An Idiot Way To Die

As they waited for their meals, Haruto found himself too anxious to focus on anything else.

His eyes darted around the shop, watching other customers as they battled their bowls of Inferno Ramen. 

One muscular man across the room had a face as red as the broth, guzzling carton after carton of milk, yet still coughing and tearing up. 

Haruto gulped, wiping his damp palms on his pants. Across the table, Mari was watching him with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying his growing dread. 

"Mari," he said, breaking the silence, "can you even handle spicy food?" 

Mari raised a brow at him, her expression turning confident. "Of course I can! I'm a foodie. To be one, you have to be able to eat any food." 

Haruto squinted at her skeptically. "Really? Being a foodie is *that* important to you?" 

Mari nodded firmly and pulled out her phone from her small bag. She scrolled for a moment before turning the screen toward him with a triumphant smile.