Chapter 1: A Perfect Day.

     "RAN -- KO -- CHAN!"

     "RAN -- KO -- CHAN!"

     The chant swelled as Ranma's opponent slumped to the floor of the
ring.  The referee raised Ranma's hand and raised it high over his head.

     "Winnerrrr..." he bellowed into the mike, "RANKO-CHAN!"  The crowd
roared as Ranma waved enthusiastically to it and racked his brain for
something suitably girlish to say.

     The championship belt was returned to him, along with a giant
bouquet of roses.  Someone pushed a mike in his face.  "Oh, wow!" he
squealed.  "Did I really win?  I'd like to thank all my wonderful
fans...  I LOVE YOU ALL!" he called, bouncing excitedly on his toes and
waving the bouquet.  His girl-body's breasts bounced too, and the roar
of the crowd increased.  That should sell a few extra tickets, he
thought, and turned to leave the arena.

     Trouble.  The crowd poured out of the seats and onto the floor. 
Ranma dashed down the rapidly closing aisle towards the exit like an
Egyptian getting the hell out of the Red Sea.  The crowd crashed
together behind him as he reached the tunnel and surged after him.

     I wonder what set them off? he thought.  I've finished fights stark
naked and never had them charge me like this.  'Course, maybe that's
it.  Maybe they didn't get to see as much of Ranko-chan as they thought
they'd paid for.

     He dashed around a corner, past two security guards, up a hallway,
and into his dressing room.  He slammed the door and threw the bolt,
then leaned against it, panting.  This girl-body may look young and
sexy, he thought, but I'm still a forty-year-old man inside.  You're
slowing down, Ranma m'boy.

     The pounding of footsteps reminded him that he needed to hurry.  He
peeled off the sheer red-and-black leotard and, with a splash of hot
water, reverted to a middle-aged man.  He dressed quickly, pulling on
pants, shoes, shirt, and coat as the door began to bow inward. 
Finishing with a pair of sunglasses, he sent a quick message over the
intercom and drew the bolt.  The crowd tore it out of his hands, poured
through the opening, then stopped short, disappointed.

     "As you can see," announced Ranma, "Ranko-chan isn't here.  Now, if
you don't mind, I'd like you to clear out of her room."

     "Ladies and gentlemen," came an announcement over the PA,
"Ranko-chan has left the building."

     The crowd sagged and filed out.  One young man hung back, gazing
about the room.

     "Yes?  Can I help you?" asked Ranma.

     "I... I wanted to talk to her.  To tell her..."  He blushed.

     "I thought so. Kid, you can't just barge into someone's dressing
room just because you think you like her.  It's rude.  Hell, it's
downright criminal.  How would you like it if some snot-nosed kid broke
into your bedroom and jumped on you?  Would you think that was cute? 
Would you like that?  Huh?"

     "I... I guess not.  I'm sorry."

     "Good.  I'll tell you what, kid.  You give me your name and
address, and I'll see Miss Ranko sends you something nice."

     "A pair of her panties?" the boy asked hopefully.

     "Don't be obscene.  How about a nice autographed picture instead?"

     "That would be fine, sir."
 
 

     When Ranma arrived home, Akane was waiting up for him and had him
sit down while she cooked dinner.  This meant heating prepackaged eel
teriyaki meals in the microwave, but if Akane wanted to call that
cooking, Ranma wasn't going to argue.  When the meals were done, Ranma
opened his, stirred the rice, and popped the tab on a can of Kirin. 
Akane poked at her meal silently.

     "I was talking to Ryoga today," she said.

     Ranma winced and put down his chopsticks.  "Yeah?"

     "He asked me if we had any plans to reopen the dojo."

     This was an old argument.  "What did you tell him?"

     "To talk to you."

     "I suppose he'll do that, then."  Ranma turned back to his meal.

     Akane's voice took on an edge.  "It's been four years, Ranma.  You
said prizefighting was only temporary, until the scandal died down. 
Well, it's died down.  Don't you think it's time you stopped shirking
your responsibilities?"

      Ranma scowled.  "I've made more money in four years of
prizefighting than we did in fifteen years of running that dojo.  If
Ryoga needs a job, he can help his wife in the restaurant, or go break
rocks or something.  I don't see that I owe him a job."

     "You promised Father you'd run the dojo..."

     "Your father doesn't care," interrupted Ranma.

     "Well, *I* care!" shouted Akane.  "I want my family name associated
with martial arts, not my sister's thievery!  If you had an ounce of
decency, you'd drop this Ranko-chan charade, reopen the dojo, and give
poor Ryoga a job.  You know why he can't find work."

     "The same reason he can't find anything else.  Ryoga was a lousy
teacher, anyway.  If I had to hire someone from that family, I'd hire
his wife."

     "Oh, I see.  You'll hire Shampoo but not Ryoga.  I wonder why that
is."

     "Shampoo's a classically trained martial artist.  Ryoga's a
self-trained brawler.  What's he going to teach kids -- getting lost?"

     "Akane rose stiffly.  "Maybe he could teach them about honor."  She
rose and stalked away.

     Ranma stared at his meal for a long time, then picked it up and
stuffed it into the trash.  What a lousy way to end the day.