In a dark room, a fat orc sat hunched over a laptop, his tusked grin faintly illuminated by the glow of the screen.
“Muahaha…” he whispered, fingers hovering triumphantly over the keyboard. “I did it. After countless hours of writing. Even with my laptop’s broken key, I finally finished the first book.”
He leaned back, clutching the laptop like a sacred artifact.
“My readers are already in the hundreds. They’ll hit a thousand anytime soon. Patreon members keep adding up.”
His shoulders shook as confidence flooded in.
“I will be successful any day now! MUAHAHAHAHA!”
Click.
The room lights snapped on.
“Excuse me, sir. We need to move that table now.”
A demon in a moving crew uniform stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand, squinting at him like he had just walked in on something deeply embarrassing.
“Oh. Ah—yes. Sure,” the orc said quickly, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed his laptop and scurried away, trying very hard to look like he hadn’t just been monologuing in the dark.
---
Moments later, the orc stood outside a small, rundown restaurant.
The moving crew was already at work. The sign was being unscrewed and carried away. Inside, furniture and kitchen equipment were hauled out piece by piece, like organs being harvested with paperwork.
“Sigh…” the orc muttered, staring at the building. “It’s been an absurd three years.”
He crossed his arms and nodded to himself.
“But you know what? I’m not gonna miss you. At all.”
His voice grew louder.
“All those complaining customers! All those microscopic margins!”
He pointed accusingly at the restaurant as if it could hear him.
The moving crews startled.
“Hah!” the orc shouted, chest puffed out. “Now I have another way to earn money! Writing! And I’m going to be rich doing it! MUAHAHAHAHA!”
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His triumphant laughter echoed down the street.
No one joined in.
---
A Small Apartment
“HOW CAN YOU SAY THIS AMOUNT OF MONEY IS RICH?!”
The shout hit the orc like a hammer.
He was now kneeling on the apartment floor, head lowered, staring intently at the floor. In front of him stood his wife—an angry female goblin with arms on her waist. Shorter by birth, taller by fury.
“W-well” the orc said carefully, voice small. “I know it’s only a few bucks now… but it’s just the beginning.”
He swallowed.
“One day, the paying patrons will keep growing. And growing. And then we’ll be rich.”
“WHEN?!” she snapped instantly, “When our son gets kicked out of school?! When we get kicked out of this apartment?!”
“I… uh…”
The orc’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Silence filled the room.
He couldn’t look up. Couldn’t meet her eyes. The question hung there, heavy and unanswered.
'When'.
It always was.
“Sigh…” The goblin exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “So… how are the readers? Did they like it?”
“Huh? Y-yes!” The orc flinched, already bracing for another scolding that never came. “I mean—people said they’re enjoying it in the comments.”
He straightened slightly.
“And the number of readers is steadily growing. The rating’s pretty good too. I even showed up on the Rising Star list once! Hahaha.”
“…Did you like it?” his wife asked again. “Writing.”
“Yes!” The orc answered instantly, face lighting up without hesitation.
“Sigh…” She shook her head slowly.
Then she looked at him.
Not gently.
The orc gulped.
“Six months,” she said.
“Huh? What?” he blinked.
“I’ll give you six months,” she repeated, raising six fingers right in front of his face. “If the income from writing isn’t significant by then, you stop writing and find a real job.”
“But it is a real j—” The orc began.
His wife glare sharpened mid-sentence.
“Y-yes! Six months!” the orc changed quickly. “I promise I’ll show significant progress within six months!”
“Sigh…” She looked away. “Just promise me this won’t be like your restaurant all over again.”
“Yes. I promise,” he said firmly. “At least this time, I know what I’m doing. And besides… I’ve made a carefully meticulous plan. Kukuku.”
“…What is it?” his wife asked warily.
The orc opened his laptop and turned the screen toward her.
“See this? I’ve invested in a lot of characters.”
Images of several characters from his novel filled the screen.
“I make the readers like them. Get familiar with them. Maybe even love them,” he continued. “And do you remember that series we watched a few years ago? Game of Throne?”
She nodded slowly.
“Yeah. That show kept killing my favorite characters and made me upset all the time…”
Her eyes widened.
“Don’t tell me…”
“Kukuku… that’s right,” the orc said, nodding with an unmistakably evil grin.
“On the second book, if the paying patrons are still too few—”
“Gasp!” she sucked in a breath. “No. You wouldn’t.”
“Yes. I would.” His grin widened further. “I will definitely start giving their favorite characters. A gruesome, unexpected, death.”
There was a brief pause.
Then suddenly—
She hugged him tightly, beaming.
“Oooh, that’s a brilliant idea!” she said with a loving smile. “This is why I married you. You’re so smart. And evil.”
“Muahahahaha!” The orc burst into villainous laughter, louder than before.
“Still six months,” she said flatly, her tone turning ice-cold while still hugging him. “I’m not paying for anything after that.”
The laughter stopped instantly.
“Y–yes. Got it,” the orc gulped. “Six months…”
And thus, the orc’s writing career continued.
For the next six months.
At least.
Psst. Hey, kids.
Did you have fun?
Without proper bribes—uh, I mean support—the author may spontaneously evolve into G.R.R. Martin.
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