Chapter 4: Autumn Returns

At that moment, the private room door opened and a voice called out, “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

No, you’re just in time.

Everyone looked at the newcomer, and so did I—a striking young woman.

She strode in with an easy confidence, the kind you can’t fake. Heads turned.

Wait, looking closer, I realized it was the class beauty, Autumn Monroe.

She looked different—grown, sharper, but unmistakable.

“You are… Autumn?” I asked, my voice uncertain.

“Long time no see, Tyler.” She tilted her head and smiled. “Have I changed a lot?”

Her smile was the same, but everything else had changed. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover.

In my memory, Autumn had silky long hair, a white dress glowing in the sun, a book in her arms, gentle and quiet, like a lily in clear water.

She used to sit by the window in English class, sunlight catching her hair, the whole room seeming to hush around her.

But now…

She had neat short hair, sharp features with a hint of boldness, a tall, slender but strong figure, and an air of cool confidence.

She wore tailored pants and a crisp shirt, the kind of outfit that said she meant business.

“So handsome!” I thought, then my gaze shifted from Autumn’s hair to her clothes, then to Sebastian’s identical sapphire shirt.

I stifled a laugh. The fashion gods had a sense of humor.

Soon, Sebastian noticed the matching shirts—and that he was outshone.

He frowned, sarcastic, “Hey, isn’t this our class beauty? What happened to make you like this?”

He sneered, trying to get a rise out of her.

Autumn smiled, “What am I like now?”

She didn’t flinch, just raised an eyebrow.

Sebastian pointed to his shirt, “This is a limited edition men’s shirt.”

“So? I can’t wear it?” She smiled, not missing a beat.

She stood a little taller, daring him to say more.

Sebastian: “Women wearing men’s clothes, it’s weird.”

A few people murmured, but no one backed him up.

Autumn didn’t even look at him this time.

She just turned away, the conversation over as far as she was concerned.

But some people get more excited when ignored. Hearing Autumn works in new media, he proudly raised his chin, “Heard of ‘King Cole’? That’s me—over a million followers on Streamly.”

He puffed out his chest, waiting for applause.

“Streamly…” Autumn mused, tapping her chin like she was thinking it over.

“Class beauty, you also stream? Want me to follow you? Not everyone gets this chance.”

He smirked, like he was tossing her a golden ticket.

Seeing Sebastian’s ‘I’m giving you a chance, don’t be ungrateful’ face, Autumn smiled and nodded.

“Sure. Note my account—‘Civic Harmony.’”

She said it with a straight face. I almost choked on my drink.

Sebastian’s hand froze, uncertain: “Civic Harmony?”

He looked like he’d bitten into a lemon.

“Mm.” Autumn nodded, still smiling.

“Reciprocity, I’ll follow you too—‘King Cole,’ right?”

She tapped her phone, making a show of it.

“Yes…”

That ‘yes’ was full of regret, paired with Sebastian’s tearful face, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Everyone knows ‘Civic Harmony’ is Streamly’s official ban review account. Getting its attention is… not a good thing.

The room erupted in whispers. Some folks snickered behind their hands.

The reunion ended awkwardly. I pretended to be leaving and followed Autumn to the parking lot.

I waited a beat before jogging after her, not wanting to look too eager.

“What do you want?” she suddenly turned.

I scratched my head. “There’s something I’d like your help with.”

She studied me for a second, then nodded. “Let’s talk in the car.” She took out her keys and unlocked the Tesla in front of us.

I whistled under my breath. Small-town girl, big-city ride.

As soon as I sat in the passenger seat, she asked, “Where to? I’ll give you a ride.”

The seats were buttery soft, the touchscreen glowing. I tried not to look out of place.

“I… haven’t booked a hotel yet.”

Her hand on the wheel paused, then she started the car.

She glanced over, her eyes softening just a bit.

“Where are we going?” I asked, suddenly shy.

“My place.”

I hesitated…

I looked at her, then at the door. “You sure?”

“What do you want to say?” She seemed to see right through me.

She smirked, like she was reading my mind.

“I am a man after all…”

“Heh!” She snorted, “I’m a taekwondo black belt. Want to try me?”

She flexed her arm for emphasis. I laughed, tension melting away.

Try and you’ll die, I thought. “No, boss! I like my limbs intact.”

She grinned, and the car’s atmosphere relaxed, so I mentioned my stream ban, hoping for a backdoor.

I figured if anyone knew the system, it was her.

She turned to me, half-smiling. “Jumpin’ Fruit Live Room?”

“You watched my stream?” As soon as I said it, I realized—“You banned me?”

I felt a weird mix of horror and awe.

She nodded, “Did it myself.”

Me: “……”

I stared at her, jaw dropped. The universe really was out to get me.

She continued, “No backdoors, but I can help you get unbanned.”

I perked up. There was hope yet.

“I have Streamly’s official test bank. I’ll send it to you. Study it carefully, and when you take the real test, come to my place. I’ll help you check.”

She said it like it was no big deal, but to me, it was everything.

A rush of excitement shot from my tailbone to my head—this is what it feels like to have the official exam answers!

I could barely sit still, already planning how to thank her.

I thanked her repeatedly.

She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was pleased.

“It’s nothing, it’s…”

Her voice trailed off; I didn’t catch the rest.

She looked out the window, her expression unreadable.

Twenty minutes later, she parked by the roadside.

Looking at the luxury hotel outside the window, I quietly touched the $40 in my pocket. “Actually, anywhere is fine for a few nights…”

I tried to sound casual, but my cheeks burned.

“I’m a gold VIP at this hotel. Just go in, they’ll have a room ready for you.”

She tossed me a gilded black card, then her car disappeared into the night.

I stared at the card, feeling like I’d just been handed a golden ticket. My knees felt weak.

Me: …Suddenly I feel like my teeth aren’t good. I want to eat something soft.

I muttered to myself, wishing for a bowl of pudding or mashed potatoes.