Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis . . . but, of course, I do own Fuji.

Fuji: No one will ever own me! I am an individual! I have my rights!

Skyla: When you are under stress you get severely out of character.

Fuji: You would too if you had to sleep in a dog house!

Skyla: Ketchupblood, you can help me take care of Fuji too. Just be careful, he bites. As a request from suzsan, I have also successfully kidnapped Ryoma . . . . Oi . . . Ryoma? Here kitty, kitty, kitty . . . Oops . . . sorry, suzsan, he escaped.

Ryoma: (In a Brave Heart impersonation, but wearing a kitty cat headband, as he stands on top of a distant, green hill far, far away.) FREEEEEEEDOM!

I'm sorry, it took a while to update this . . . a long while. Gomen.

Hope you enjoy the second and possibly last installment of Real Men Eat Wasabi! Please Review!

ooo

A man of about 30 walked in, his narrow, amber eyes gazing upon the chefs with an inborn arrogance. He was a monster of a man, a Hulk without the green skin. He drew the cigarette he was smoking from of his mouth, let it drop to the newly polished floor, and stepped on it with the heel of his boot. "Ginko. Ginka. The only man you should bestow the honor of 'sama' upon is me."

The Katsumoto brothers yelped and fell to the floor kneeling and bowing. "Inoshishi-sama!" they called. They were positively trembling in fear.

Momoshiro frowned at the newcomer. "He is rude."

Ryoma, who seemed to have finally awoken, narrowed his gold eyes.

The man known as Inoshishi walked forward towards them, eyeing the four regulars distastefully. "What are a bunch of boys doing in here? Don't tell me you were going to serve them?" The tall, muscular man caught sight of the wasabi sushi that sat idly on the counter. He picked one up and easily ate it without so much as a flinch.

Eiji pointed in awe. "He's like you, Fuji," he said quietly.

Fuji did not reply. However, he was not smiling either.

"Now," Inoshishi said, crossing his large arms over his broad chest as he regarded the Katsumoto brothers. There was a smirk on his rough face. "What's the meaning with you leaving me in Kyoto? You were my chefs, right? My loyal chefs. The head of the Katsumoto family ordered you to serve me, your 'great Master,' till the end of your days."

The two brothers, still bowing to the floor, gulped. "Hai, Inoshishi-sama," the murmered.

"Oi, oi," Momoshiro whispered quietly. "You seriously don't believe that this guy is the 'Master,' do you?"

Ginko and Ginka kept their silence, though their hands clenched.

Inoshishi laughed when he heard Momo's inquiry. "Oh, so you told the boys the story then?" He cast a casual glance at the four boys with a smug smile. "Then you realize that these good for nothing chefs are my servants. His family has been my slaves for centuries. They are destined to serve me till the end of time."

Ryoma spoke quietly to no one in particular. "Eh? I thought the feudal system ended."

Ginko surprised them all by speaking. "We serve the great Master willingly, not as slaves."

Inoshishi raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you disobey me by leaving Kyoto?"

Ginka spoke as well and this time he made eye contact with the tall, hulking man. "You are no Master to us."

Inoshishi blinked, surprised by his sudden boldness, and barked with laughter. "I'm not? So, for ten years, the Katsumoto elders have been wrong, have they? For ten years they have served me, the false Master? So who, may I ask, is the real Master?"

Simultaneously the two brothers pointed at a Fuji. "He is!"

Inoshishi's eyes shifted and stared down at the tensai. Despite the overwhelming intimidation radiating from his amber glare Fuji did not move a muscle. "He's nothing but a chibi," the man said with a laugh.

Fuji smiled. "If you believe so, let us make this interesting by testing your theory with a contest."

"Nya! Fuji!" Kikumaru cried, horrified. It seemed that, somehow, a little bit of Oishi had rubbed off on him that day. "Don't make him angry! Momoshiro, Ochibi! Help me!" Kikumaru looked at the two younger regulars and paled.

Both younger boys had their arms crossed over their chests. The glare Momoshiro gave Inoshishi was intense with dislike. Ryoma had taken Inoshishi's use of the word "chibi" personally, and a vein was popping out on this forehead, his black eyebrows twitching. They both muttered quietly, "Go get him, Fuji-senpai."

Inoshishi laughed, amused. He was going to enjoy this. "So, what kind of contest?" he questioned.

Fuji took a step towards the counter. "An eating contest." He picked up a piece of wasabi that Ginka had not managed to consume. "We will eat wasabi. And only wasabi, like the great Master once did after his terrible battle. The one who lasts the longest, and eats the most, is the true great Master."

Inoshishi raised an eyebrow. "You realize, boy, that I have many more years of experience then you in this art."

"Do you now?" Fuji asked. His blue eyes opened. "That, Inoshishi, is another theory we can test."

In a few moments Inoshishi and Fuji were kneeling down on the floor, a low table spread out before them with plates of fresh wasabi. Neither, however, looked at the food before them. Both glared intensely at one another, tension hovering over them like storm clouds.

Ginko and Ginka stood by, gulping. Ginka spoke first. "I wish . . . I wish you both luck . . ."

"Both?" Inoshishi said, his eyes flashing. "Which one of us is your Master, Ginko?"

Ginka looked uncomfortably down at his hands. "I'm Ginka," he murmered.

Inoshishi stepped hard on Ginka's foot. "What was that you said?" the muscular giant asked.

Ginka, who's face contorted with pain, bowed his head. "Good luck, Master," he said firmly.

Fuji's brow furrowed when Inoshishi smirked at him. Simultaneously they both took up a wasabi plant and they held the green plants aloft, never loosing eye contact. In unison they murmered the word that would begin the fight for the title of Master.

"Itatakimasu."

They bit into the wasabi and ate in silence. Unlike other food competitions, where the food contestants stuffed their faces, Fuji and his rival were rather graceful about the whole affair . . . Though two of their onlookers were not.

Momoshiro shouted loudly from the sidelines. "Go get him, Fuji-senpai! Fight-O—I mean—EAT-O!"

Ryoma sweat dropped and rubbed his forehead in exasperation and pain due to bad puns while Kikumaru, caught up in the excitement after having forgotten Fuji's imminent danger, snickered, and added, "I'll treat you to some wasabi sushi later!" Both he and Momo exploded in laughter.

Ryoma rubbed his aching forehead harder. "I should have just gone home when this started," he muttered.

Momo cupped his hands around his mouth and roared, "SHOW THAT WASABI WHO'S BOSS!"

In an attempt to outdo Momoshiro's cheers, Kikumaru yelled, "MANJA! MANJA!"

"BON APPITITE!" Momo bellowed.

"CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!"

"REAL MEN EAT WASABI!"

Ryoma put his fingers in his ears.

Both opponents continued to eat wasabi plant after wasabi plant, neither backing down. Fuji, as he ate, had a contented smile on his face. Inoshishi seemed unaffected as well . . . or at least, he appeared that way. Fuji glanced at him once and could see, with some satisfaction, that the fake Master's hand was rather tense and his face was a little too emotionless to be natural. Any person could eat wasabi without flinching. When they had eaten their eighth wasabi plant Fuji chuckled sinisterly. Inoshishi's eyes narrowed. "What is so funny?" he asked.

Fuji grinned. "You are sweating, Inoshishi."

Inoshishi did not answer. Fuji didn't think he could any more. Their small pause had the desired effect Fuji was waiting for.

It was easy to eat three or four spicy foods in rapid succession without stopping. If you ate five chili peppers fast enough you wouldn't notice the spiciness until the fourth one. If you paused too long in between peppers you would soon become aware of the spice faster. For some people that could be true of wasabi as well.

Inoshishi's face was turning red and his throat was visibly constricting. His eyes watered. He did not look so scary anymore, sweating and visibly trying to breathe through the fire in his mouth. Suddenly he grabbed for his throat. "Water!" he rasped in a cross between a screech and a bellow. He lurched to his feet from his kneeling position and promptly crashed loudly to the floor in a faint as though he had just tasted one of Inui's drinks. Laughing at the comical sight, Fuji ate another wasabi plant, mumbling an mmmm of appreciation for good food.

Eiji and Momo cheered. Ryoma poked Inoshishi in the head curiously with his tennis racket, wondering if he was dead. Ginko and Ginka stared at their fallen "Master" and looked at Fuji in awe. Suddenly they knelt before Fuji and bowed their head to the floor. "Fuji-sama!" they cried. They gazed in admiration upon Fuji as the young tennis prodigy ate yet another piece of wasabi. "We are indebted to you forever!"

The sound of sirens filled the air. All at once five police men barged into the Katsumoto Sushi restaurant. "NO ONE MOVE!" bellowed the loudest and the shortest.

Kikumaru yelped and grabbed onto Momoshiro, the next best replacement for Oishi in a time of crisis. Ryoma blinked up at the police men, murmuring a quiet, "Huh?" Fuji ate another piece of wasabi. (So far he had eaten a little more than ten. He was hungry, since none of them had eaten supper yet.)

The short police officer, seeing that he had gotten all their attention, bellowed some more. "WE ARE SEARCHING FOR THIS MAN! HE IS A CONVICTED THIEF AND CON ARTIST." He held up a picture. The four tennis regulars grouped around the picture, Fuji munching on his bright green snack.

The picture was of a broad shouldered hulk of a man with angry eyes and stubble. "Hoi, isn't that Inoshishi?" Kikumaru asked.

"Hai, that's the little bas—Oi! Where is he?!"

Turning about on the spot they saw, with shock, that the man was gone. The sound of a motorcycle roaring caught their ears. "That must be him! He's going to get away!" Momoshiro grabbed his tennis bag and sprinted out of the restaurant. The three other Seigaku members followed his example, the police men and the Katsumoto brothers trailing behind.

Inoshishi, still red in the face, his mouth on fire from all that fresh wasabi, glanced over his shoulder at his assailants, managing to laugh. No one can get me, he thought, preparing to leave the scene on his motorcycle. I, the best con artist in the world, who has escaped from all manner of tight situations. I, who will never be caught. Ever. He barked with hoarse laughter—

And another deadly wasabi plant was served, by our lovable wasabi eating tensai, right into his mouth.

Inoshishi and his motorcycle keeled over. The big man was out cold.

Momoshiro, Eiji, and Ryoma stopped beside the fallen man. The youngest of the three once again found sport in prodding the unconscious con man with his racquet before the police men roughly pushed them all aside. Clearing his throat the short police officer called out in a bellow. "TAIYOKI INOSHISHI! I ARREST YOU IN THE NAME OF THE TOKYO POLICE DEPARTMENT! YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT!"

Inoshishi, drooling and brain-dead with wasabi fever, did not need to be told this last piece of information.

The five police officers hoisted up the con artist and dragged him over to a police car. Suddenly Ryoma blinked and looked about. "Huh? Where is Fuji-senpai?"

Momoshiro and Kikumaru, still laughing at the look on Inoshishi's face, turned around in a circle in confusion. "They're gone!" Kikumaru cried. "Fuji and the Katsumoto brothers!"

"Where did they all go off to?" Momoshiro murmered.

As one, their stomachs grumbled loudly. Looking down they decided that they'd worry about Fuji and the brothers later once they had some burgers.

ooo

In the great palace the chefs of the Katsumoto clan stood in the formal chef attire, row by row. Some gulped, fear and apprehension on their faces. Others stared at their feet, hands clenched in anticipation, in hope, waiting for the mysterious figure that would lead them to walk out from behind the grand curtains.

Suddenly the curtains parted. Gasps filled the room. In complete unison over one hundred chefs fell to the floor on bended knees, bowing their heads. A figure dressed in a dark blue kimono stepped out from the curtain. At his side were the two ancient swords of his title, strapped to an ornate sash. The man stopped to stand walking before them all.

"GREAT MASTER!" they shouted as one. "WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO EAT?!"

The blue eyes of their great Master, who finally returned to them at last, looked gravely upon them all. He called in a clear voice, "Give me wasabi."

The chefs of the Katsumoto clan shouted as one in a chant that shook the palace.

"FUJI-SAMA! FUJI-SAMA! FUJI-SAMA!"

End

Note: Inoshishi means pig or wild boar. Hee hee.

The key to Fuji's incredible Wasabi tolerance . . . He has no taste buds. (Just kidding)

Hope you enjoyed my fan fic.