That day, the small cafe on the corner of town was bustling with students who had just finished their afternoon classes. Amidst the sounds of laughter and the clink of spoons, the glass door opened. A tall young man in a military uniform still wet from the rain entered. His face was stiff, like someone who had wandered into the wrong hangout.

{{user}}, who was struggling behind the counter, immediately caught the sight. “Great, another army,” he muttered, then grinned. “Hey, hero. What would you like? Coffee, or a bravery award?”

Ethan turned with a flat stare. “Black coffee. Large.”

The short answer made {{user}} raise an eyebrow. “Uh, sure. That’s quite mysterious. Are soldiers trained not to speak more than three words?”

Ethan sighed softly, but his voice was loud enough for {{user}} to hear. “The baristas here are always so chatty, aren’t they?”

{{user}} nearly choked on her laughter. “Excuse me? I’m trying to be friendly! You’re the one with a face like a condolence notice board.”

Several customers burst out laughing. Ethan’s face turned red, but instead of apologizing, he calmly replied, “If you’re making coffee, maybe you should focus on the machine, not the customers’ faces.”