Ling Yue let out another scoff as he leaned forward together with Bai Lu, watching the familiar formations unfolding before him.
The stolen choreography came to life under the arena lights, the lines were clean, and they all maintained a synchronized turn and fluid transition—honestly, even better than what they had practiced themselves.
"They are doing it well," Wei Lang muttered reluctantly.
"That's the problem," Bai Lu added, clicking his tongue. "Why couldn't they mess up just a little?"
Ling Yue bristled, unable to tear his eyes away from the stage. "Unbelievable. These motherfuckers, fraud-ass, wannabe dancers," he hissed, his voice dripping venom as he let out more curses he knew no one around him would understand.
"Uhm…" Han Junhui turned towards him, blinking slowly. "What… language was that?"
Ling Yue didn't turn to face him as he replied. "They are compliments," he lied smoothly. "Very positive and encouraging compliments."
