The door opened. Inside, faces tinted by the dim yellow pub lights all turned to look at Crockta. They were intrigued by the orc’s appearance but quickly turned their focus back to their conversations. It was a shabby old pub, and this scene resembled Van Gogh’s The Potato Eaters.0

Crockta sat at the bar table. The owner standing behind the bar gave Crockta a look as if asking what he wanted.0

Crockta replied, “Cream spaghetti.”1

He had spoken quietly, but his low voice rang throughout the tiny tub. At the mention of cream spaghetti, all of the customers looked at Crockta again, their dismal gazes focusing on him bleakly.1

Then they burst into laughter.0

“An orc eating cream spaghetti… What a clown.”0

“I thought cream spaghetti was something only women ate? Hahahah.”0

“Why don’t you order strawberry juice and kiwi parfait while you are at it? Haha.”1

Crockta’s eyebrows twitched with annoyance.0

The pub owner also smirked as if he found Crockta’s order absurd. Then he went to the kitchen and melted some butter in a frypan on low heat, poured chicken stock into it, and rapidly stirred the contents of the pan so it wouldn't congeal. He also prepared a hundred and sixty grams of spaghetti noodles, placed them in a pot with three times the amount of water, and salted the noodles while he cooked bacon on another frypan. It was a standard cream...0