Here is the second chapter. Enjoy!

An exactly week had gone by since France had proposed the competition. Almost every country was excited thinking about the topic, so everyone put a penny to fill the piggy. They chose a deserted plot of land situated in a forgotten place near the border between Germany and Austria and they set up the platform there. Francis, as the lover of good taste that he was, wanted and had to take care of the artistic section, but certain annoying Polish didn't stop insisting on that everything should be covered of pink. The Frenchmen, already tired, answered him that nobody — with the exception of Feliks and Lovino, who was always wearing pink shirts— liked pink so much. Nobody.

Although there had been little problems of all kinds, at the end France got his purpose: having the great place where the competition took place. He, Switzerland and Liechtenstein would be sit in splendid armchairs strategically situated in a little scenario decorated with all kinds of flags with tomators and potators motifs in honor of the participant teams. Then, surrounding everything, there would be the stands for the observers, where the rest of the nation would be watching the show at the same time that they would be eating popcorn, or, if this isn't possible, seeds. The only thing that France had asked Switzerland for in connection with the set was the point where the members of each team would be while their partners where "bloodily fighting" and, as it was expected from the Switzerland man, he took two old wooden benches half nibbled by the rats and he placed them anyway. That, of course, wasn't really glamorous.

But that stupid detail wasn't important. It was the great day, the great moment, and Francis, dressed up with the loudest costume that he found, was the presenter who had to inaugurate the ceremony. Vash and his little sister wore clothes that matched with Frenchmen's, much to the Switzerland man regret. He felt like a clown.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud and satisfied of inaugurating this ceremony!' he said, with the microphone on his hand. 'We are here together to know who will sit at Italy's side' he pointed at the aforesaid, sat in an outstanding place of the stands, and winked him 'during the meetings. The looser won't have an alternative but sitting at my good friend Toni's side.

'Why does he say it as if it were a punishment—?' a certain Spaniard asked, offended.

'Because it is' Netherlands answered, giving him a glance full of hatred.

'Let's start with the tomator team, lead by the brother of our charming Italy, Romano! A round of applause to the tomato team!

The team in question got up of their nibbled benches (Netherlands could swear that that bench made strange and mysterious noises) and went towards the centre of the stage. The four ones were wearing white sleeveless shirts and red pants too short and tight. Too much. Spain, with all the happiness of the world, waved the observers and threw them kisses.

'Toño, greet Uncle Francis!' he exclaimed, captivated because of the presence of his friend wearing so provocative clothes, which were chosen by the Frenchman himself.

'Hi, Francis!' he wave his hand. 'Wish as good luck!'

'But you aren't supposed to be impartial?' Switzerland asked, with his arms crossed. Francis was still waving his friend as a fool.

'I'm impartial!' he protested and cleared his throat. 'Well, now we'll introduce the potato team itself, leaded by the brother of the guy who has "special" relationships— ' he winked an eye mischievously '—with Italy! A round of applause to the potato team!

And with similar uniforms of the other team's, with yellow pants instead of red ones, the potators appeared with a rather shier behavior than their rivals. Germany, because of the words of that damn frog, was redder and embarrassed since ever. And those little pants didn't do anything but make things worse. Roderich's reaction was similar to the German and Prussia was just smiling arrogantly, with the look of someone who is convinced that is going to win. Hungary was the only one who seemed truly happy. When all's said and done, she had a group of handsome guys (except Prussia, he was ugly) wearing sensual clothes. She even had binoculars hanging on her neck to see better what the tomators could do. That was juicy! She waved her friend Belgium with a smile, who answered the same way.

'Gilbo! Gilbo!' Francis exclaimed, looking for a smile from the Prussian

The only thing that he got was a "go to the fucking hell"*, really unpleasant. Well, really! Prussia didn't have feelings. Francis considered that that was because all the hits with the frying pan that Hungary gave him and surely she crushed his heart and that's how he is now.

'And now, participants must shake hands!' the presenter announced 'Uncle Francis likes sportsmanship!'

Obeying the Frenchman, both teams were in line and extended a hand for the person who'd be in front of them. Hungary was wit Belgium, Austria with Spain, Germany with Netherlands and, obviously, Prussia with Romano. The captains, far away from behave with sportsmanship; they were already squeezing their hands to see who hurt most.

'Let me go already, fuck!' the Italian was complaining.

'You first!'

Germany, sighting already exhausted (and the competition was just starting!) separate both of them and scold his brother because his childish behavior. He wouldn't say anything to Lovino because he didn't dare to speak to that short-tempered Italian anymore.

'Very well! Now we only have to wave our neutral arbitrator, Switzerland!' he expected to someone to applause. Nobody did 'And to our charming helper, Liechtenstein! 'Everybody exploded in applause. The girl felt that her blood was moving to her cheeks in a rush 'All of this said, we will begin with our first proof! It isn't a normal one, but it needs an unbeatable amount of bruit strength. Captains, choose a partner!'

An unbeatable amount of bruit strength? Prussia took his little brother's muscular arm in an instant. Who could be stronger than his little brother? As far as Lovino was concerned, he stared at the Dutchman, who nodded without complaining at any moment.

'The proof is called "Banana fight", and it consists in that the contestants must take their bananas and fight' France explained, proud of himself.

'I don't know if you are aware of how perverted that sounds' Vash remarked, frowning.

'Oh, oh, oh, petit Suisse, I think that it is you who has the perverted mind' the truth was that everybody had interpreted the same thing. 'But maybe you are right so I'll make it clear. Our adorable contestants will have to take a banana and use it as if it were a sword! They'll fight their rival this way. The only thing that you must keep in mind is that the bananas must end intact, eh?' he smiled with a seductive air 'Who ends with the banana cut in half or crushed, loses.

'Wait, frog! May I know what the hell is this related with the bruit strength? You have tricked us! Prussia protested at the top of his voice and shaking wildly his arms as if he was a jailed chimpanzee.

'Bruit strength? I haven't said that at any moment, buy "fruit" strength! Hohoho!

'You are a son of a "fruit"!' the Prussian crossed his hands and pouted. Damn frog.

Liechtenstein took two bananas of a basket that France had given her some minutes ago and gave them to both contestants, giving them a little smile full of sweetness. Netherlands couldn't stop staring at the girl. So small, so pretty, so fragile… she was perfect. And he loved everything which was perfect. Switzerland noticed that detail and took his gun, just in case. If that giant dares to touch his little sister, he would be there with his gun to move away that Dutch giant finger from her.

'Let's start the battle of bananas!' the arbitrator announced, still staring bloodily at certain pedophile Dutchman.

With the bananas in their power, both participants slowly approached, examining the air. How were they supposed to fight with a banana? In the potato team, Prussia cheered his brother up to all and sundry, meanwhile the tomator one, Spain and Belgium did the same, but they had banners in support, full of hearts and tulips.

'May the best man win' Ludwig whispered just to say something.

The Dutchman had the sportsmanship hidden in a secret place of his heart, and locked, so the first thing he did was raising the banana and smack the other blonde's fruit. The banana cut in half. Shit.

'Such a jerk—' Lovino mumbled, covering his front with a hand. He was starting bad.

'Well…Germany is the winner of the first proof! One point for the potato team!

The winner came back a bit disorientated to the bench of his team, being congratulated by his partners. Netherlands, even more puzzled if such a thing is possible, only received a little pat on his back that Spain had given him with a smile, some comforting words from his sister and several insults muttered in Italian.

'Netherlands, can I ask you something?' the captain intervened.

'Tell me'

'Are you stupid? How it is possible that you lose in less than two seconds?' he was red because of rage 'And on top of that against of the macho-potator! Fuck, Netherlands, you could have done it better*!

Netherlands looked away. He already knew that he had lost and he didn't feel like they rubbed salt into the wound. Anyways, that mess was really important? It was a rather absurd competition.

'Netherlands, can I asked you something?' Spain asked this time.

'No'

'Please!'

'I said no'

'Oh, came on!'

'God, such annoying…' he sighted 'Okay, tell me'

'Can you give me the banana' he smiled in a silly way 'I'm hungry'

After giving the Spaniard a furious glance, he gave him the banana cut in half. Antonio received it willingly, tasting it as if it was the best jewel of gastronomic that he had tasted in his long life.

'Such a good banana!' he exclaimed, happy.

'Don't put yourself like this because of a banana, idiot' Romano mumbled, rather stressed.

Francis smiled. It seemed that the audience was quite cheerful and, although the first proof had been too brief because the roughness of certain wandering Dutchman, the truth was that all the remaining things were just fine. It was time to begin the second proof.

'Captains, choose a team member' the presenter exclaimed again 'This proof is called "You're going bad-ass" and you'll have to answer questions! Intelligence will be valued.

Intelligence. That was the keyword for Lovino Vargas. Netherlands had already shown his incompetence in that proof before and Antonio was…Antonio. Putting in an intelligence proof a guy who was eating a banana half crushed would show a lack of common sense on him, so there was only one person left in his group who could participate…

'Lovi! Can I participate?' asked the Spaniard, still chewing the yellow fruit.

'No fucking way. You are stupid.'

'Lovi, can I participate?' asked Belgium, with a radiant smile in her face.

'Of course you can' he answered softly 'In fact, I had already thought about choosing you.'

'What does she have that I don't?' he asked surprised. Now the banana tasted bad.

The girl jumped for joy and caressed Spain's head, who seemed like an abandoned puppy. He felt bad because his beloved Lovi didn't trust him and that hurt him. Now he knew what Netherland's banana had felt when it was crushed.

On Prussia's side, the situation was similar. Austria, claiming that he was a sensible and educated man, wanted to be the participant, but Gilbert prevented him from doing it.

'This proof is too much for you, Sissy aristocrat' he smiled in a cocky way.

'Gilbert! Let Roderich participate!' Hungary exclaimed, with a hint of annoyed.

'I'm saying no! I'm the awesome captain and you have to follow my awesome rules!' he put his arms on his hip, looking at his partners arrogantly. 'And so that the Italian brat has chosen Belgium, I choose you, Elizabeta!'

Switzerland, looking at the contestants from the top of his armchair, was getting impatience. Why should they take it so long? He hit the floor with his foot and cleared his throat, showing his dissatisfaction. Francis got the message and took the microphone again.

'Came on, guys! Hurry up!' he was also quite tired of waiting 'Also I have to add something that I forgot to say before! Each team has a wildcard, I mean, if they see that their partners need help, you will be able to help them…But just once!'

Belgium smiled, confident. She didn't need anyone to help her, of course not. After all, she was a strength and determined young woman.

'Oh, such a forgetful person I am!' Francis intervened, but this time his voice was darker and perverted 'In this proof, you will need another member of the team! We don't have buttons so we had to manage to put the proof on a sound footing…In other words, instead of button, we will use the bottom of one of his partners. Who smacks the buttocks of her partner has the right to answer. And if one of you fail an answer, will have to kiss the other.

'Wait a second!' Switzerland got up, seething 'Don't make up, the proof didn't included that.'

'I think that smack a partner is quite excessive' Liechtenstein mentioned, blushed because of the idea.

'Oh, no, that part it's good' the Switzerland said, with his cheeks a bit blushed too. 'What it's no good is the part of the kiss. Take it out, frog!'

'Yes, yes, I'm coming. That was only a little joke' pretending apprehension

Neither the members of the potator team nor the tomator team could believe it. Smacks? They were stupid, because for a moment they had forgotten that who had organized that competition had being nobody but the perverted of France, the degenerated par excellence.

'Spain, come with me!' Belgium carried him, too excited about it. Yes, she didn't try to hide her yearn to touch the bottom of the young man.

Romano was no happy because of the excitement of the Belgium, and Netherlands even less. But they weren't jealous or something similar.

In the other team, Hungary thought that she was going to die at any moment, because the way that her heart was beating wasn't normal. It wasn't. But it wasn't really normal that she had to participate in a proof in which she had to touch Austria "that". He, the same as his partner, was dismayed because of the organization of such competition. If it wasn't that Prussia had blackmailed him, the Austrian had proudly gone away that madness.

'By the way, Hungary, you have to take your binoculars off! Safety reasons' made France clear, with a not really convincing tone of voice 'Please, Liech, go and take them'

The girl obeyed and she went to take the binoculars which were hanging from the Hungarian's neck. She wasn't willing to give her that object, but she had no option. Liechtenstein gave them to France, who use them immediately to discern those bottoms which were so hot. Austria's one was quite adorable, but his good Spaniard friend's one was at another level. Such an ass!

'You two, put your ass out!' Francis ordered, already drooling 'Those are the rules!'

Resigned, Antonio and Roderich put their trunk down and stretched their bottoms, leaving a great view to the presenter of the contest. Belgium and Hungary were already in front of those buttocks and they were watching them quite disturbed. It was true that the Belgium had been excited with the idea, but now she wasn't so sure. How was she going to smack the poor Spain? That would be too cruel!

'Well, now that everyone is already, let's begin the proof!' he claimed 'Petit suisse, please, proceed to carry out the questions'

'Question number 1: Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?'

Hungary knew the answer, but she was still feeling bad because of having to smack the bottom of her ex-husband. Belgium, on her side, wanted to win. She just wanted to win, so she hurried in giving the smack of its life to that backside. The poor guy protested. How rude Belgium was when she was interested in!

'SpongeBob' the blonde woman exclaimed, convinced of her answer.

'Correct!' Switzerland cleared it up. He was embarrassed because of doing such stupis questions, but as Francis said, c'est la vie 'Question number 2: Who has the ugliest eyebrows in the world?'

'England!' Belgium shouted after smacking again his friend's bottom.

The laugh of certain American and several insults from the English were heard from the stands, who thought that that attack to his person was quite free. They not only didn't let him to participate in the competition but they were laughing of him!

'Correct! Question number 3: How are Prussia's underpants?'

'Elizabeta, if you know the answers, reply' the Austrian clarified, embarrassed 'Don't worry about me'

'But Roderich—'

'But why should someone have to know how my underpants are?' Prussia shouted from the bench, getting more indignant as the seconds went by.

Belgium hesitated. The truth was that he didn't remember seeing his underpants and in the hypothetical case she had done it, she trusted in that Gilbert was decent enough to change them. After all, he wasn't filthy enough to have only one pair of underpants; was he? Hungary, for some mysterious and possibly dark reason, did knew very well how absolutely all his underpants were. She wasn't proud of knowing such a piece of information, but you can never learn too much. She had a look at the Prussian. It was an important day for him, so he'd probably had chosen some underpants which bring him good luck. She had already decided it. She put her hands over the Austrian's buttocks quite embarrassed.

'White and with chicks!' she announced to all and sundry

'Correct!'

At that moment Gilbert's face was very much red that the red pants of the tomator team. The worst thing was that his flush got redder when he heard the guffaws of the observers. What the hell was so funny about that? Everybody had the right to wear adorable underpants! He looked at the other bench: Netherlands had his eyebrows slightly raised and Lovino was laughing evilly.

'Question number 4: Who has bigger breasts, Hungary or Monaco?' Switzerland blushed reading such question.

'Hungary!' Belgium answered with a victorious smile after giving the corresponding smack to the Spaniard.

Everybody was silent. And why did Belgium know the answer? It was noticeable that all the francophone had some element inherit from Francis, but Belgium had inherited the worst, possibly. Hungary didn't know where to look, so she decided that the most reasonable thing to do was stare at the floor. Yes, that would be the best.

'Correct! Last question! Who is the nation of l'amour?'

'Uncle Francis!' Belgium answered, smacking again the hurt Spain's buttocks. The poor guy was wishing that all that nightmare ended, because his back hurt and he felt as if his bottom was going to catch fire at any moment.

'Correct! One point for the tomator team!'

Spain recovered his upright composure and hugged devotionally his friend. He wasn't angry anymore with her for being so rude, but now he was jubilant because of having winning one of the proofs. Austria and Hungary didn't seem very disappointed for having lost, but his captain was. He was biting his nails and that was everything except awesome.

'¡Well, guys! Now we'll have a little break!' France announced 'We'll see again in ten minutes!'

France took the opportunity to stretched his legs and talk to the public, to know what they thought of the competition. Firstly he spoke briefly to Seychelles, who congratulate him for created such particular proofs. He smiled proudly; being aware of that he was one of the best geniuses on the face of Earth. Who wasn't seem to be so satisfied was Arthur, who graved the gale from the neck whit the evil intention of straggling him at the instant he sighted him.

'You! Why the hell did you have to put a question about my eyebrows?' England shook fiercely the good guy of Francis, who was already starting to feel dizzy.

'Calm down! Calm down! Where's you humor sense?'

'Which fucking humor sense? I'm the laughing stock of everyone because of your fucking fault!'

'But if you were already before…' he mumbled very low 'Came on, came on, don't infuriate. Uncle Francis has came to give you a thing'

He picked a little note from the pocket of his loud suit. The Britain looked at it suspiciously, but he decided to take it some second later.

'It isn't your number telephone…again, is it?'

'Hohoho! Don't make me laugh, Artie! Of course not!' he looked at his "friend" with superiority. He was too seductive and handsome to be with someone like Arthur 'I only came to tell you that I need your help for the last proof. Look the note and make sure that no one reads it' he winked him an eye and left.

Arthur had a look at it and, immediately, his face lighted up. At last he'd have the opportunity to show the world how useful he could be! He smiled satisfied.

The proof was on its Ecuador and both teams were equal. Lovino and Gilbert exchanged their glances. They didn't even remember anymore why they were facing each other, but they did know that they had to beat the other in any way. At any cost.

Go to the fucking hell: OK, I didn't know how the fucking hell to translate the original sentence, even looking for help through the net. So I just changed it into something that everybody would understand. I'm really sorry.

You could have done it better: …Read the note before this one.

In fact, I think that those expresions don't even exist in English. Anyway...

Thanks for reading. See you in chapter 3!