Inspiration always comes from the strangest places, and I thank Yahoo for having a random article about food contests on their homepage the time that I was visiting the site. I was originally going to be working on a sequel for Wrong Order because of its wild success, but this sudden random idea distracted me.

This is slightly alternated from the Naruverse. Ayame has never met Naruto, though her father has known Naruto. This will be given more detail during the story, but anyways, they're both assumed to be in their mid-twenties.

Whatever the case, enjoy.

The ramen shop was completely full that chilly winter night, and even though the snowfall and wind was making the weather nasty and intolerable, Ichiraku was quite populous.

"I'm just here to make sure that the money is going to the right people," said one civilian.

"I bet that he isn't going to make it," muttered another, but someone else beside him heard and began an argument about why the said 'he' was going to make it.

Ayame was nervous, sweating, and it wasn't because of the excessive heat and adrenaline that was building in the small shop.

The professional eater was in town. And apparently, he was here to win the challenge.

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"Ayame," her father called from the kitchen during a late weekend shift.

"Tou-san?" she responded and quickly slipped behind the curtains to meet her father.

"It's time for me to teach you the Knockout."

The Knockout? The prized family secret!

She didn't understand why her father wanted to tell her that night. What spurred his sudden inspiration to pass on the family heirloom recipe? She was just eighteen; and she only had chopped vegetables and boiled water in the kitchen, since her father did everything else.

Did he trust her that much?

"Why, Otou-san?"

He gave her a shrug and a smile and then beckoned her to come near.

She stepped a bit closer. She was only a few meters away from the pot, but the overwhelming aura of spice around the boiling soup was making her eyes water already. She could feel her cheeks burn and the sweat pop out of her skin.

"Now, what makes my soup so spicy, Ayame?"

"The chilis," she replied, though she was sure that her father wanted another answer.

"So why are the chilis so special?"

She hesitated. "Because we grow them in our own backyard, and we've been taking care of the same plant since the Knockout was invented in our family. They're special chilis; they're our own."

Her father gave her a smile and shook his head. "No, Ayame, it's not in the chilis themselves. It's the time that they are picked. The key is in when you pick the chili."

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Silence took over Ichiraku and Ayame held her breath, her lungs constricting.

This was it. This was the moment.

He entered the shop with grace, wearing a light blue button down shirt and black tie with nice looking black pants. He took a seat, taking his tie in his right hand and loosening it by pulling it right and left.

He seemed right at home with the celebrity-like attention he was being given, a smug look across his aqua blue eyes as he scanned the audience that he had attracted to the dingy small ramen shop. He knew that he was being bet on; he knew that he was causing all the commotion; he loved the widespread rumors that had been spread around, and even though he said nothing of his plans, somehow off the grapevine, everyone knew that he was going to be here that day.

She saw this all in the arrogant way he slicked his blond hair back, and in his casual slouch.

Naruto Uzumaki.

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"Hey pretty girl," said the patron after more than a couple of drinks.

Ayame ignored the customer. She always dreaded the customers that couldn't handle what they ingested, and more often than not wished that the customers would just drink their drinks elsewhere.

She had complained to her father many times to take sake and liquors off the menu, but her father insisted that this was something that increased businesses, and that it was better experience for her to be dealing with drunken men.

And even though she was now in charge of the menu, she kept the alcohol on the menu to respect her father.

"I'm talking to you, chick."

She didn't turn around and continued to clean the bowls, slowly rubbing the ceramics with a soapy sponge, deciding to be a perfectionist for a while, so that she could take a much longer time to clean than normal.

A long moment of awkward silence stemmed out of her intentionally ignoring, and eventually she heard a strange hushed whisper coming from the same man.

"Hey. Did you hear?"

And though she would usually ignore this as well, because drunken men were known to say many ridiculous things, she, for some reason, found herself turning around.

"Hear what?" she finally said, soapy plate and sponge still in hand.

"You didn't hear?"

Ugh, why did she turn around in the first place? What was she thinking? That a drunk man's conversation would actually be worthwhile to listen to?

But before she could whip back around—

"He's coming," the man continued.

Ayame's eyebrows narrowed. "Who?" she asked after a while.

"You know…the guy."

Exasperated, she flipped her body around and returned to the sink. This was getting quite stup—

"The Eater," said he, and she almost dropped everything, but nothing was holding her jaw closed so her mouth fell slightly open.

Him?

"He's coming in from across the continent…the professional eater…"

She already knew what the man was going to say next.

"For the Challenge…"

yahtzee

He was famous for eating. He had a blog and all that stuff, and yeah.

And now he was here to challenge the cooking. He was going to defeat the challenge and show that it was possible and stuff (and there's some kind of agonizing hatred against Naruto or something like that)

He sat down, as arrogantly as someone could sit down, with his elbows on the counter and expectant eyes, waiting, mocking.

She knew what he was going to order before he even said it.

"The Chili Combo Knockout, please."

She took a breath, and then replied, "That'll be prepared right away."

And then she quickly turned toward the kitchen, feeling his eyes burning her back. Stepping onto the white tiled floor, she walked slowly over to the pot of boiling water.

She had already been preparing the soup. Not physically, but she was mentally going over the exact recipe, and was rehearsing exactly how she was going to be doing this.

He wasn't just a contender. He was a critic.

She had to make sure everything was perfect, and that she didn't take too long on the order, and that she made it as spicy as she could ever.

No one could take the spice or quantity of The Chili Combo Knockout ramen. Everyone who could eat it all couldn't handle the spice. And everyone that could handle the spice couldn't eat it all.

But the situation was different here. And she was worried that Uzumaki would complete the challenge, and then dismiss the challenge as "over-rated."

That would completely ruin her business.

She saved the best peppers just for this. She prepared the best noodles just for this.

She'd better not mess it up. For the business's sake.

For her dad's sake.

"Enjoy," she said, but she could barely get her voice out in her fright, as she artfully placed the large bowl down on the counter, and slid chopsticks onto the rim.

"That I will to the best of my ability," Uzumaki responded, and Ayame could just feel the underlying contentiousness of his words.

This was it. This was her family's pride—riding on this one bowl of soup.

Uzumaki drew his right hand over the chopsticks.

"The time limit is 30 minutes," she squeaked.

His eyes, which were down at the noodles, examining and grading their quality even before he was eating, suddenly snapped up to meet her eyes.

"I know," he said dismissively, "Is there anything else I should know?"

She vigorously shook her head, and he returned his attention to the food.

She held her breath, as he held the chopsticks, poised.

Hey, yo! Review time?

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