All the Cubs I Raised Became Big Shots – CH28

Chapter 28

The song Childish lasted a full six minutes.

The chorus began at the four-minute mark, and now, at three and a half minutes in, the performance had already taken a massive toll on his stamina. Dancing was exhausting to begin with.

Under the glare of the stage lights and the close-up shots from the cameras, beads of sweat had already gathered on Fang Huai’s forehead, a few strands of damp hair sticking to his skin. His cheeks were flushed, his light amber eyes glistening with a misty haze—yet they shone with brilliance. Every movement was executed with precision, and his singing remained flawless, without the slightest hint of breathlessness.

[AAAAHHH, he’s so handsome, so adorable, so smooth—I’M IN LOVE!]

[How can my baby be this amazing? How is this even possible?!]

[Honestly, I think Lu Yu’s dancing is better.]

[Can the person above stop being annoying and leave?!]

[Huaihuai, will you marry me? WHEN will you marry me? QAQ I don’t want to do anything else in life except be your wife! QAQ]

Everyone believed Fang Huai was fine.

After all, he had shown up for the competition—how could he possibly be unwell? And he looked fine—singing and dancing without issue. Any normal person running a fever of 37-38°C (98.6-100.4°F) would be bedridden, let alone performing like this.

And besides, no one had officially confirmed that he was sick. Maybe it was just overanxious fans worrying over nothing.

With that thought, they put their concerns aside.

After all, watching a performance like this was meant to stir emotions. Everyone was hyped, thrilled, waving their glow sticks with more enthusiasm than anyone.

Only a few longtime fans, in between their excitement, still harbored a faint concern—

Is our baby really okay? Is he pushing himself too hard? Is he feeling unwell?

But those worries were quickly overshadowed by joy.

Because on the surface, he really did look fine.

Meanwhile, in a small backstage room, the sound of frantic keyboard typing filled the air.

A manager sat in front of a computer, his expression tense as he occasionally exchanged words with Lu Yu.

“Are you done yet?! Hurry up! Just spill some water on stage—make Fang Huai twist his ankle or something!”

“I’m working on it, dammit!”

Lu Yu was frustrated, nearly losing his temper.

Before him lay five tarot cards, and sweat was dripping down his forehead.

At first, when he heard Fang Huai had a fever, he thought his little tricks had finally worked and even felt relieved for a while…

But then, when he picked up his tarot deck and checked again—

The patterns hadn’t changed at all.

Fang Huai’s illness was simply due to overtraining and catching a cold.

The tarot cards in Lu Yu’s possession were something he had acquired from the black market.

He had been young at the time—but from an early age, he had always been greedy. At sixteen, by sheer luck, he obtained this deck of tarot cards, which had an extensive range of uses. Its most common function was manipulating a person’s consciousness, akin to a curse. Every time the magic took effect, the patterns on the tarot cards would change.

Of course, there was a price to pay.

At first, he didn’t believe in it—he had never given much thought to the supernatural. Back then, he was just a trainee preparing for his debut. On a whim, he made a wish:

He wanted the strongest competitor for the center position to be unable to debut.

To his shock, that very person suddenly fell ill, their voice completely ruined, and not long after, they withdrew from the industry.

And the one who debuted as the center?

Lu Yu himself.

That day, Lu Yu was ecstatic.

At first, he feared the “price” he had to pay and didn’t dare use the cards frequently.

Until he met a certain person—someone who taught him how to use dark magic to steal other people’s talents, luck, and even fate itself. By taking from others, he could pay the “price” instead.

From that moment on, his life had been smooth sailing.

He didn’t need to work hard. Before performances, he would use dark magic to steal his teammates’ singing and dancing skills, and the next day, he would shine on stage, while the victims of his theft would struggle and be humiliated.

To boost his reputation, he faked a degree from a prestigious music university and won multiple awards by stealing others’ piano skills. At the height of his fame, he even performed at the Spring Festival Gala—while the musician he had stolen from embarrassed himself during a performance and saw his career crumble.

Of course, no one knew the truth, and he didn’t care what happened to his victims.

He also knew exactly how to manipulate public perception, stirring up fan emotions at will. Whenever a scandal arose, he let his fans fight for him, and if things got out of hand, he simply cut ties with them, pretending to be uninvolved.

What did it matter? Fans weren’t valuable—just a bunch of fools.

And whenever trouble arose, he could just use his tarot cards and dark magic again.

After all, he never had to pay the price himself.

Until he met Fang Huai.

It was Lu Yu who had caused Fang Huai to be late for the initial audition, deliberately instructing a driver to take wrong turns into dead-end alleys.

But from that moment on, his “powers” began to fade.

It was as if some terrifying force was suppressing him—not only could he no longer affect Fang Huai, but even his magic on others was weakening.

After the first audition, Lu Yu tried to use his tricks on Fang Huai again.

During the talent showcase, he attempted his old methods—that near fall on stage? That was his doing. But in the end, he failed.

Not only that, but when he tried to steal another contestant’s talent, his magic suddenly stopped working, forcing him to hire an expensive pianist to fake his performance.

As past scandals began to resurface, his popularity started to plummet, barely sustained by marketing tactics.

A dark shadow loomed over Lu Yu’s eyes.

“It’s all because of Fang Huai,” he thought bitterly. “If it weren’t for him, I would have won the championship. Those things belong to me. Why should he get to take what’s mine?”

“Soon… he will pay the price very soon.” Lu Yu muttered darkly.

He drew another tarot card, its surface glowing faintly.

His words slipped through the crack of the door—just loud enough for a passerby to hear.

Outside, a man’s gaze flickered with a trace of mockery, but it quickly vanished, replaced by an indifferent calm as he walked away.

Lu Yu set down his cards and fixed his eyes on his phone screen.

Displayed on it was the live broadcast of the “Stellar Light” finals.

He wanted Fang Huai to embarrass himself.

He wanted him to lose everything he was proud of.

Meanwhile, his manager was online, subtly manipulating public opinion, trying to steer discussions in a direction unfavorable to Fang Huai—

But then, his face turned deathly pale as he noticed three trending topics surging up the hot search rankings: #LuYuTalentSegmentFakeRecording#   #LuYuCultAffiliation# #TheSinsLuYuCommittedOverTheYears#

Even if nothing else stuck—just the “cult” accusation alone was enough to get him permanently blacklisted!

His lips trembled. Just as he was about to tell Lu Yu—

Knock, knock.

The door, which had been locked, swung open on its own.

“Lu Yu,” a voice called.

Standing at the entrance was a host holding a microphone, accompanied by several cameramen carrying video equipment—here to record a behind-the-scenes interview segment, which would later be edited and posted online.

“Hello! ‘Stellar Light’ is nearing its finale. I’m sure you have a lot to say to your fans and viewers, so—”

Lu Yu’s eyes remained glued to his phone screen, his expression darkening by the second.

What was going on?

By now, Fang Huai was supposed to have stepped on an obstacle and twisted his ankle.

Why hadn’t it worked again?

The host’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Would you mind singing a few lines as a gift to the people who have always supported you?”

Lu Yu instinctively forced a fake smile, completely unaware of his manager’s ashen face beside him.

“Of course.”

After a brief pause, he chose one of his go-to songs and began to sing:

“When we meet again, we should speak of impermanence…”

The moment he sang the first note, both he and his manager went ghostly pale.

The host’s smile stiffened in visible awkwardness.

Why did it sound so awful?

His voice was rough, ordinary, and completely off-pitch—a far cry from the smooth, warm vocals he had just performed with minutes ago.

It was like two completely different people.

Lu Yu and his manager exchanged a panicked glance.

His voice—his ability to sing—was something he had stolen from someone else.

This hoarse, unremarkable voice was his real voice.

It had been so long that he had completely forgotten.

“Are you feeling too exhausted? That’s okay! We won’t include this segment in the final cut—”

Lu Yu abruptly stood up in a fluster—

And stepped right onto an obstacle that had appeared out of nowhere.

He twisted his ankle.

It was the very same obstacle that was supposed to have appeared beneath Fang Huai’s feet.

His face turned an ugly shade of green.

And then—

Something even more terrifying happened.

Pain shot through his foot, but before he could react—

His body suddenly stopped obeying him.

He turned toward the camera, and against his will, he began confessing.

Every horrible thing he had done—from years ago up until this very moment—spilled from his lips.

He didn’t want to say it.

But he had no control.

His voice rang out, honest and unfiltered:

“I’ve never worked hard a single day in my life—I just like crafting a fake image. I don’t see my fans as people, at best they’re just props to me. Their handmade gifts? I find them ridiculous…”

“That piano performance during the talent showcase? It wasn’t me.  Yeah, I hired someone to fake it…”

The more Lu Yu spoke, the deeper his despair grew. His face was completely ashen.

He had never thought he had done anything wrong before.

But having people find out—that was an entirely different story.

If this got out, his career—his entire life—would be over!

…It might already be over.

Lu Yu saw his manager holding up a phone.

On the screen, three glaringly obvious trending tags were rapidly climbing the hot search rankings in real time.

Panic flooded his chest.

Meanwhile, the host stood frozen in place, microphone in hand, utterly stunned by how things had unfolded.

She had completely forgotten one thing.

Just moments ago, a friend had pranked her by turning on the livestream function on her phone.

And that phone, which was now silently resting in her pocket, had been broadcasting everything—every single word—live to the internet.

Including Lu Yu’s off-key singing… and his “heartfelt” confessions.

Due to her profession, the host had previously used livestreams to promote events—so she had a decent number of followers.

At first, those followers clicked in without understanding what was happening.

But as they listened…

The internet exploded.

Sure, there had been rumors before about Lu Yu’s image falling apart—but those were nothing compared to this.

Back then, his fans could still defend him.

But this time?

Lu Yu himself had just spilled everything.

Live.

How were they supposed to cover this up now?

[That one line he sang was so off-key… What’s going on? This doesn’t even sound like his original voice?!]

[Holy sh*t, am I witnessing a real-time scandal?! This voice… wait… THIS VOICE IS LU YU?!]

[Already recorded this LMAO—see you all on Weibo.]

[Lu Yu is actually like this? Disgusting. Ugh, anyone who stanned him must have the worst luck. He didn’t even see his fans as real people?!]

[I’m BEGGING—please blacklist this guy already! Fake talent, slander, lies—why is he still here?!]

A storm was brewing online.

Meanwhile, the tempo of Childish gradually picked up.

Fang Huai’s movements landed perfectly on the beat, showing no signs of exhaustion despite his illness and physical exertion.

His slightly oversized linen shirt clung lightly to his skin, sweat trickling from his forehead, down his jawline, and disappearing into his collarbone.

His lean, tall frame carried a distinctive beauty—handsome, clean, effortlessly captivating.

His voice, slightly hoarse but carrying a gentle warmth, flowed with the rhythm.

Step by step, the atmosphere in the venue built up, the energy intensifying with every passing second.

[The chorus is coming soon, right? I CAN’T WAIT AHHHH]

[Go, baby!! We’re all waiting to see you reach the top!]

[A GOD-TIER idol, omg. Hardworking AND talented?? He’s literally an inspiration. I just rewatched his Round 3 performance, and his improvement is INSANE.]

Fang Huai’s expression was natural—neither nervous nor uncomfortable. His stage presence had always been impeccable.

Only when the lights dimmed did he press his lips together, a fleeting look of pain flashing across his face—something no camera could capture. His slightly ragged breaths were drowned out by the background music.

To Fang Huai, the stage lights and the crowd blurred into shifting patches of color.

Every sound felt distant, as if separated by an invisible barrier. Even with his in-ear monitor, he had to focus intensely to make out the melody and ensure he remained perfectly on beat.

It was incredibly difficult.

His damp eyelashes clumped together. Many assumed it was sweat, but in truth, they were tears—tears forced out by sheer exhaustion.

No one knew how much pain he was in; No one knew how much effort it took for him to appear unaffected.

But that was fine.

In his dazed state, Fang Huai thought to himself—he didn’t want anyone to worry about him.

As the song approached the chorus, the melody shifted, leaving a brief moment of silence.

For one second, the stage was plunged into darkness.

The lights vanished. The music cut out.

And in that single second—

The boy who had just commanded the rhythm so effortlessly, who had been in total control, took the chance to clutch his earpiece, gasping for breath.

His lungs burned like fire.

His head throbbed with pain, a sharp ringing in his ears.

Tears—purely physiological, involuntary tears—fell, one by one.

No one saw.

Only one person in the audience tightened their lips, clenched their hands into fists, knuckles turning white.

The next second, the lights flared back on.

Fang Huai was back to normal.

The chorus began.

His clean, slightly raspy voice locked onto the rhythm, carrying the melody with absolute precision, pushing the performance to its emotional peak.

Eyes half-lidded, one hand pressed against his earpiece, he delivered the intricate choreography of Childish flawlessly.

The dance wasn’t particularly demanding in terms of technique, but its expression was notoriously difficult to master. Too much, and it became pretentious; too little, and it lacked impact.

Yet Fang Huai made it his own.

Contradictions intertwined in perfect harmony.

The melody and lights rippled from his fingertips to his elbows, pausing at his collarbone before spreading through his limbs like a tidal wave.

It was as if he was born for the stage.

He didn’t even need to open his eyes—he knew how to command the audience’s emotions, how to bend every note to his will.

Effortless yet striking; Handsome yet childlike; Carefree yet intoxicatingly romantic.

The crowd erupted.

Wave after wave of cheers crashed over the venue!

The chat and audience were left speechless.

[AHHHHH HE’S SO HANDSOME I CAN’T EVEN FORM WORDS!!!]

[Holy sh*t, why do I have GOOSEBUMPS?!]

[I expected it to be cool, but NOT THIS COOL?!]

The chorus ended amidst gasps and lingering awe.

The closing segment was brief—like the elegant finish of a waltz.

Standing at the edge of the stage, Fang Huai followed the rhythm, bowing like a gentleman toward the audience.

The song concluded.

The music stopped abruptly.

The lights gradually dimmed.

And then—

A sudden gasp from the front row!

In the final second before the lights went out—

The boy who had commanded the entire stage, who had executed everything flawlessly—

His eyelids fluttered shut, as if overwhelmed by exhaustion.

His body gave out.

And—from the edge of the stage—he collapsed.

The front-row audience stared in shock, eyes widening in disbelief.

The moment Fang Huai fell, his heart clenched briefly before relaxing again. The slight fear he felt was gradually replaced by an unexplainable emotion.

It might hurt, he thought dizzily.

But he wasn’t afraid of pain.

He was just afraid of the cold—afraid of falling alone and having to get back up alone.

When he fell from trees in the past, Fang Jianguo would catch him.

But not anymore. Fang Jianguo was gone.

There would be no one to catch him this time.

All the colors and sounds faded, drifting far away.

Time seemed to slow down and speed up simultaneously.

Until the very last second.

Fang Huai’s eyes suddenly fluttered open.

A faint scent of cedarwood surrounded him—a trembling embrace that held him tightly, shielding him from pain and nightmares alike—Someone had caught him.