Chapter 64 Ramen Eater
Language school classes only last half a day, and the other half day is free time.
Go back to your dorm and change out of your clothes.
Among a bunch of cute and adorable lace-trimmed blouses and long skirts, you find an ordinary white t-shirt, jeans, sneakers, and a slicked-back ponytail.
Okay, that's great, very energetic.
And so, you're ready to leave.
The moment your hand touches the doorknob, the second hand of the clock on the wall reverses, and the ticking speed increases.
It's like an invisible whip lashing your eardrums; you stumble and fall at the entrance.
What's wrong now?
In the corner of your eye, you see the water glass on the table begin to tilt at a subtle angle, the water inside hanging upside down without spilling, as if being pulled by some unknown force.
The bedding on the bed, which you had messed up while picking out clothes, seemed to be slowly wriggling, as if something was brewing inside.
When you're in bed, you always feel like there are eyes watching you.
You get up and take another step toward the door. Suddenly, the overhead light explodes with a bang, shards flying everywhere. You see the photos on the wardrobe are torn to shreds, and every "you" making a cute expression in them becomes blurry, eventually turning into a gray blur.
The curtains moved automatically without any wind, swaying gently and making a soft rustling sound.
Stop with that! You completely understand what's going on.
Ha, a safe house!
You only temporarily changed your original style, and the apartment started to reject you? It's probably because it's not sure what's going on, so it's just trying to scare you, not treating you as an intruder.
It's also possible that "it" is simply perpetuating the atmosphere "you" created, forcing you to continue looking like that cute little cake before you can go out.
You struggle to place your hand on the doorknob; it's as cold as touching ice. The furnishings inside begin to distort, the walls seem to press in on you, and the room tries its best to warn and oppress you.
Just as you finally managed to twist the doorknob and step out, a shrill laugh pierced the air behind you, mixed with the sound of shattering dishes. You glanced back; the room was a mess. But what did that matter to you? You were about to do something—couldn't you handle a tiny, run-down apartment?
You didn't turn back, and slammed the door shut.
Following the map's directions, you arrived at the nearby Eran Ramen shop.
The atmosphere in the shop was incredibly lively, spreading its heat to every corner just like the boiling broth in the ramen pot.
The entire store was decorated in a festive manner, with red and white paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, bearing the words "Niran's Big Eater Challenge". In front of the long table in the center stood a host dressed in a kimono, holding a traditional wooden mallet in his hand. He struck the table with a crisp sound, instantly attracting everyone's attention.
The host spoke with a big smile, his voice loud and rhythmic. Even if you don't understand Japanese, it's not hard to guess that he was giving the opening speech.
The store and entrance were packed with onlookers, everyone excitedly discussing the competition. Families with children stood on chairs to watch, several young people waved small flags to cheer on the contestants, and couples whispered in a corner, placing bets on their favorites.
Near the entrance, the shop owner stood behind the counter, warmly greeting new customers. But when it was your turn, his expression changed, and he mumbled a few words to you with great confusion.
"I don't understand." You gestured in your speech, communicating slowly with the store manager syllable by syllable, "I-come-to-challenge, challenge--to-challenge."
The store manager was even more puzzled. He waved his hand at you, turned around and went into the kitchen, calling over a young man.
These are students from Taipei County University who came to work. They speak fluent and natural Mandarin, but their accents are a bit heavy.
After you two finished explaining, he suddenly understood and relayed your purpose to the shop owner.
"What?" The manager exaggeratedly rubbed his bald head, his eyes puffing out with three layers of bags. "You, ramen?"
You nod. Yes, you're here to participate in the competitive eating challenge.
You mimic the Japanese teacher's smile and politely explain, "I'm a foreigner. I like to eat ramen. I can eat a lot because I'm a foreigner."
Now, everyone's attention is focused on you.
"Oh, you're a foreigner! Even though you're a girl, it's understandable that you can eat so much ramen." The manager asked a male employee to help translate, and immediately grinned, enthusiastically welcoming you to the long table.
Very well, it seems that foreigners' "privileges" can indeed be used to break the silence.
Based on the posts on the forum, it is not hard to see that the policy direction here is to welcome foreigners (including "foreigners" among the locals), while the public is extremely xenophobic.
However, the more xenophobic a place is, the more likely it is to have two sets of standards for foreigners.
They were concerned about the potential impact on their national customs and the threat to their identity posed by foreigners. However, based on the national character you've seen on the forum, when actually facing foreigners, they won't resort to violence like the people in the previous two instances. They'll simply walk away quietly or—
With absolute confidence as the owner, one can exhibit a curious yet extremely tolerant attitude.
Of course, this will be even more noticeable if you are white.
Didn't we tell you not to eat your fill? Didn't you say you have a small appetite? But mukbang originated in Japan. You did a search and found out that ordinary girls can't eat a lot, but female competitive eaters are honored. It turns out that standards and trends can change so easily; just change the group of people, and you can create a completely opposite trend.
Then why don't you take advantage of this?
In short, at the manager's special instruction, you were led to a seat very close to the middle of the long dining table.
The waiter served you several small dishes of different colors of pickled vegetables, neatly arranged in delicate ceramic dishes.
You look around at the challengers who have already taken their seats and see them start eating right away, and you can no longer hold back.
The first piece was a slightly yellow pickled radish, with a crisp texture and a hint of sweetness that instantly awakened the taste buds.
Next, you took a bite of the pickled plum with perilla leaves. The sour and salty flavors intertwined, making you unconsciously squint your eyes, as if you were being blown by a refreshing sea breeze. The third dish was bright green pickled cucumbers, making a crisp crunch, with a hint of sesame in the saltiness, very refreshing.
Next comes the dark brown kelp strips, soft yet chewy, with a subtle vinegar aroma that makes you want to take another bite. Finally, there's a small pile of bright red ginger slices, spicy yet sweet and sour, igniting a warm, slightly numbing sensation on your tongue.
Putting everything else aside, in those few bites, the manager will definitely come over and ask you in broken English if you like it or if you can get used to it.
He and everyone else worked together to create an atmosphere for you that "this is a foreign girl who loves to eat, knows how to eat, and doesn't care about eating this kind of 'undignified' food."
Your brain no longer prevents you from eating.
Your goal has been achieved.
Should we leave now? I'm afraid not. We're already here, what's there to be afraid of? Let's get started!
You sit in the chair, observing everything before you. To create a lively atmosphere, the shopkeepers have put on some traditional neon shows—the rhythm of the taiko drums is so powerful it makes your heart pound, the paper fan dancers spin gracefully under the lights, and someone even performs a kendo move, swinging a bamboo sword that makes a whooshing sound as it cuts through the air.
Finally, all the challengers were seated. You counted; there were ten people in total, including yourself.
A cacophony of shouts rose and fell among the surrounding spectators, everyone excitedly discussing who would be the winner. Just then, the store manager slowly walked over, a smile almost overflowing from his face.
He held a stack of papers in his hand and distributed them to everyone.
Then, he started shouting passionately again. You can't understand him, so you focus on translating the contents of the paper with your phone.
It turned out to be a challenge agreement.
"The winner gets a free meal for a year, and the person who finishes the meal gets 50,000 yen as a prize..." These are all quite ordinary, except for the last sentence, "Those who fail to fulfill their obligations will be placed on a 'special list'."
What is a non-fulfiller? It's not hard to guess—it's someone who didn't finish their meal.
Eating is tough, you sigh. You knew these kinds of events would cause problems, but there's nothing you can do; it's the best way to break the food shortage.
After all, you can't fight your own brain; you can only try to get more people to form public opinion in order to change your "persona."
The store manager finally finished his rambling, collected all the signed agreements, and then, looking at you with immense excitement, shouted, "Big Head Stalin!" (Begin)
As soon as he spoke, all the lights in the store suddenly went out, and the once bustling scene instantly fell silent.
The previously noisy audience and the "atmosphere group" seemed to vanish instantly. You looked around and saw only the other challengers at your table. Their faces were blurred in the dim light, but each of them wore a tense expression.
With another snap, a sparkling light lit up above everyone's head.
The first bowl of ramen appeared out of nowhere on the table, and a familiar, warm aroma of soy sauce wafted up to my nose.
The huge porcelain bowl was filled with soy sauce ramen with a clear broth and rich color. The noodles were soft and elastic, and the char siu pork was of a moderate thickness. The few pieces of scallions and seaweed placed on the side of the bowl added a touch of refinement.
You picked up your chopsticks and casually scooped some out, feeling slightly relaxed. The bowl looked big, but it was mostly broth with very few noodles.
"Looks like this is just a warm-up," you muttered to yourself, quickly picking up a noodle and gently slurping it into your mouth. The broth slid into your mouth along with the noodles, bringing a comforting sense of satisfaction. Your stomach began to fill with warm food, giving you a somewhat healing feeling.
It's only the second day since the dungeon opened, yet you're being devoured like a whirlwind after being starved for two years.
Not only is the portion size just right, but the taste is also better than you imagined, much better than you expected.
However, just as you were quietly and quickly enjoying your ramen, an exaggerated "slurping" sound came from next door, the tone so loud that it almost drowned out the sound of the other nine people frantically slurping their noodles.
"Huh? What is this? It's so ordinary! Hey bro, make it spicy! Add some more chili, I haven't reached my limit yet!" A male voice rang out, with a deliberately coquettish tone.
You can't help but turn your head to look. The speaker is a young man who looks to be in his early twenties. His hair is dyed brownish-yellow, and his bangs hang down over his forehead, making him look somewhat like someone working in the sex industry.
He wore a shirt that was clearly too tight, the cuffs almost digging into his upper arms, and he was unusually strong for his voice. He held chopsticks in his left hand and kept shaking a small jar of chili peppers on the table with his right, frantically sprinkling chili powder into his bowl.
"This is way too mild! What kind of competition is this? It's no fun at all without some spice!" he said, as he poured another spoonful of chili oil into the bowl.
His actions drew the attention of the challengers around him. Some frowned, some gave disdainful smiles, but no one spoke up. He continued his performance, adding more chili while muttering loudly, "I'm here to challenge my limits! This soy sauce broth is like drinking water! Can't you give me something more exciting?!"
You glanced at his bowl; the once clear soy sauce broth was now a deep crimson, chili powder floating on the surface like a layer of burning flames. He picked up a mouthful of noodles, slurped it forcefully, and then exclaimed with an exaggerated expression, "Ah—this is the true taste of a competitive eating challenge!"
You looked away and continued eating your ramen, but then you felt a gaze fall on you. The man was staring at you with a strange smile on his lips, as if he wanted to provoke you.
“Hey, you seem to have a good appetite.” He suddenly spoke, his voice slightly sarcastic. “But do you think the first round was difficult? For me, it was as easy as drinking soup.” As he spoke, he pointed at your bowl with his chopsticks. “Why don’t you try adding some spice and see if you can keep up with my pace?”
You frowned, but didn't respond. You simply focused on finishing the last bite of noodles in your bowl and slowly put down your chopsticks.
He doesn't show any hostility towards you, and you don't even notice that he's been making those whining noises. It's like he's declaring war on you from afar, completely inexplicable.
Because you were the only girl and a foreigner, you received almost all the attention on the field. But you completely ignored the man, which made the others laugh.
But the man seemed completely unconcerned. Instead, he raised his chin smugly and said, "Hmph, only the weak are afraid of increasing the difficulty. I added spice just to make the competition more interesting; otherwise, eating this kind of ordinary soy sauce noodles would be a waste of time."
As everyone put down their chopsticks, the lights dimmed slightly again, and a new round of ramen—the hellishly spicy ramen—appeared. A red light illuminated the dish, and the meal officially began.
This bowl of ramen is enough to make you gasp just by looking at it: the thick broth is a bright red, almost blood-red, with a generous amount of chili powder and chili oil floating on top, along with what appears to be some undissolved chili seeds. The rising steam is so intense it makes you cough. The noodles are still chewy, but stained a vibrant red by the broth, emitting a pungent, almost intimidating aroma.
The man who kept insisting on eating spicy food was enjoying it immensely, but when you picked up your chopsticks and tentatively took a bite of noodles, the burning sensation instantly shot from the tip of your tongue to your throat and then spread into your stomach.
Sweat poured down your forehead like rain, your vision went black, and you were so burned that your ears started ringing.
"Miss from the Flower Country, can you finish this?" The man had already finished his noodles and, even more arrogantly, pointed directly at you and began to provoke you.
When you're burning up from all the spiciness, you can't think straight. Why is this person picking on you? Who are they trying to impress?
Ah, you get it.
Who said the audience has disappeared? They might be watching from the shadows, eyes wide open, eager to see who wins.
"I'm from China, and I especially love spicy food!" you exclaimed. "As everyone knows, Chinese cuisine has many spicy dishes that are very popular, and I can handle spicy food especially well. This isn't spicy at all; it's actually sweet, hahaha, I really don't find it spicy at all!"
After repeatedly saying you're not afraid of spicy food, the audience probably actually believed you, and lo and behold, it really isn't spicy anymore.
You pressed your advantage and quickly devoured the noodles.
Among the challengers around him, several people, apart from the spicy guy, had already shown signs of something amiss.
The middle-aged man sitting to your left started coughing violently, his face turning red, his hands clutching his throat as if he couldn't breathe. He tried to stand up, but his legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground.
Just when you thought he was choked by the spiciness, wisps of white smoke suddenly began to rise from his body.
You stare wide-eyed as his skin gradually turns transparent, his entire body slowly "dissolving" before everyone's eyes. He lets out a piercing scream, finally turning into a pool of black liquid that seeps into the floor.
Another person couldn't hold back and said he wanted to withdraw from the competition. He was then dragged into the darkness by an unseen hand and disappeared without a trace.
By the end of this round, the number of challengers had been halved.
The third round of business proceeded as usual, this time featuring a bowl of ramen that was as black as ink.
You've had squid ink noodles before, but that was dry-tossed. Now, this huge bowl of soup noodles with a strange, fishy smell almost makes you vomit.
Picking up a noodle, you feel as if ripples of cosmic starlight are spreading across the surface of the broth. The noodle is unnaturally chewy, even stretching into sticky strands when you pick it up. Several pieces of deep purple seaweed float in the bowl, reflecting different lights, like pairs of eyes gazing at you.
You tried to use the same trick again, but you still couldn't find a reason. Even the guy who wanted extra spicy food shut his mouth and focused on finishing the bowl of noodles, so you had no choice but to close your eyes and force yourself to swallow it.
The broth was incredibly slippery and strange, with an indescribable bitterness and metallic taste. You felt like a fish in the deep sea, frantically chewing on another fish.
Glug glug…
What's that noise?
The ramen shop suddenly disappears, and when you open your eyes, you find yourself in a boundless, dark ocean with only a few rays of light streaming down from the surface. The floor beneath your feet has turned into cold seawater, and you can feel something wriggling underwater.
You subconsciously chewed the food in your mouth a few more times, and it was crunchy.
Upon closer inspection, it's clearly hair! You're holding a human head in your hand and chewing on it!
What the hell! You almost want to throw this thing away.
wrong.
If a contestant in a competitive eating contest throws the food away, it means they have given up.
This is all fake...this is all fake...You, you can only hypnotize yourself, imagine yourself as someone from a southeastern province of the Flower Kingdom eating your neighbor, ah, this is starting to taste delicious. (Sorry)
After an unknown amount of time, the bubbling sound stopped. You carefully opened your eyes and found yourself back in the shop. You had eaten most of the bowl of noodles, leaving only some broken pieces.
If you look up and examine the others, there are only four people left. Those who disappeared have vanished along with their bowls. They probably spat out or threw away what they were eating while in the illusion.
Finally, the ink-stained ramen survived, and a new ramen with a small flag stuck in it was served instantly.
"Angels and demons," the translator explained.
What a cringeworthy name!
The ramen itself is divided into two parts: the broth on the left is as white as milk, while the broth on the right is as deep red as blood. The noodles are intertwined in the two broths, as if good and evil are intertwined.
Which side should we start eating from?
Never mind, let's start with "angels".
Its taste was surprisingly mild and sweet, as if it instantly swept away all your fatigue and pain. Does that mean that eating the devil's side would be doubly painful and frustrating?
Once you take a bite, all the past bitterness, pain, and countless little unhappiness come rushing towards you.
"Still holding on?" the spicy man sneered again. "Sis, these little emotions will consume you."
His response was met with the wailing and weeping of the other two challengers. They had both lost their chance to continue.
You've tasted things much bitterer than this, so what's this?
You lift the large spoon and mix the broth from both sides with each spoonful. Now it's neither bitter nor sweet, just plain bland and tasteless.
Nobody said we had to eat them separately!
Finally, you finished the whole bowl of ramen.
At this moment, there are still two people on the field.
The darkness was completely dispelled, and the store returned to its bustling, lively state.
The difference is that you and the spicy guy are now sitting face to face, creating a kind of challenge-like effect.
The store manager stood between the two of you, babbling away with great enthusiasm, which was met with a chorus of babbling from the audience.
Four employees each served you two a small bowl of ramen.
After another round of taiko drumming, the porcelain lid on the ceramic bowl was lifted amidst the shopkeeper's passionate announcement.
The broth for this round of ramen was amber in color and emitted a pungent aroma that didn't belong to any spices, as if it were a mixture of the bitterness of deep forests and the heat of underground magma.
The noodles were thin and chewy, with a subtle metallic sheen on their surface—they didn't look like food that could be digested by humans at all. The few charcoal-black scales floating in the broth further killed any appetite you had in your already full stomach.
The competitor across from you still looks relaxed. He no longer uses sarcastic words to provoke you, but his attitude has become even more disgusting: "Don't force yourself. Maybe I'll let you win."
Get out of here!
In just two days, you were bombarded with too much male content, and in a fit of anger, you picked up all the thin ramen noodles and swallowed them all in one gulp.
The broth's flavor surges across your tongue like flames, each noodle like a sharp thorn piercing your taste buds. Your throat burns with a scalding sensation, and you desperately want to vomit, but a powerful will to win compels you to swallow it down.
The instant you swallowed that bite, the surrounding air seemed to distort, and a low, deep dragon roar could be faintly heard. Strange illusions began to appear in your vision: a huge dragon shadow coiled on the ceiling of the shop, its blood-red maw wide open, seemingly ready to devour any timid person at any moment.
The man with the spicy food didn't expect you to move so quickly. After a few seconds of stunned silence, it was too late for him to catch up with you.
For some reason, he clearly felt the power of the ramen this time, but stubbornly muttered under his breath, "Nothing special...nothing special..."
Your situation isn't good either. With each bite of ramen, your body starts to heat up, as if a fire is burning inside your internal organs. You feel like throwing up, you can't...hold it... in... any longer...
You exhale a large mouthful of flame.
Ah, this…
A thunderous applause erupted from the audience.
"This is the Empire's Tyrannosaurus Rex!" A reporter, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, shook her head exaggeratedly at the camera. As her voice faded, a long "Eh—" echoed from the background, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
At the same time, the spicy man's face turned pale, and his movements froze. You saw his shadow twist and elongate under the light, eventually transforming into the shape of a black snake. The shadow slowly crawled down the ground to his feet, coiling around his body as if to entwine it.
"This is my debut special!" He suddenly stood up, threw down his chopsticks, and lunged at the camera. "I'm going to be the King of Eating! This episode is a comedy segment about my gluttonous side!"
But before he could take a single step, his body was pulled back to his seat as if by an invisible force. A choking gurgling sound came from his throat, and he was then "swallowed" into the shadows and disappeared completely.
Things took a turn for the worse than you imagined. You were sitting there dumbfounded until the manager took you for a photo, you received a customer card for a year of free ramen, and because there was no second place winner, you also received an extra 50,000 Japanese yen bonus. Touching the money, you finally snapped out of it.
"Ah, thank you." You shake hands with the store manager in front of the camera, completely bewildered.
The reporter then says to you, "Hello, we are the producers of the Starry Night program. As a newly crowned competitive eater and an international student, would you be willing to accept our recording and participate in the recording of our new special column about 'Foreigners in Japan'?"
Ah, this...
"Will you tell anyone that I'm a big eater?" you asked after thinking for a moment.
"Oh, so you don't want people to know you're a big eater?" the reporter tried to read the room, ready to change his tune at any moment.
“No, no, I mean, that would be best.” You nodded.
There's no time like the present. Since we've run into this program, let's make your reputation as a big eater even more famous.
Perhaps you can take this opportunity to make your persona more grounded and genuine.
That's what you think.
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Author's Note: By the way, the inspiration for the last chapter actually came from a male language student getting into a fight in class. I guess that's typical of VV. Good evening!
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