I Became the Top Competitor in a Talent Show Novel - Chapter 11

Chi Meng and three trainees from Vision Culture walked into the small hall behind the passage.

Compared to the waiting area before, there was now an extra table. On the table sat five golden star-shaped boxes filled with letter stickers. Staff handed each of them a name tag sticker.

From here on, they were officially entering the talent competition.

“Okay, thank you,” Chi Meng said.

A staff member sitting cross-legged in the corner spoke into a mic:
“Choose the sticker for the class you think your current ability belongs to.”

While the Vision Culture trainees quietly discussed, Chi Meng, without hesitation, picked up the F-class sticker.

The Vision Culture trainees glanced at her. Chi Meng returned them a dazzling smile.

“Need help?” one girl asked.

Her face was small, with slightly round cheeks—very pretty, with a smile that would likely look sweet—but her expression was cold. With her lips pressed together, she looked a bit sulky. Her short hair was tied into tiny braids that poked out at the back of her head.

“Thank you,” Chi Meng said gratefully.

The girl walked over, pinched one end of Chi Meng’s name tag, and stuck it on the hem of her top. Worried it wasn’t firm enough, she pressed down on the corners.

Standing close, Chi Meng noticed she was quite tall. With her long, lean limbs, she looked even taller. On her own tag, next to the company logo, were the words: “Qi Yan.”

“Chi Meng,” Chi Meng said, rubbing her tag and greeting her.

“Mm.” Qi Yan glanced at her again, then pressed her B-class sticker beside her name.

“Vision Culture, get ready,” staff reminded softly.

The three Vision Culture trainees huddled together, cheering each other on before going on stage. Chi Meng raised her fist in encouragement too. The other two girls turned back as they walked, returning her gesture. Qi Yan gave another little “Mm,” still with that sulky expression.

A girl wearing the “Ning Yuze” tag clapped her hands on Qi Yan’s shoulders, speaking quickly and cheerfully to Chi Meng:
“What she means is, she’s very happy to meet you!”

Chi Meng waved enthusiastically and curved her lips:
“I heard her loud and clear!”

“She kind of resembles Song Jiaqi,” 019 suddenly said.

“How?” Chi Meng asked in surprise. “They’re obviously two completely different personalities.”

Really? 019 thought. But that sulky look of hers had a very Song Jiaqi vibe.

“You said she doesn’t, then she doesn’t. Anyway, I came online to tell you—the main system replied to me. It says everything’s running normally and I should keep executing the mission.” 019’s tone dimmed. “But since 019’s permissions are too low, the main system rejected my request to access the script.”

Then it mimicked Song Jiaqi’s cold tone: “Hmph.” Immediately after, it shrank back guiltily.

Chi Meng comforted it:
“Since everything’s normal, we just keep doing what we’re supposed to. Even if we knew the plot, what difference would it make? We’re just ordinary extras! We can’t change the story, and knowing too much won’t do us any good.”

019: “…Host is right.”

Yes, it was just a “passerby system.” Why stick its nose in so much? Maybe there were other colleagues in this world too—like a Rebirth System, or a Villain Counterattack System. What could a humble Passerby System even do, besides lying flat?

019 lay down, sulking.

On stage, the three Vision Culture trainees stood in a row, looking more composed than the groups before.

“Hello everyone, we’re Vision Culture trainees. I’m team leader Ning Yuze, and I’m the vocal.” Ning Yuze smiled confidently. The girl beside her lifted the mic:
“I’m Tong Siyu, responsible for rap.”

“Qi Yan, dancer,” Qi Yan said with a blank face.

Xie Tongyue exchanged a glance with another mentor. That mentor murmured:
“Cool.”

“Small as it is, a sparrow has all its vital organs. All right, please begin your performance.”

The three girls stood in formation with Ning Yuze at the center as the music started.

Backstage, watching the monitor, Chi Meng froze for a second. Their styling was sharp and stylish, but the song turned out to be rather slow. Because of that, the dance wasn’t particularly big in movement.

When Ning Yuze began singing, many nodded knowingly. No wonder she was so composed earlier—her vocal ability was impressive.

Through the calm-paced performance, her high notes suddenly filled the stage. With her head tilted back, her runs spun through the air, and the trainees in the audience instinctively clapped in awe. Especially because she could sing while dancing without losing breath—many realized the gap in ability.

Then the formation changed: Tong Siyu moved front, Qi Yan to the right, Ning Yuze facing away with head lowered.

“I know it has nothing to do with me anymore. The night you disappeared, the cloudy sky after you left.”

Qi Yan held the mic, her voice low like reciting poetry.

Though her face stayed serious, Chi Meng’s lips kept twitching upward—it was probably because Qi Yan’s expression looked just too cool. After her brief rap, Tong Siyu exploded into rapid, fervent lyrics that filled every beat, right before Ning Yuze spun back around to deliver soaring high notes again.

“Wow—!”

“There’s no way this isn’t A-class.”

“Ning Yuze is amazing…”

The mentors applauded, discussing quietly as the cameras swept across the three girls’ faces—Ning Yuze breathing hard from either nerves or exhaustion, Tong Siyu biting her lip, and Qi Yan still wearing her cool poker face.

On the mentor panel, dance coach Luan Xiu picked up a profile.
“Qi Yan, you’ve studied dance for five years?”

Staring down at the floor, Qi Yan was caught off guard. She lifted her eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

“Even though your performance focused on vocals, I could see your dance ability surpasses the others—especially your control of strength and precision. But that stage didn’t really show the depth of five years of street dance. Did you prepare anything extra?” Luan Xiu asked.

Another dance mentor raised her hand. “I’d like to see too.”

Qi Yan’s lips trembled, but she stayed silent. Beside her, Ning Yuze quickly lifted the mic:
“She does, she can! Any music will do—thank you, thank you!”

Ning Yuze bowed to the panel.

Xie Tongyue chuckled.
“So you’re not only the leader but also Qi Yan’s spokesperson?”

Flustered, Ning Yuze explained:
“We train together every day. She’s really nice, just not good with words. Honestly, she’s so nervous right now she can’t speak.”

The camera panned to Qi Yan’s expressionless face, and the trainees laughed.

Xie Tongyue smiled. “We can tell. All right, music!”

A fierce beat dropped, impossible not to bob along with.

Among the trainees seated below, other dancers exchanged uneasy looks.
“This one’s tough to dance.”
“Yeah, it’s hard to nail.”
“Isn’t this the MV with the zombie dance?”

“Zombie?”

In the second-to-last row, Su Mengyao suddenly raised her hand, squealing in excitement. The music hyped her up so much she twisted around—only to meet a pair of cold, disdainful black eyes.

Instantly, Su Mengyao calmed down.
“Sorry!” she sat upright.

Song Jiaqi remained frosty.

But moments later, Su Mengyao’s fuzzy head swiveled again.
“I’ve seen this one! iiiiii~”

She squealed again, wriggling like her seat had nails. Not a single lyric came out in tune. Song Jiaqi suddenly thought of the giant white geese floating on the park lake.

Even geese honked better than this.

She silently apologized to the geese.

On stage, the moment the beat hit, Qi Yan’s eyes darkened. Her entire demeanor flipped—limbs unleashed, movements sharp yet controlled, locking into rhythm instantly. The two dance mentors leaned forward with interest.

As the chorus hit, Qi Yan slammed to the ground, legs landing with a “bang.” She raised her left hand to cover her face, froze in a pose, then launched into a jump.

Backstage, Chi Meng sucked in a breath. She’d thought Qi Yan was slim, but hadn’t expected muscle. In the flashes of movement, her shirt lifted—revealing a toned, smooth set of abs.

“Ahhhh!!”
“So cool! So cool!!”

Luan Xiu and Shi Xinxin both stood—one clapping, the other bracing against the desk, watching intently.

Xu Shengling grabbed the mic, leading the audience to sing along. Those who didn’t know the lyrics howled nonsense in rhythm, turning it into a noisy chorus.

Song Jiaqi covered one ear and exhaled deeply. Her right ear was about to go deaf.

On stage, Qi Yan froze in a final pose. Amid thunderous applause, she turned blank-faced to high-five Ning Yuze.

Ning Yuze immediately lifted the mic:
“She’s just shy.”

Xie Tongyue laughed. “Thanks for clarifying—we got it.”

Qi Yan’s eyes shone as she looked at the mentors’ table.

Luan Xiu spoke:
“From the dance perspective, I can give her an A.”

Qi Yan’s eyes sparkled brighter.

“I have a question,” Xu Shengling suddenly said.
“We’ve enjoyed Qi Yan’s dancing, but I’d like to understand your vocal ability as well. Same for Tong Siyu. Could you both sing a short excerpt—anything at all?”

Ning Yuze looked from one to the other. “Siyu, you go first.”

Tong Siyu inhaled and sang a short acapella line. Chi Meng thought she still preferred her rap.

Then it was Qi Yan’s turn. The girl who had just brought the house down with dance, pushing the atmosphere to a climax, pressed her lips together and bluntly said into the mic:
“I can’t sing.”

“Not at all?” Xu Shengling pressed.

Qi Yan stayed silent. Ning Yuze patted her shoulder, whispering reassurance off-mic.

“Okay, thank you,” the mentors didn’t force her. They discussed briefly, then announced the results.

“Tong Siyu,” Xie Tongyue said warmly, “your performance was steady, but you’ll need to work harder in both singing and dancing. C-class.”

“Thank you, teacher,” Tong Siyu breathed in relief.

“Ning Yuze, your positioning is very clear, and your performance strong. There’s still room to grow, so stay humble and work hard. A-class. Congratulations—our first A-class trainee today!”

Ning Yuze’s shoulders slumped in relief. She smiled like a weight had lifted.

“Wow! A-class!”
“Of course, her skills deserve it!”

Backstage, Chi Meng clapped along.

“Lastly, Qi Yan…” Xie Tongyue began, but Luan Xiu cut in, apologizing with a gesture before addressing Qi Yan directly.

“I’m also a dancer. Watching your performance, I know you must’ve poured years of effort into your craft. To me, you’re already a true dancer. But idols don’t just present beautiful stages—they must also provide emotional value, to let others see what shines in them. I hope that no matter what situation you face, you’ll be brave enough to try. Also, since you came on stage, I haven’t seen you smile once. I hope in the future I’ll see a more confident you.”

Qi Yan froze, lips pressed tight, then bowed deeply.

Xie Tongyue picked up again:
“Qi Yan, your dancing is recognized. But an idol can’t only dance. If we grade your vocals, they’re currently at level zero. Whether you can or can’t, I hope you’ll find the courage to sing. Your potential is limitless, so please keep working hard. For now, we place you in C-class. Keep it up.”

Qi Yan touched the sticker beside her name tag and bowed.
“Thank you, teachers.”

The three Vision Culture trainees returned to their seats. Ning Yuze climbed to the high platform, taking the third seat in A-class. The camera lingered on her so long that the others finally understood Star Journey’s creed: popularity first, ability supreme. Only those two things could earn more screen time.

“Very good. Now, who’s next?” Xie Tongyue flipped to the next profile, chuckling at what looked like a school ID photo.

“Oh~ it’s our diamond in the rough.”

Backstage, hearing the mentor’s words, Chi Meng’s lips curled up instantly.

Of course she had to smile.

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