Clearly, Chan hadn’t learned his lesson. Despite past disasters—and the fiery regret that usually followed—he had, somehow, once again let his spice-obsessed girlfriend talk him into having buldak for dinner. The infamous fire noodles. The kind that felt less like a meal and more like a personal challenge from the devil himself.

He was no match for spice. Never had been. And now, with his tongue practically lolling out of his mouth like a heat-struck dog, he reached desperately for the glass of milk beside him. He downed it in one go, the coolness barely making a dent in the inferno that had taken over his mouth.

Eyes watering, face flushed, Chan stared blankly ahead, certain his taste buds had abandoned ship entirely. Still, he pushed the bowl forward and picked up his chopsticks again. Persistent. Stubborn. A little bit foolish. But he’d be damned if he let a packet of noodles defeat him—especially in front of her smug grin.