Game 29: Ramen, Trials, and an Unexpected Throw
The loud growl that escaped from Han Tae-yang's stomach sounded less like hunger and more like a dying dragon protesting its own existence.
He clutched his belly, swaying side to side on the street as though he had just taken a critical hit from a level 99 boss monster.
"Ah… my limit has come. Is this how great heroes perish? Not by swords, not by spells, but by an empty stomach?" he groaned, earning glances from passersby who clearly thought he was performing some sort of avant-garde street theater.
He wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead and whispered to no one in particular, "If only a steaming bowl of beef noodle soup with pork knuckles descended from the heavens right now…"
Scene shift.
The next moment, the cramped but warm kitchen of his tiny home buzzed with the sound of boiling water. Han Tae-yang and his sister, Han Ha-neul, sat at the battered dining table, the paint peeling on its edges. Their royal feast? Ramen. The cheap kind. The packet kind. The only kind they could afford.
Steam rose from their bowls like smoke signals, carrying a salty aroma that mixed with the faint dampness of their old apartment walls. The overhead bulb flickered as if trying to keep up with their slurping rhythm.
Ha-neul, ponytail tied lazily, slammed her chopsticks into the noodles like a warrior spearing a beast. "Oppa, eat before it gets soggy. You always do this thing where you make dramatic speeches and then the food tastes like wet socks."
Tae-yang pointed at her with his chopsticks, ramen dangling dangerously. "This, my dear sister, is not just food. It is sacred mana recovery potion. Every noodle strand? One point of stamina. Every slice of fish cake? That's basically a buff. And this soup? Don't even get me started, it's the elixir of immortality."
Ha-neul rolled her eyes but giggled, noodles hanging from her mouth. "Then eat your immortality, idiot, before it evaporates."
As they ate, the tower looming in the center of Seoul cast its ghostly glow through the window, like a watchful god reminding them their lives had changed forever. Outside, people still moved as though clinging to normalcy, street vendors yelling, taxis honking, couples arguing, but everyone knew the giant spire had rewritten reality.
Halfway through slurping his bowl clean, Tae-yang's playful grin dropped. He placed his chopsticks down, his tone shifting like a radio snapping to a different channel.
"Ha-neul-ah," he said softly.
Her chewing slowed at the seriousness in his voice. "What?"
"In a few hours… almost the whole world will be dragged into another plane. Another trial." He locked eyes with her, and for once, there was no joke hiding in his words. "I need you ready for it."
The air in the room thickened. The ramen steam no longer smelled comforting, it felt suffocating.
Backyard.
Their backyard wasn't much. A patch of grass squeezed between two leaning fences, a laundry pole with socks hanging like tiny defeated flags. The air was damp, heavy with the city's scent of gasoline and fried food drifting in from the streets.
Ha-neul stood barefoot on the grass, fists raised awkwardly, like a rookie boxer who had learned stance from a cartoon. Tae-yang, shirt half tucked, eyes gleaming with mock seriousness, circled her.
"This, my dear sister, is training ground number one," he declared. "Future warriors of the Tower must be forged in the fires of"
She cut him off by lunging with a wild swing. Tae-yang dodged easily, his movements light, almost lazy, as though he was gliding with the rhythm of the evening wind. His body remembered combat in ways she couldn't even imagine.
"Not bad," he said, smirking. "But you looked like you were trying to swat a mosquito. And you missed the mosquito."
Ha-neul pouted. "Shut up! I'm trying!"
They clashed again, her steps clumsy, his movements fluid. He corrected her stance mid-fight, tapping her knees with his foot, adjusting her arm mid-swing. Every correction carried both humor and care.
"Lower your center of gravity. No, not like you're sitting on a toilet, like this"
"Oppa!" She screamed in embarrassment, swinging harder.
Their laughter mixed with the creak of the fences and the rustle of grass. But beneath it, Tae-yang's mind sharpened. He wasn't just playing. He was teaching her to survive.
Then, out of nowhere, Ha-neul's body twisted, her leg hooking behind his, her small frame fueled by frustration more than technique. Tae-yang, caught mid-joke, felt the world tilt.
And thud!
He hit the ground. Grass blades stuck to his cheek. The sky above him spun in lazy circles.
Ha-neul stood above him, stunned, her hands trembling, her chest heaving. She had just thrown him, Han Tae-yang, the self-proclaimed genius of chaos, onto the grass.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint city noises in the distance.