the night, hands down. I can’t believe this was their first stage in months!”

Deep Blue TV had always struggled to match Qingning TV’s ratings. Even if its stage aesthetics and audio quality were often superior, when it came to generating buzz, Qingning led every year.

But this time, CROWN’s two performances gave Deep Blue its first true edge in online attention.

Despite every major network airing their own year-end galas, the audience still gravitated toward the most captivating acts. Once clips of Summer Bloom and Reckless were uploaded online, viewers eagerly switched their channels to Deep Blue TV.

[“CROWN debuted from Battle of the Stars, right?”]

[“Holy hell—when did audition groups get this good?!”]

[“I watched Battle of the Stars, and CROWN wasn’t this strong at the beginning. They grew into it, bit by bit.”]

[“You have to listen to CROWN’s EP Summer Bloom. It’s incredible!”]

Many viewers had heard Summer Bloom and Reckless on other music shows, but hadn’t realized the original artist was CROWN.

When it came to expressiveness and stage presence—at the very moment Reckless ended, the audience’s cheers rang so loud they could be heard clearly from the waiting room. It felt as if… they were watching superstars.

“Why wouldn’t Gu Yi perform with us?” someone from VIC Group muttered quietly.

“Go blame Zhu Yu.”

Watching Gu Yi’s breathtaking performance, knowing their own upcoming stage would pale in comparison, the members of Team A couldn’t help but stew in bitterness.

They needed someone to take the fall, and Zhu Yu was the easiest target.

Zhu Yu was no longer in Team A. The members who’d previously competed with him for resources had always resented him, and now, their ridicule was completely unfiltered.

Watching this, Liu Wei suddenly regretted ever asking Gu Yi for a favour.

As their manager, she understood well the flaws of VIC’s training model.

Sure, the company maintained total control over the idols, raking in the lion’s share of revenue and contract penalties—but the trade-off was narrow vision. The trainees’ world ended at VIC; they failed to see anything beyond it.

Gu Yi was the only one who had escaped that system.

Everyone wanted to become the next Gu Yi. But Liu Wei knew very well—there would only ever be one Gu Yi.

---

VIC Group’s performance slot was scheduled quite late that evening.

When CROWN took the stage earlier than expected, some Team A members were confused. Logically, CROWN should have gone on after them.

Jin Yang, who had ranked tenth in the recent popularity poll and was newly promoted to Team A, hesitantly asked about it.

In front of the top-ranking members, he barely existed.

After a long silence, someone finally answered coldly: “CROWN just debuted. We’ve been around much longer. In terms of seniority, they don’t come close.”

Jin Yang gave an awkward smile. Tong Shu stepped in to smooth things over. “Deep Blue probably has its own programming logic. Just wait patiently.”

Jin Yang nodded gratefully. Tong Shu returned the gesture with a warm smile.

Which only made Jin Yang’s expression stiffen.

He had just started making headway under Shao Jing. Shao Jing had taken a hit recently thanks to Zhu Yu’s fall from grace and was more invested in his current trainees.

He was raising Jin Yang differently than he had Zhu Yu—perhaps because Gu Yi had become a cautionary tale. This time, Shao Jing emphasized hard skills: “Train properly. If you have talent, you’ll always find a place to land.”

Just like Jiang Yue from Battle of the Stars. Back at his old agency, Jiang Yue had been a nobody. But after performing in Explosion, he got invited to two major dance variety shows, and even returned to Battle of the Stars season two as a mentor’s assistant.

He wasn’t wildly famous, but his prospects had changed entirely.

Shao Jing had warned Jin Yang repeatedly: stay away from Tong Shu. Don’t even think about creating a CP.

Back when the “Yushu Remainder” CP was popular, Tong Shu had raked in all the benefits. But when Zhu Yu’s popularity plummeted, Tong Shu swiftly painted himself as the victim of the pairing.

Jin Yang had worked too hard to be reckless now. Zhu Yu’s downfall was still fresh in his mind.

Minutes passed. Then tens of minutes. Even pop royalty had already performed—and still, no one from the production crew had come to notify VIC Group.

By now, even the top-ranked members were growing restless.

Liu Wei quickly contacted someone from Deep Blue’s team. A staffer finally appeared, looking apologetic.

“Sorry, our bad. Things got hectic, and we… forgot about you guys.”

The VIC members’ faces darkened instantly.

“There’s only one act left tonight—Sang Qiong,” the staffer explained. “As you know, we can’t have you go after her. But if you’re willing, you could go on right before as a warm-up, maybe even serve as her backup dancers?”

“Director Zhao, we have a contract with Deep Blue TV.”

“There are only two options,” the staffer replied with a polite smile. “You either go on as backup dancers, or… we cancel the slot and pay the penalty. But—”

His tone was mild, but Liu Wei caught the unspoken threat beneath it: If VIC made Deep Blue pay a penalty, they could kiss any future appearances on the network goodbye.

Deep Blue’s industry network was miles wider than Xingyao’s. Any show planning to invite VIC would first think twice about crossing Deep Blue.

No one looked more sour than Li Zhiyuan.

He rarely joined group activities anymore. If not for the fact that Deep Blue had invited him personally, he wouldn’t have lowered himself to attend.

He was acting in dramas now. And they expected him to backup dance? Where was the dignity in that?

Liu Wei was in charge of tonight’s lineup, but she wasn’t Li Zhiyuan’s manager. He immediately called his own agent.

Whether VIC got blacklisted or not wasn’t his concern.

He was already an actor. If someone else wanted to keep playing idol—be his guest.

Liu Wei wanted to argue with Li Zhiyuan’s manager, but the other woman’s voice dripped with passive aggression: “Didn’t Gu Yi skip it too? What’s one more person?”

Left with no options, the VIC members filed out of the waiting room, sullen and unwilling.

On the way to the stage, they ran into CROWN exchanging pleasantries with other guests.

Gu Yi’s demeanour was the same as always—calm, composed, never arrogant. Yet not distant either.

As the VIC members approached, Gu Yi noticed them and gave a faint nod in their direction.

In that instant, their shame and frustration reached a peak. None of them greeted him. They hurried past.

The stages for Summer Bloom and Reckless catapulted CROWN back into the spotlight. Though the members had regrouped after several months apart, their popularity hadn’t diminished. Invitations from various platforms flooded in.

[“We need more stages for Crown and Reckless!!”]

[“New album, new album, new album…]

Deep Blue TV’s stage was only the beginning. Fans quickly noticed that with each subsequent performance, CROWN’s synergy only grew stronger.

[“Didn’t Gu Yi go off to film a drama? And Ji Chi and Xie Xingjia are doing variety shows, right? So why does it feel like they’ve all been training nonstop for months?”]

[“All I can say is, CROWN just fits together perfectly.”]

[“A musical genius + a dance king +… the most photogenic idol who also happens to ace civil service exams?”]

[“Please don’t mention the exams. I just glanced at the stage in the middle of solving practice questions, and now I’m spiralling!”]

[“My idol scores better than me—I’ll take that with pride!”]

[“Hey, do idol groups really need academic overachiever personas too?”]

At that moment, Yuan Cheng was holding the cat while coordinating everyone’s schedule.

Officially, Ke Rua was CROWN’s group cat—but for a long stretch, it was Yuan Cheng who took care of its feeding, grooming, and general upbringing.

As Yang Ting put it, “Ke Rua is basically Yuan-ge’s sucker-for-a-cat,” trailing behind him like a shadow. With the rest of them, however, its attitude was more like:

Feed it something tasty? Sure, you get one to three minutes of affection.

Minute four? “Who the hell are you?”

Feed again, pet again, rinse and repeat—and it still acts like it’s never seen you before.

Of course, they could just scoop up Ke Rua and refuse to let go—but in that case, they’d be treated to a feline look of pure contempt.

Yang Ting even made a chart—yes, an actual spreadsheet—tracking Ke Rua’s tolerance times. Based on long-term observation, the rankings went like this: shortest cuddle time allowed for Yang Ting, followed by He Zhao and Liu Junyuan. Longest? Gu Yi.

“This world really is all about looks,” Yang Ting howled dramatically. “I can’t take it anymore!”

Gu Yi once caught him pinching Ke Rua’s cheeks while lecturing with absolute seriousness: “You’re a black cat, okay? You’re not even top-tier in the feline beauty rankings. Teacher Gu is a human and top-tier among humans. You two are not a match—understand?”

“I think we are a match,” he added smugly.

Ke Rua growled, hissed, and bolted.

Gu Yi, who had witnessed the whole thing, was left speechless.

His teammates… were truly something else. One of them had apparently unlocked the skill tree for fluent interspecies communication.

Respect. Nothing but respect.

According to Yuan Cheng’s schedule, CROWN had two events to attend that week: a fashion show and an awards ceremony.

“The MiiSound Awards?”

“For real?!”

Since debut, CROWN had only ever attended the Golden String Awards once. Though not as mainstream as Golden String, the MiiSound Awards were a big deal within the music community—prestigious and deeply respected by insiders.

Winning a MiiSound Award didn’t necessarily mean a singer was popular, but it did mean they were skilled.

In recent years, MiiSound had propelled several indie musicians into the spotlight, often turning niche genres into national trends.

“You may not win,” Yuan Cheng said, “but the invitation is real.”

“Even just being invited is huge,” Liu Junyuan said. “Will we be performing?”

“You won’t know until the day of.”

That was one of the award’s signature traits—artists weren’t told if they’d be performing until they were actually onsite. Which meant the MiiSound Awards put real weight on live skills and musical readiness.

“Should we… maybe perform a new song?” Ji Chi suggested.

There were a few tracks that hadn’t made it onto their last album. Fans had been begging them to release those songs on stage, but performing leftovers at MiiSound would seem half-hearted.

They didn’t debate long before settling on a song Liu Junyuan had written for the upcoming album.

Everyone had contributed to the lyrics; they’d refined it together word by word. By the time the song was finished, each member could recite the lyrics and melody in their sleep. After weighing all their options, nothing felt more fitting.

“There’s only one goal,” someone said. “We cannot embarrass ourselves.”

“If we screw this up, even Ke Rua will laugh at me.”

And so, for the next few days, they didn’t step outside once. They buried themselves in practice.

If not for Yuan Cheng’s sudden reminder, they might’ve forgotten entirely—they also had a fashion show to attend.

“Can we skip that one?” asked a brave soul.

“Feel free to try,” Yuan Cheng said with a smile so serene it was terrifying. The word “death” was practically stamped on his left cheek and “rage” on the right. “Remind me—who’s been feeding your cat all this time?”

“Has it escaped your notice I’ve lost almost ten pounds looking after it?”

—The kicker? The idol members, who actually wanted to lose weight, hadn’t shed a single pound. Yuan Cheng, who had no plans to slim down, lost ten.

Mutual misery. Mutual envy.

Every member of CROWN knew one thing clearly: their manager was a good man.

But when that good man snapped, the fallout was apocalyptic.

They immediately stopped negotiating and obediently got ready for the fashion event.