Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis. But I own Fuji. I just kidnapped him.
Fuji: (Wearing a collar and leash.) This is abuse! Abuse! Yuuta, help!
Yuuta: (speaking to Skyla) Here's his food and his chew toy. You have to walk him three times a day. When it rains you really don't have to bother keeping him inside. He's too spoiled as it is.
Fuji: Yuuta!
Yuuta: (Waves goodbye as Skyla walks away dragging a struggling Fuji behind her.)
Hope you enjoy Real Men Eat Wasabi! Please Review!
ooo
Ryoma yawned as he walked down the street, glancing at the three other Seigaku regulars. Momoshiro walked beside him while the highly energetic Kikumaru walked next to Fuji. All four of them carried their tennis bags. The weekend practice was over. The four of them had made their grand escape before Inui could bestow upon them the honor of sampling his new "Cup of Joe." "Joe" just happened to be the name of the biology teacher's class pet toad. The four boys didn't stay long to find out if it was just a coincidence.
"Nya, Fuji! You're so mean!"
Fuji smiled. "Why am I mean?"
"I know you took some of my bento! You did, didn't you!"
"Saa, Kikumaru. I do not know what you are saying."
"We were sitting under the tree and you told me about that bird, remember? And I looked and it was pretty . . . Pretty invisible! And when I looked down the pickled plum was gone from my bento! I know you ate it!"
Momoshiro grinned broadly, laughing at the bickering between the two seniors. "It's too early for this," Ryoma mumbled. He had been rudely awakened by Karupin that morning. He didn't have to tell anyone though. His friends could see a few stands of cat fur poking from his dark hair. Or, perhaps, Ryoma was going gray.
"It's 5:00 PM," Fuji informed Ryoma over his shoulder with a smile.
"Che." Details. Details. It still felt like 6:00AM to him.
"So where are we going again?" Momoshiro asked as they stopped at the cross walk. They waited for the light to turn green. "We didn't really say where, did we?"
"Burgers, sushi, Italian. You decide," Kikumaru said.
Momoshiro and Ryoma smirked evilly at the acrobatics player. "Does that mean you'll pay?" they asked in unison.
Kikumaru's eyes widened and he shook his hands as if to ward off a horde of insects. "No, no! Fuji is the oldest. He is paying. He—where did he go?"
They turned about and saw that Fuji was already crossing the street, and the walk light had been green for a while. The other three regulars jogged across the street to catch up before it turned red again. "Oi! Fuji!" Eiji cried when they joined the tensai. "You left us behind! And by the way, you're pay—" A loud motorcycle roared by down the street, drowning out Eiji's words.
Fuji held a hand up to his ear. "What was that? I didn't hear you."
Eiji held his hands around his mouth to holler over the noise. "I SAID YOU ARE PAY—" Five police cars sped by, chasing after the motorcycle, all five sirens screaming like banshees.
"What?!" Fuji called, hollering as well over the noise.
"I SAID YOU'RE PAY—"
Ten more police cars roared past.
At a nearby construction sight a worker began to drill into the pavement with a jackhammer.
A toddler wailed bloody murder when her ice cream fell off the cone onto the grass.
"WHAT?!" Fuji called again.
"I SAID—!"
Tokyo decided at that moment to undergo a mini earthquake whose rather loud bark was worse than its bite.
Kikumaru roared, "MOA! NEVER MIND!"
The earthquake stopped, the terrible noises faded away, and all was right with the world again. Kikumaru was paying the bill, not Fuji.
They walked down the street some more till they discovered a new restaurant. "Katsumoto Sushi," Momoshiro read. "Do you think Kawamura will be mad at us if we walked in?" Momoshiro asked. "It would look bad if we supported the competition."
Fuji laughed quietly. "Let's call this an infiltration. We'll see if it's real competition. I doubt it will be."
They walked in. It was empty. There was no one in sight.
Confetti exploded from out of no where. The regulars threw up their hands with yelps of surprise against the bombardment of falling paper snow. Two men in sushi chef uniforms appeared, yelling "Bonsai!"
Momoshiro punched the nearest lunatic in the face. "What are you doing!" he roared.
The chefs jumped back and bowed to the four. "Welcome! You are our first costumers! Please take your seats!"
The four boys looked at each other in confusion. "Who are you?" Ryoma asked, an eyebrow raised.
The nearest man bowed again. Unlike the other he sported a rather curly mustache. "I am Katsumoto Ginko"
The other man, who had no facial hair, gave a bow as well. Facial hair was the only way to tell the two apart. "And I am Katsumoto Ginka. We are the Katsumoto brothers and have just moved to Tokyo from Kyoto. We are from a long line of Sushi chefs." He held a hand over his heart with proud exuberance. "From generation to generation the ancient sushi secrets of our family have been passed down from father to son. We are two of the last few remaining individuals of this glorious lineage. We are pleased to meet you."
Ginko held out a wooden board with fresh sushi upon it. "Please. Eat a sample. It is fresh and free."
The four hungry regulars looked down at the sushi . . . Ryoma, Momoshiro, and Eiji backed away, growing pale. "Wasabi sushi," Momoshiro said angrily. "Are you trying to kill us with that stuff?"
Fuji looked serenely down at the free sample. "I will have some," he said. He reached out and took a sample, eating it easily. He smiled. "It tastes very good." He looked up and noticed that the two brothers were staring at him in awe, their cheeks pink. One sweat drop appeared on the tensai's temple. "Saa . . . is everything alright?"
Ginka grabbed his slender hands in his, his eyes filled with emotion. "You . . ." he began passionately. "You are a man with a true sense of taste!"
Ginko appeared instantly beside his brother, giving the regulars a scare, and peered at Fuji carefully with squinted eyes. After a second his eyes opened wide. "Yes! Yes I see it! It is just like the Master himself!"
Eiji, Momoshiro, and Ryoma cocked their heads to the side. "The Master?" they asked.
Fuji laughed nervously, another sweat drop appearing on his other temple. "Katsumoto-san . . . I'd like my hands back please."
Ginka gave a yelp and fell to his knees, bowing his head to the floor. "Forgive me! I am ashamed to have contaminated your sacred hands! I shall punish myself! Ginko!"
"Hai, Ginka!"
"Give me the wasabi!"
"Hai!"
Ginko passed him a fresh green wasabi plant and Ginka opened his mouth and promptly ate it whole. His eyes immediately began tearing in agony and soon he was begging for water, clutching his throat in agony.
The regulars watched with rather exasperated expressions. "Maa," Momoshiro murmered. "Was that really necessary?"
"Hoi, who is this 'Master?'" Kikumaru asked, still curious.
Ginka, who was still recovering from wasabi poisoning, lowered his head. Ginko did the same. Both stared at the floor solemnly. "He was a great and powerful man," Ginko said softly. "During the feudal era he was the lord and master that all the Katsumoto chefs served. Today people have long forgotten his name, but his sense of taste, which we still honor, will never be forgotten. Legend has it that the Master came one day to the first ancestor of our proud family, Katsumoto Sushi, during—"
"Sushi?" Eiji and Momoshiro asked. "His name was Sushi?" They held hands over their mouth to suppress a rumbling surge of laughter. Ryoma was nodding off on his feet, not really listening.
Ginko continued the story as if nothing had happened. "So the Master, a powerful samurai, came to Katsumoto Sushi, wounded and fatigued from another long war. He said, 'I am hungry and weary from battle. I would like you to give me food.' Sushi, a humble chef, replied sadly. 'I am sorry, my Lord, but I have nothing to give you right now. I have no fish, no vegetables, and no rice. I only have wasabi, and no water to sooth its burn.'
"But the great Master shook his head and said, 'Wasabi will do well enough for me.' And so he took the freshly cut green plant and ate the root and then the leaves without frowning or crying due to its oh so spicy taste.
"And Sushi was amazed because he had never seen anything like this before! A man who could stand the taste of wasabi, the frightful Japanese horseradish, without flinching and without drinking water was a true man indeed! Sushi bowed to the great Master, who had already begun to eat a second wasabi plant. 'My Lord!' he cried passionately! 'Please stay the night and I shall gather fish to cook for you!'
"After he had gathered the fish he made the finest meal he could and served it to the Master. The Master was pleased and said 'From this day forth, Katsumoto Sushi, become my chef.' For many years Katsumoto, Katsumoto's children, and even Katsumoto's grandchildren served the great Master till one day the Master disappeared, never to be seen again. But with his disappearance the last wasabi plant of the harvest that year disappeared with him. Wherever he was going he would be alive, and eating his precious wasabi.
"And ever since then, the Katsumoto family has awaited his glorious return."
The Seigaku regulars, Momoshiro and Eiji in particular (they had long since recovered from their giggle fit) stared at the Ginko in disbelief after he finished the tale. "Nya, is that really true?" Eiji asked.
The Katsumoto brothers nodded proudly. "Yes," Ginka said. "Though, since that day long ago, no one has been his equal . . . till now!" He passionately grabbed Fuji's hands again. "Please, we must know your name!"
A third sweat drop appeared on Fuji's brow. His eyebrow twitched. "Fuji Syuusuke," he answered warily.
"FUJI-SAMA!" The two chefs bowed once again to the floor.
The three other tennis regulars crossed their arms over their chests, frowning. "'Sama?'" Ryoma murmered. "Why don't we deserve a 'sama?'"
(Note . . . Ryoma already has a "sama." Hence the title of this anime.)
Fuji laughed nervously. There was malevolent karma flowing from his fellow regulars. Fuji turned helplessly back to the chefs who had started to chant his name and tried to settle them down. "Saa, do not give me such a formal title."
Ginka and Ginko's eyes filled with tears of joy and admiration. "Our Master! So humble! So noble!" Again they began to chant. "Fuji-sama! Fuji-sama!"
The door slid open violently to the Sushi restaurant. The brothers turned around and gasped, horrified.
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," he said dangerously. "The only man you should bestow the honor of 'sama' upon is me."
To be continued . . .
