The salesperson walked toward her, but before he could speak, the dealership's manager burst out from behind him, holding a thick folder and a set of keys.
"Miss Maria! We've finalized everything. Your full payment has been processed—thank you for choosing us. The cars will be delivered within the hour, and your RV will be personally escorted to your residence due to its size. Once again, we truly appreciate your trust."
A heavy silence fell over the crowd.
Jane's smile stiffened mid-air.
James blinked. "Wait… what?"
The manager stepped forward and handed Maria a sleek leather cardholder along with a golden dealership pin. "As a token of appreciation, please accept this limited-edition membership badge. Only clients who purchase five or more high-tier vehicles in a single transaction receive it."
Maria accepted the cardholder, slipping it into her handbag with a graceful nod. Then, with a cool smile, she turned to Jane's group.
"Sorry, I didn't hear what you were saying earlier. I tend to zone out when people with poverty-induced imagination start speaking."
Jane flinched slightly. "Maria… I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding. Don't you remember me? We were classmates—part of the Best Six, remember?"
Maria tilted her head and blinked. "And so?"
Jane forced a smile. "We're actually organizing a reunion. You should come." She handed over a card, her fingers stiff.
Maria took it without looking, flipped her hair, and turned just in time to see the Lamborghini Revuelto purr to a stop in front of her.
"We'll drive the rest of the vehicles to your house, Miss Maria," the salesperson said, handing her the keys with both hands.
She nodded, opened the driver's side door, and glanced at Mike. "Let's go."
As the engine roared to life, Maria spared the stunned crowd one last glance through her tinted window—then hit the gas. Dust and silence were all she left behind.
.....
The next morning, Mia drove Mike to school before heading back home. Once she returned, she opened her laptop, created a writing account, and began working on her novel. The moment her fingers touched the keyboard, time seemed to vanish. She didn't even notice the hours slipping by.
Meanwhile, at Yuanlan Elementary, Mike entered his classroom—Grade 3, Class 5—hands in his pockets and a lollipop between his lips. He walked to his desk without a word, sat down, and leaned on one hand as he casually began sketching in his notebook.
The teacher continued her lesson, but Mike didn't glance up once. One of the students, clearly trying to get on the teacher's good side, raised a hand and reported him.
"Teacher, he's not listening. He's just drawing!"
Already annoyed that a new student had been added midterm, the teacher's frown deepened. She looked at Mike sharply.
"Get up," she said coldly, walking to the board and writing a complex math problem. "Solve this. Since you're so busy ignoring the lesson, show us what you know."
Mike didn't even lift his head. "The answer's 184," he said flatly.
The teacher blinked in surprise. "Explain."
Still seated, Mike recited the full process, step by step, his voice calm and detached. When he finished, he finally stood, walked over to her desk, and grabbed the textbook from her hands. Flipping through the pages, he picked out five difficult questions from the upper section and answered them effortlessly in front of the whole class.
Then, just as casually, he closed the book and placed it neatly back on her desk.
On his way back to his seat, he paused at the desk of the boy who had reported him. Without saying a word, Mike kicked the leg of the table, making the boy flinch and look down in embarrassment.
Mike returned to his desk and sat down, tapping his fingers on the wood, frowning.
I'm in a kid's body, he thought, so I have to act like a kid. But I need to find a way to make money.
Across the room, the teacher remained frozen, staring at him in stunned silence—still trying to process what had just happened.
Mike's eyes flickered with a spark.
Why hadn't he thought of that before?
He scratched his head lazily, leaned back in his chair, and let the idea simmer. When the teacher stepped out during break, curious classmates hovered around him like bees to honey.
"Where are you from?"
"Are you new here?"
"Do you live nearby?"
Mike didn't even look up.
"Mm."
"Nope."
"Maybe."
One-word answers. Hands in his pocket. Lollipop in his mouth. Mystery: maintained.
---
Meanwhile, back at home, Mia was draped on a sunlit couch in silk pajamas, one leg casually tossed over the other, hair tied up with a pen. Her laptop glowed in front of her as she uploaded the first ten chapters of her novel.
Ding. Published.
She yawned and stretched, glanced at the time, then flipped through the shortlist of nannies Dumpling had screened. Two caught her attention — one for cleaning, one for cooking. Hired in a few clicks.
Next up? Music.
---
She rolled her chair to her studio corner, the vibe in the room shifting as soft ambient lights lit up. A notebook lay open with scribbled lyrics — messy, yet poetic. She didn't copy trends. She didn't sample beats off YouTube. Everything she made was hers.
The beat started with soft piano notes — nostalgic, like a memory you don't want to forget. Then a slow, crisp bass followed, like footsteps in an empty street. Her lyrics were about freedom, the kind of peace that felt like walking barefoot at midnight, breathing air only you owned.
Then her voice slipped into the track.
It was smooth, effortless — honey in a cool glass. Not forced, not overly styled. A little raspy at the edges, a little sweet in the center. She didn't sound like she was trying to impress anyone. She sounded like she already knew she had their attention.
Chills.
She recorded it all in one take.
No autotune. No filters. Just her.
Once done, she uploaded the track through a burner label account — the name unrecognizable, no hint it was her. She paid for some basic promo. Not flashy. Just enough to let the algorithm breathe on it.
Then she leaned back, sipped her matcha, and smirked.
Let the internet do what it does.
---
By 5 PM, she tossed on a light hoodie, grabbed her keys, and slid into the driver's seat of her Ferrari SF90 Stradale. The red shimmered under the setting sun like a secret kept too long.
She pulled up outside Mike's school, windows down, music low, one hand on the wheel like a movie scene. He hopped in without a word.
"Hungry?" she asked.
He nodded.
They ended up at a sky-high restaurant with gold-rimmed plates and fancy water.
Later that night, while Mia flipped through her comments and watched the views climb steadily, Mike was curled up in his room, pencil between his teeth, solving math problems with his feet hanging off the chair.
It was weird being in elementary school again.
Everything felt easy.
But still — he reviewed a bit. Just in case. After all, it had been a while.
--
Of course, she used Dumpling's help.
Why wait when you've got a personal AI assistant that could move mountains with a few clicks?
Mia stretched on her couch, scrolling lazily through the rising numbers. The novel she'd casually posted—ten chapters, no marketing, no drama—was already over a million views. People were obsessed. Comments flooded in with wild theories, fan art, and demands for chapter eleven.
"See? Told you," she muttered to herself, dropping her phone onto the table with a soft thud. "No need for suspense when the plot's doing all the work."
Meanwhile, her mysterious burner music account was blowing up.
She hadn't promoted it under her name, didn't tag anyone, didn't even hint that it was her. She let Dumpling handle the upload timing, the algorithm tuning, the subtle promotion on all the right corners of the internet. No gimmicks. No dance challenge. Just vibes.
10 million views.
Thousands of comments.
Millions of shares.
People were obsessed.
"Who is this singer??"
"Lyrics hit like a breakup I never had."
"Okay but that chorus?? Straight chills."
"Drop the identity or I'll lose my mind 😭🔥"
Mia chuckled, flipping her hair over one shoulder as she poured herself a glass of sparkling water and plopped back on the sofa.
"I barely even tried."
But of course, it was never about trying too hard. It was about doing what others couldn't fake. Her voice was original. Her lyrics were real. Her vibe? Unmatched.
The vocals were now being remixed, slowed and reverbed, turned into TikTok edits, used in fan-made trailers and emotional anime reels. She didn't chase trends — she became one.
Even Dumpling sent a notification that said:
> 🔥 Trending in 3 countries. Your voice is being described as "soulful dopamine with a cinnamon bite."
Mia snorted. "Cinnamon bite? Okay, they get me."
She slid deeper into the couch, not even bothering to reply. She had nannies to cook and clean, a movie room, a garage full of cars, and now an online identity exploding into stardom. All while wearing socks with little ducks on them and eating a bowl of fruit she didn't cut herself.
Lazy? Maybe.
Smart? Definitely.
Mia pulled a blanket over herself and muttered, "I guess I'll write one more chapter later... or tomorrow. It's not like they'll stop reading."
Outside, the world kept buzzing. But inside?
Mia was chilling.
Unbothered. Untouchable. Unapologetically her.
---
Perfect! Here's a light and natural continuation of your story with Mia preparing Mike's breakfast, dropping him off, and getting that unexpected school reunion call:
---
The next morning was unusually peaceful.
Mike came downstairs already dressed in his uniform, his little backpack slung over one shoulder, lollipop in his mouth like he owned the world.
Mia, still in an oversized T-shirt and fluffy socks, was standing in the kitchen making a quick breakfast. Nothing fancy—just buttered toast with strawberry jam, some perfectly fried eggs, and a steaming cup of sweet tea for herself. She slid a plate across the marble counter toward Mike, who gave a sleepy nod of approval before sitting down to eat.
"You're up early," she said, sipping her tea.
"I have things to do," Mike mumbled through a mouthful of egg.
She raised a brow. "Elementary school things?"
"Exactly."
After breakfast, she grabbed the car keys and drove him to school in the Ferrari SF90 Stradale, getting the usual wide-eyed stares from students and parents alike. Mike barely reacted—he was used to it.
As she drove back, her phone buzzed with a text, unknown number.she open it and saw it is about the school reunion oh it seems she really saved took Jane number and messaged her even though she didn't save the number as she had no plans too