Chapter 4

The owner's mouth fell open, but not a single sound came out.

He looked at the officer, then looked at me, the flab on his face frozen solid.

The taller officer turned to Buzz-cut and pointed at Mark.

"Now, what's this about you guys putting hands on people?"

Mark clutched his lower back, hissing through his teeth in exaggerated agony.

"Officer, my back is killing me. He slammed me right into the corner of the table."

Buzz-cut's face went chalk-white, perfectly matching the cheap shine of his chain.

Blondie took a timid step backward, while Crew-cut pretended to inspect the wall tiles.

"I didn't shove him! He jumped in the way on his own!" Buzz-cut yelled, his voice defensive and shrill.

The officer gave him a flat look.

"Whether you shoved him or not is recorded right here on this video. Want me to play it back for you again?"

Buzz-cut clamped his mouth shut.

The shorter officer stepped up to Buzz-cut, his voice low, firm, and uncompromising.

"A grown man putting hands on an innocent bystander. You really couldn't just use your words?"

Buzz-cut hung his head, his fake gold chain dangling limply without a twitch.

The taller officer stood in the center of the diner, looking between me, the owner, and the three cornered thugs.

"Alright, here's how this goes. First: the owner explicitly offered a free meal if she finished the bowl. She finished it, so the deal stands. Lunch is free."

He held up one finger.

"Second: your buddy shoved her coworker. You apologize to him right now."

He raised a second finger.

"Third: moving forward, you do not discriminate on portion sizes based on gender in this establishment. Equal portions for everyone, period."

He raised a third finger, then stared down the owner.

"Any questions?"

The owner's lips trembled twice before he forced two words through his gritted teeth:

"No... sir."

The officer then glared at Buzz-cut.

After squirming for an agonizingly long moment, Buzz-cut shuffled over to Mark, his eyes glued to the scuffed floor.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you."

His voice was barely louder than a dying mosquito.

Mark adjusted his crooked glasses, squared his shoulders, and puffed out his chest.

"Watch yourself next time."

I almost burst out laughing. Look at this mild-mannered office nerd actually lecturing street punks!

The owner dragged his feet back toward the register, his apron hanging crookedly off his frame.

His wife peeked out from the kitchen curtain, her lips parting as if to say something, but she ultimately stayed silent.

I picked up the remaining half of my pasta bowl, walked up to the officer, and asked politely:

"Officer, am I allowed to take this to go?"

The tall officer looked down at the giant basin, then back at me, cracking a rare grin.

"What you do with your food is your business."

I nodded, walked up to the counter, grabbed a takeout box myself, and packed every last noodle away.

I snapped the lid shut tight, grabbed the bag, and waved at Mark.

"Let's go. Time to head back to the office."

The moment I pushed the glass door open, the bright afternoon sun made me squint.

Then, I froze.

A crowd of twenty or thirty people had gathered on the sidewalk, all holding up their phones and recording me.

"It's her! That's her!"

Two young girls pushed their way to the front and handed me an iced boba tea.

"Girl, you were an absolute savage! We saw the stream and sprinted over from our office!"

I took the tea, popped the straw in, took a satisfying sip, and waved at them with a bright grin.

"Thanks, guys! It's delicious!"

A chorus of cheers and laughter erupted from the crowd.

On the walk back to the building, Mark kept rubbing his lower back, limping slightly.

I glanced over at him.

"You know... when you stood up back there, you looked pretty badass."

Mark's stride hitched for a second, the tips of his ears glowing bright red.

He pushed his glasses up without saying a word, but his pace picked up noticeably until he was walking two steps ahead of me.

I let out a soft laugh and let him have his moment.

That evening, my followers clipped the stream into three separate viral videos.

Part one: Diner Owner Calls Female Customer a Pig.

Part two: Nerdy Coworker Steps Up and Protects His Colleague.

Part three: Streamer Pins Thug's Finger with a Fork.

All three clips exploded, each easily racking up over a hundred thousand views within hours.

Overnight, I gained thirty thousand new followers, and my DMs became an endless scroll.

Brand collaboration offers, invitations from the local restaurant association, and dozens of long messages from female followers sharing their own stories.

They told me how they had been given smaller portions or dismissed at restaurants simply for being women, and how watching my stream felt like a massive breath of fresh air.

I read every single message, replying to as many as I could.

The following afternoon, back at the pasta diner, the owner sat behind his register.

His Yelp and Google Reviews pages were completely decimated.

Every single review was tied to the live stream. People posted screenshots, shared video links, and dropped hundreds of one-star ratings with a single question: Are you a pig?

His eyes were bloodshot, and the ashtray beside him was overflowing like a small mountain.

He opened my stream profile, scrolling through my feed over and over again.

Then he pulled up the stream replay, scrubbing back to the exact moment I said, "During our lunch break, my coworker and I decided to grab lunch..."

He replayed those few seconds three times.

He slammed his phone onto the counter and stared out the window at the cluster of corporate office towers down the avenue.

There were only a handful of high-rises in this district. The pool of companies where employees could casually walk down for lunch was tiny.

He sat there from afternoon until dusk, smoking through an entire pack of cigarettes.

Finally, he picked up his phone, dialed a number, and spoke in a low, gravelly rasp:

"I need you to find someone for me. A chick. Does food streaming. Works at one of the office buildings down the street."