The midday sun beat down fiercely over the narrow alley. Excel had just returned from Mrs. Nining’s grocery stall with a clear plastic bag full of cassava chips coated in a thick layer of red chili powder.
“Here!” Excel called, tossing the plastic package onto the folding table. “Spicy cassava chips made by the guy in the boarding house next door. Deadly level!”
Ian, sitting stiffly on the edge of the folding bed, glanced at the plastic bag with furrowed brows. “What kind of food is that?”
“Spicy cassava chips,” Excel replied proudly, then lowered himself onto the floor. “These are my regular order. Real chilies, not instant seasoning powder. One bite and they’ll make smoke come out of your skull!”
“The color is dangerously intense,” Ian muttered flatly, scanning the thick red powder clinging roughly to every chip. His tongue, accustomed to meals prepared by a private chef or fine dining at five-star hotels, suddenly shuddered.
“Ha! You’re such a wimp!” Excel teased with a sneer. “They’re just chips. Don’t tell me someone as huge as a utility pole like you can’t handle spicy food?”
Ian straightened his posture. His pride as the top executive of Adichandra Group had been hit directly. “I can handle any food.”
“Really?” Excel grinned mischievously, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. “Okay, how about a bet?”
“What kind of bet?”
“Whoever gives up and drinks water first has to wash the boarding-house dishes for three days straight!” Excel challenged, opening the plastic package wide.
“Agreed,” Ian answered quickly, refusing to look weak in front of the red-haired young man.
Excel picked up one chip and casually tossed it into his mouth. “Munch. So good. Here, your turn.”
Ian extended his clean, long fingers and picked up the chip with the least red powder on it. Calm and elegant, he put the cheap snack into his mouth.
One second. Two seconds.
The crisp, savory flavor suddenly transformed into a searing heat that instantly scorched Ian’s tongue, throat, and the insides of his mouth. It felt like pouring acid over his own tongue.
Ian’s breath caught. His jaw tightened at once.
“How is it?” Excel asked with a broad grin, watching Ian’s expression struggle to remain blank. “Nice and mild, right?”
“Nothing special,” Ian replied stiffly. His voice trembled slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on Excel.
“‘Nothing special,’ he says!” Excel burst out laughing. He grabbed three chips at once and shoved them into his mouth. “Look! Three at once! You chicken?”
Ian swallowed saliva that felt like cold lava. He couldn’t lose. His fingers snatched up two large chips covered in chili powder, and he chewed them without blinking once.
“Still nothing special,” Ian said stiffly. However, beads of cold sweat had begun to trickle down his temples. The strong lines of his face were visibly straining.
“You’re pretending to stay calm, but your temples are already flooded with sweat!” Excel jeered, pointing at Ian’s forehead.
“It’s because the room is hot,” Ian excused himself.
“Excuses!” Excel picked up the last chip, the one with the deepest red color. “Here, the final chip! Finish this, and I’ll admit you’re a real man!”
Ian stared at the chip as if he were looking at a company bankruptcy document. He picked it up, drew a deep breath, then immediately chewed and swallowed it whole.
“Done,” Ian said quietly. His voice now sounded extremely hoarse. His throat felt as if it were being ravaged by blazing fire.
Excel watched Ian’s face turn red from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. “Hey! Are you okay? Your face looks like a boiled crab!”
Ian froze in place. His fingers clenched tightly over his knees, holding back the fiery turmoil in his stomach, which wasn’t used to being tortured by food that intense.
“I’m... fine,” Ian whispered flatly, trying to preserve what remained of his dignity.
“Look at that—your lips are bright red and swollen!” Excel laughed even harder, but his eyes caught how pitiful and tortured the tall man looked. “Come on, man! Open your mouth. You’d better drink some water!”
“No. I haven’t had anything to drink,” Ian insisted, too proud to give in. “You haven’t drunk first.”
Excel shook his head. He couldn’t bear watching the tall man drop dead on his feet for the sake of such ridiculous pride. Excel reached for his glass of sweet iced tea on the table and took a large gulp.
“There! I drank first!” Excel shouted, deliberately conceding. “I lose! You win!”
Ian blinked slowly. “You... lost?”
“Yeah, I lost! Go on, drink!” Excel shoved a pitcher of cold water in front of Ian’s face. “Don’t pass out in my room, or I’ll have no idea how to haul your bear-sized body out of here!”
Without waiting for a second urging, Ian snatched up the pitcher. The man worth trillions of rupiah drank straight from its rim without stopping, finishing half of it within seconds.
Gulp... gulp... gulp...
“Hah...” Ian let out a long breath and wiped his burning, reddened lips with the back of his hand. He was breathing hard.
Excel chuckled softly as he offered Ian a tissue. “You already knew you couldn’t handle spicy food, but you still had to act tough. Your icy expression got completely wrecked by five-thousand-rupiah chips.”
Ian accepted the tissue and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His eyes glanced at Excel, who was smiling in amusement as he watched him.
“You drank first on purpose,” Ian said quietly, realizing Excel’s little lie.
Excel rolled his eyes lazily and leaned his back against the wardrobe. “Yeah, because you’re incredibly stubborn. If I hadn’t baited you into drinking first, your intestines might’ve burst tonight.”
Ian fell silent for a moment, feeling a warmth settle in his chest—not from the chilies, but from the red-haired young man’s impulsive concern.
“Thank you,” Ian murmured briefly.
“No need to thank me!” Excel snapped. “Remember, according to our original agreement, the loser has to wash the dishes—wait, hold on. I was the one who drank first. That means I’m the one who has to wash dishes for three days!”
Ian shook his head slowly. “No. I’ll wash them.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because you saved my tongue,” Ian answered plainly, without blinking.
Excel gaped for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “You’re such a weirdo. Fine, go on. The pile of dishes is waiting. Get to work!”
Ian rose from his folding bed, nudged the door slightly, and finally walked obediently toward the small dishwashing area in the outer corner of the room.