Without time to overthink, Xu Nuo grabbed a guitar, tested the sound, and hurried back to the stage. Standing on the opposite side, he strummed a chord, and the guitar melody poured out through the speakers.

  Lin Wanqing, mid-song, suddenly heard the accompaniment kick in. She gnced at him, her beautiful eyes sparkling with surprise. His guitar skills were polished enough to hold their own in any serious setting.

  The murmurs from the audience below faded, repced by gasps of amazement.

  “The host can py guitar too?!”

  “So cool! A god-tier save!”

  “Damn, why didn’t I think to jump in and save the day? Maybe the goddess would’ve noticed me!”

  “You know how to py guitar?”

  “…Just listen to the song.”

  Inside the studio, Zhang Feng, the dean of the Arts Academy, was fuming. “Have you figured out what happened just now?”

  “Sir, the accompaniment system malfunctioned. Xiao Wang’s working on it.”

  “Then go check how long it’ll take to fix!” Zhang Feng’s face darkened. He’d meticulously pnned this graduation ga—complete with a live broadcast—and yet this glitch had happened.

  A staff member immediately rushed out at his command.

  “How’s the livestream doing?” Zhang Feng asked. In recent years, interest in the graduation ga had been waning, so he’d pushed for a live broadcast to boost the school’s visibility. Convincing the administration to agree had taken a lot of effort.

  If this flopped, all his hard work would go down the drain, and climbing the career dder would become near impossible.

  For someone ambitious like him, that was worse than death.

  “Dean, the livestream’s got 300,000 viewers online!”

  “How many?!” Zhang Feng froze, digging a finger into his ear as if he’d misheard.

  “300,000.”

  A graduation ga livestream hitting 100,000 viewers was already a success. Even with Lin Wanqing as a guest, he’d estimated a max of 200,000.

  300,000 wasn’t just successful—it was explosive, especially after a broadcast mishap.

  Zhang Feng asked incredulously, “The data’s not glitched, right?”

  “Take a look, Dean.”

  A staff member handed him a phone. The screen was flooded with scrolling comments. Zhang Feng skimmed a few, then asked uncertainly, “The host’s name is Xu Nuo, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So this kid stepped up to save the day, and a bunch of viewers are here for him?”

  “Seems that way.”

  Zhang Feng rubbed his chin and made a snap decision. “This is a good hook. Tell the director to give him more camera time!”

  Onstage, Xu Nuo was strumming the guitar with all he had, oblivious to the buzz outside. His only thought was getting through this mess.

  The big screen split in two: Xu Nuo’s tall, striking figure on the left, and Lin Wanqing on the right.

  “Whoa, they actually look good together. He’s handsome, she’s gorgeous.”

  “Kinda gives off couple vibes.”

  The live audience burst into appuse.

  The already-heavy barrage of comments spiked again.

  The livestream’s viewership kept climbing.

  Zhang Feng, monitoring from backstage, pulled out a cigarette.

  A sharp-eyed staff member quickly lit it for him.

  “Dean, you’re a genius! Giving Xu Nuo more screen time has pushed the livestream’s popurity even higher.”

  Zhang Feng exhaled a smoke ring. “Sometimes opportunities are right in front of you, but how many people can actually seize them? Only the ones you grab count as opportunities.”

  “Wise words, Dean.”

  The studio door swung open, and the staff member who’d gone to check returned. “Dean, it’s fixed. Should we switch it back on now?”

  Zhang Feng hesitated. “What’s the data looking like?”

  “Almost 400,000.”

  “No need. Let them keep going like this,” Zhang Feng decided firmly.

  “It won’t glitch again, right?”

  “No chance. Several people are keeping an eye on it,” the staffer assured him.

  “But…”

  “Spit it out already. What’s with the hemming and hawing?” Zhang Feng snapped impatiently.

  “Just now, one of the performers said they’re feeling unwell and can’t go on…”

  Zhang Feng crushed his cigarette butt. “When’s their slot?”

  “Around eight.”

  “There’s still time. I’ll go check it out.”

  Onstage, three long minutes finally passed.

  Xu Nuo let out a breath of relief. Stepping in to save the day on the fly was a real test of nerves. In just a few minutes, a yer of cold sweat had beaded on his forehead.

  “…”

  In a corner, Li Yingjun—who’d just bailed on his performance with a stomachache excuse—watched Xu Nuo onstage with envy. He turned to his companion. “Xiao Jin, how about I go buy that bag after my song? There’s still time.”

  “Oh, you go ahead. I need to get it now, or the stores will close,” Zhang Jin replied, gncing at him before walking off.

  Li Yingjun sighed inwardly, gritted his teeth, and followed her.

  He’d fought tooth and nail for this performance slot. Giving it up like this stung.

  But nothing mattered more than Zhang Jin. Fine, he’d catch the next chance.

  With a reluctant gnce at the stage, Li Yingjun slipped out through a side exit.

  The song ended, and the crowd erupted in thunderous appuse.

  Young people loved drama. A hiccup in the show, rather than a bnd performance, only heightened their excitement.

  Xu Nuo slung the guitar over his shoulder, grabbed the mic, and stepped to the center of the stage. He locked eyes with Lin Wanqing for a moment and gave a slight nod.

  “My deepest apologies. There was a slight issue with the accompaniment just now, which caused a small fw in the performance. But Senior Lin Wanqing’s amazing talent still delivered an unforgettable experience.”

  “Youth is full of regrets, and everyone has their unresolved struggles. Yet we must face them bravely and show our best selves.”

  “Next up, please enjoy the dance performance ‘Forge Ahead Fearlessly.’”

  Xu Nuo retreated backstage and ran straight into Zhang Feng.

  “Xiao Xu, you did great out there,” Zhang Feng said, cpping him on the shoulder.

  “All thanks to your guidance, Dean,” Xu Nuo replied modestly.

  Fttery never fails.

  Zhang Feng had taught a few csses, so technically, he’d been under his instruction.

  “Hmm, keep up the good work,” Zhang Feng said with a satisfied nod. “Oh, and that one guy’s performance…”

  “Li Yingjun,” a nearby staffer prompted.

  “Right. Cancel Li Yingjun’s slot and swap in something else.”

  “Dean, I just asked around—no one’s willing to step up,” the staffer said awkwardly.

  Zhang Feng snorted. “Normally, they’re all peacocking around, dying to show off. Now there’s a golden opportunity, and no one’s taking it?”

  “Dean, it’s a live broadcast today…”

  “…”

  Seeing he wasn’t needed, Xu Nuo checked on the accompaniment system and sat down to rest.

  Lin Wanqing gnced at him faintly. “You py the guitar really well. Have you studied it before?”

  “Huh? Yeah, I’ve practiced,” Xu Nuo said, thinking to himself, Practiced, my foot. Thank the system’s starter pack.

  Lin Wanqing nodded and said nothing more. If she remembered correctly, this was the same guy who’d said at lunch, “Youth doesn’t appreciate a good older sister.” With a face like his, he was probably a total pyer—likely breaking hearts left and right.

  Meanwhile, Zhang Feng was still trying to convince students to add a performance, but they all shook their heads.

  Their acts had been rehearsed for half a month, every detail polished countless times. Throwing in a new one on the spot? No one was confident.

  If it weren’t live, they might’ve risked it. Messing up wouldn’t matter. But with a live broadcast, a flop would tank their reputation. Prerecorded, I’d swing hard. Live, I’m a nervous wreck.

  Zhang Feng rubbed his temples, frustrated. He’d fought hard for this first-ever live ga, but before he could flex his skills, it was turning into a disaster.

  “Dean, the livestream’s dropping. It’s under 200,000 now,” someone whispered.

  “…”

  When it rains, it pours. Zhang Feng sighed.

  (End of Chapter)