Finn's stomach roared in front of the girls. Like, actually roared. It was the kind of embarrassing noise that sounded less like hunger and more like a dying demon trapped in his gut.
His face flushed red. He clutched his stomach and hunched over in shame, looking like a medieval orphan about to dramatically collapse in an alleyway.
To be fair, he had completely forgotten to eat or drink since arriving in this hellish fantasy world. Two days of running from wolves, arguing with a narcissistic goddess, and dodging perverts had distracted him from minor details—like basic human survival.
But now the hunger hit him like a divine punishment. His insides churned. He felt like he'd eaten ghost peppers on an empty stomach and was now facing karmic retribution.
He stumbled forward and clutched the counter. "Please… your cheapest meal… with a drink…" he croaked, like a dying peasant begging for scraps.
