As they waited for their meals, Haruto found himself too anxious to focus on anything else.
His eyes darted around the shop, watching other customers as they battled their bowls of Inferno Ramen.
One muscular man across the room had a face as red as the broth, guzzling carton after carton of milk, yet still coughing and tearing up.
Haruto gulped, wiping his damp palms on his pants. Across the table, Mari was watching him with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying his growing dread.
"Mari," he said, breaking the silence, "can you even handle spicy food?"
Mari raised a brow at him, her expression turning confident. "Of course I can! I'm a foodie. To be one, you have to be able to eat any food."
Haruto squinted at her skeptically. "Really? Being a foodie is *that* important to you?"
Mari nodded firmly and pulled out her phone from her small bag. She scrolled for a moment before turning the screen toward him with a triumphant smile.
"See? I even have a blog dedicated to reviewing restaurants and food. It gets tons of visitors!"
Her eyes sparkled with pride, like a child showing off a prized accomplishment.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om
Haruto took the phone, expecting to see her beautiful face plastered across every post. After all, Mari was half-Japanese, half-European, and stunningly photogenic.
Who wouldn't want to follow a blog filled with pictures of her enjoying food?
But to his surprise, there wasn't a single photo of her. Each post featured only pictures of the restaurant's interiors, dishes, and meticulous reviews of every meal she'd tried.
But the most weird part was he didn't find any content related to fashion and design.
"Weird..." Haruto muttered, tilting his head as he handed her phone back. "I thought you wanted to be a designer. Shouldn't your blog focus on fashion instead?"
Mari slid her phone back into her bag, frowning slightly. "Can't a woman have more than two hobbies and dreams?" she retorted.
Then, her voice softened as she admitted, "I actually do have a fashion blog... but it's not as popular as my food one."
Haruto smirked knowingly. "Let me guess—you don't post any pictures of yourself there either, do you?"
Mari's eyes widened in surprise. "No! How did you know that?"
He sighed, shaking his head. "You're too naive sometimes. If you posted your face, you'd be famous in no time."
"These days, people love seeing personal content like daily vlogs or mukbangs. They want to connect with the person behind the posts."
Mari rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... maybe you're right. I've always thought the reviews and photos were enough, but maybe I should try a new platform or style."
Her eyes sparkled with excitement, like sunlight glinting off the ocean. "Thank you, Haruto. Because of you, I might actually become a famous designer—or food blogger—someday."
Her genuine enthusiasm made Haruto smile. He reached across the table and pinched her cheek gently.
"Ah, you're giving me too much credit. If you do become famous, it'll all be because of your hard work."
Then, with a teasing grin, he added, "But don't forget about your boyfriend when you're a big-shot, alright?"
Mari's cheeks flushed pink. "Of course I won't forget you, duh..." she murmured, turning her head to the side in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
Haruto chuckled, leaning back in his chair. Her reaction was too cute, and for a moment, he almost forgot about the terrifying bowl of ramen that awaited him.
The effect was immediate. His throat ignited as if he had swallowed fire, and tears sprang to his eyes.
His face turned crimson, veins popping as he struggled to breathe.
The noodles slid down his throat, burning every inch along the way.
Haruto clenched his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to spit it out. 'This is torture!'
His stomach churned in protest, and sweat poured down his temples.
But just as he considered giving up, a sudden notification from the system flashed before his eyes:
[Asuka is 100 meters apart!]
The fiery noodles lodged in Haruto's throat, and his eyes widened in pure panic.
The unbearable heat seared his esophagus, and as he coughed violently, the spice shot into his nostrils like a blazing inferno.
Tears streamed uncontrollably down his face as the pain overwhelmed him.
'Shit! I'm gonna die!' he thought in agony, his vision blurring.
'This is it... this is how I go... choking on spicy ramen like a complete idiot!'
His body convulsed with every ragged cough, each one dragging the flames deeper into his throat and nostrils.
His temples throbbed, and his chest felt like it was about to explode.
Across the table, Mari froze as the reality of the situation hit her. Panic spread across her face as she jumped to her feet.
"Haruto! Are you okay?!" Her voice wavered, tinged with guilt and fear.
Haruto, unable to speak, waved her off, shaking his head frantically. He couldn't even think of drinking the ocha she hastily offered—he knew it would only make things worse.
"I'm so sorry, Haruto!" Mari's voice cracked, her eyes glistening with tears as guilt took hold.
"I didn't mean for this to happen! I'll get milk! Just hang on, okay? Don't die!"
Without waiting for his response, she bolted toward the exit, nearly knocking over a chair in her rush.
Her panicked scream echoed behind her, "Hold on, Haruto! I'll be right back!"
She didn't even notice the vending machine by the counter, stocked with milk cartons—a glaring oversight in her frantic state.
Left alone, Haruto tried to steady himself. His coughing began to subside, though the pain in his throat and nostrils lingered, hot and unforgiving.
His breath came in shallow gasps as his body trembled.
But through the haze of agony, his mind latched onto a single thought: the system notification.
With shaky hands, he reached for his phone, his fingers fumbling against the screen.
'Asuka... 100 meters...'
There was no time to waste. Whatever the pain, whatever his current humiliation, there was something more important than the fire raging in his body.
He needed to call Enji.