Chapter 40 Red Hot Chilli Peppers Attacks! Part 2
“I keep telling people, ‘Sink or Swim’ works! 100% of those that survive my lessons have learnt a way to escape live volcanoes.” - Pele, B Class Cape
The owner and chef was a large fish person.
His skin was covered in tiny green-cyan scales and he smiled a shark’s smile, one filled with rows and rows of teeth.
“Got hit with Bleed,” he told them with a thick accent. “Almost suffocated on land, then got 天赋.”
‘Gifted,’ Aiden translated the word. ‘Heaven’s Endowment’ also worked, but Aiden didn’t see a need to make a flowery translation.
The chef’s hands were mesmerising, constantly pulling and stretching the dough to create noodles of varying thickness as he cleanly prepared bowl after bowl of noodles.
Five bowls were soon sent onto their table, one for each of them. Wren couldn’t make it today due to having a Friday curfew.
The challenge was simple, to simply eat as many chilli noodles as you can, the more you ate in one sitting, the more you got. From the meal becoming free up until a lifetime discount. On the side of each of the bowls given to them, was a digital counter, that recorded their progress.
With the false hand Wren gave him, Aiden took out a pair of chopsticks, and tried and fail to use them, too unused to the limb. His real, left hand also didn’t help.
Sighing, he called for a waiter and asked for a fork.
“Ready?” Darius asked.
“Yesterday,” Luther snorted.
“On three!” Jun declared, her mask pulled down.
“One!” she readied her chopsticks.
“Two,” Josh said, rolling a nice dollop of noodles with his fork.
“Three!” All of them yelled together.
At once, they slurped the noodles, except Luthor who bit down after every bite, cutting the noodles instead of slurping.
A pleasant heat spread through Aiden’s mouth, a mixture of chilli oil, herbs and other ingrediants, mixing with noodles that simply bounced in his mouth.
“Even this is a bit too hot,” Josh said as he panted, blowing air in a bid to cool his tongue.
“What?” Luther asked, “This is nothing cuz!”
“It’s still pleasant right now,” Jun noted.
“Well you guys are built different,” Josh answered, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead.
He reached for his glass of water, still panting as he downed the cool drink.
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‘Mistake,’ Mr Nguyen thought.
Only a few tables from the students, sat a balding officeworker in his mid forties, casually doing the same challenge.
Mr Nguyen was a regular of this store, having been here since the day it first opened, those two long decades ago, when Chef Hwuang was still discriminated for his fish affliction.
He sat with Hwuang through the years, eating his noodles, and was one of the first to suggest and partake in this challenge that used the fishman’s metahuman ability.
Nguyen was a true connossieur of the ways of chilli eating, and he knew the pale skinned child would not make it.
With a greedy gulp of water, Josh only felt a brief relief, before the water washed the flavour of chilli down through his throat.
A silent scream ripped itself out of his mouth, as his throat and stomach burned with pain, Josh Tuba fell out of his seat clutching his throat, his face red as he writhed on the ground in pain.
The counter on Josh’s bowl stopped, and displayed a simple message.
> Chilli Tolerance: Lvl 0, “Mayonnaise is a bit spicy innit?”
No prize, and the boy had to pay the full price for the meal. In not being able to handle even the basest level, the weakness of his mind was shown.
“Shit,” Darius muttered, taking a break as he zipped open his duffle bag. “I gotchu fam.”
And he threw a bottle of milk into Josh’s desperate hands. The boy hurriedly unscrewed the cap and pulled off the plastic covering, taking a deep gulp of the milk.
Nguyen’s eyes widened, as he saw the duffle bag, full of bottles of milk.
Darius laughed at Jun’s questioning glance, “Came prepared, you want some?”
Jun shook her head, flicking chilli oil around her.
A cheat, Nguyen knew, not one that was disallowed, but one he personally frowned upon, however, this was a battle of endurance, where the weak were left behind.
Milk cannot defeat Hwuang’s ability, simple in its deadliness.
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“Shit, doesn’t it taste a bit hotter?” Darius asked as he drank another full bottle of milk.
Jun’s face was turning red, though she adamantly shook her head, “Nuhuh. Barelytasteit.”
At this point, all of them had noticed that despite eating for the past five minutes, the amount of noodles in the bowl had not changed at all.
Chef Hwuang’s ability could produce an infinite number of noodles from any bowl he personally prepared, however!
As the noodles were eaten, they increased in heat and chilliness at an exponential level.
The counters’ on their bowls all dinged at once.
> Lvl 5, Ghost Reaper
At this point, all of them could feel the burn.
Darius panted as he scrambled to down more milk. Jun had fallen limp on the table, her mouth gaping like a fish, hiccuping in her body’s bid to expel the spice.
“Holy shit,” Darius panted, stacking another empty bottle of milk onto a growing pile. His hands shook, sweaty and weak. “I think we should give-”
His voice was interrupted by the sound of Luther biting down on more noodles.
Jun’s eyes shone with determination, as she weakly, forced herself up to grab the chopsticks again.
Darius looked at his friends around him, and grit his teeth, rolling his fork in the noodles once again, he took another bite, and he could physically track the progress of the noodles as it went down his digestive track, purely from the waves of pain it generated.
Gasping, Darius reached for his bag-
“I’lltakethatmilknow.”
Only to lock eyes with Jun.
In his bag, was only left one bottle of milk.
“Wecandothisthehardoreasyway,” Jun panted, her face red as the heat seared her body.
“You are my friend Jun,” Darius said, beads of sweat dripping down his face. “But you test that now.”
“You’vehadplentyalready,” she pointed out, gesturing at the pile of empty bottles beside him.
“Don’t make me do this,” Darius said, his eyes hard.
Jun grabbed her bowl with one hand, the other slamming down on the table to launch her in the air.
But Darius was already moving, arm wrapping around his own bowl, he jumped back, pulling the strap of his duffle bag as he dodged Jun, jumping away from the speedster as she gained on him.
In that brief moment, Jun was still in the air, her hands reaching for Darius’s duffle bag.
Darius swung it, the bag slamming into Jun’s face as he spun the bag like a bola above him.
Her noodle bowl almost slipped her hand, but a moment of sped time allowed her to grab it and catch all the falling soup, she turned to Darius, just as he pulled a red can from his bag.
Jun rushed him, vaulting over other customers and tables, the bowl of noodles still in hand, to prevent him from summoning whatever that can was.
Instead however, Darius threw the can, and took out the milk bottle.
In that slow motion moment, when Jun reached him and grabbed the head of the milk bottle, hand unscrewing the lid as she reached for Darius, the Quokka Quola can slammed into a table, denting, its liquid spilling out, and Darius disappeared into soda foam, mere millimetres from Jun’s grasp.
She quickly turned around, following the path the can travelled, to find Darius half soaked in Quokka Quola, an opened bottle of milk in his hand.
“FuckingGenelines!” she yelled as she ran towards him anew.
Darius reached for the bottle, one arm supporting the bowl of noodles, he picked at the plastic covering the head of the bottle, all that remained from him drinking that milk.
And when Jun was moments away from reaching him, he slammed the heel of his foot into his other foot.
And the teleportation was undone.
‘I WIN!’ Darius thought in triumph, back where he started, Jun could not double back and reach him in time!
His sweating fingers finally grabbed onto that tiny slip of plastic, the part that overhang from the bottle head, and ripped it off!
And only that tiny slip.
He stared uncomprehendingly at the bottle, the plastic seal was still perfectly on, he had only managed to rip off that overhang.
Darius rushed to pull the seal off from another slip, but it was too late.
“Daycore,” Jun said as she finally touched Darius.
He was slowed down, and in this state he could only watch as Jun snatched the milk bottle from his hands.
“You probably can’t hear this,” Jun said, knowing full well their difference in de- and acceleration prevented any meaningful communication. “But this is a dog eat dog world, and you were a single step too slow.”
Instead of pulling the seal off, Jun simply stabbed her thumb through it, poking through to the milk, she drank deeply, letting out a gasp of relief as she finished, the heat washing out of her body. All of it appearing as a swift blur to Darius’s perspective.
“So suffer, you who were too slow. Suffer in a world of slowed time as the pain of fire consumes you.”
The bowl dropped from Darius’s arm, falling onto the ground, it dinged.
> Chilli Tolerance: Lvl 6, couldn’t even make it to the good part.
And Jun began walking back towards their table, holding the bowl in one hand and eating with the other.
As she sat down, her stomach rumbled.
And Jun remembered she was lactose intolerant, with a highly enhanced metabolism from Nightcore.
Feeling it already poking out, she leapt out of her seat, time slowed as she rushed towards the toilets.
But speeding up herself, meant all of herself.
She forcefully clenched, keeping it in as she finally reached the toilets, grabbing the women’s door, she tried to open it.
Only to find it already occupied.
“Ha! No problem!” she declared, as she swiped both hands over her face, Nightcore disappearing into their left hand.
But no Daycore.
Jun turned to see Darius still in the middle of the restaurant, his time still slowed down.
“Shit!” they yelled, “Darius! Give me back my gender!”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Darius slowly turned to them, as Jun dodged tables, their asses clenched with the full willpower of their person.
Jun slapped Darius with their right hand, taking back Daycore as they rushed back to the toilets. Every movement threatened to leak it out, but they were determined, as they finally threw open the male toilets, pulling his pants down as he slammed the door behind him.
Jun breathed a sigh of relief as he let it all out.
Back on the table, Jun’s bowl dinged failure.
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Nguyen stared uncomprehendingly at the two still sitting at the table.
One biting, one slurping.
As the bowls dinged,
> Lvl 8, Burnt at the Stake
Heat billowed like an aura around them, several customers were forced back as the temperature rose to a suffocating level. Like a burning flame, the heat from those bowls kept rising, smothering all around like a blanket.
Yet, the two still sat there, one biting, one slurping.
Nguyen looked at his own bowl, still at level six, and even then his body shook and sweated. His tongue burned and his face was red.
He knew from experience he could not pass this level.
That even in his prime, at the height of his youth, he could not pass the impenetrable barrier that was level seven.
He could not surpass ten million Scovilles.
And yet, those two teenagers continued on, entering the mythical level eight, where the heat physically affected the world. Hwuang was forced to turn on the air con, yet it was a losing battle, the heat from the dishes were smothering all things dry. Someone had even taken out marshmallows to brown on the heat.
Nguyen wondered if this was his limit.
He wondered if this was all he could accomplish, that even with decades of work, of training himself on countless chillis whose strength went into the millions, that after so long he could only weaken and watch others with a fraction of his experience surpass him in ways unimaginable.
That in the end, talent truly triumphed decades of hard work.
Even middle aged, if he tried to continue, all that chilli coming out the other end would cause him to shit a new asshole. His body wasn’t as young as it once was.
He should give up, and just take the year long discount he had already earned.
Then dark-skinned teen locked eyes with him, who had long put down his chopsticks.
A moment passed, before the teen took a now warm glass of water, drinking it deeply. Luther laughed, nudging Aiden as he asked, “Can finally feel the heat now aye bro?”
Luther had drunk the water to intentionally worsen the pain, yet he laughed.
Nguyen looked at his own bowl.
And he once again, began eating.
For when the teen had taunted him by drinking that water, a fire was lit in Nguyen’s belly. Not the literal flame caused by the chilli, but a metaphorical one.
He had been battling this challenge since before these fuckers were even born.
Nguyen refused to be one upped by teenagers still wet behind the ears!
Fresh waves of pain bombarded him, he felt his chest begin to constrict as the pain made it hard to breathe. But he refused to stop, not until the one in front of him too relented. They ate, fresh waves of maddening pain washing over them.
> Lvl 9, Forest Fire
His chopsticks started to char under the heat, and the teens’ forks began to turn red, yet none of the three relented, none allowed themselves to fall before the others did.
As they all entered level ten.
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Luther could feel his body burning up.
Every mouthful felt like a lump of burning charcoal forced down his throat, he could physically feel the noodles going through his digestive tract, his mind began to panic, he had taunted the old man as a joke, but now he stared at them with unrelenting eyes. He missed the previously cold air, how every time he used to open his mouth it would cool him down, but now the heat was all encompassing.
He needed an excuse to stop, but pride wouldn’t allow him to be the first person to fall, so he turned to his companion.
“Aiden, how are you holding-”
And Luther paused, for Aiden’s eyes were glazed over, as he mechanically continued to slurp the endless noodles.
Aiden had long ceased thinking.
As Luther bit into another mouthful, he knew he could not beat the person beside him.
Aiden was beyond determination or willpower. All that was sitting beside him was a mindless thing, whose only purpose was to finish the quest he had set out for. Uncaring of pain or sacrifice, Aiden will continue, no matter the cost.
Luther reached into his pocket, removing a single coin.
The same coin he had demonstrated his ability with.
Luther’s power was shit.
It was conditional, its power was not immediately or visually applicable. He was not physically powerful or fast like Jun or Josh, he wasn't flexible like Wren or Aiden, and his power did not have a powerful utility effect like Darius’s.
So he knew, in order to survive in this world, he needed to play dirty.
He had not lied to Aiden when he revealed the nature of his luck manipulation, however, he had swapped out the luck rigged coin with a normal, weighted one.
So that Luther still had a coin with ten flips worth of Aiden’s bad luck up his sleeve.
Rivulets of sweat fell off his arm as Luther bit down on the coin, his teeth viciously ripping into it, until it was deformed.
And was no longer able to perform a flip.
Suddenly, as Aiden brought his fork up for another mouthful, the fork melted and the noodles fell onto his lap.
Aiden’s pants ignited, but his glazed over mind almost didn’t recognise that.
Until he saw his wallet ignite.
Aiden’s mind returned like a truck slamming onto its breaks, he threw away the fork that was melting in his hand, pulling out his wallet as he desperately tried to put out the fire.
“Water!” he yelled as he jumped up from his seat, running towards the kitchen.
And his bowl of noodles dinged it a failure.
Leaving only two.
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Time ceased being a meaningful concept as Luther and Nguyen sat, only a few tables apart.
Luther knew he would defeat Nguyen as well.
The older man was hunched over his bowl, his sweat burning into steam and his eyes drying as he weakly continued to eat. His slurps intermittedly interupted by coughing fits.
Luther was nearly at his limit, but he knew the other would reach it first. His body wasn’t special but it was younger, compared to the older man who had long surpassed his physical and mental peak.
In this competition of theirs, Luther would be the winner.
Until Nguyen raised a single finger in the air.
The area surrounding them had long since surpassed the heat of a sauna, none else dared come near them, so that movement was not to call a waiter.
As Luther bit another bite, he wondered, what was the purpose of that movement?
The truth was simple really.
Nguyen was declaring to Luther, that he had made One. Single. Mistake.
For Luther’s experience with chilli was eating hot wings and fried chickens, foods that were eaten in bites which did not rise in heat as they were eaten.
So he ate with a cut, twirling up a forkful of noodles and biting into it, severing its ends.
Whereas Nguyen ate by slurping.
As Nguyen’s lips cracked and dried, he knew the advantage he had.
In a food battle where the food could rise in heat by tens of millions of Scovilles every second, Nguyen’s method of slurping exposed him to more consistent fire and pain.
But it accustomed him to it, as he could physically taste the heat rise up.
Whereas with cutting, Luther had short breaks with every bite, theoretically allowing more time to rest and recover.
But it opened him up to getting blindsided by a sudden, extreme rise in Scoville.
As that moment, the bowls dinged level thirteen, and Luther put a fresh mouthful of noodles into his mouth.
That night, both tasted the Sun.
And Luther choked.
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“We are never going out on Darius’s suggestion ever again,” Josh groaned, poking his tongue out to taste the cool night air.
“Agreed,” Jun groaned from beside him.
“Seconded,” Darius himself agreed as he poured another gallon of milk into Luther’s mouth.
Aiden’s face was completely neutral as he regarded the lifelong discount he had just won. Stuffing it into his, mostly salvaged and only slightly singed wallet, he nodded in agreement, though he felt that he had won out in the endeavour.
“你说什么?” (What did you say?) the owner, Hwuang yelled on the phone from behind the counter. “你为什么不能做送货了啊?!” (What do you mean you can’t do deliveries anymore!?)
Aiden perked up, rising from his spot on the grass.
The large shark man slammed his phone down, shaking his head and complaining about something under his breath, just as Aiden approached.
“老板!” (Boss!) he called out, “我听你说你没有一个送货员了?” (I heard you say you don’t have a delivery person now?)
The man squinted at him, “你是一个学生,” (You are a student,) he pointed out.
“我下课可以工作,” (I can work after class) Aiden answered.
Hwuang drummed the countertop, “你有自行车吗？ 我们在全市范围做送货，没有就不行!” (Do you have a bike? We do deliveries across the city, if you don’t have one then the answer is no!)
Aiden nodded, “我可以很容易的拿到一个。” (I can very easily get one.)
Hwuang nodded, “Very well!” he said in English this time, “You’re hired, here’s my number, show up before four with a bike by next week. You have GPS on your phone?”
Aiden furiously nodded, “I do.”
“I pay by the hour, and download the FoodBox employee app.”
“Understood.”
The man turned back to his store, “Make sure to show up!”
“Erm, one question before you go though,” Aiden asked.
“What?”
“Do you have an ability license?”
And the man paused. Freezing in step.
Hwuang sighed, “不，我没有。”
“Why not?” Aiden asked.
”五分之一,” he told him simply “这是你们特种兵的死亡率。”
His body seemed to shake, as the older man averted his eyes from him, “我... 不能，我太弱了。”
Hwuang shook his head, “I understand if you don’t want to have a coward as a boss.”
“I don’t mind,” Aiden replied.
And he meant it.
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As the moon fell, Aiden stood on his balcony, a cup of cool water in his hands.
‘One in five,’ Boss Hwuang had told him. One in five metahuman soldiers did not live to see the end of their service.
Of their friend group, at least one of them was statistically likely to be dead before twenty-five.
“It makes sense why so many people dodge the draft then,” Ranpo murmured.
“It is apparently a big issue,” Aiden agreed, “they’ve been trying to lower the casualty rate for centuries, but one in five is the best that has been achieved so far, other than in rare times of extended peace.”
It made a morbid sort of sense, why Genelines, the main contributors to the ranks of metahuman soldiers, had so many children.
Wren was only one of over a dozen siblings.
Josh wouldn’t even be able to name how many aunts and uncles he had.
Or, had left.
“With how expensive and limited healing is, many metahumans also leave service with injuries that go with them their entire life.”
“Is the license even worth it then?” Ranpo asked.
Aiden knew what he was suggesting.
“I still think it is,” he muttered, “the legal benefits of being certified to commercialise your ability is only a side benefit.”
“There is a reason why Geneline families are so powerful,” he continued. “The license gives prestige.”
And prestige was its own form of power.
Free travel to all countries, citizenship applications rubber-stamped, extreme leniency with bank loans and being able to use the license to exempt yourself from many education and professional degree requirements.
Though the license itself can’t be passed down, children who were born in such families already had a world of advantages.
“So it is worth a twenty percent chance of death?” Ranpo asked.
“People will have different opinions,” he answered, “but I believe it is.”
Ranpo turned away, back to looking at the moon, “Though that doesn’t answer why the Law doesn’t change, why they don’t just make a simpler, lesser license with fewer benefits.”
“It is curious,” Aiden murmured as he flipped open his phone.
On the side of the screen were some news updates, Aiden idly flicked through some of them, until he paused at one.
A clip, showing a woman he recognised.
The vice-principal, sitting in the prosecutor’s seat of a large courtroom.
“The judge finds the defendant guilty of crimes against humanity. The defendant is sentenced to 8106 years in prison with no parole, and to have all their supernatural properties Confiscated for the duration of their sentence.”
And the gavel was struck.
The defendant, the Necron Overlord who battled the VP through Last Stand, spoke.
“It is not a subtle thing, what you attempt,” the skeleton had snarled.
Before all power was ripped from it, the skeleton crumbled into its seat as its power settled into an official-looking document.
“Oh,” Aiden muttered. “It was that simple,”
“What?” Ranpo asked, walking closer beside him.
“Law is a Living Concept, a type of magic,” he murmured, “through it, they are capable of Confiscating supernatural properties from people, including meta abilities.”
How many abilities had the VP called upon to battle? He couldn’t remember, but the idea was simple. Multiple abilities, working in tandem, each increasing the effectiveness of the other.
“The Law’s purpose isn’t just to keep order,” he muttered, that was its sole purpose in his old world, wasn’t it? He had believed that, even as he moved into the new.
“It’s to create one of the greatest weapon stashes in the world,” he continued. “One that cannot be robbed or stolen by outsiders, usable only by loyal practitioners of this country, kept in line by checks and balances.”
And it still kept order, just a different sort, one not represented by written Laws, but by silent agreements all have made.
Right now Aiden was only aware of the VP who could access those abilities, but in time? As that Living Concept grew and gained more authority, how many more practitioner’s could access that stash?
“Everyone is a willing criminal because they understand that even now, they benefit the society that protects us,” Aiden chuckled. “It was that simple.”
“Even then…” Ranpo murmured.
“Let me tell you a story,” Aiden said as he sat down by the table, “One of my previous life.”
“I worked as an accountant for a water company and you know what happened one day?”
Ranpo tilted his head, silently asking him to continue.
“One of the suburban towns, it turned out their tap water got contaminated by a factory upstream. Lots of diseases and stuff, babies getting born wrong. And you know what my company did?”
“My company bribed the local official to delay repairs to the water supply, just so they could muscle in and sell a few more bottles of water.”
Aiden’s hand tightly gripped into his other arm, his nails sinking into flesh until they drew blood.
“How do you know this?” Ranpo asked, the question sounding like a judge’s gavel to Aiden’s ears.
“I was offered money,” he said without pride, “to keep two accounts for the company, a fake one for the taxes and records, and the real one.”
“And you took the money?”
“And I took the money,” he stated.
“But, why?”
“I’ve asked that more times than I can count,” Aiden answered, “I knew that revealing such a thing was basically career suicide, I needed the money as I was beginning the raise Jaiden, but honestly?”
“Strip away the excuses, and the truth of it all was that I didn’t do anything remotely good when I made that decision.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Ranpo asked. “Why now?”
“Because now I know.” Aiden told him, “Now I know I am at least doing more good than I was in my last life.”
The next morning, the shredded pieces of paper Geoge gave him sprouted in the dirt bowl Aiden had left it in.
And Aiden knocked on the shutters of the Sweets Shop, meeting a grandmotherly old woman and got his second job in this world.