Chapter 7
Three days passed.
Three long, silent days since the sudden report notice had stripped Avril's broadcast privileges.
His terminal remained inactive, the screen dim with a blinking red lock. On the Pineapple Platform, his profile sat with a small gray banner reading:
"Under Review – Suspected Violation of Sensory Broadcast Policy."
To anyone unfamiliar, it might have looked like guilt. Like he'd done something wrong.
But Avril wasn't unfamiliar with doubt.
He'd stood in silence plenty of times, judged unfairly by men in tall hats and clean coats who sneered at the idea of real butter in an age of nutrient paste. He'd watched business partners pull away like smoke at the first sign of a challenge. Watched customers whisper that his desserts were too nostalgic to be marketable.
So this?
This was familiar.
He didn't stew. Didn't complain. He baked.
The days rolled by, and he filled them with flour and fire.
He prepared savory milk buns stuffed with crushed herb butter, then tested small cinnamon sugar rolls using the bark of a native sweetroot he dried and ground himself. He offered free pieces to old men on the roadside, children playing near a cracked pavement court, and even the prickly woman with the wire fence who had first eyed him with suspicion.
And bit by bit, the fence around him—made of cold shoulders and unfamiliarity—started to loosen.
Even without a broadcast, people began to talk.
---
A junior compliance auditor leaned back in her chair, dragging her cursor lazily across her screen as another flagged case loaded.
> @avril.cook
Violation: Unauthorized sensory manipulation
Status: Under Review
Appeal documents: Submitted. Clean.
She sighed and took another sip from her lukewarm nutrient coffee, not expecting much.
But then her eyes caught something.
Recent Donators: [Anonymous] – 2x Galaxy Stars
Linked Clearance Code: V001106 – Military Priority Flag
Her brow lifted slightly. That was… unusual.
"…A flagged military clearance? For a pudding video?"
She tapped a few keys, watching as the full stream loaded in the corner—warm lighting, gentle hands folding dough, a voice explaining every step like a teacher in an old-fashioned kitchen.
No suspicious stimuli. No illegal data injections. No scent wave amplifiers. Just… food. Real food.
She stared for a long second, eyebrows pinching as the image of warm pudding in a glass jar filled the corner of the screen.
"…Okay, now I'm curious," she murmured.
Without any further hesitation, she pressed the override key.
> [Broadcast Lock: Lifted]
[Case Closed – No Violation Found]
---
At the same time, in a high orbit above the Imperial Capital, Commander Zayde sat in his private quarters reviewing tactical fleet summaries when a small notification appeared on the corner of his screen.
[Tracking Request]
-- Alert: "AvrilLive_001 – Broadcast Privileges Restored"
He didn't react.
Didn't smile. Didn't sigh. Didn't so much as blink.
But he tapped the side of the screen once. The replay of Avril's milk pudding stream began to load again. Quiet. Gentle. Unobtrusive.
Just the way he liked it.
Silas, his adjutant, poked his head in moments later. "Sir? The pudding guy's back."
"I know," Zayde replied coolly.
Silas hesitated. "Should I follow up—maybe set up a donation under a different—?"
"No need. Let him work."
Silas's eyes twitched in confusion, but he didn't question it.
Back in the quiet countryside, Avril woke to a beep on his kitchen terminal.
His eyes scanned the message.
"Dear User,
After a thorough review, your suspension has been lifted. No violations were found.
We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.
Your account is now active.
– Pineapple Platform Enforcement AI v3.7"
He stared at the message, lips parting just slightly.
Then, without ceremony, he rose to wash his face, lit the small cooking flame, and warmed leftover cinnamon bread from the day before.
He didn't smile right away.
But when Orange meowed from the windowsill and hopped down to nudge his leg, he crouched beside him and murmured, "We're back on."
Later that afternoon, he stood before the terminal once again. The light blinking green this time.
He pressed the "Go Live" button with steady fingers.
[Broadcast Initiated – Live Viewers: 3]
There they were.
His first three.
Quiet.
Loyal.
The screen flickered into motion, revealing him dressed in his simple apron, sleeves rolled up, a bowl of ingredients at the ready.
"Good morning," he said, voice soft but steady. "I'm Avril. Today we're making cinnamon milk buns—simple, sweet, soft.
But first, thank you…
To those who waited. And to those who believed a little sweetness is still worth something."
---
Across the stars, from data terminals to mobile tablets to military offices, screens began to flicker open.
Some recognized his voice.
Others were simply curious.
But one by one… viewers joined.
[Live Viewers: 3 → 17 → 48 → 103]
---
The dough rose slowly in the warm bowl, flecked with the rich scent of milk and yeast.
Avril's hands moved deftly—stretching, folding, shaping.
"You want the dough soft, slightly tacky, but not sticky. Let it rest. Let it breathe."
He rolled it into coils, brushing them with melted butter and a dusting of sweetroot sugar.
The oven wasn't perfect—old stone heat, not calibrated—but he made do.
"Sometimes the best things come from imperfect tools," he said quietly, eyes focused. "What matters is patience. And warmth."
The rolls baked golden.
And when they came out?
Steam kissed the camera. The scent seemed to reach through the screen.
He plated the cinnamon milk buns on a pale ceramic tray and placed one in front of Orange, who sniffed it and gave a slow approving blink.
[Live Chat Explodes]
[BreadLover93]: WTF I can smell this through the screen?!?!
[MechaQueen077]: Welcome back!! I'm crying it's just bread and I'm crying
[StarseerX9]: I'm glad you're back anchor.
[MistWho]: This is better than anything that other anchor ever made. You know who I mean.
Avril only smiled faintly and wrote in the chat:
"Thank you. "
---
And somewhere—on a distant station, or a quiet office, or a cracked home on a dusty moon—someone watching took their first bite of real bread in their entire life.
The warmth spread slowly.
It didn't heal everything.
But it meant something.
Avril looked into the lens and said gently:
"Next time… we try cream rolls. If the cream sets, that is."
[Live Viewers: 243]
He turned off the camera, stretched his arms behind his back, and exhaled deeply.
The wind outside rustled the leaves in his garden.
A new day had begun.