Chapter Five

	It soon became obvious that the three great chefs did not like each
other, and sharing the truck Kirin had rented for them did not improve
the situation. When all three were assembled in one room awake, there
was a tremendous sniffing and humphing and rapid turning-aside of heads
with noses turned up. They spoke to each other in veiled insults if at
all. They did, however, eat each other’s food. That night’s dinner
consisted of Chef Pierre’s soup, Chef Luigi’s spaghetti marinara, and
Chef Gottfried’s – well, Ranma thought, his
whatever-you-call-that-flaky-junk. The presence of the three Chefs at
the table slowed down the conversation somewhat, partly because of all
the noisy and enthusiastic eating, and partly because Soun kept bursting
into tears of joy at the prospect of Akane cooking this well.
	"So how is it you guys all speak Japanese so well?" Ranma asked the
three chefs.
	"I spent three years studying at the Culinary Academy in Kyoto," said
Chef Pierre.
	"Funny how I never heard of that place," Nabiki said. "Must be a plot
device."
	"As a youth, I was obsessed with a desire to translate the _Tale of
Genji_ into Italian," Chef Luigi said.
	"As a college student, I was in love with a Japanese girl, the daughter
of a journalist working in my native Vienna," said Chef Gottfried.
"However, we were unable to marry because of her parents’ objection.
Until now, I had forgotten about her. I believe I shall forget her
again, as will the readers, until she appears late in the story and, in
our old age, we finally find peace and contentment in each other’s
withered arms."
	"Humph," said Chef Pierre. "Peace and contentment indeed. Bah."
	"Humph," said Chef Gottfried. "Bouillabaisse without mushrooms."
	"Pass the spaghetti," said Ranma. "And that pot of whatever that is."
	Akane  wasn’t eating as much as usual, and was giving angry glares to
everyone. Ranma noticed this, but his jaw was still smarting from
several blows he had received earlier, so he thought it was better not
to ask what tonight’s problem was. Maybe it was only what it seemed to
be:  he had read the message from Kirin, and it didn’t surprise him that
Akane might get a little cranky after a reminder of how bad her cooking
was. But she seemed worried, too.
	"Isn’t this food delightful, Akane?" Soun asked her.
	"It’s great, Dad."
	"I think this is the most delicious Western food I’ve ever eaten."
	"Sure, Dad."
	"What an honor it is to have such great chefs in our home."
	"OK, Dad, it tastes good, OK? Leave me alone already!"
	Soun began to sniffle. "She . . . she yelled at me. What did I do to
deserve that?"
	"There, there, Tendo," Genma said, spaghetti dribbling down his chin.
"This is an emotional time for all of us."
	After dinner Akane went outside and began breaking boards. Hoping to
get away from the great chefs, Ranma went outside to watch. He didn’t
say anything, but Akane glared at him. "Leave me alone, Ranma. I’m
trying to practice!"
	"All right, Akane, tell you what. I’ll leave you alone after you tell
me what’s really bothering you. If you don’t tell me now, don’t get mad
at me later for not knowing about it. Okay?"
	"This stupid cooking contest," Akane said. "Hiii-YAH!" Shards of wood
went flying.
	"Between me and Kuno?"
	"Between me and _Kodachi_ Kuno!"
	"You and Kodachi? What the heck is that about?"
	"Ranma, you idiot! Principal Kuno didn’t pick Tatewaki for the contest.
He picked Kodachi!"
	"But all her food is poisoned!"
	Akane explained to Ranma what had happened in Chapter Four.
	"Boy, she sure suckered you in there, didn’t she, Akane?"
	"Well, maybe I should lose and let her have you, just so you’ll stop
_bothering_ me while I’m _practicing!_"
	Ranma dodged a punch that would have sent him on an unwanted
trajectory. "Whatever. I’m out of here."
	Before he could leap away, both fathers appeared on the porch. Soun
said, "Akane, Ranma. We’ve made a decision. Tell them, Saotome."
	"We’re calling you both in sick tomorrow," Genma said. "You’re going to
skip school. Right, Tendo?"
	"That’s right, Saotome. We want the two of you to spend the whole day
taking lessons in the kitchen."
	Ranma and Akane each shouted their own familiar forms of refusal.
	"No," said Soun. "Our minds are made up."
	"Don’t worry about it, Sis," Nabiki called from her window. "I upped
our homeowner’s insurance. I’m even using Dr. Tofu’s agent."
	Chef Gottfried appeared behind the fathers. "The first lesson," he
announced, "is to clean up after you eat. You will please come in here
to receive this lesson."
	Left alone on the porch with his friend, Soun lit a cigarette and
smiled. "You know, Saotome, we have full bellies and bright prospects."
	"That’s right, Tendo. And so far in this story, there hasn’t been a
single joke at our expense. Life is good."
	In the background, there was a shrill cry of, "What do you mean I
didn’t stack the bowls right? Just who do you think you are?"
	"Yes, Saotome. Life is good."


Chapter  Six

"I feel better than James  Brown. I feel better now."  --  James Was?


Dear Diary:

What a simply wonderful day! I did receive a few minor bruises, but they
have quickly healed, and imagine the prize:  a  chance to win my darling
Ranma away from that crapulous wench Akane Tendo! Oh, my heart is
pulsing with fulsome joy!
Father came into to see me today. It was the first time he has been to
see me in years.  He did peer at me for a while, and raise his glasses
to stare with eyes that I must acknowledge to be just the slightest bit
beady, unlike my own wide and ocean-deep orbs of course.  But in the end
he said, "You must be my daughter Kodachi. Look how beautiful you are."
	Well, actually, diary, he said,  "You must be my daughter Kodachi
because you’re the only girl in the house." And actually instead of girl
he said  "waihine." And he didn’t really say my name because he didn’t
know it. But it’s close enough. I will take my compliments wherever I
can get them.
	Then Father told me he needed me to defend the family honor in a
cooking contest against Ranma. Oh, the joy! To be in a room with Ranma
for so long without his being able to play coy and run away, the poor
shy little boy. He won’t be able to contain his feelings for me once
I’ve shown him everything I’ve learned in home  economics class! St.
Hebereke may not have boys, but we surely do have good home ec classes!
	As soon as Father left I began to have the most deliciously evil
thoughts! What if I could not only defend the family honor by defeating
Ranma, and thereby give Father cause to recognize me when he sees me in
the future, and if I could not only display to Ranma what a wonderful
cook I am while overcoming  his natural bashfulness, but . . .  what was
I saying? Oh, yes. What if I could defend the  family honor, attract
father’s attention, show my cooking to Ranma, and vanquish that
manic-depressive squirt Akane Tendo all at the same time!
O rapturous day! O triumph of triumphs! Glory of glories! I could sing
just to think of it! I think I will!
 Oh, dear, I don’t know any songs. Not that it matters. La la la la la
la! Ha ha! I could laugh!
I know there are those who say I am insane.  But they don’t realize it’s
a cleverly concealed act! Because I’m insane, my adversaries never
expect me to understand them, so they don’t bother to conceal their weak
spots. Ha ha ha!  And I keep them all frightened of me! Ha ha ha!
Brother dear may love _Romeo and Juliet_, but I love _Hamlet._ Ha ha! I
am but mad north-northwest.  When . . .  how does it go? Oh, yes. I know
a hawk from a handsaw. Ha ha ha!  I am so delightfully evil!  But if I
know I am evil, am I truly insane? Or does knowledge of evil, and the
deliberate choice of evil, imply a kind of super-sanity? Yes, that’s it.
I’m not insane! I’m so sane that compared to me, everyone else is
insane!
They’ve gone on two trips and been stranded on two desert islands, and
they didn’t take me either time. How silly of them!
Oh, Diary, dear, I’m sure I don’t know what to say. I have this most
delicious sensation of pure wickedness bubbling up from the pit of my
stomach! It’s like disgorging a double fudge sundae!
Oh, if only I had a sparring partner! I suppose I’ll have to beat up the
ninjas again tonight! Ha ha ha!
Seriously, diary, I will have to think of something entirely new to try
during this contest. Something that will throw the poor fools totally
off-balance. O, my body is aquiver with longing to be enfolded in
Ranma’s arms! I shall feast my eyes upon his eyes and feast the rest of
me upon the rest of him!  O! How I shall stuff him with my magnificent
cooking till he is too sluggish to resist my prostration atop his manly
frame!  I shall be ready soon. My clever plots are creeping across my
forehead like Soviet spies. Ha ha ha!
I shall ask the woman in the wallpaper!
What do you say, woman?
She is mute. How unfortunate. Yellow wallpaper doesn’t go well with
black roses. I must remember to have the ninjas tear it out.
Ha ha, I fooled you, diary. I know there’s no woman in the wallpaper. I
was only joking, diary dearest. Everyone expects me to talk that way,
but we know better, don’t we, diary? Whoops! Look at the clock! It’s
time for my pills. Let’s see. Vitamin supplement with iron; extra
vitamin  C, extra vitamin B. Extra vitamin E for my complexion. Ginseng
gel caplet for tea.  What is this one the ninjas gave me today? Lithium
– is that an essential mineral? It isn’t in my regular supplement. I
think I’ll skip it. Oh, and of course, my hormone pill.
What a glorious day! Life is sweet!




Chapter Seven


	Kasumi came home that evening to find the large truck still parked in
front. She entered the house. Her kitchen was absolutely spotless,
although there were a few dishes missing from her cabinet that she found
the broken pieces of in the  garbage bin outside the next morning. Dr.
Tofu had spent a good part of their evening together exploring books he
hoped would tell him how to hit Rumiko Takahashi’s pressure points the
right way to get her to write him back into the manga. Kasumi had had a
good time, but she was tired. As she padded through the hall, she heard
a chorus of snores. Genma-Panda’s roaring, Ranma’s whistling breaths; a
light hiss from Nabiki; silence from Akane’s room; where was that
cacophony coming from? Oh, yes, the Great Chefs were on sleeping mats in
the living room downstairs.
	
	Kasumi woke while the moon was high.  She thought she heard Ranma’s
voice. He sounded very awake. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, raised her
head a little, better to listen.
	"No way! No way, you gaijin freak! I need my rest after getting smacked
around by Akane all day yesterday!"
	"You lazy lout! A good chef always rises early to .  .  ."
	(SMACK!     THUMP! dragdragdrag.    SLAM!) 
	Kasumi rested her head on the pillow again. How wonderful that the
Great  Chefs fit so well into the family routines.
	There was no sound from the unconscious Great Chef in the hallway. A
few moments later, there was a shrill shriek from Akane’s room.
	"Get out of my room, you gaijin pervert!"
	(BONK! BIFF! UPPERCUT! CRASH tinkle, tinkle fallfall THUMP!)
	"It certainly is unusual to have guests who aren’t martial artists,"
Kasumi said quietly. When there was no sound from the unconscious Great
Chef on the grass outside, Kasumi went back to sleep.
	WHANG WHANG WHANG WHANG WHANG! 
	Someone was banging with a metal spoon on a frying pan as he walked
down the hallway.  "Get up! It is time for chef lessons!"
	In her bedroom, Akane was just beginning to relax when she heard the
banging sound. "Oh, all right," she muttered to herself, and dragged her
eyes open, but didn’t begin to slide out of bed yet, when another door
popped open and she heard the muffled sounds of combat.
	"Oh my." SPLANG!  (Frying pan over head.) "Don’t you realize tomorrow’s
a school day?" WH-ZANG! "Spoons are for mouths, aren’t they?" SPR-KLUG!
"We do have neighbors to consider, you know." SPLUTCH!  (Low blow, Akane
thought.) "Oh dear! Be careful of the stairs." RUMP-BUMP-TUMP-WUMP,
THUMP!
	
	Meanwhile, somewhere else entirely,  Happosai was buried in a pile of
lacy underwear.

	Kasumi rose at her usual time—just before dawn. She stepped over Chef
Gottfried in the hall, nudged Chef Pierre out of the way at the foot of
the stairs, and went out to the garden to drag Chef Luigi indoors so he
wouldn’t get burned when the sun came up. Then she cooked breakfast.
	"These chefs are really lazy," Nabiki said at breakfast. "I can’t
believe they’re sleeping so late."
	"Well, time for school!" Ranma said, jumping up.  "Oh boy, I can’t wait
to . . ."
	"Stay right there, boy," Genma said.
	"Akane," Soun said, "remember you aren’t going either. As soon as the
Great Chefs finish getting their rest, your cooking lessons will begin."
	After helping to clean up, Ranma and Akane went into the dojo to spar.
	"Akane," Ranma said as he dodged her attacks, "I gotta find some way to
get out of here. Tell you what. Why don’t you  sneak down the street to
the pay phone and  call pretending to be Miss Hinako and say I have to
come in or else I’ll miss three tests or something."
	"Then what?"  Akane growled.
	"Then I’ll get out of here."
	"You mean you won’t call to get me out of here too?"
	"Huh? Of course not. We all know _you_ need the cooking lessons."
	Akane’s next blow connected.

	During the Furinkan lunch hour, there was a loud banging at the front
door.  Kasumi opened it to find  Tatewaki Kuno outside.
	"Good afternoon, Kasumi Tendo. I have heard that the fair Akane Tendo
is ill," he said, resting his bokken backwards on his shoulder,  "and I
have come to comfort her."
	Kasumi shook her head, but let him in.
	"I have also heard that Ranma Saotome is ill, and I have come to vaunt
over him," Kuno added.
	"Well, it’s true Ranma isn’t feeling well," Kasumi said. "But he isn’t 
sick exactly."
	Ranma was in the hallway outside the kitchen, face-first in the wall.
	"What ails thee,  Saotome?" Kuno said, leaning slightly toward him with
a proud and curious expression.
	"Go into the kitchen and find out,"  Ranma said. His voice was muffled
by his lips’ proximity to the wall. "I could have gotten down hours ago,
but I like this better than what’s going on in there."
	Kuno thrust open the door. Behind him, Kasumi craned her neck to see
over his shoulder.
	The upper part of the kitchen was stained with choking smoke. A
blackened lump of something that used to be meat sat  in a rancid pan on
the table. Two more such lumps protruded from the overstuffed trash
bin.  Chef Pierre was sitting on the floor, his face covered with grease
and bruises, his face either calm or shell-shocked  as he rubbed burn
salve into a lurid red patch on the skin of his arm. The floor was
littered with bones, onion skins, splinters of chopped cutting board,
and one of Kasumi’s good baking pans, which had a dent in it shaped like
the back of Ranma’s head. Akane was leaning against the wall, breathing
heavily. A charcoal odor and black smoke came from the oven, which was
open, its door hanging loosely from the bottom hinge.
	"She cannot make lamb," Chef Pierre said. "She will bake it until it is
a full-grown sheep. With her there is no delicate touch. Everything must
be fast and strong. By God!  To put her in a kitchen, it is like a
rhinoceros in a glass house."
	Kuno rushed at him with his bokken, shouting, "How dare you so insult
the high-spirited Akane Tendo, you…" but before he could deal a
tooth-rattling blow, Chef Pierre lowered his head to the ground in
submission. Whether in submission to Kuno, or to Akane’s cooking, was
not clear.
	"It does not matter, Akane Tendo," Kuno said comfortingly, again
resting his bokken on his shoulder. "When we are married, I shall employ
a proper Japanese chef to . . ."
	A moment later, Kuno landed in a tree about a block away with a burned
rack of lamb jammed over his face. Punching holes in the meat with his
fingers so he could see, he climbed out of the tree and began to work
the despoiled meat off his head. "I forgive thee, Akane Tendo," he said
in a tone of golden nobility as he popped the meat from his head,  "for
I know how illness within can spoil outer disposition. Yet. . ."
	Another burnt rack of lamb, one with his bokken thrust through it, came
flying through the sky, struck the original lamb, and forced it back
onto his head.  The force of this blow also crumpled him to the ground.
	"Such athleticism," he said through the binding meat. "Excellently
aimed. A magnificent specimen, indeed, is the lovely Akane."  His
afternoon nap then commenced.
	A few moment later,  an even more violent banging brought Kasumi to the
front door once again.
	In the hallway, Ranma was thinking about getting off the wall, but he
decided first to find out who was at the door.
	"Oh, hello, Principal Kuno," Kasumi said. "How nice to see you again."
	"Delinquents skip school, dey get haircuts for punishments, hey hey?"
Snapping of shears.
	Ranma slid down from the wall and prepared to flee. A hand closed
around the collar of his shirt.
	"You return to cooking lessons, no?" said Chef Pierre.
	"Hey, hands off!" Ranma started to measure the chef for a backhand
punch.  But then he thought, "No. That’s too predictable." He followed
Chef Pierre back into the kitchen, but kept his senses taut, awaiting
the approach of his principal.
	Chef Pierre set him to stirring the brown contents of  a saucepan.
After some peremptory instructions, he turned back to Akane, who was
flailing with a butcher knife at yet another uncooked rack of lamb.
	A sweatdrop formed on Ranma’s head. The padding noise of Principal
Kuno’s feet in the hall had to be coming. It had to be. . .
	"Oh, no you don’t!" Genma’s voice trumpeted in the hallway. "There’s no
way I’m going to allow you to spy on  Ranma’s secret cooking
techniques!"
	Another argument between Genma and the big  kahuna followed. Ranma
tuned out all until the following exchange.
	"Big  kahuna cut _your_ hair then!"
	"Ha ha, you fool, you forgot I’m bald, didn’t you?"
	"Now, then, gentlemen," came  Soun’s voice. "I hate to hear the sounds
of discord in my humble home. What seems to be the trouble?"
	"Ah, this one have long hair. Big kahuna have nice steel scissors, also
straight-razor extra sharp for sideburns, ha ha!"
	A snapping sound. Soun shouting, "Hey, whoa, come on, now. Don’t do
that. Can’t we just. . .?" Muted exchange of blows. Loud slamming sound
as Akane planted the butcher knife in the kitchen counter. She marched
out into the hallway.
	"Will you people shut up? I’m trying to _cook_ here!"
	"Imbeciles," said Chef Pierre.
	Four heads were poked through the kitchen door. "Shut up!" they all
shouted.
	Ranma noticed that Soun was now razor-cut on the right side of his
head.
	All four heads withdrew back into the hall. There was a great deal of
shouting. Ranma didn’t listen to most of it, but he couldn’t help
catching most of Akane’s words.
	"Are you going to let him get _away_ with that,  Dad?"
	A few moments later:  "I can’t _believe_ I’m listening to this!"
	Shortly after:  "Yes, she did!" (a pause) "No, I will _not_ let you cut
my hair!"  Then, "Well, if you think I’m doing this for you _or_ Ranma,
you’re  crazy!"
	Ranma continued stirring the contents of the pot.  "I’m so glad I’m not
involved," he said.
	Four heads poked through the kitchen door. "You are involved!" they all
shouted, then drew back again.
	"Well," Chef Pierre said, "I am not involved. Now we add the chopped
mushrooms. Simmer them in the stock until they are brown. Never add the
mushrooms before adding wine."
	For some reason, the din outside was not bothering Ranma. He couldn’t
understand why that was.
	"I can’t understand why all the noise outside isn’t bothering me," he
said to Chef Pierre.
	"I can explain," Pierre said. "It is because good cooking is like, how
you say, the peaceful thinking."
	"Meditation?"
	"Yes, exactly. You become focused on the simple motion of stirring, or
chopping, or brushing, or even measuring. It makes you calm. I think
maybe no one is calm here in this house, is that right?"
	"No, Kasumi is  always calm," Ranma said. "And. . ." He felt his mouth
shape into an O of surprise. "And she’s the one who does all the
cooking."
	"Exactly," said Chef Pierre.
	"But why doesn’t cooking make Akane calm, then? She always goes crazy
when she cooks."
	"Ah," said Pierre. "For the answer to that question, you will have to
speak to Chef Luigi. I am only a little bit crazy; he is very  crazy.
Yes?"
	Outside, the battle raged on.



Chapter Eight

	At dinner that night, half the food was prepared by Ranma, and half by
Akane. Everyone (even Ranma) was wise enough not to comment on the poor 
quality of Akane’s results. Ranma’s, while not expert, was tasty
enough;  but Akane’s rack of lamb was undercooked in some spots,
overcooked in others, was seasoned with soap instead of wine, and had
bits of cutlery baked into it.  It was similar with the vegetables. To
encourage her, Chef Pierre ate a small portion of each of Akane’s
dishes. Although his color briefly changed, he did not pass out.
	"Akane’s cooking didn’t kill him," Ranma thought. "Hey, maybe she’s
making progress after all. She’s never going to be a match for Kodachi,
though."
	Soun ate without speaking. To cover up the uneven haircut he had
received, he now wore his Santa Claus hat (left over from the Tendo
Family Christmas Scramble).
	As a result of Principal Kuno’s pointless aggression against Soun, the
challenge issued by Kodachi to Akane was now part of the official
arrangements. It was a three-way contest:  Akane (representing the
Tendos) and Ranma (representing the Saotomes) versus Kodachi
(representing the lunatics).  As yet no judge had been selected, nor had
the location been decided, but the time was set:  the contest would
occur in six days.
	"I’ll arrange the judge, Daddy," Nabiki said. "Leave everything to me.
Oh,  and charge it to Kirin."
	"That’s Daddy’s little girl,"  Soun mumbled.
	"This assures me at least one soliloquy later in the story," Nabiki
said, "plus a chance to dress up in something _totally_ impressive which
Kirin will pay for."
	The other two great chefs were not present during the meal; they had
gone off to appear on a local TV interview program to advertise the
cooking game show they were contracted to compete in later.
	Late that night, Akane walked alone out onto the balcony (also last
seen in Tendo Family Christmas Scramble). Her stomach was in turmoil
from the effects of eating her own food, but at least she hadn’t
out-and-out poisoned anyone, like she usually did. Even Ranma had taken
a few bites.
	She looked at the stars. A soft wind stirred the leaves. Gently, it
began to rain. Akane felt like a little girl again.
	"I love the stars, the autumn leaves, and the rain," Akane thought.
"When I was a little girl, the stars were so beautiful. The autumn
leaves were so beautiful. I used to jump in the piles of them after Dad
raked them up. I love it when it rains like this, all the soft touches
on my skin like the fingers of angels."
	She heard a rustling sound behind her and turned. Ranma’s shadow did
not fall over her, nor did he, wordless, step out onto the balcony
beside her, resting a supple yet manly arm across her shoulders, nor did
he knead her tense shoulders with his strong fingers. He was in the room
next to his father, snoring torpidly as he recovered from being hit on
the back of the head with a baking pan earlier in the day.
	The rain stopped. The wind stopped. The leaves ceased to move across
the moonlit yard. A gray cloud obscured the moon and most of the stars.
A pale blue light was in the sky then.
	"I love that pale blue light," Akane thought. "When that pale blue
light comes into the sky, it makes me think about being a little girl.
It makes me all warm and glowing inside."
	The pale blue light faded from the sky. Off in the distance was the
sound of honking horns. An orange light from inside the house shone out
the first floor windows onto the backyard grass, giving it a subtle
sheen.
	"That light on the grass reminds me of home," Akane said. She looked
around her. "Oh. I am home. Well, it reminds me of when I was a little
girl. And I . . ."
	There was a noise from the front of the house. Akane turned slightly,
listening.
	"Cretinous dog!"
	"Yammering oaf!"
	"Preposterous, dogmatic, arrogant . . ."
	"Your mother’s hips were a horseshoe, you worm!"
	"Your father wore a shoehorn between his legs, you mongrel!"
	"Your brother’s mouth is stuck in open circle, you ape! "
	"Your sister drip-drops in a bucket, you festering sore!"
	Rattling of the door handle.
	"Hey. They locked the door! What for did they lock the door?"
	"Not sleeping in the truck for me. Is too much drunkenness."
	"You’re  too drunk? You can’t hold your liquor, you Venetian
lickspittle!"
	"What? And I suppose you can, you Prussian pigturd!"
	The soft slapping of blows. A light thud, someone slumping against a
wall. A muted but unpleasant sound, dry heaving and splattering noises.
Then silence.
	Akane turned back, looking at the night sky which showed no light, no
stars, no wind, and no leaves. There was nothing but a memory of the
sound of two of the great chefs of Europe throwing up on the front
porch.
	"I love the sound of great chefs throwing up on the front porch," Akane
tried. "It reminds me of . . .  Oh, forget it!"
			**
	In the morning, Chefs Luigi and Gottfried were slow to arise. They
growled at each other incessantly. Kasumi suggested they go to the bath
house and talk out their problems. After a long, steaming bath,  they
returned pink and reconciled.
	"Drunkenness makes fools of us both," Chef Gottfried said as the family
ate Kasumi’s breakfast. "Sake makes me so very sad, remembering my lost
love."
	"Drunkenness makes me want to go back to the womb," said Chef Luigi.
	"Oh, please," Nabiki said. 
	"Well, the kitchen is finally clean," Kasumi said, smiling
beatifically. "As soon as we finish breakfast, it’s all ready for
today’s lessons."
	Ranma leapt up. "Yep! Well, got to get to school early! Big test today,
and . . ."
	"Ranma!" Genma snapped. "You’re not going to school today."
	"Okay! Great, I can catch up on some training exercises and . . ."
	"What’s the matter, Ranma?" Akane said. "Afraid I’ll out-cook you
today?"
	"That’s the spirit," Soun said.
	"No way, Akane." Ranma retorted. "I’m not afraid you’ll out-cook me!
I’m afraid you’ll outlive me if I taste any of your . . . Guh." Akane’s
blow found its mark. "How predictable," he muttered as he folded onto
the floor.
	Outside a wind arose, and the wind-chimes on the back porch clinked
ominously. There was the shrill sound of shakuhachi music. The room was
inundated with black rose petals.
	"Oh, dear," Kasumi said, "they’re getting into the food."
	Kodachi’s absurd laugh was heard outside. "Hahahahahahaha,
hohohohohoho, heeheeheeheehee! You’re doomed to be humiliated, Akane
Tendo! Soon my superior cooking skills will vanquish your putrid
concoctions, and darling Ranma will be mine! You will never defeat me,
since I am the one they call the Black Rose, the brightest young flower
of martial arts rhythmic gymnastics and home economics! Hahahahahahaha,
hohohohohohoho, heeheeheeheee . . . Gak!"
	The impact upon her face of a large metal pot lid from the breakfast
table had cut short the monologue. Akane stood on the porch,
throwing-arm raised triumphantly, eyes shut with a mixture of irritation
and satisfaction. Like a rotten willow hacked down by the
groundskeeper’s axe, Kodachi  plunged from the tree limb where she was
perched. Her ribbon full of rose petals fluttered to the ground; the pot
lid landed more solidly.
	"Oh, dear," she said, sitting up, waving away the small birds that were
singing around her head. "What a craven blow, albeit a somewhat accurate
one, using a lamentably improvised weapon.. How fortunate for you that
I’m saving my best attacks for the actual contest." She sprang to her
feet. "Akane Tendo, prepared to be humiliated beyond measure in  a
public forum. Au revoir!" She leapt into the tree. "Goodbye, Ranma
darling!"
	"Good riddance," Ranma said from the floor as Kodachi bounced away
across the rooftops.  "Hey, you know, Akane, maybe the cooking practice
is helping you!"
	"You think so," Akane said suspiciously.
	"Sure. Your pot-lid throwing is a lot more accurate since you practiced
throwing them at me all day yesterday."
	Akane stalked off. "Well, thanks for all your support, you jerk."
	"What do you mean? I praised your throwing, didn’t I?"
	"Shut up, Ranma!"
	The rest of this argument need not be repeated here. It was like all
the others you’ve read, except less conclusive. It ended when Chef Luigi
thrust his soft frame between the combatants.
	"It’s time for pasta lessons," he said. "Lesson number one. Clean up
the table."
	About an hour later, Soun and Genma were sitting on the porch playing
shogi.
	"She _was_ accurate with that pot lid, wasn’t she, Saotome?"
	"Mmm-hmm."
	"That’s daddy’s little girl."