Noa had three goals for the dinner meeting:
1. Be polite.
2. Be professional.
3. Don't die.
By the second dish, she was already failing at the third.
"This... is fine," she whispered hoarsely, eyes watering as she shoved rice into her mouth.
Across the table, Ren looked like he was sweating out every regret he'd ever made.
The clients—two cheerful Korean producers—were laughing, clearly enjoying the chaos.
"You like spicy food, yes?" one of them asked, smiling innocently.
Ren coughed into his napkin. "Love it. Love pain. Love suffering."
Noa kicked him under the table.
He kicked back.
"Very strong Japanese stomachs!" the other producer said proudly, refilling their kimchi and gochujang stew. "Next dish—more challenge!"
Noa's soul whispered goodbye.
—
By dish four, her vision was starting to blur.
Ren's face was red. Not metaphorically—*actually red.*
She leaned over and muttered, "I swear to god if you throw up in this restaurant, I'm never speaking to you again."
He whispered back, "If I throw up, it'll be on you, to die a hero."
"No one dies from kimchi."
"My tongue is having an out-of-body experience."
Then the waitress arrived with what looked like a glowing bowl of lava.
Everyone clapped.
Noa took one bite.
And everything stopped.
Her thoughts. Her dignity. Her will to live.
She stood up, bowed politely, and speed-walked to the restroom without saying a word.
Ren stared after her.
Then took another bite.
Then immediately followed.
—
Ten minutes later, they were both crouched in the restaurant's back hallway, each clutching a bottle of banana milk and breathing like they'd run a marathon through hell.
"I'm never eating again," Noa croaked.
"I can't feel my face," Ren replied.
They sat in silence.
Then burst out laughing.
Loud. Unfiltered. Ugly.
It echoed off the hallway tiles and made one of the waiters peek out in concern.
"Totally fine," Ren called out. "Just two dumb foreigners in digestive crisis."
Noa wiped her eyes. "I think that stew triggered a near-death experience."
He looked over at her, milk mustache and everything.
"Best business dinner ever."
She snorted. "You're insane."
"And yet, you came with me."
"I was assigned."
"Sure."
Pause.
Then Noa leaned her head back against the wall and said, softly, "Okay, fine. It was kind of fun."
Ren didn't say anything.
Just smiled.
And for a split second, her stomach fluttered—*and not from the chili oil.*