Ramen Rampage
I'm pretty damn serious about ramen. From a young age, bouncing around relatives' houses, they treated me like the kid who devoured his parents, a worthless burden they wanted to dump at an orphanage. So, warm rice? Hell no. Cold leftovers were rare treats. Ramen was what I ate most often.
Ramen's cheap. A box for ten bucks lets you go to town, packed with carbs, fat, and sodium—enough to fill you up for three squares a day. Downside: flour-based, so your stomach empties fast. But when it's all you've got to shove in your mouth, you eat it without complaint.
Cup ramen's pricey for the portion, so no way in hell. Until I started working odd jobs and scraping together pocket change, I survived on the mountains of instant noodles my relatives hoarded. Even then, I couldn't eat freely. Cousins would snag packs on whims and boil up a feast. On lazy weekends, I'd wait till everyone else ate, sneaking a late-night bowl.
If they caught me slurping away, the nagging was routine. You contribute nothing but devour food like a parasite.If not for your parents' connection, we'd have shipped your ass to the orphanage ages ago. When it escalated, my bottled-up anger issues exploded. I'd cause a scene—dumping scalding ramen on a relative mocking me about my folks, or dumping a cousin's corn snacks after he whined about sharing a room with a beggar brat like me.
That's why I never stuck around one place, drifting from house to house. Until high school, when I could fend for myself with part-time gigs. My last aunt, taking me in, said:
"I get you've had a rough, unlucky life. I know the injustices you've suffered. But don't blame others. No one's living your life for you."
I wanted to flip her off. Sure, my misfortune wasn't the relatives' fault a hundred times over. But weren't they the root of every injustice and pain? Swiping my parents' inheritance, treating me like luggage, denying basic human decency.
Fair enough—a strange kid invading their peaceful home wouldn't look cute. I get that. But couldn't they muster minimum respect for an orphan who'd lost his parents overnight? They were adults; I was a child.
So I smashed the pot of ramen I was eating over my aunt's son's head, beat him senseless, packed my shit, and bounced.
Ramen, my eternal companion. The light and salt of my shitty life, the massive pillar holding me up through the storms. I laughed with ramen, cried with it. Our lives so intertwined, maybe we were common-law spouses. The warmth and rich flavor it poured into my starving gut—gratitude falls short no matter how much I give.
For you, I'd brave hellfire itself. Yeah. I'm dead serious about ramen. Have been since childhood, still am, and will be forever.
"Smash his legs first! Just knock him down!"
"Move! I'll split him with one axe swing... Gurk?!"
"One two three, mic test mic test."
I snatched the neck of the guy swinging a fire axe at me, snapped his cervical vertebrae in one twist, yanked the axe from his grip, and pressed it to his lips.
"Do you believe in Jesus?"
"That crazy fuck...!"
"Knew he was off from the start! No mercy!"
"If you don't believe in Jesus, you'd better start right now."
Your souls repenting and ascending to heaven might take longer than me chopping your heads off. I'm human; slip-ups happen. Right, Jesus?
Shrieeek!Thwack!
The guy swinging a sledgehammer at my head paused, puzzled by the underwhelming impact. In the pitch-black hallway, I spun, axe already raised high.
"Believe in Jesus?"
"Wait...!"
Splat!
The axe blade arced beautifully, cleaving the masked thug's skull like firewood. Brains and bone shards sprayed; blood fountained as his corpse toppled forward.
I snatched the abandoned sledge—solid metal, easy ten kilos—and hurled it like a boomerang.
Thud!
"Gaaah! My arm!!!"
The victim clutched his shattered limb, collapsing. Ignoring their fallen buddy, the rest charged through the darkness.
"You little shit! I'll carve an onahole in your gut!"
"That's kinda gay."
Hadn't they seen how their pals went down? Straight out of a B-movie, flashy weapon swings and all.
I only knew street brawls, so not some kung-fu master matching their moves flawlessly. What was tough? My ridiculously sturdy body.
Clang!
I blocked a sledge with one arm, stomped the guy's knee as his stance wobbled from the heavy swing. Knee buckled—key balance point gone—he yelped like an idiot and fell. I pinned him flat with a boot to the gut.
Wanted to axe his face, but more rushed in close. A cleaver stabbed my chest, blade wedged firm between ribs—no easy twist or pull. Lung punctured? Breathing hitched a bit. No biggie.
Can't breathe? Muscles torn? Bones busted? Whatever. The ramen I'd planned to spend my first night with had crossed the Han River already. Soul-marriage out of the question; it'd ghosted to the afterlife hours ago.
"I'm pissed. This free world where scum like you can buy ramen equally! Jesus's vast love accepting trash like you into heaven! I can't forgive you—not even a speck! Still, I gotta ask."
Do you believe in Jesus?
"Say you don't. I'll rip you apart till you do. Sending your mangled soul to heaven? Could be a novel experience!"
"Psycho bastard as expected...! What're you waiting for? I've got him pinned! Smash his legs, arms, head—whatever!!!"
"Perfect opening."
Whoosh!
The golf club whipped through air with a vicious whistle, slamming my thigh. Felt the bone crunch, but I tensed muscles rock-hard, locking my leg.
If I were some weakling folding here, ramen wouldn't have stuck with a loser like me. It knows true value!
"Eggs without permission? Jinsun ramen! Chilies? Tteokbokki ramen! Dumplings and rice cakes? Budae jjigae ramen! Tuna mayo? Tuna mayo ramen! Bean sprouts? Haejang ramen!"
Gripping the cleaver in my lung, I named my lovers from countless wild nights, then crushed the wielder's hand like an apple. Rammed the blade into his screaming throat instead.
Golf club battered my leg to future-China fragments, but I vaulted off the gut-pinned guy, lunging forward.
"This fucker...?!"
"Trendy rose pasta bullshit ain't real ramen!!!!!!!!!!!"
What is true ramen? Mastering a bowl that vibes with Korean side dishes and add-ins—that's real ramen.
"Boil with too much water? Snap their neck! Microwave despite warnings? Beat 'em dead! Tomato adders? Tear 'em limb from limb! And behold—your sin reveals itself! You bourgeois pig drowning ramen in more cheese than broth! My revolutionary blade won't forgive!"
"Cheese is invincible, Fire Chicken sauce is god!"
"God is only our Father Jesus!!!!!!!!!"
Dieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!