The Spicy Chicken Race
“Ah! What is this?!”
“Pfft, you got stuck with it?”
“Hey! My chicken!”
From the other tables came the distant sounds of people checking their own chicken. Meanwhile, a strange silence had settled over ours.
“….”
“….”
Han Min-hyeok tilted his head with a blank expression, staring down at the glossy chicken drumstick gleaming a clear, bright red. Apparently the production staff had mixed up the I’m So Hot with the regular seasoned one by mistake.
“What the hell….”
Yu Min-seong, glancing back and forth between Min-hyeok’s drumstick and mine from the middle of the table, wore the face of a man whose luck had simply run out.
I was the last one to pick up the remaining chicken, and I felt a little wronged. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t that I was unlucky so much as that everyone else had been lucky.
“Hyung, want to switch?”
Kim Seong-min, holding a clean piece of fried chicken beside me, offered to trade, but I shook my head.
I’d already opened the lid, and the presentation wasn’t great for a swap anyway. Honestly, I was feeling pretty indifferent about the whole thing.
It was just one spicy chicken drumstick. I didn’t understand why everyone was acting like the world was ending. It wasn’t like my insides were hurt—only the surface had been a little torn. So what if I ate something spicy?
I was the one holding the drumstick and I barely cared, but the residual image of my injury must have been strong, because everyone was fussing over me far too much. From my right came a sneering voice that seemed to share a similar sentiment.
“Look who showed up—the royalty.”
Jang Seon-woo of Rose Team. While the other teams were still choosing, he had propped his chin in his hand in front of a single brown drumstick. On the surface he was smiling as if he were sharing a fun little story, but his voice was thick with mockery. He’d looked full of complaints earlier, and even when our eyes met he didn’t look away; his gaze was packed with spite.
“Must be nice being the pre-chosen one, huh?”
From the way he was talking, I could tell exactly what kind of misunderstanding he’d landed on. After watching the writer glance at me with an apologetic look—at our table, at me specifically—he seemed to have arrived at some firm conviction.
He was probably suspecting that, just as the production team was cutting me this kind of slack right now, there had already been unfair interference in the voting or judging as well.
Looking at the editing direction and the atmosphere on set so far, it was true that higher ranks got preferential treatment, and whether I’d wanted it or not, I had benefited from that in various ways. On the surface, it could easily look like some cozy collusion had formed.
Even knowing other teams were being filmed, the fact that he was willing to say something like this in front of the cameras meant a lot must have built up. Still, there was nothing worth answering.
With eyes that certain, claiming I hadn’t intended any of it would only earn me a snort of laughter.
Whether he thought that or not, I was honestly too tired to argue and had no interest in giving him attention, so I was about to ignore him when a young voice cut in.
“Everything’s a conspiracy with you. You can’t even compare in skill. Aren’t you embarrassed after losing?”
“….”
Kim Seong-min’s words came in from the left without the slightest pullback, and Jang Seon-woo’s face twisted.
“Jealousy wasn’t enough so now it’s conspiracy theories? Super ugly. I better never end up like that.”
As if he couldn’t even see the twisted face, Seong-min finished it off like a personal vow and gave Seon-woo no room to retort.
“Hyung, don’t mind him. You went all the way to the ER yesterday, and switching a little chicken is some huge special treatment? Just switch with me. I’m good with spicy food.”
It was the same fox-like smile as always. But with one layer of pretense peeled off, the expression looked far more natural. I was freshly surprised. Seong-min had changed a lot too.
The version of him from the early days—more conscious of the cameras than anyone—was nowhere to be found.
“Thanks for worrying, but I’m fine. I’m good with spicy food too.”
My sense of taste was dulled right now anyway, so I wouldn’t be able to properly enjoy good chicken even if I ate it, and I didn’t feel any particular need to pass the bomb around to someone else. Spicy was a kind of pain, so I was probably the one best equipped to handle it.
“But still….”
At the glance that flicked toward my waist, I slowly shook my head. It was healing well enough to surprise even the infirmary doctor, so there was no problem.
“Only the outside got a little hurt. The inside’s fine.”
“Mm….”
Seong-min looked like he still wanted to say something, but by then the other teams had all received their chicken, and the MC drew everyone’s attention. I sent a signal that I was fine to Song A-seong and Han Min-hyeok, who were gesturing from the far end about switching, then looked forward. The contestants’ faces filled the monitors in large close-ups.
“We’ll start the mic setup over again from Sunflower Team!”
They even changed the mics, clearly planning to capture a lot of eating sounds. Going for an ASMR vibe, maybe.
“Before we begin the lucky-draw chicken mukbang race, one more reminder for all of you. As deliciously! And as quickly! as possible—please demolish your own drumstick.”
I looked to the far left end. On our team, Han Min-hyeok was first, Song A-seong second, then Min Ho-su, Jo Min-jun, Yu Min-seong, Kim Seong-min, and finally me.
Seasoned, chili mayo, onion, soy sauce, barbecue, fried, and then the spicy chicken. The MC introduced the brands and chicken names in order, then took hold of the timer.
“Alright then—get ready, and start!”
Han Min-hyeok, starting first, picked up the drumstick and casually put it in his mouth. And only the bone came back out.
“Huuuh.”
Yu Min-seong, watching the earlier turns, covered his mouth, clearly moved by the instantaneous deboning of a chicken drumstick that left not even a scrap of soft cartilage behind.
To swallow the chicken faster, Min-hyeok even finished off an entire glass of cola cleanly, then blew his whistle. He barely seemed to have chewed at all. Looking at the time, it had taken barely ten-odd seconds.
He had a talent like that?
A completely unexpected skill.
After Min-hyeok came Song A-seong’s turn. Chili mayo drumstick. The drumsticks overall weren’t that large, but they weren’t tiny either—and this one vanished just as instantly as Min-hyeok’s.
Both of them must have taken a deboning masterclass somewhere.
“Hyung, can you do that?”
Seong-min, who had been watching the first two eat, asked with a serious expression, so I shook my head.
“I’ll just eat normally.”
That was a circus act. Min Ho-su tried to copy them, failed because of the onion, and finished his drumstick the ordinary way; Jo Min-jun and Yu Min-seong quickly finished their shares after him. Hearing the whistle from Seong-min, who had hurried through his in a normal fashion right after, I bit into my own drumstick as well.
The camera that suddenly shoved in close was a bit much, but I focused on the chicken for now. A texture I couldn’t quite place as crispy or sticky. Since the point was to eat fast anyway, I swallowed at a reasonable pace and cleanly stripped the meat clinging to the bone. After chewing and swallowing with a somewhat numb sensation, I blew the whistle—and heard a gasp of admiration.
“Yes, Sunflower Team! Clean, precise! Ah, that was extremely fast!”
My throat felt a little strange. Setting aside the drumstick that was now nothing but bare bone and checking the time, it had taken about three minutes. Min-hyeok and A-seong together had used under thirty seconds, so the remaining five of us had burned through a hundred and fifty?
I was thinking first place was pretty much out of reach when Seong-min spoke up with a startled look.
“Hyung….”
“Yeah.”
I started to answer, then suddenly choked up and drank a glass of cola—and my eyes went damp. What?
“Tears….”
Sniff. Even though my tongue was so numb I couldn’t feel the heat, my body reacted on its own. When I blinked, a droplet fell. I took the tissue he held out and pressed it over my eyes, and it soaked through in a neat circle.
“Whoa! This smell is no joke!”
“….”
I blanked out for a second, then pulled the tissue away at the loud voice and looked sideways. Seo Woo-ri from Rose Team, who had been eating chicken, was streaming tears. This was the same person who, during Antithese, had pushed his stamina to the absolute limit and only breathed like a corpse without shedding a single tear.
Apparently not good with spice, he barely managed to finish one drumstick, sniffled, and downed a Coolpis in one shot.
“How spicy did they bring over?”
“Eating that looks like it’d wreck your stomach.”
“Haa, Korean spice pride strikes again….”
Comments piled up about how spicy ramen hadn’t been enough, how going after chicken too was crossing a line. Meanwhile the third team. Lee Jae-jin boldly tore into the chicken, gulped it down, and passed the turn.
“I’m fine—ssss—I think I’m fine?”
He tried hard to play it cool, but the trembling voice and thoroughly swollen lips couldn’t be hidden.
“Jae-jin, every time you open your mouth my eyes burn.”
“….”
At Cha Ji-heon’s words Jae-jin shut his mouth and quietly poured himself some milk. Forget-me-not Team finished their turns as well, and half the race was over. By this point, people who were confident with spicy food seemed to have their competitive spirit stirred.
“Ah, I should’ve been the one to draw the spicy chicken.”
“Yo-han hyung, is it really that spicy?”
“Can’t you see my face…?”
Out of forty-two people, only seven had eaten the spicy chicken. Contestants showing curiosity at the intense reactions kept increasing. Looking around at the faces capturing all of this on camera, they were full of delight. The PD in particular was beaming.
It would definitely make influencers very happy once it aired. Even at a glance, it was more than enough to spark a challenge spirit.
The sponsors are going to love this.
Contestants standing next to the people eating the spicy chicken, dipping into the leftover hot sauce in the boxes, then making a huge fuss about how spicy it was, were properly seasoning the broadcast.
“Whoa, this is insanely spicy. I’m going crazy!”
“Don’t swear! You can’t swear!”
“No, I’m going crazy—I mean, wait, that’s not—no!”
And with the last contestant who got sauce all over his mouth and screeched, the winning team was decided.
“Yes! The winning team is—with 2 minutes 58 seconds—Violet Team! Wow~ applause!”
“Wooo~.”
“Aja!”
We’d lost first place by a matter of seconds, but no one looked disappointed. Violet Team was sharing the chicken freely anyway.
In truth, the production side had said the first-place team could have as much of whatever chicken they wanted, so no matter who won, this future had been predetermined.
“Chicken party!”
“I want to try the spicy one!”
As people gathered one by one in front of the spicy chicken declaring they wanted to try it too, and started streaming tears and snot, Song A-seong kept pouring milk into my cup.
“Hyung, drink more milk.”
“Okay.”
Strictly speaking it was already my fourth cup, but I obediently lifted it. I didn’t have much appetite anyway, so filling up on milk wasn’t a big problem.
“If you drink too much milk your stomach hurts. Try eating some of this instead.”
What Min-hyeok held out in between was fried chicken. Taking it, I found the skin was still crispy.
Sitting quietly in the chair I’d first claimed, crunching the crispy skin and looking around, I locked eyes with Kwon Do-ha.
Nine o’clock?
Reading his mouth shape, I nodded, and Do-ha—wearing his broadcast smile—left to go share chicken boxes with the other teams.
What was he, the chicken Santa? Watching Do-ha’s back as he freely distributed his entire personal share of chicken boxes, apparently without much appetite of his own, Min-hyeok opened his mouth.
“I notice this sometimes.”
“Yes?”
I was absorbed in the crunchy jaw workout when Min-hyeok continued.
“You and Kwon Do-ha give off a strangely similar feeling.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
It was out of nowhere, but I was curious. Looking up, I saw Min-hyeok leaning against the table, calmly looking down at me.
“You treat your own business like it’s someone else’s. Always one step removed.”
“….”
Had I been like that? Looking back, maybe I had.
Even after landing a surprisingly accurate hit, Min-hyeok’s expression stayed even. Just the face of someone stating a fact.
So I turned the words over again. Always one step removed.
Looking back carefully, it was true. There had been too many times when getting seriously immersed only left me feeling wronged. At some point, not immersing myself had become a habit—to cut down on excessive emotional drain.
Since when was that?
It felt like a habit built up over a very long time.
“Well, sometimes you need to let it out too. Holding it in is its own kind of illness.”
After that, saying that was enough gloomy talk, Min-hyeok dragged over a chicken box and handed me another piece of fried chicken. Taking it, I chewed and thought carefully. The day I could properly throw myself into something… didn’t feel all that far away.