Hi!

Well, finally reached the half-way mark of this chapter, and passed the 
half-way mark of the fic in its entirety.  Hope you're still enjoying it, 
and are gonna stick around to the end.  I won't be posting this until I've 
completed the whole chapter, so C&C is still greatly appreciated and 
desired, both public and private.

On that note, very special thanks to Reid Carson who, though not a 
pre-reader, has done an amazing job of catching my many mistakes.  With C&C 
like that, who needs pre-readers?

This post includes new material at the end since the last entry I sent to 
the ML, and numerous tweaks throughout.  Doing without a post this time, 
hope the formatting works.  Later, gotta work on the second half!

-Mike Noakes
noakes_m@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Subway/9701

***	Choices

Part Three:
Decision
by
Michael Noakes

Burning embers floated high on the night wind to flicker briefly among the 
stars before flaring, fading, dying.  Their dizzying dance twirled amongst 
the smoke and silence as they drifted into the sky.  A cascade of sparks 
flared, the result of an idle poke at the source: but the sudden intensity 
dulled quickly and the fire returned to a slow, crackling simmer.  The young 
man beneath the tree leaned back and stared up at the evening sky through a 
thick canopy of shifting branches and leaves.
	Earlier that day the variety of sights and wilderness colours had struck 
him with their vividness and acuteness.  Now all was shades of grey and 
black, the fire providing the only colour with its flickering oranges and 
popping reds.  Beneath the softly flowing wind, even sounds were subdued: 
the night was quiet, and calm, and Ranma Saotome felt at ease.
	Aching muscles and sheer exhaustion urged rest, but he resisted the lull of 
sleep so as to enjoy the moment, even if but briefly.  It was his first 
night in far too long spent outdoors, the firmament his ceiling, this bower 
of trees and interlaced branches his chamber, a knotted root his pillow, the 
earth his bed; cursing, he pulled a rock from the small of his back and 
wished that nature included more creature comforts -- he felt cold, and 
hungry, and uncomfortable, and began to question what he was doing out in 
the middle of nowhere.
	I must be getting soft, Ranma thought.  This is just what I need: a 
training voyage, to regain my edge.  Get strong again.  Just like the old 
days, me and Pop wandering and training.  But a glance to the side revealed 
a conspicuous absence: no, not like the old days, amended the boy, this time 
I�m alone.  Genma had to be left behind, of course: he wouldn�t have 
understood, and even if he had, would have interfered.  Weird, he thought.  
He�s made my life hell, got me engaged, got me cursed, made rivals of 
possible friends, made of me a shame to my mother; he beat me and threw me 
to the cats and never took it easy on me for one day out of those ten years 
of training . . . and yet I think I miss the idiot.  Thing was, he�s always 
been there.  Now I�m alone.
	Yet nevertheless at ease, since despite the weariness the day�s hike had 
worn into his bones, for the first time in far too long -- for perhaps the 
first time, period -- no one was imposing demands upon him, no death 
threats, no wedding threats.  For the first time he could remember, he felt 
free.
	The opportunity would be put to good use, too, he decided.  Without his 
father to cook up bizarre and potentially dangerous -- but, Ranma had to 
admit, ultimately very creative and efficient -- techniques, it was up to 
himself to design his training agenda for the next week.  He had brought a 
minimum of supplies: everything he ate, drank, slept on or under, would come 
from his own efforts: hard, straightforward work, he figured, as much as he 
disliked unnecessary labour, would establish a strong foundation for further 
practice.  Then perhaps some perfection of his technique.  Some speed 
training.  Physical conditioning.  Maybe some deep meditation: if not for 
his chi techniques, then at least to move beyond the events of the last few 
days.  He closed his eyes, soothed by the scents carried on the breeze, 
settling deeper into the ground, his mind passing back over the terrain he 
had covered, picking out likely training spots, forming a tentative regime 
for the week.  And at the end of those seven days. . . .
	Then it would be time to return ho- to the Tendos.  He had promised: would 
he remain beholden to his word?  He had seven days to decide.  This morning, 
he would have denied ever going back, but by the afternoon his resolve had 
wavered.  And now?
	Ranma slept.


Decisions once made impart passion and clarity of mind, but such singularity 
of purpose endures but briefly; and so it was that, as Ranma Saotome walked 
home that afternoon, the first stirring of doubt assailed him.  The open 
stares and gawking of the pedestrians at the pigtailed boy that passed them 
by wearing a school skirt and blouse disturbed him not -- he was inured to 
mockery, for the opinion of such as them currently meant nothing to him -- 
but the reality of what he intended to do intruded upon his detached calm.
	To leave the Tendos was one thing, but where would he go?  As he passed 
along the Nerima canal he ran options through his mind.  Ukyou, the Amazons: 
not likely; leaving one fiancee's house for another would simply compound 
his problems.  The Kunos?  The thought of fleecing Tatewaki and Kodachi for 
a few weeks brought a smirk to his lips, but he doubted he could do so 
without losing his mind.  Maybe his mother�s house?  As a last resort, 
perhaps, but the idea of spending a week or two as a female -- and putting 
up with her efforts to redeem �Ranko�s� femininity -- was almost as 
unappealing as living with the Kunos.
	He wondered what normal kids did when they ran away from home, whether they 
had plans or goals or a clearer idea of what they were doing -- then frowned 
at the implication.  I�m not �running away,� he told himself.  I�m moving 
on.
	Not knowing where he was moving to did not subdue the memory of where he 
was coming from, or of what he was leaving behind.  Furinkan High School.  
The guys, false and perverse, one night calling him friend, the next day 
insulting and mocking him; the girls, shallow and cruel, believing lies, 
perpetuating worse exaggerations.  So what.  I was an idiot, Ranma told 
himself, to try and fit in with those jerks.  Who needs people like that?  
My enemies make better friends than those people at school.  At least with 
Ryoga and Mousse, I know where they�re coming from: they�re rivals, and 
sneaky, and liars and cheats and. . . .  For a moment he forgot exactly 
_why_ they were better than the people at school.  Oh yeah: because at least 
they were _honest_ rivals: they never hid the fact that they�d take any 
opportunity to kick his ass (Ranma sneered at the idea) and steal both 
fiancee and cure from him given the opportunity.  Yet despite this -- 
perhaps because of this -- they made the best of allies when the going got 
really tough.  He�d never turn to those idiots back at Furinkan for help.  
For anything.  He�d never go back to that school.
	He kicked a wayward pop can lying on the street and watched it bounce, 
clattering, down the street.  How did it happen, he wondered, why did they 
turn on me like that?  That some people would insult him came as no 
surprise: Sayuri, for instance, had obviously disliked him from the day he 
arrived in Nerima, for reasons he simply could not fathom.  But why Yuka, 
when they had got along so well the night of the party?  And then Hiroshi: 
the guy had professed to be a good friend, had listened and offered advice, 
had �bonded,� as he put it -- and then went and spread secrets given in 
confidence, and allowed lies to propagate by keeping silent, when he damn 
well knew those stories going around were untrue!  If that was the kind of 
friends one made in high school, then screw it, Ranma told himself.  At 
least when Ryoga pounds me in the head, I know he�s being genuine about it.
	And then, with little awareness of neither time nor distance having passed, 
Ranma stood before the Tendo residence, and his previous concerns became 
inconsequential.  Having arrived, he now had to decide whether he was to 
stay; to his surprise, he found very little remorse over the idea of leaving 
this place forever.  After all, what was there to keep him here?  Not Akane, 
certainly, for whatever feelings he had for her were obviously never to be 
reciprocated; though it galled him to admit defeat in any battle, he knew 
this one was hopeless.  The other sisters?  Nabiki he would gladly bid good 
riddance to; Kasumi would be missed, and Ranma wished there was some way to 
thank her before leaving.  As for Soun and his father -- well, he�d find 
some way to make it up to them, although considering the trouble they�d 
caused him in the last year, it wouldn�t take long to pay up _that_ bill.  
The dishonor of leaving his marriage promises unfulfilled bothered him, but 
why should the onus always fall on _him_, he decided.  Akane was the one who 
broke our fathers� oath this time, let her deal with the consequences for 
once!  �Cus by the time our parents figure out what�s going on, I don�t plan 
on being here no more.
	With a dismissive shrug, he stepped into the house.
	He ignored the two fathers playing shogi, offered a greeting in passing to 
Kasumi, and headed straight to his room.  Only it wasn�t his room anymore, 
of course; looking around, he realized it had _never_ been his room.  Where 
were the dozen little touches that marked a place as belonging to someone, 
the character identifiers and knick-knacks of personality that said, �Ranma 
Saotome lives here�?  Aside for the few outfits he had hanging in the closet 
(into one of which he quickly changed, tossing the Furinkan schoolgirl 
uniform aside), the camping gear stored beneath it, the few personal items 
shut away in the dresser, there was little to nothing.  One had to own stuff 
to display it, and everything he had ever left out had either been 
repossessed by Nabiki (if valuable), inadvertently thrown out by Kasumi (if 
ugly or clashing with the room�s original decor), or broken by Akane (or by 
any number of suitors or rivals).  Even necessary items, such as school 
books and training equipment, were either kept out of sight or in the dojo.  
For the first time it occurred to him that, whether consciously or not, the 
Tendos had made every effort to minimize his impact upon his own room.  He 
wondered if the effect extended throughout the entire house.  Of course, 
erasing his presence wasn�t possible, the sheer property damage he had 
either directly or indirectly caused to the household ensuring that.  But 
once the fresh paint faded, the holes were patched, the scars healed -- once 
the only visible signs that a Ranma Saotome had ever spent a year-and-a-half 
within these Tendo walls were gone, would he be forgotten?
	Then he thought, did I bring anything to this  household other than 
violence?
	What about to the school?
	He looked around the mostly empty room.  Listened to the sounds of the 
house: Kasumi, softly singing to herself as she passed by; the clink of mugs 
raised in cheer; the banging of a door.   Zephyrous whispering of wind 
slipping in through an open window, coiling across the room, extending, 
breathing down the hallway, up stairs, touching on closed doors -- three 
sisters, clapping of a wooden duck -- and now down, stirring hanging beads 
and the aromas of the oft-visited kitchen, then through a family room that 
never was, and finally. . . .
	Out the back, free once again.
	A lifetime of short stays and hasty departures made him a quick packer.  It 
took mere seconds for his dusty and worn pack to be retrieved from the 
closet and laid out upon the floor.  It had not even been disassembled, 
Genma having taught him the value of foresight and preparation when it came 
to unexpected travel.  Meager possessions were quickly sorted through, 
absolute essentials chosen and trivialities tossed to the garbage -- he 
wouldn�t be returning for them, so why bother putting them away?  Into the 
pack he shoved his gi, intact but so worn and used it had begun to turn 
grey; it was followed by an extra set of black pants and red shirt, his last 
pair considering the job Nabiki had done on his clothes at school.  Some 
underwear and socks, stored in a plastic bag, completed his traveling 
wardrobe.  The surprisingly numerous dresses, gowns, skirts and blouses he 
had somehow accumulated over time he fastidiously ignored, and the feminine 
underthings obviously failed to make the cut.
	As he continued filling his packsack, he considered possibilities: should 
he travel Japan, in search of martial instructors?  Or better yet, China?  
If required, he could find work to finance the trip -- though if push came 
to shove, simply swimming the distance was possible.  Not pleasant by any 
means, but he had done it before, and if necessary, would do so again.  His 
eyes widened: how could he have not thought of it earlier: what else was 
there to do once in China but return to Jusenkyo?  Too long the search for a 
cure had been put aside by his responsibilities here in Nerima; now that 
every last connection to this house and little city had been absolved, he 
could finally be rid of his cursed girl-side.
	He secured the final tie on his backpack.  Good.  He hefted it and found it 
light enough for easy travel.  One last thing to check.  In the bottom 
drawer of the dresser -- the drawer assigned to him, his father having 
claimed the ones above -- was stored his small collection of racier female 
clothing, lingerie, and embarrassing accessories.  Digging quickly through 
the odd accumulation of articles -- an iron corset, a worn yet intact skimpy 
bunny outfit, his tattered but neatly folded tea-ceremony wedding kimono -- 
he pulled out a nondescript shoebox stashed at the very back.  His intention 
was to sift through it quickly, yet each item he touched upon forced 
recollection.  A few strands of long, black hair, tied with a shred of 
yellow ribbon: an early encounter with a rival, a fiancee held close, a bad 
cut.  Ragged piece of cloth: ice and skating and an unwanted kiss, makeshift 
bandage, unexpected kindness and ministrations.  Yellow scarf that closer 
resembled a fishing net.  Iridescent-green dragon-like scale.  Picture of 
curiously cat-like Ranma rubbing nose against a surprised Akane�s cheek.
	Junk, all of it.
	Carefully closing the box, he tenderly returned it to its position, 
replaced the oddities that concealed it, softly closed the drawer, grabbed 
his bag and hoisted it over his shoulders and turned to leave; and then the 
door to his room slid open quietly on its railing and Akane was standing 
there on the threshold with eyes widening with sudden realization, and Ranma 
knew he had wasted far too much time on pointless reminiscence.  In that 
first moment, eyes locking and full awareness of what Ranma intended dawning 
upon Akane -- he could tell, he could see it in her face, he knew her at 
least that well after a year -- he considered simply running away, jumping 
out the window and making his escape.
	No.  No more running.  If he had learnt anything this afternoon at school, 
it was that you could never turn your back on these people.  I�m leaving 
here by choice, not like some thief at night, he told himself.  I�m leaving 
by choice and moving on.  Akane stepped into the room, closed the door 
behind her, and slowly looked around.  He watched her take in the details: 
the open closet, the missing clothes, discarded items on the floor, the pack 
on his back.  Dumb as a stump when it came to P-Chan, he thought, but 
observant enough when she has to be.
	�You�re leaving,� she said, eyes still sliding across the room.
	It wasn�t really a question.
	�When are you coming back?�
	So maybe she didn�t get it after all.  He didn�t answer.
	Hazel eyes sharply fixed cerulean.  �You�re not, are you?�
	He shrugged and moved towards the door.  Akane blocked the exit.
	�Outta my way, Akane.�
	�Or what, you�ll hit me?�
	Ranma snorted.
	�Nice show you put on back at school.�
	 �Wasn�t a show.�  He stared at her for a moment and, realizing she wasn�t 
about to move, turned away.
	�So what if someone had got in your way?  What would you have done?�
	�Dunno.�  Answering over his shoulder, he pulled the curtains aside from 
the window.  �Hit �em, I guess.  Prob�ly regret it after, but, hey, didn�t 
happen, so no worries, right?  After all, nobody tried to stop me from 
leaving, did they?  Not the teachers, not the guys -- not even you, Akane.�  
He glanced back at her but found her now standing next to him, pressing down 
hard on the window frame.
	�They were scared, Ranma.  _I_ was scared.�
	�D�ya really think I�d ever hurt you, Akane?�
	�You did two nights ago.�
	�No, I didn�t.�  He yanked the window open, overcoming her initial 
resistance to his effort.  He took a deep breath of air, then hoisted 
himself up into a sitting position on the sill.  He faced her.  �What I did, 
Akane, was give ya what you�ve always wanted: I took you seriously for once. 
  Isn�t that what you�re always goin� on about, how tough you are, you�re a 
martial artist too, you can take it?�
	�That�s diff-.�
	He cut her off with a glare.  �No it�s not, and now you know why I never 
did.  One move -- shit,  I didn�t even apply pressure! -- and now you�re 
whinin� and everybody�s callin� me a jerk and an abuser an� worse.  I try 
an� tell �em otherwise, but no one ever listens.  Well I�ve said I�m sorry 
already.  I�ve said it so often I�m sick of it.  I�m not gonna say it 
again.�
	Akane visibly restrained her anger, and instead offered up an unusually 
subdued posture, eyes downcast to the floor.  When she finally spoke, her 
voice seemed quiet and nearly timorous.  �I didn�t say any of that stuff 
about you, Ranma.�
	�Yeah, maybe not.�  He shrugged.  �But you sure as hell didn�t speak up at 
school.�
	�Do you think it would�ve made a difference?�
	�Probably not.  Not with those jerks.  Woulda meant somethin� to me, 
though.  I was kicking myself, thinkin� I�d hurt you.  Not goin� to do that 
anymore, tho, �cus I know I didn�t.�
	�But you did.�
	�Yeah.  Whatever.�  He began to turn away, feet raised to clear the window. 
  �I�m outta-.�
	�You did hurt me, you jerk!�  Now Akane looked up, and her eyes were 
anything but tame.  The front of Ranma�s Chinese shirt twisted in her grasp 
as she grabbed him and hauled him off the window sill.  �You did, and it�s 
got nothing to do with your stupid technique!  Here, take my wrist -- go 
ahead, take it!  Twist my wrist.  Do it.  You think that�s what this is all 
about?�
	He pulled his hand free of her grip.  �I don�t got time for this.�
	�Yeah, I�m sure running away has a tight deadline.�
	�I�m not running away!�
	�Sure looks like it.�
	�I�m moving on.�
	�Mo. . . is that what you call it?  What, you milked us for all you could, 
and now it�s time to live off another fiancee?  Hell, Ranma, why only a 
year, I�m sure you could�ve strung us along for at _least_ another six 
months!�
	�It�s not like that!�
	�Then why?�
	�Shit, Akane, isn�t it obvious?  I know where I�m not wanted.�
	�Who are you to judge that?�
	�You want me to stay, then?�
	Silence.
	�Right.  I�m gone.�  Again he headed for the door; again, Akane moved to 
intercept.  With a sigh he threw his pack to the floor and sat on it.  
�Listen, I�m gettin� really tired of this.  If ya got somethin� to say, say 
it.  If you don�t want me to stay, then get the hell outta my way.�
	She settled into a kneeling position across from him, her back to the 
sliding door.  A deep breath, eyes briefly closed as if to signal a 
collecting of thoughts, and then she spoke: �I don�t want you here.  I can�t 
stand seeing you right now.  Seeing you almost makes me feel sick.  But I 
don�t want you to leave.  Not now, not yet, not like this.�
	�Heh.  And they call _me_ the indecisive one.�
	�This isn�t a joke!�
	�Oh, it�s a joke all right, it�s always been one; only now, I�m just 
getting the punch-line.  Think about it, Akane: a macho-jock jerk guy who 
turns into a _girl_, ain�t that the funniest thing you�ve ever heard?  But 
there�s more, �cus this guy, see, he�s got these three girls engaged  to 
him, and. . . .�
	�Ranma.�
	�Then there�s the guys who love his girl-side, and the guys who hate his 
guy side, and the guys who want him to stay a girl, and the guys who just 
want his fiancees.�
	�Ranma!�
	�But it�s all his fault, of course.  Then one day, he thought he�d try and 
change, you know, make some friends -- but damned if anyone was gonna let 
_that_ happen.  And the punchline, if you didn�t get it, is: _that�s me_, 
and my life�s a joke.�  Teeth flashed through his thin-lipped laugh, the 
gesture bereft of any sense of merriment, and Akane winced at the sound  
�Why aren�t you laughin�, Akane?  Everyone else does.�
	�Stop it!�
	�Why should I?�
	�What�s wrong with you, why are you acting like this?  This isn�t you, 
Ranma!�
	�Ha!  So you�ve got me figured out too, huh, just like everyone else.  So 
what am I, then?  Am I the perverted macho jerk everybody says?�
	�You�re-.�
	He leaned forward, cutting her off with an exaggerated hiss.  �It�s true!  
I _am_ a macho jerk.�  Sitting back again, he shrugged.  �But that�s okay, 
�cus it ain�t my fault, it�s theirs.  I figured that out today, standin� out 
there on the baseball field, all those girls makin� fun of me and making it 
quite clear what they thought of me -- thanks, by the way, for standing up 
for me, I _really_ appreciated that -- and getting me kicked off the team.
	�See, for the longest time, I couldn�t figure out why people kept sayin� 
all that crap about me behind my back.  For a year it bugged me and worried 
me, the insults and gossip and stuff.  What was I doing wrong?  Don�t look 
at me like that, Akane -- I�m not talking about the obvious, here: the 
fightin� and fiancees and curse.  �Cus even when things were normal they�d 
make fun of me.  You know what I�m saying, you�ve heard enough of it, heck, 
Sayuri and her friends are probably the main source of half that shit.�
	She didn�t say anything, her slight wince answer enough in itself.
	�For a year, Akane, a _year_!  When I wasn�t fighting or training or 
dealing with somethin� weird, it�d eat away at me, worryin� about what was 
wrong with me.  But it ain�t me, it ain�t never been me; or maybe I oughta 
say, it�s always been me, but those jerks tried to make something outta me 
that I�m not.  You know why?  Fear.�  He chuckled dryly.  �Who would�ve 
guessed -- that bastard Uehara was right.�
	�After today, you wonder why they were afraid of you?� Akane said.  �You 
vindicated every worry they may have had.�
	�They erased every doubt I had about them, saying the crap they did about 
me!�
	�That was a surprise, after getting drunk and acting like an idiot at the 
party?�
	�I wouldn�t have _been_ drunk if you hadn�t started that fight!�
	�Me -- I started the fight?  You�re the one who-.�
	�If you�d bother. . . ,� he began, then scowled.  His blood was pounding, 
voice steadily raising, face flushed with the intensity of the argument, and 
the whole scenario sickened him.  �No.  I won�t play this game, Akane, I�m 
not gonna argue with you.  Hell, I wanted to be gone before you even got 
back from school.�  He stood up, shouldered his pack once again.  �Doesn�t 
matter, I suppose.  Just ask yourself this: sure, maybe I acted like an 
idiot at the party, made a fool of myself -- but did I deserve the bullshit 
I got today?�
	�You-.�
	�Careful, Akane.  Did you listen to the rumors, heard what they said?  Some 
were sayin� I like to beat up girls, that I get some kinda sicko thrill 
outta it.  Some said I was buddies with Uehara, that I set the whole thing 
up.  Hell, some guys were sayin� I was just actin� drunk, using it as an 
excuse to screw around with guys and stuff.�  The tightening of his jaw, the 
tensing of the neck as he pronounced the last was impossible to overlook.  
�So tell me, Akane, did I deserve those kinda lies following me around at 
school?  Did I deserve to be kicked off the sport teams?  Did I deserve to 
have every one I know at that whole fucking school turn on me like that?�
	A long silence in which she matched his angry, cold eyes with an enigmatic 
gaze of her own, before answering.  �No,� she half-whispered.  �No.�
	�Damn straight,� he said, stepping past her, yanking the door open.
	�Do you want to know why I didn�t say anything?�
	He hesitated, held by her query, one foot past the threshold; held his 
position but refused to look back.
	�Because I enjoyed seeing your hurt,� she said, quickly, almost 
desperately, it seemed.  �Because I wanted you to feel what _I_ felt that 
night at the party!  I wanted you to hurt the way I did -- the way I still 
do!�
	Ranma slowly turned and reentered the room, silently sliding the door shut 
behind him.  �You what,� he asked, very, very softly.
	Akane looked up at him from her position on the floor.  �All day, people 
have been asking me what happened, did we fight, were we really broken up, 
and why.  I never answered them, at least, not directly.  I knew that they 
would take my silence whatever way they wanted, and probably in the worst 
way possible -- and I didn�t really care.  I didn�t expect things to get so 
out of hand . . . but probably would have acted the same if I had.�
	�Akane, you . . . how could you?�
	He despised how weak his own voice sounded, but a palpable sense of 
betrayal arose at her words and undercut his previous authority and 
righteous anger, leaving him feeling off-balance and momentarily vulnerable. 
  The pain, he realized, had been a burgeoning presence within him all 
morning: her refusal to come to his aid earlier this day had left the seeds 
of uncertainty within, but her current direct admission staggered him -- how 
could she be so cruel?
	�I could ask the same question of you,� she answered.
	Shaking his head in disbelief, he once again sank into a sitting position 
across from her.  �Me - Me?  Do you have _any_ idea what I went through 
today?�
	�Yeah, Ranma, believe it or not, I think I�ve got a pretty good idea.�
	That she thought she could empathize with the myriad emotions he had 
undergone this day provoked outrage, even as he tried to accept that she 
could so callously seek to hurt him. �You -- you don�t got no idea, Akane!  
What I felt -,� trust, friendships betrayed; anger, humiliation, pain 
compounded by confusion; the constant growing stifling greyness that 
demanded release but with relief ultimately denied, �how could you 
_possibly_ know?�
	�You really don�t get it, do you?�
	�Get?  What is there to-.�
	�Who the hell do you think you are, Ranma?   Is this your world, huh, you 
think Nerima revolves around you?  You corner the market on feeling like 
shit?  Well, guess what, Ranma, big news flash: you�re not the only one 
who�s been hurt here!�
	�No way!  Not like this, I�ve put up with a hell of a lot more than -- than 
you, or Nabiki, or anyone else at that damn school! -- has ever had to deal 
with.�  And then, because he refused to keep it in, �And I _never_ go out of 
my way to hurt others and spread lies like that about �em!�
	The look of disbelief that overcame Akane would have almost been comical in 
any other situation.  Here and now it simply furthered his annoyance.  She 
recovered quickly.  �Never?  Never!  Ranma, you _always_ go out of your way 
to hurt others.  If you�re not insulting your dad, you�re picking on poor 
Ryoga -- don�t interrupt me, dammit! -- or beating up Mousse, or insulting 
my cooking, or the way I dress, or the way I look, act, talk, or. . . 
everything!  First I work out too much, I�m a tomboy, but then I�m too weak, 
a terrible martial artist.  Sure, Ranma, you never insult _anybody_.�
	�But-.�
	�Let me guess, you�re joking,� she said.  �Guess what, Ranma, once is a 
joke: after a couple dozen times, it�s insulting.�
	�Yeah?�
	�Yes.�
	�Then I guess you must�ve really meant it all those times you called me a 
jerk and a pervert, huh?�
	If she felt any guilt whatsoever, she hid it well; then again, he was doing 
a fair job of that himself.
	�Whatever, Ranma.  I could say that every time I called you those things, 
you deserved it, but I know you will just turn it around and say the same 
thing to me.  So what�s the point?�
	�Yeah.�
	Silence.
	�You know, Akane, if you�re trying to convince me to stay, you�re doing a 
pretty lousy job of it.�
	Akane sighed.  �I don�t know.  Maybe you shouldn�t stay.  Maybe you�re 
right, you need time away.  But not permanently, not forever, not like this, 
not for something as stupid as today.�
	�Why should I come back?  What would be the point?�  Then, fixing her with 
a piercing gaze, �Why would you even want me to come back?�
	�Why do you think?�
	�Frankly, Akane, I haven�t got a clue, I never have.  Way I have it 
figured, you don�t like me and never have, and with good reason: I�m an 
unwanted perverted sex-changing freak of a fiance who bullies your friends 
and fools around behind your back, and who�s brought nothing but chaos and 
violence in your life. . . why on earth would you want somebody like that 
around?�
	�Is that how you think I feel about you?�
	�Pretty much.�
	A certain wonderment tinged her voice.  �And yet you stayed?  Why?�
	�I dunno.  Family honor and obligation?  Maybe I thought I liked it here in 
Nerima?  Mostly �cus I didn�t want to admit to myself that that�s how you 
felt.�  He shrugged.  �Now I know that�s all bullshit.  My honor is my own, 
not my father�s, nor Tendo�s; Nerima has nothing for me; and as for you, 
Akane, I think you�ve made it abundantly clear what you think of me.
	�You. . . hate me, and I�m sorry, so very sorry, I�ve made your life what 
must have been a living hell for the past eighteen months.  Well, hopefully 
when I leave, all the crap that came with me will leave too.  I�ll have to 
come back to Nerima at some point, I suppose -- I�ve got stuff to settle 
with my mom, and Ryoga, and with Ukyou and Shampoo and the Old Ghoul, but 
I�ll make sure to leave the Tendos out of it.�
	�And so now, you just leave?�
	�Yup.�
	�No.�
	�Dammit, Akane!  Why the hell won�t you let me go?�
	�Because things aren�t that simple, you can�t run away from this, because 
I. . . don�t hate you, Ranma, I never have.  Right now, I don�t like you -- 
but that�s not the same thing as hate.�  She rose from her sitting position 
and slowly approached him.  Her features softened, recalling an incident 
from not long ago: at the party, soon before she left, exchanging easy 
banter and a relaxed shared moment.  A smile, something so rarely received, 
it seemed, but all the more precious for it -- would he ever be privy to 
that aspect of her again?
	She took his hand in hers as he stood there momentarily at a loss.  �Ranma, 
we�ve lived together and been fiances now for a year-and-a-half.  Maybe 
that�s all over now, and I doubt we can ever go back to the way things were 
before -- but do you want to end what�s between us, whatever that may be, 
like this, in anger?�
	�Akane. . . .�
	�You�re right, of course, you need time away.  To cool off.  But you have 
to promise me, Ranma, that you�ll come back.  In a week�s time.  By Sunday, 
say.�
	�But-.�
	�If you come back, and still want to leave, I promise I won�t stop you.  
Think about it, about what you�re leaving behind.  About what happened.  
Maybe you�ll even understand why I�m hurting too.�
	�I don�t think I�ll ever understand you, Akane.�
	Did that secret smile flicker across her lips?  �Probably not, Ranma.�
	�I have to go now.�
	�Do you promise to come back?�


Ranma Saotome awoke to the scent of wild sage wafting on the summer air and 
the early morning light shimmering through the canopy of leaves, with the 
echoes of a promise offered fading from his mind.  The anger of yesterday -- 
was it only twenty-four hours ago that everything had gone so wrong? -- had 
largely dulled, but the possible ramifications of his actions were just 
beginning to emerge.  Could he return to the Tendos� after leaving; could he 
return to Furinkan after lashing out; would either of them even accept him 
back?  The temptation to simply never find out, never return, was very real, 
yet the promise Akane had extracted from him (so easily, it seemed, why had 
he capitulated so quickly to her request?) seemed to exclude that 
possibility.  The full implications of yesterday�s conversation with her 
were yet beyond him: how had he hurt her, and if so badly, why did she want 
him to return; and why the unexpected tenderness at the end?
	As he rose from his makeshift bed, he cast such thoughts from his mind.  
Now was the time to train; to eat as well, he realized, his stomach 
grumbling loudly.  Stretching to work the night�s knots out from his back, 
he walked deeper into the forest, martial patterns and training techniques 
filling his thoughts.  All other concerns he could address later -- in a 
week�s time.

******

The mental shade of the night�s dream (resplendent with intimations of red, 
pungent scents, hurt mewling) faded rapidly, giving way to the now-familiar 
worry tightening her stomach as Akane Tendo awoke.  This time, however, that 
concern was quickly supplanted by a sense of relaxation not known for 
several months.  Despite the risk to her morning schedule, and repeated 
calls by her eldest sister to wake up, Akane remained snugly buried beneath 
the bed�s sheets, basking in the suffusive peace that warmed her body.  The 
faintest of smiles played across her lips.  At last.
	Eventually necessity drove her to full wakefulness, and she grudgingly 
swung her legs out of bed.  A luxurious stretch and full yawn, then she 
threw the curtains wide and allowed the sunlight to beam in, setting her 
room aglow in amber softness.  As she traded pyjamas for her school uniform, 
her mind wandered forward over the day�s activities: breakfast, school -- 
one test, in English, but nothing to worry about -- and then drama club 
after classes.  Following that. . . she was free, free to do whatever she 
liked, maybe visit a kissaten with a friend, take in a movie, or simply walk 
the length of a shopping arcade and take in the sights.  It was with a smile 
that she made final adjustments to her uniform, picked up her bookbag, and 
strolled downstairs.
	A still-sleepy Nabiki was the first to confront her, still blinking 
blearily through half-closed eyes.  �Gee, aren�t we happy this morning,� she 
said, sounding grumpy in the face of such cheerfulness.
	�Why shouldn�t I be?  It�s a beautiful day.�
	�Guess you haven�t heard.�
	Akane�s smile took on a strained aspect.  �What?�
	�Seems that our houseguest took off yesterday, after his little display at 
school.�
	Akane took some pleasure in watching the slightly-malicious smirk on her 
sister�s lips disappear as her own smile returned in full strength.  �Oh, 
that -- I already knew.�
	�You-.�
	�I had a big talk with Ranma yesterday, told him he should take some time 
away, go on a training trip or something.�  Akane brushed by her older 
sister.  �He�ll be back in exactly one week.�
	�One week?�
	�Yup.  I made him promise.�
	Akane moved on toward the kitchen, exulting in her victory: even her 
cynical sister had not been able to ruin the giddiness that still filled 
her.
	�Yeah, after last weekend, we know how much that�s worth,� muttered Nabiki 
as she mounted the stairs, her words just loud enough to be overheard.  
�He�s probably just trying to skip out on our deal, the cheat.�
	A less buoyant Akane steadfastly entered the dining room, where she was 
immediately accosted by the household�s two adults -- or, to be more 
accurate, the two eldest men on the premises -- or more accurate yet, one 
man and a panda.
	�Oh, my poor daughter,� wailed her father, �your fiance has disappeared!�
	Where is that ungrateful son of mine?, asked the panda in sign language.
	�What will become of the dojo?�
	Lazy brat, skipping out on practice!
	�You must find him, Akane!�
	He stole my backpack!
	�He might be in trouble!�
	Made a mess of my room, too.
	�Saotome?�
	Tendo?
	�Why are you still a panda?  Your wife left yesterday morning.�
	!, exclaimed the sign, before being tossed aside as the bear lumbered 
upstairs.
	Gritting her teeth, Akane pointedly ignored the pair and sat at the table, 
at which point Kasumi emerged from the kitchen carrying breakfast.
	�Good morning!� said the eldest sister, offering a smile that immediately 
helped to restore Akane�s spirits.
	�Morning, Kasumi!  Mmmm, smells delicious, what is it?�
	�Well, I thought Ranma might be feeling a little depressed after his 
mother�s visit, so I cooked his favorite -- a bacon omelette, thin and light 
and made with duck�s eggs, just the way he likes it -- but it would seem 
that he is not here this morning.�  The smallest of frowns creased her brow. 
  She�s probably upset that her little gift can�t be properly received, 
Akane thought.  Especially since I don�t like pork -- the only reason that 
jerk likes this stupid breakfast is because he knows I don�t, he just likes 
to taunt P-Chan with it.  The grip on her chopsticks whitened her knuckles.
	�Mrs. Saotome�s visit must have been harder on him than usual,� continued 
her sister.
	�Hmmm, yes, he did remain �Ranko� for quite some time,� added her father.
	�Although he plays the part very well.�
	�Yes.  Slightly worrisome, that.�
	�Too bad there really isn�t a Ranko.  Wouldn�t that be fun?  Maybe we 
should make a copy of Ranma!�
	�Ha ha ha!  Very original, Kasumi!�
	�Do you know where he is, Akane?�
	�Yes, daughter, did he mention anything before leaving?�
	She slowly counted to five before answering.  �He�s gone on a training 
trip,� she said, making of each statement a declaration.  �He�ll be back in 
a week.  He promised.�  None too delicately, she returned her plate, food 
hardly sampled, back to the table.  �I have to go.  I don�t want to be late 
for school.�
	Without another word, she left the house.


�Hey, Akane!  Sis, wait up!�
	Akane stopped in her determinedly meandering walk to allow Nabiki to catch 
up.  There really was no need to hurry, of course, since she had left home 
so early.  Instead she had stopped at every distraction she could justify, 
wishing good-morning to passing junior-graders, and even pausing to talk to 
the old woman who washed the sidewalk every morning.  Her name was Himiko, 
Akane had discovered, and had enquired about the whereabouts of the nice 
young man  -- or was that young girl? -- that always walked with her; she 
wanted to apologize for accidentally splashing him --  or was that her? -- 
so often. The youngest Tendo�s mood was steadily diminishing.
	�You sure took off in a hurry this morning,� said Nabiki, pausing between 
words to reclaim her breath.
	�Yeah, I guess.�
	�You forgot your stuff.�
	�Damn!�
	�Here, I brought it.�
	�Oh, thanks.�  She accepted the offered school bag and resumed walking, 
falling in next to her sister.
	�Gee, don�t act _too_ grateful, now.�
	�How much?�
	�Aw, forget it, it�s a freebie.  Just this once.�
	�Really?�
	�Yup.�
	�I don�t suppose you brought lunch, too?�
	�Nope.�
	�Guess I�ll have to buy it at school.�
	�Some things never change, eh?�
	�Excuse me?�
	�C�mon sis, you were always forgetting stuff back in junior high, and 
either Kasumi or I had to chase after you with it.  Your books, your bag. . 
. your uniform!�
	�Hey, it wasn�t my fault if I was late because of dad�s kempo lessons. . . 
you know, I kinda wish Furinkan served lunches the way junior high did, at 
least then I didn�t have to worry about forgetting it.�
	�I don�t.  School lunches suck, and I didn�t trust other kids handling my 
food.  If I remember, you weren�t even allowed to serve. . . something 
always happened between them preparing the food, and you scooping it out.  
How many kids were sick that one time?�
	�Hey!�  Akane gave her sister a mock shove, frown undermined by the 
twitching of her mouth.  �Like you said, the food tasted terrible, I just 
wanted to liven it up a little.�
	�Ha!�
	�Beside, it got me out of lunch duty.  If I remember, you were even 
jealous.�
	�Only �cus you stole the idea from me!�
	Laughing, and relaxing into simple chatter, the two sisters continued on 
their way to school.  Akane felt her earlier mood returning, and had to 
admit surprise that Nabiki would be the source of her happiness.  But then 
again, why not?  Her sister, despite the many rumors to the contrary, wasn�t 
entirely the money-hungry heartless manipulative extortionist many made her 
out to be.  Certainly, she was a little of all those at times, and sometimes 
she could be downright mean -- but she was also her sister, and they had 
shared many a close moment, often on this very path.
	�When was the last time we walked to school together, Akane?�
	�I was just wondering the same thing.�
	�We used to do this every day.�
	�Yeah.�
	�We used to talk about everything and anything.�
	�I kinda miss that.�
	�Won�t happen again very often.  Another month, and I�m done with this 
place.�
	Akane stopped in her tracks.  �You -- that�s right, entrance exams are 
coming up.  I. . . I don�t know how, but it never really occurred to me. . . 
you�re graduating!�
	�Yeah, imagine that.�
	�How could I have. . . ?�
	�It�s been a busy year for you.  No big deal.�
	�Are you ready?  Worried?�
	�Honestly?  Absolutely terrified.�
	�Really?�
	�Yeah.  Of falling asleep during the test.  This stuff�s a breeze.  I 
could�ve passed those exams at the _beginning_ of this grade, let alone now. 
  This last year of school would�ve been dreadfully boring without Ranma to 
spice it up a. . . oopsie, wrong thing to say, huh?�
	�No, it�s nothing,� answered Akane through her grimace.  �Please, go on.�
	�Akane, my dear sister, you are many things, but a master of subtlety you 
are not.  It�s Ranma, right?�
	�It�s. . . yes, it _is_ him, dammit!  Can�t I go for more than five minutes 
without hearing his stupid name?  He�s not even here!  He�s all anyone ever 
talks about!�
	Nabiki nodded, then checked her watch.  �Listen, sis, thanks to your 
storming off this morning, we�re still way early.  I heard Kasumi worrying 
about you -- you skipped breakfast, right?  Let�s stop at the Mister Donut, 
it�s on me.  I think we need to have a talk, sister to sister.�


The sigh she released was fatalistic at best, and the gaze that peered into 
the inky depths of her coffee was utterly despondent.  To be expected to 
attend school while in the midst of such sorrow, thought Hiromi, how could 
her parents be so unreasonable?  Didn�t her mother realize that, just last 
night, she and Kokichi had broken up. . . again?  She felt like dying, the 
pain so real, the heartbreak so palpable, and it was with another deep sigh 
that she wiped an errant tear from her eye.  Her coffee offered no advice, 
her donut little solace, and she wondered how anyone could expect her to 
survive this day, bereft and oh so alone, as she now was.
	Of course, going to school today held a certain attraction, if only to see 
the fallout from yesterday�s Ranma debacle.  No one had expected him to 
freak out like that, and it  reinforced her belief that the guy was both 
weird and dangerous.  She wondered if Kokichi would�ve done the honorable 
thing, would have stepped forward in her defense had the martial artist 
turned on her, and sacrificed himself so that she might escape unharmed.  
Such heroism, so romantic and brave -- the stupid wimp would never do that.  
The bruises from his last encounter with Ranma were still fresh on his neck, 
after all.
	�Welcome!� chimed the Mr. Donut girl behind the counter.
	�Yeah.  One coffee, and a -- what do you want, Akane? -- and a hot cocoa, 
and two honey glazed.  Hey, don�t worry, sis, I�ll cover it, just don�t 
expect me to make a habit of it.�
	�Thanks.�
	Hiromi broke out of her melancholic musings as the two Tendo sisters slid 
into the booth behind her.  Interesting.  Everyone had been wondering, 
yesterday after school, where Ranma had gone and if Akane had followed him, 
and the speculations about what  happened ranged from the two enjoying a 
simple conversation, to the two making up and consummating their love in a 
frenzied coupling of amorous affection.  Daisuke had offered his usual 
�evil-prince-and-kidnaping� theory, but no one took that seriously anymore.  
Here was a chance for the inside scoop.  She put aside her cooling coffee, 
hunkered down in the seat, and cast an attentive ear toward the 
conversation.
	�So.  Ranma,� started Nabiki.
	�Yeah.�  Akane�s reply was only a step above a growl.
	�A little bitter, are we?�
	�No.  Well, a little.  Yes.�
	�He really pissed you off at the party, didn�t he?  Normally you get over 
his crap quicker than this.�
	�That�s just it!� exclaimed the younger sister.  �It�s not that!  Or at 
least, that�s just a part of it, the latest, and, yes, biggest part of it, 
maybe, but still only a part.  The fight we had, have been having over the 
last few days, it�s not just because of a single weekend: it�s been a 
year-and-a-half coming!�
	�Well, duh, I could have told you that.�
	�What?�
	�Hey, I�ve already given you my opinion of your dear ex-fiance.  I told you 
he was �wishy-washy, and careless, and insensitive, and stupid, and cheap,� 
and I maintain that truer words have yet to be spoken.  You did the right 
thing dumping him at that time, and, really, it�s no big loss if you ditch 
him now.�
	�Wow.  You really do hate him.�
	�Hate him?  Not at all.  I actually kinda like the clod.  Beneath the macho 
jock exterior, he�s a pretty nice guy -- never tell him I said that, by the 
way -- but you can do _so_ much better, sis.�
	�Oh.�
	�Let�s face it, since the day a panda arrived carrying a certain red-haired 
girl over its shoulder and stepped through our doorway, you and she haven�t 
exactly gotten along.�
	�That�s because he�s been annoying me since he forced his way into our 
house!�
	�Right.  And you�ve fought, and fought, and the anger built up and finally 
boiled over, and eventually you�d break up with him and kill the engagement. 
  I mean, how many time has it happened?  Three, four?  Mr. No-Backbone even 
ended up engaged to me at one point.  Yet, here we are, a year-and-a-half 
since he arrived, and until two days ago, the two of you were still 
fiances.�
	�Family honor, Nabiki.  You know that.  I never had a choice.�
	�Obviously you did.  Family honor or not, this time you don�t seem so 
willing to go back to the way things were before.�
	�It�s different this time.  Ranma went too far, this time.�
	�Ah, that�s what I wanted to know.  What he did do to make you so angry?�
	�Come on, Nabiki, you�ve already heard it all at school.  You know what 
happened.�
	�I learnt long ago not to trust second-hand witnesses, sis.  I�ve heard a 
lot of different stories from a lot of different people: some is obvious 
bullshit, some has the truth buried in there somewhere. . . but none are the 
whole truth: only two people can give me that, and wonder-boy isn�t here 
right now.�
	There was a hesitant pause, in which Hiromi surreptitiously slurped down 
the last of her coffee, before Akane answered.
	�Why are you so eager to help me, Nabiki?�
	�You asked me for advice first, remember?�
	�Actually, you offered.�
	�Semantics.  Is it so hard to believe I�m expressing sisterly concern?�
	�Yes.�
	�You wound me.�
	�More likely, you�re just looking for the �authoritative version� of last 
weekend to sell at lunch.�
	Nabiki�s laugh rang clear across the donut shop.  �Ha!  You�re learning, 
sis!�
	Hiromi heard shuffling sounds, and risked a peek around the bench.  The 
younger Tendo sister, face flushing with anger, was in the midst of standing 
and looked ready to leave.
	�Thanks for the love, Nabiki,� said Akane, turning away.
	�Oh, sit down, and lose the wounded act.  Would you rather have rumors 
flying around your head all week, or have the truth settle things down?�
	�I don�t need you for that, I can tell people myself!�
	�Akane, Akane, my poor naive little sister, you think people are going to 
believe you?  People aren�t just talking about him anymore, you know, 
they�re gossiping about you, too.�
	�What?�
	Akane sat down quickly, anger now warring with surprise.  Hiromi sat back 
into her seat.  She hoped they hurried up, otherwise they would all be late 
for school!
	�Well, gee, sis, you sure took off after your �ex�-fiance pretty quick 
yesterday, especially considering how you completely ignored him otherwise.  
Gets people thinking, you know?  What happened, they wonder, where are they 
off too?  Did they just have a nice, pleasant conversation?  Or something 
far more sordid?�
	�We just talked!  We just talked!�
	How disappointing, thought Hiromi.  She rather liked the sordid 
alternative.
	�Oh, I know that, but they don�t.  And since you�re involved in these 
rumors, no one is going to accept anything you say, especially when it�s 
something as boring as the truth.�
	�But they�ll believe you?�
	�But of course!  I�m Nabiki Tendo, the ever-reliable, objective source of 
information: my morals lie with the flow of hard currency, never with 
anything as fallible and intangible as shifting schoolyard allegiances and 
popularity contests.  People know I speak the truth, even when it concerns 
my own family -- I charge triple when it�s family.�
	�You�re sick, you know that?�
	�I�ve said it before and I�ll say it again: �I�m a slave to money�.  So how 
about giving me the exclusive interview?  What _really_ went down at 
Kiyoshi�s party?  What really happened yesterday afternoon between you and 
everybody�s ex-favorite Casanova?�
	Another lengthy pause.  Hiromi checked her watch again.
	�We�ll be late if I start at the beginning.�
	�I�m stricken by sadness at his departure.  How can I be expected to attend 
school in such a state?�
	�But I feel fine!�
	�Believe me, sis, you�re stricken too.�
	�Oh.�
	�So,� said Nabiki.  �Shall we start at the beginning?�


Only after several donuts, coffees, and hot chocolates did the full story 
emerge, and only after a number of piercing questions was Nabiki satisfied 
with Akane�s retelling; at which point the younger sibling left for school, 
while the elder remained to �put her notes in order,� as she put it, and 
settle the bill.
	Smiling slightly, Nabiki ran through her mental chronology of the weekend�s 
party, filling in the gaps that Akane�s version made clear, adjusting for 
her sister�s anger-skewed perspective, noting curious holes she still left 
uncovered, wiping away information now made redundant or otherwise proven 
fraudulent.  In a way, it was more fun than actually attending the event: 
this way, she could sift through the entirety of the evening, partake in any 
of myriad interlaced plots, examine the tight weave of high school dynamics 
and enjoy any particular thread at her leisure.  Oh, certainly, actually 
being there was fun as well, and last year�s party was a night she would 
remember fondly forever -- but one got so involved, so caught up with one�s 
own affairs and immediate situation, that it was easy to lose sight of the 
big picture.
	Nabiki loved the big picture.
	Vertices, nodes, ties, lines, threads, connections: how much of Furinkan 
was contained within her mental construction of that single night?  
Connections reached out, ensnared other schools -- Tomoboki, Furunerima, St. 
Hebereke -- split, spread,  intertwined, looped back: how much of the teen 
population of Nerima could she now trace: could she place a finger lightly 
against their collective pulse and know their story?
	An anthology, really, though an incomplete one: for even her knowledge of 
it, Nabiki grudgingly admitted, was far from total.  Nor would it ever be 
even remotely comprehensive, the beginning reaching too far back, too many 
causes for each event, the ending yet to be written and always so very far 
away.  Yet at times even an approximation would do, and Nabiki could still 
enjoy so many individual aspects of the whole, knowing each was a potential 
source of both knowledge and currency.  At times, the two were virtually 
interchangeable.  She felt something akin to grief, knowing she would be 
leaving all this behind when she left for college.
	For now, as she drank the last of her caffeine breakfast, she contemplated 
the narratives of the players foremost in her interest: Hiroshi, Hiroshi and 
Sayuri, Sayuri and her girlfriends; those friends and the guys, the guys and 
Hiroshi, Hiroshi and Daisuke, Daisuke and Ryuta Uehara; Uehara and Ranma. . 
. .
	Ranma Saotome and Akane Tendo: throughout everyone else�s interwoven 
threads pierced a string that belonged to those two only.  Certainly, the 
tapestry could exist without, and had done so for many years before the 
intrusion of that new element: but the jagged, disruptive addition of that 
single foreign detail was the artist�s masterstroke that threw the entire 
work into perspective and rescued it from unforgivable blandness.  Remove 
that stroke and the rest, though still strong and durable and of noteworthy 
complexity, might as well be tossed aside.
	With Ranma gone, Furinkan would once again become average and dull, of that 
Nabiki was certain.  How long before Nerima followed, all the Amazons, 
magics, chefs, princes, demons, warriors, and lunatics fading back to their 
manic fringes and frayed corners?  Her sister�s ex-fiance might be an idiot, 
but he was fun, and his �secret-techniques� were a hoot.
	She�d miss them; she�d miss him.  Nabiki doubted strongly that, even with 
his promise, Ranma would ever return -- or if he did, that he would remain 
long.  There was no longer any reason to stay.  Akane, the only real tie he 
had to the city, would never allow things to return to their previous state, 
of that Nabiki was sure.  If she understood the situation properly, her 
little sister had proven  capable of surprisingly complex feelings and 
motivations, even if not consciously fully realized: old emotions had been 
superseded by newer freedoms and subtler impulses, and perhaps even a little 
growing up had been achieved in the last few days.  Depending on the 
decisions Akane made in the next few days, there could possibly no longer be 
room for the pigtailed boy upon his return.  This made the final insistence 
on Ranma�s return ring false: why bother?  A final grasping onto the way 
things had been?
	Ultimately pointless, of course.  Ranma, she suspected, had done his fair 
share of growing up in the last few days as well.  The boy who had defied an 
entire school and torn the door off her locker was not one who would forgive 
or forget easily -- who would submit, for instance, to embarrassing lingerie 
photo shoots at the slightest threat, anymore.  Unfortunate, really, she�d 
miss that income and those sessions.  The guy was too nice for his own good, 
and it was time he learnt that.  In his place, she would have told everyone 
(including herself) off long ago. . . and extorted them all into poverty 
soon after.
	On the matter of extortion. . . .
	�Hey, Hiromi, how�s it going back there?  Little late for class?�
	Short pause.
	�Na- Nabiki?�
	�Let me guess, in mourning for Kokichi, right?�
	�Ah. . . .�
	�Let�s talk.   There�s a few things I�d like to teach you, such as: 
�exclusive storytelling rights,� �copyright infringement,� and 
�eavesdropping fees.�  C�mon over, I�ll buy you a coffee.  Let�s make that a 
decaf, you look a little jumpy.�



The fervor that underscored lunch that day at Furinkan high excluded 
Hiroshi: sitting on the sidelines, he wanted nothing to do with it, and the 
attitude prevalent among his friends and peers left him feeling sick.  He 
left himself feeling sick.  A victim of his own cowardice and lack of 
conviction, he wished to somehow go back one single day and do things over 
again.  Perhaps it would have made a difference.
	He�s not coming back.
	Akane came today, but Ranma never showed up.
	Why should he?
	There are no friends for him here, he told himself.  You proved that all 
too well yesterday.  Even if it had not made a difference, at least it would 
have shown Ranma that  not everybody believed the crap going around about 
him.  But you stayed silent, and why?  Because you didn�t want to stick out; 
didn�t want to risk insulting your girlfriend; didn�t want to associate 
yourself with a loser.  Didn�t, didn�t, didn�t. . . you didn�t do the right 
thing, and the only loser here is yourself.
	�Yo, �Roshi, are you, like, in there somewhere?�
	Startled from his musings, he looked up to see Daisuke sitting down next to 
him.  �Sorry.  Just thinking.�
	�Gee, really?  Hadn�t noticed, what with you ignoring me calling you across 
the field for the last five minutes.�
	�Oh.�  Hiroshi offered up a sheepish, apologetic grin.
	�No prob, bud.  Let me guess, Ranma, right?�
	�Mostly.�
	�Yeah, I wonder where she�s at?�
	The look the black-haired boy received was nearly disbelieving.  �Where�s 
she at?  Don�t you get it, Dai?  He�s not coming back!�
	�Of course she is.  Why wouldn�t she?�
	�Why wouldn�t -- c�mon, man, the way people treated him, why _would_ he 
come back?�
	�Well, duh, �cuz she�s still just a student, like the rest of us.  She�s 
gotta finish school, right?  She�s needs a home, doesn�t she?  And, last but 
definitely not least, there�s Akane. . . .�
	�And Akane wants nothing to do with him.  Ranma doesn�t need a school or a 
home, Dai, that�s one thing I figured out this weekend.  If there�s anything 
he needs, maybe, it�s friends -- and there�s none of those here, so why come 
back?�
	�Hey!  We�re her friends!�
	�Yeah, sure.  Great friends.�
	Silence settled between them as they began to eat, onigiri systematically 
falling before lunchtime cravings.  Scenarios ran through Hiroshi�s mind, 
mild variants of scenes from yesterday: in each, instead of backing down 
before the collective Ranma-bashing of his peers, he stood his ground, 
offered up convincing proofs, lashed out with witty repartee or choice 
bon-mots, and overwhelmed his enemies -- somewhere along the line, they 
became his verbal foes, eloquent but never on par with him -- with stirring 
speeches and dazzling rhetoric.  Verbal acuity after the fact, however, did 
little to alleviate his depression, and he found himself sinking into darker 
contemplations.
	�Yen for your thoughts, buddy.�
	�One yen?  One crummy yen?  Yeah, I guess you�re right, that�s about all 
I�m worth right now.�
	�Ouch.�
	�Sorry.  Still pissed off about the whole Ranma thing.�
	�Take it easy on yourself, man.  There�s nothing you could�ve done.�
	�That�s not true, and you know it.�
	�Fine.  Nothing that would�ve made a difference.�
	�To him.  To myself, maybe.�
	�She wouldn�t have noticed.  And you�d still be depressed.�
	�Shut up!�
	�With good reason.  I�m going to miss her.�
	�You�re just going to miss her body, you perv!�
	�Heh!  So says pervert number two.�
	�Whatever.�
	Hiroshi put his lunch aside and leaned back in the grass.  What would 
happen, now that Ranma was gone?  He supposed life at Furinkan would return 
to normal. . . would he?  Somehow, he felt he had touched upon something 
special, scratched the surface of an entirely different world; no, not a 
different world, but simply a divergent way of living and perceiving it.  
There were alternatives, he now suspected, to the expected routines: school, 
college, salaryman, death was one possibility; dropping out and pointless 
rebellion another; but then Ranma seemed set on a different path, defined by 
his own passions, desires, and uncaring of whether others had trod the road 
before him -- his steps making the way fresh anew.
	That was Ranma, but he was only Hiroshi, whose life had until only recently 
been bereft of martial arts, duels to the death, ancient artifacts, and 
powerful rivals.  How could he expect to live up to that standard?  Confined 
within the realities of his own life, the room to maneuver, defy boundaries 
-- to be the central player, instead of a bit-actor, simply did not exist.  
Likely, he would always fall within the limits of the expected, the normal, 
the dull.
	�Looks like something�s interesting happening over there.  Nabiki promised 
an update on the Ranma situation, bet that�s probably it.  Better rush over 
and get myself a copy before they sell out,� intruded Daisuke.  The 
dark-haired youth, staring off towards the central schoolyard, began to 
stand.
	�I think I�m going to dump Sayuri.�
	�What!�
	�I think we�re through.�
	�Shit -- that�s unexpected.�
	Hiroshi smiled.
	�You�re giving up a lot.�
	�Not as much as you think.�
	�Bullshit.  Where to start?  Well, first, there�s the obvious: her breasts, 
followed closely by her ass.�
	�Hey!�
	�Then there�s the popularity factor: we�re losers, �Roshi, and you hooking 
up with her has lifted you into a whole new echelon of chicks, man.  Dude, I 
urge you to reconsider, I�ve hooked my wagon to your star. . . I don�t wanna 
be a loser again!�
	�Get a grip.�
	�Did I mention her breasts?�
	�That�s my girlfriend you�re talking about there!�
	�What about the sex?�
	�What sex?� exclaimed Hiroshi.  �You know we haven�t. . . .�
	�Yeah, but you�re getting there, I saw you at the party.�
	�You didn�t see anything,� he insisted, yet blushed.
	�You don�t know what you�re missing.�
	�And you do?�
	�Ah. . . .�
	�Anyway, she�s been pissing me off with this whole anti-Ranma crusade.  I 
don�t get it, but I don�t think I can just ignore it.  He�s a friend, right? 
  Didn�t we once swear we�d never let a girl get between our friendship?�
	Daisuke laughed.  �We were both single losers!  It was an easy promise to 
make.  You know damn well we were both ready to stab each other in the back, 
first sign of an interested chick.�
	�But-.�
	�You just got a girlfriend first, you lucky bastard!�
	�That�s not. . . okay, you�re right, you�ve got me pegged.�  Hiroshi 
chuckled.  �But things have changed.  Having a girl isn�t everything.�
	�Sure.  Very convincing.  You�ve tasted the manna, man, you think you can 
go back to living on bread and water?  You can�t do it.  I�m even willing to 
bet on it.  By the end of this week, you�ll still be blissfully dating 
Sayuri, whether you want to or not.  You don�t have the balls to break off 
with her!�
	�Do so!  I�ll be single by Friday!�
	�Shake on it?�
	�Deal!�
	�Deal!�
	A moment later, Hiroshi felt profoundly stupid, wondering how he could�ve 
bet on something so infantile.  How shallow could one get?  It tainted the 
profundity of the moment in which he had first made the decision to break up 
with her -- a moment in which, if only briefly, he had felt the first 
phantom step on a unique path .  He was spared further introspection, 
however, by an unexpected intrusion.
	�Well well, who do we have here?�
	The voice, coming as it did from behind and close, with no signs of 
approach having been given, both surprised them and filled them with instant 
dread; for, turning as one, they saw Ryuta Uehara emerge from the bush 
behind them, tall as ever, perpetual dangerous glint to his dark eye, 
grinning wickedly.  Aside for two small bandages forming an �x� centered on 
his forehead, he seemed otherwise none the worse for wear.  Somehow, on him, 
the Furinkan boy�s uniform seem designed for brawling, edges frayed and 
seams stretched; where the jacket made most boys seems either formal or 
stifled, it simply looked cool stretched too-taut across his chest, cuffs 
rolled back and flared, collar flipped up but front unbuttoned beyond school 
policy.  Raking calloused fingers through lanky blond hair, the Furinkan 
youth took a step -- Hiroshi could only interpret it as threatening -- 
towards the pair.  The pop of cracking knuckles sounded ominously in the air
	�Hi and Dai, right?  How. . . nice, to see you two again.�
	Hiroshi backpedaled away before scrambling to his feet, trying to maintain 
a safe distance from the bully.  �Um, er, listen,� he offered.
	�Yeah, heh, ah,� suppled Daisuke.
	�So, where�s your protector, huh?  Where�s that pervo freak-bag Saotome?  
Him and I hafta have words.�
	�You, ah, haven�t heard?�  Did I just say that, wondered Hiroshi.
	Ryuta turned towards the source.  �I just got here.  Heard what?�
	�He�s, ah, that is, Ranma�s not here.  Ummm, I don�t think he�s ever coming 
back.�
	Unexpectedly, Ryuta looked disappointed.  �What?  Why the hell not?�
	�Weren�t you here yesterday?�
	�No.�
	�Oh, ah. . . .�
	�You got a problem with that?�
	�No no!�
	�What happened?�
	Hiroshi�s account of yesterday�s taunting, once the nervous tics, swallows, 
and pauses were removed, was by necessity remarkably brief.  Ryuta�s 
reaction, again, was unexpected: he laughed.
	�Ha!  I told him, didn�t I?� he said.  �Didn�t I tell him?�
	�Umm, er-.�
	�Oh, relax, I�m not gonna beat you up.  Hell, I�ll even apologize if it�ll 
make you feel better.  I was drunk at the party, �kay?  Alcohol makes me 
kinda nuts, you know?  I do all kinda crap I regret later, or can�t even 
remember.  I didn�t mean half that shit I said.�
	�Ah.  Oh.�
	�Hey, I said relax!  Do I hafta pound you to get the point across?�
	Hiroshi took a deep breath.
	�Well, this sucks.  Got a tough fight comin� up this aft�, was kinda hoping 
Saotome might show me that kung-fuey shit he flattened me with.�  He 
shrugged.  �Ah well, guess I�ll rely on the old �boot to da head,� huh?  See 
ya around, chumps.�
	They watched the larger boy leave.
	�Man, I�m sure glad he didn�t kill us,� said Daisuke.
	His friend whole-heartedly agreed.


The day had gone surprisingly well.
	Akane acknowledged this as she made her way toward the drama club.  Having 
expected unending questions, she had been mostly left to herself; 
anticipating rumors and whispers, they had all been quickly laid to rest by 
Nabiki�s lunchtime sales.  A few unavoidable problems had arisen to be dealt 
with -- a visit to the vice-principal�s office, to explain her tardiness and 
Ranma�s absence; a make-up test for the one she had missed; Tatewaki Kuno -- 
but for the most part, life had seemed nearly. . . normal.
	Quiet, even.
	It perturbed her, to a certain degree, that so few people had talked with 
her this day.  With Ukyou absent, she had eaten lunch alone; between classes 
she only received the most cursory of greetings and farewells; and 
everywhere, a veneer of artificial politeness from her peers seemed to 
confront her.  She could only assume that things had moved too quickly for 
people to immediately adjust, and that, for now, she existed in a sort of 
limbo state.  The social dynamics should readjust themselves soon, she 
hoped, and perhaps once people accepted her again as �Akane Tendo, second 
grade, single, yougest-sister, likes martial arts,� as opposed to �Ranma 
Saotome�s fiancee,� perhaps life would return to the way it had been nearly 
two full years ago.
	Turning the corner to the drama classroom, she came across Sayuri and 
Hiromi sitting by the door, talking.  The latter started at her arrival, but 
the former merely offered a large, welcoming smile, smoothing back her brown 
ponytail as she stood from the single chair by the door.
	�Akane!�
	Akane smiled in return.  �Sayuri.  Hiromi.  What�s going on?�
	�Nothing much.  Hiromi was just leaving, right?�
	�Er, yeah,� said the girl, scrambling to her feet.  �Hafta get home.  Call 
Kokichi.  Later!�
	The girl scampered off, a rather bemused Akane watching her retreat.
	�Shouldn�t she stay for drama?�
	�Guess you haven�t heard,� said Sayuri.  �It�s been cancelled for today.�
	�Really?�
	�Well, we are sort of short a leading guy, now.  They�re holding an 
emergency male audition.�
	It had become such a commonplace occurrence for Ranma to worm his way into 
any male role opposite Akane (despite the fact that, strictly speaking, he 
wasn�t even a part of the club), on the off-chance that the play involved a 
kiss, that it had never even occurred to her that his departure would rob 
the club of it�s masculine lead.  Not that he ever kissed her, of course, 
but no one else would, either, and even understudies were scared away by his 
implied threats.  Despite the failure of the club to successfully perform a 
romance play as scripted in the past two years, they nevertheless always 
accepted Ranma�s unofficial involvement: he drew a great crowd, staged 
excellent fight-scenes, the real-life tension between him and Akane made for 
great on-stage drama, and in a pinch he could easily be substituted into any 
minor female role as needed.
	�Hey Akane, why don�t we go check out a movie instead?�
	The idea appealed to her.  When was the last time she had seen a movie 
without it being somehow disrupted or ruined by her ex-fiance?
	�There�s that new horror film,� suggested Sayuri.
	Akane shook her head.  �I�m not too big on horror.  I�ve seen enough ghosts 
and goblins to last me a lifetime.�
	�What about a romance?�
	�You�re kidding, right?�
	�Well, what then?�
	�I dunno.  How about some action?�
	Sayuri sighed.  �Let me guess, martial arts, right?�
	The movie, however, had several hours to go before beginning, and so they 
stopped by Sayuri�s house to pass the time.  Though not as large as the 
Tendo household, it was nevertheless quite spacious, and sacrificed both 
yard and dojo for extra living room.  Nor was it as sparsely decorated, 
exhibiting an expensive if somewhat Western taste.  Her friend�s father, 
Akane remembered, was quite the successful businessman, often busy and away 
but very generous with the money.  Climbing the sharply polished stairs that 
led to Sayuri�s bedroom, Akane saw none of the scuffs and scars and patches 
that a history of combat had left upon her own house.
	�It seems like forever since you�ve been here, Akane.�
	�A long time.�
	�It�s too bad, really.  You�ve missed out on a lot of good times: some 
great sleep overs, get-togethers, and parties.�
	�I know.�
	�But not anymore, right?�
	�I. . . guess not.�
	�Of course not!  Why would you?  Now that _he�s_ gone, you can start doing 
normal things again.�
	Akane sighed.  �He is coming back, you know.�
	�So?  You�re through with him, right?�  Stopping, Sayuri turned to her 
friend and fixed her with the most serious of stares.  �You _are_ through 
with him?  You�re not thinking of engaging yourself to him again, are you?�  
The horror expressed in her voice made it clear what she thought of that 
idea.
	�Of course not!�
	�Then you�re free of him.�
	�There�s still the family engagement.  If he still feels responsible, he 
might end up married to one of my sisters.�
	�Then I pity your sisters, but better them than you.�  Grabbing her by the 
hand, Sayuri led Akane into her bedroom.  �C�mon, let�s get changed for the 
movie.  I�ve got some great new clothes, and I bet they�d look great on you, 
too!�
	Soon after, Akane found herself kneeling in her friend�s spacious bedroom, 
piles of clothing growing before her and awaiting inspection.  Akane knew a 
thing or two about clothes; she had quite the sizable wardrobe herself; but 
for a moment, she felt overwhelmed by the flurry of fabrics, colors, and 
styles.  She didn�t know where to begin.
	�Hey, Akane, snap out of it!�  Her friend knelt next to her, a tie-dyed 
minidress draped over one arm.  �You okay?�
	�Yes.  Yes, I�m fine.�  She fingered the dress.  �Umm, I don�t think so.  A 
little too daring for me.�
	�Ha!  If you don�t take a few risks, you�ll never attract the guys.�
	Akane scowled.  �The _last_ thing I�m interested in right now is a 
boyfriend.�
	�Yeah, I guess so.  Must be tough coming out of a year-and-a-half 
relationship.�
	�Rela. . . he was _not_ my boyfriend!�
	�But you two were together for so long.�
	�We were engaged by our parents -- it wasn�t by choice!�
	�But wasn�t it just so romantic?�
	�Romantic -- that twit wouldn�t know romance if it kicked him in the head!�
	�Right!�
	�Yeah!�
	�Feel better?�  Sayuri was all smiles.
	�I. . . hey!�
	�And the point of all that,� elaborated the brown-haired girl, �was to get 
you to stop moping.  Tonight, you�re going to forget the last few days ever 
happened.  You�re free of that jerk, Akane, it�s time to reenter the real 
world.�
	For a short while, at least, Akane almost felt like she could forget the 
last few days and pretend to be a normal teenage girl spending time with a 
friend.  She tried on many outfits.  Talked and laughed.  Looked in the 
mirror.  Killed time.
	The moment could not last.
	How weak she seems, she found herself thinking at one point, as Sayuri 
slipped out of a tight, long-sleeved top.  Her arms are so thin, does she 
even have any muscle-tone?  Look at her pull that box from the closet, she�s 
struggling with the weight.  I�ve picked up _boulders_ three times the size 
without straining.  Then she thought, What�s wrong with me, who cares how 
strong she is, what does it matter?  A year ago I never noticed these kind 
of things.
	A year ago, however, she had not seen the massive and wonderful animals of 
Ryugenzawa, padding lithely through the deep forest, nor the eight-headed 
Orochi of legend rising from its watery depths.  She had never heard of the 
Musk dynasty and its fearsome dragon-blooded heritage.  The Hiryu Shoten-Ha 
and its awesome destructive power had still been a secret, unseen, unfelt.  
Now?  She had witnessed and lived them all, and the memory of those events 
attributed a disjointedness and surreality to her current activities.  
Sitting in another girl�s room, trying on clothes in preparation to cruise a 
mall, chattering on about everything, anything. . . nothing, really -- it 
all seemed somehow insignificant compared to the experiences Ranma had shown 
her.
	That�s not fair, she told herself angrily.  This is what I am, too: an 
ordinary teenaged girl.  Wide brown eyes, short black hair, small nose; 
average height, maybe a little on the muscular side, but nothing unusual or 
grotesque;  short black skirt, oversized socks, blue mini-T with a corporate 
white swish centered: in what way did this reflected image deny that she was 
in any way different from millions of other Japanese girls?  How many stood 
just as she did at this very moment, before a mirror in contemplation?
	How many wished to be anything _but_ normal?
	I should go home, she thought.
	�It must have hurt,� intruded a voice.
	Akane started from her unseeing contemplation of the mirror to find herself 
lightly rubbing the wrist of her right hand.
	�Is that what you were thinking of?� asked Sayuri.
	Akane forced a small laugh.  �What, my wrist?  No, no, it�s okay.  Ranma 
didn�t really hurt me.  I�m tougher than that.�
	�That�s not what I meant.�
	�Oh?�
	�The betrayal,� said Sayuri, and took the wrist gently in her hands.  �For 
so long, he was always there, always protecting you.  Of all the boys you 
knew, he was the only one who would never, ever, hurt you.  No matter what 
happened.�
	�Yes,� Akane whispered.
	�Then in one moment, he became the same as all the rest.  He hurt you, or 
threatened to, and all his promises and declarations suddenly meant 
nothing.�
	She could only nod.
	�The one and only boy you had ever felt safe or comfortable with, the only 
one with whom you let your guard down, actually allowed yourself to trust -- 
and he betrayed you.  He betrayed your trust and confidence, and that, more 
than anything else, more than his grip or pressure on your wrist, hurt, 
didn�t it, Akane?�
	Everything she said was true.  Akane knew this.  She had all but admitted 
so to herself in the days immediately following the night where everything 
had gone so wrong.  At first her terrible pain at Ranma�s attack -- and it 
had been a pain, a most palpable and physical one, though originating in 
neither muscle nor bone -- had both confused and frightened her.  Only 
through bitter contemplation had the source of her misery come clear.  She 
had even explained as much to Nabiki this morning.
	One truth, however, she had continuously shied away from; only now, forced 
by Sayuri�s empathic explanation to fuller comprehension, could she 
consciously understand the full extent of her loss.  With the old Furinkan 
crowd trying to date her through violence; through repeated examples from 
Kuno; even perceived failures on the part of her father: her conception of 
boys had been consistently negatively reinforced, and she had decided very 
early that she wanted nothing to do with them.  Then Ranma Saotome had 
appeared, and he was one boy -- even if occasionally a girl -- who resisted 
any attempt at being ignored.  Even her kempo talents failed as a defense, 
his undeniably superior skills driving home since the first day that her 
training would avail her nothing should he decide to attack -- yet the 
possibility of violence originating in him had always seemed so very remote. 
  Quite the opposite: how often had he gone to ridiculous lengths to protect 
her, or had taken a blow, no matter how savage or possibly crippling, on her 
behalf?
	Through him, as strange as it seemed, the opposite sex began to be redeemed 
in her eyes.  More importantly, though, with him, Akane found someone in 
which to trust.  There were the little betrayals, of course -- the times 
spent with other women, the insults -- but always she believed that, no 
matter what, he could never turn on her.  She felt, if not love for him, 
then at least security with him; that faith had been a long time developing 
and most grudgingly given; and then the whole thing had been ripped and torn 
away in a moment of carelessness lasting less than a second.  What had she 
lost in that moment?  The betrayal had come from him, but they had both 
created the circumstances leading up to it.  Some of the blame, she now 
knew, lay with her: she had seen his vulnerability and ruthlessly attacked 
it. . . but I was so sure, she cried, so very sure nothing could push him 
that far.  Push him away.  He betrayed; I betrayed myself.  Did my own faith 
in him frighten me?
	A pain previously only understood empathically could now no longer be 
denied.
	�Akane?�
	�Sayuri. . . .�  She turned to her friend, deep grief etching her face, a 
thickness rising through her chest and threatening to tear her apart.  �Oh 
Sayuri, why?�
	She collapsed into her friend�s embrace, the first sob ripping free.
	�Shhh, Akane.  It�s okay.�
	How long did she cry, lost in her friend�s arms -- long enough for the hurt 
to ease, it felt, though both her realization and acceptance remained raw in 
her mind.  Finally, though, her throat unclenched enough for words, pained 
and gasping though they were.
	�Why did he. . . ?�
	�He�s a jerk, that�s why.�
	�No- no.  He. . . we did it. . . why did I?�
	Sayuri pulled away with a sudden jerk, her face contorting with vicious 
anger.  �What. . . you�re not supposed to. . . Akane, Akane, this isn�t your 
fault, you didn�t do anything wrong, this is all his fault, Ranma�s fault, 
he�s the bastard who betrayed _you_, not the other way around!�
	�No, no, I led him; I said. . . .�
	�It doesn�t _matter_ what you said!  He _attacked_ you!�
	�But-.�
	�Dammit, Akane, there�s no room for �but� here.�
	�I, we set it. . . I made him. . . .�
	�What, hurt you?  It�s your fault?�
	Akane swallowed, stifled a sob.  Took a deep breath.  �Yes.�
	�I can�t believe I�m hearing this crap.�
	�What?�
	�It�d almost be funny if it wasn�t happening; it�s like watching a bad 
after-school drama, or reading it out of a textbook.  You�re turning him 
into the victim.  Oh, poor Ranma, it wasn�t _his_ fault he hurt you, was it? 
  You made him do it!�
	Akane fell back a step before her friend�s sudden fury.
	�You throw out a couple of words, and suddenly he�s free to do what he 
likes?  Is that it, Akane?  What did he call you, ugly, violent, a bitch?  
He hurt you.  He strangled Hiromi�s boyfriend.  He punched in Kiyoshi�s 
wall.   Nearly crippled Uehara.  Yesterday he threatened the entire girls� 
class, wrecked school property, tore your sister�s locker apart.  Yeah, 
Akane, it�s all your fault.  He�s the victim here.�  She spat out the next 
three words: �Poor.  Fucking.  Ranma.�
	But Ranma only knows how to defend himself physically, thought Akane, 
suddenly finding herself defending her ex-fiance.  Were our attacks any less 
violent, less brutal, for being merely verbal and social?  Three days ago 
Ranma put a hole in somebody�s wall; yesterday, we all punched a hole in 
someone�s soul.
	�The guy is dangerous.  How much more violent has life become around Nerima 
since he showed up?  How many fights a week does he get into?  I�d say 
castrate him to keep his temper in check, but the curse just proves he�s 
beyond help.�
	�Sayuri. . . .�
	�Instead of a violent asshole, she�s an aggressive bitch!�
	�Sayruri, please. . . let�s not talk about Ranma anymore.�
	�But-.�
	�I thought you wanted me to forget the last few days.  Tonight, I just want 
to be an ordinary girl out to see a movie.  I don�t want to think about 
engagements, or cursed fiances, or violence.  I just want to walk through a 
mall, watch a movie, and eat some popcorn.�
	�I-.�
	�Please?�
	�I. . . .�  Sayuri visibly restrained herself before releasing a giant 
breath.  �I�m sorry.  I guess he brings out the worst in me.  This isn�t 
over, Akane.  What happened wasn�t your fault.  But for tonight -- I�ll let 
it drop.�  A smile slowly eased itself onto her face.
	�Thanks.�  Akane twirled before her friend.  �How do I look?�
	�Good!�
	�I do?  Thanks.�  She looked herself over in the mirror once again: the 
girl who looked back now struck her as anything but normal. . . but she 
could pretend, for now at least, and at times that was better than the real 
thing.  �Let�s go.�


She came in late that night, and having appeased the worries of both her 
father and eldest sister, Akane retired to her room feeling calmer and more 
at ease than she had in a very long time.  Having met up with a number of 
friends at the shopping arcade, the general consensus had been to skip the 
movie in favor of hanging out at the local park.  Among these girls gathered 
under a slowly darkening sky, unified in their guilty pleasure at ignoring 
semester-end schoolwork and determined to simply loiter and enjoy time 
together, the problems of yesterday, the last weekend, month, year, seemed 
impossibly distant.  Of what concern were arranged marriages and martial 
artists when sprawled across a wooden bench by a stone fountain, talking 
reflexively with a girlfriend; why worry about someone�s return while 
collectively laughing at some strutting foolish boy who can not understand 
that his targets are no longer laughing _with_ him?
	For a time, entire hours, the stress of a year was forgotten.  For a time, 
Akane felt that her life was her own once more.  For a time, the future not 
only seemed limitless, but immaterial: bound in the pleasure of the present, 
the possibilities of tomorrow became irrelevant.  Now, undressing for bed, 
carefully laying Sayuri�s clothes aside -- she would have to remember to 
return them, perhaps Kasumi could even clean them first -- the heady glow 
with which she had started today still buoyed her, and it was the first day 
she could recollect in quite some time in which she had both awakened and 
returned to bed feeling content.
	Final toiletries finished, lights off and snugly lying beneath freshly 
cleaned sheets, she looked back over the day.  A full day without Ranma, 
Akane thought.  Not the first, of course: many times his father and he had 
left on training voyages alone, or Ranma had left on some quest or another 
without her.  Always in those situations, however, was the unconscious 
assumption that, sooner or later, he would return, and life would resume as 
before.  Not this time, for even if he returned -- even with his promise, 
that was in no way guaranteed -- there was even less chance that he would 
remain.
	Did she even want him to come back?
	There was the matter of responsibility, and she felt her stomach tighten at 
the reminder.  Whatever I think about him, she reminded herself, Ranma�s 
been hurt.  Maybe badly, and I�m partly to blame.  Until that is resolved, I 
have to at least watch out for him.
	Yet the temptation remained to simply never allow any aspect of that life 
to return, to block him out utterly, for she understood the tenacious and 
insidious capacity her ex-fiance had for unconsciously insinuating himself 
into the life of others.  Had he not been here for nearly a full year and a 
half, despite early and incessant protests by both of them that neither was 
interested in marriage?  Only now he left, yet tendrils of his presence 
still enwrapped much of Nerima.  As long as his absence was felt in the 
city, could she ever forget him?
	Do I ever want to?, she suddenly thought, and blushed: a sudden cascade of 
snippet memories (near kisses, a fleeting touch of hands, defiant 
protectionist cries) overwhelmed her, and for the first time of the day she 
felt momentarily exhausted.
	She suddenly yearned for the presence of P-Chan, and wondered where her 
little pet pig had been for so long.  She felt the need to talk to someone, 
the need to confide in someone.  Ideas needed to be put into words; held 
within her mind they betrayed themselves, were easily disrupted by errant 
recollections or swayed by random feelings.  I need somebody to understand 
how and why I feel, she thought, and if the only one I can trust is a pig. . 
. well, maybe that says more about my problems than anything I possibly 
could.  There was nobody else she could trust: not her sisters (one too 
mercenary, the other too traditional), not her father and certainly not 
Genma; Ranma�s friends and rivals were biased, even Ryoga; her friends had 
been too distant too long to be confidants.  Even Sayuri, though Akane hoped 
that in time, maybe very soon, that friendship would return to what it had 
once been: it would be good to have a best friend once again.
	A diary would have been a nice alternative, but she learnt at a young age 
that with sisters like hers, such things were fundamentally unsafe -- one 
would read it for profit, the other out of genuine concern.  Add a Ranma to 
the mix, and she might as well yell out her innermost feelings to the world. 
  That left her with a pig, a very compassionate and empathetic one, 
perhaps, but a pig nonetheless: and he wasn�t even here, anyway.
	Dammit, I can�t sleep, she thought.  Akane turned over in her bed, grappled 
with her pillow.  She simply wasn�t tired.  Sleep would blanket this 
pointless meandering of her thoughts and lay her concerns to rest (at least 
for another night,) but deep rest eluded her.  Why, especially after such an 
ordinary day?
	She thought about getting up and taking a walk.  Eating a snack.  Working 
out in the dojo.  Starting a diary and hiding it better.  Watching late 
night television.  Reading manga.  Listening softly to some music.  Doing 
some homework.  She remained in bed and didn�t sleep, mind one step ahead of 
body.
	Tap.
	The sudden sound, light as it was, electrified her and banished extraneous 
ideas other than those related to immediate physicality.  School, friends, 
trust, ideas burned away like mist before the sudden beating of her heart, 
rush of blood, tensing of muscles: all within a moment in which she neither 
blinked nor twitched but achieved a sudden awareness of her room.  There -- 
again!  Akane risked a glimpse through one eye: boyish silhouette outside 
her window, dim light of partial moon casting his pale argent shadow against 
one wall.
	Ranma?
	No.  A tendril of Ranma.  Ukyou.
	Akane sighed.  Sat up in her bed, letting the covers fall away.  Clicked on 
her nightlight, dispelling the spatula-carrying shade in her room, gestured 
for the one outside her window to enter.
	�Do you have any idea what time it is?�  Akane checked for herself: it was 
near midnight.
	The okonomiyaki chef lifted the window open and slid quietly into the room. 
  Dressed in her traditional black combat tights, bandoleer across her chest 
and fully loaded, spatula strapped to her back, and bearing the most serious 
countenance, Ukyou fixed Akane with a piercing gaze.  �Where is he, sugar,� 
she said, her voice making it quite clear it wasn�t a question, but a 
demand.  �I want to keep this civil, so just tell me and I�ll be on my way.�
	�Hey, this is _my_ house!  Don�t try and threaten me.�
	�And this is my fiance.  What�ve you done with him?�
	Akane shrugged.  �Nothing.  He�s taken off.�
	Her rival�s eyes narrowed.  �Where?�
	Akane knew she wouldn�t believe her, and took some pleasure out of it.  She 
wasn�t tired yet anyway.  �I really don�t know.�
	�You�re not making this easy. . . .�
	�Don�t you have a restaurant to run?  Shouldn�t you get some sleep?�
	�Everyone saw you run after him yesterday.  I�ve heard the story your 
sister spread around.  I want the truth.  Where is he, Akane?�
	�You want the truth?�
	�Yes!�
	�You can�t ha-.�  Akane took a deep breath.  �The truth is, I really don�t 
know.�
	�Listen. . . .�
	�He�s left on a training voyage.  Mostly to cool down, though.  If it�ll 
make you feel better, he�ll probably be back in a week.�
	Ukyou eyed her suspiciously, but visibly relaxed after a moment.  She 
passed a hand wearily across her eyes.  �You mind if I sit down a moment, 
Akane?� she asked, gesturing toward a chair.  Akane shrugged.  �Thanks.  I�m 
going to feel this tomorrow.  The morning rush is going to be hell.�
	�You�ll understand if I�m not very sympathetic.�
	The chef stripped off her giant spatula and carefully placed it aside 
before sitting.  �Hey, I have a vested interest in wherever Ranma-honey goes 
and whatever he does.  It�s been busy at work so I�ve only been getting the 
info second hand, and a lot�s been happening in the last few days.�
	�So you come here looking for a fight at midnight?�
	Ukyou smirked.  �Hey, a girl�s always gotta be prepared, right sugar?�
	A slight smile grudgingly escaped as Akane relaxed.  �Sure.�
	�So you really don�t know where he is?�
	�Nope.�
	�Is it true?�
	�What?�
	�That you two are splitsville?�
	Akane didn�t quite like the way her rival -- no, ex-rival, she realized -- 
put it, but shrugged.  �I guess so.�
	�So you don�t care if I take off and hunt him down?�
	�It�s your life.�
	Good luck finding him, Akane thought.
	�What about comforting him in his time of need?�
	�Feel free.�
	That would be an interesting scene to see.
	�I will find him, you know.�
	�Go right ahead.�
	The last thing Ranma would want right now is a fiancee with him.
	The girl sat back in her chair, gazing contemplatively over interlaced 
fingers at her.  Akane waited patiently.  How long before she clues in, she 
wondered.  She was surprised how little the situation angered her -- 
surprised that it did not anger her in the least -- in fact, she was rather 
enjoying playing out the little scenario.  For the first time, her own words 
rang true even to herself.  She really did not care.  A slight frown creased 
her brow.  No, that wasn�t quite right.
	�You really mean it this time, don�t you?� said Ukyou.
	�Didn�t I say so?�
	�It�s not exactly the first time you two have broken up, you know.�
	�It�s different this time.�
	�No shit, sugar.  But why? What did you do to him?�
	�Me?�  Akane felt a twinge of anger -- an all too familiar companion when 
dealing with the likes of her former rivals -- returning.  �Sure, blame me.�
	�Wouldn�t be the first time you hit him without provocation.�
	�You�re not guilty of the same?�
	�Hey, I only hit Ranma when he deserves it.�
	�Right.�
	Ukyou grinned sheepishly.  �Well, okay, maybe sometimes I get carried 
away.�
	�Exactly.  And that�s what happened this time.  I got carried away -- we 
both got carried away.  We both said stuff we didn�t really mean -- or maybe 
stuff we�ve always wanted to say finally came out, but never should have.  
Either way, none of it can be taken back, and some of it hurt me really bad. 
  That�s why we�ve broken up.�
	The okonomiyaki chef was slowly shaking her head.  �I find that hard to 
believe.  Ranchan can be an insensitive jerk sometimes, but he�s never 
mean.�
	�Are we talking about the same Ranchan here?�
	�You�re the one who�s always been thin-skinned.  You probably just took a 
joke of his the wrong way.�
	�Really?�  Akane leaned back against the wall and watched for Ukyou�s 
reaction.  �Maybe you�re right.  Maybe there�s some other meaning to being 
called a �bitch� that I wasn�t aware of.  Oh, and �ugly,� �mean,� and 
�cruel,� too.  Uncute didn�t hurt much, but telling me I didn�t have any 
friends did; and threatening to hurt me certainly didn�t help.  Was he 
joking?  If he was, I sure missed the punchline.�
	Eyes widening with each word, Ukyou stared back in disbelief.  �No way he 
said those things.�
	Akane shrugged.  �He did.  If you don�t believe me, Nabiki�s report says 
pretty much the same thing.  To be fair, I�ll admit I said some nasty stuff 
in return: I called him a pervert, and unmasculine, and a girl, and he took 
it really badly.�
	Siting up in her bed past midnight, talking with an old rival across a 
darkened room only faintly illuminated by glimmering moonlight: certainly 
not the conclusion Akane had anticipated to her day.  Yet -- hadn�t she 
hoped for someone to talk to?  Again, perhaps it said something about her 
life when friends and family failed as confidants. . . but a rival could be 
trusted; or, if not trusted , then at least expected to understand and even 
sympathize.  Ranma had been the one to bring them together -- to bring them 
all together, Ukyou, Shampoo, Kodachi -- but perhaps with him removed as an 
item of contention, something akin to a friendship could now form. Such a 
relationship of sorts had existed between Akane and Ukyou in the past, but 
always suspicion on the part of the first, and opportunism on the part of 
the second, had remained between them.  Now?
	It would be nice to have a friend who understood the other side of her 
life, the one that involved martial arts, duels, and the desire for 
independence.  And once Ranma returned. . . if things took a turn for the 
worse, both support and help would not only be appreciated, but needed.
	Akane swallowed against the sudden tightness of her stomach.
	Now was not the time, however.  Not for expressing feelings and concerns, 
or motives and desires.  Perhaps one day she and Ukyou would be good 
friends, and tonight may have been the first step in that direction: but at 
times a single step was enough, and both had enough thoughts to digest for 
the remainder of the evening.  Akane could feel the first yearnings for 
sleep spread through her body -- the encounter with Ukyou apparently had 
been just what she needed to settle her mind and body sufficiently for rest.
	The chef seemed content enough to let the subject drop -- for now.  
Weariness was apparent in her features, and she turned away with a wide 
yawn.
	�Later, �kane.�
	�Night.  You know, you can use the front door if you want.�
	�Heh.  Thanks.�
	�You coming to school tomorrow?�
	�Yeah.  It�ll be hell, but I�ll be there.�
	�Meet for lunch?�
	Her smile broadened.  �Sure.  I�d like that.  I want to hear the rest of 
this.�
	A final farewell, and she quietly left.  Akane settled into her bed, covers 
pulled up to her neck, eyes closed, breathing deepening, slow numbness 
spreading across her body.  There would be other encounters with ex-rivals 
in the next few days, of that she was sure: and doubtless neither Shampoo 
nor Kodachi would be half as reasonable as Ukyou.  Those, however, were 
concerns for another day.
	Akane slept.


	The week passed quickly.
	This proved a source of both relief and anxiety for Akane.  With the 
passing of each day she grew tenser in unconscious anticipation of Ranma�s 
return.  As her uneasiness matured and came to occupy more of her conscious 
thought, and overwhelmed her unconscious mind in dreams, she came to count 
the days until his supposed return.  She hoped then that her worries would 
be proven unfounded; the alternative was not something that she liked to 
think about.
	The first few days following Ukyou�s nighttime visit, however, were busy 
enough to keep her from thinking of her ex-fiance.  First had been Shampoo�s 
appearance on the way to school: though made more difficult by the language 
barrier and the amazon�s somewhat more violent ways, the conversation had 
proven very similar to the one with the okonomiyaki chef; except that, with 
a look of surprising comprehension in her eyes and a subtle enigmatic smile, 
she had pronounced, �Ranma finally learn, Shampoo wait now� before turning 
away and biking back towards the Nekohanten.  Akane had watched her former 
rival disappear down the street, lavender tresses swaying in counter-time to 
her cycling, and felt suddenly small and childish.
	Kodachi had required more convincing.  Only violence, and some poetic 
intervention on the part of her brother (requiring further violence from 
Akane) dissuaded her from an attempt to assault the Tendo sister at lunch.  
Her threat rang clear in the air as she left, however: beware, if Ranma did 
not return by the week�s end!  Confronted with this, watching the 
leotard-clad lunatic fly across the rooftops, Akane had felt suddenly 
content and mature.
	Somehow, or perhaps unsurprisingly, neither her father nor Genma realized 
that something was amiss, Akane�s explanation that he had left on a 
week-long training voyage after his mother�s visit (�to reclaim his 
manliness,� she had said) being sufficient to satisfy their curiosity.  With 
her ex-rivals momentarily calm, and Nabiki agreeing to remain silent (for 
her own reasons, she assured Akane, and not out of filial kindness), the 
fathers somehow never realized that their life-long dream of family union 
was in serious jeopardy.
	Life, otherwise, had proven delightfully normal, and she had immersed 
herself completely, and with some joy, into the routine of an ordinary 
schoolgirl: there were classes to attend, tests to study for, clubs to 
participate in, and friends to hang out with.  She found herself spending 
time with Sayuri, and felt their friendship swiftly returning to its former 
closeness; Ukyou she saw far more of as well, and their sometimes-animosity 
slowly transformed into an almost camaraderie -- more than a few lunches and 
after-schools were spend at the Ucchan, and only rarely did they speak of 
Ranma.
	The week came to an end.  Akane decided to have a sleepover: she was unsure 
whether it was a final clinging-on to the normality she had recently 
enjoyed, or a mask for the gnawing anxiety that haunted her in anticipation 
of Ranma�s return, but the idea was received with enthusiasm.  The party 
went well -- mostly.  Many friends came, Sayuri, Yuka, Hitomi, and even 
Ukyou, and more, and they watched movies in the house and slept in the dojo 
and talked until two in the morning, and did all the ordinary things that 
girls do at such occasions: and yet, faint echoes of what had disturbed her 
at Kiyoshi�s party returned to do so at her own affair.  She spent most of 
the night talking with Ukyou, found the gossip confusing and often dull, and 
came to wonder if there was something wrong with herself.  When her friends 
left the next morning it came almost as a relief -- until the memory of 
Ranma returning, which had lurked at the back of her mind all night, brought 
back with it the worries of the week.
	Sunday.  The proposed day of his return.  Akane meticulously prepared 
supper for that night, and waited: would he come?

******


Understanding came to Ranma Saotome during the moment of greatest intensity 
of that early morning�s training, and instead of shattering his fragile 
focus underscored it with inexplicable poignancy.  With a timorous mental 
hold he retained possession of the idea lest it slip away, as he slowly, 
beautifully, completed an equally elusive technique.  He rose to his feet, 
still gripped by the residual euphoria of his workout
	So that�s why she�s hurting, he realized.  The sun�s ascent overhead went 
unnoticed as he mulled the idea over.  It came as some surprise -- not the 
cause of her pain, for some reason it now made perfect sense -- but he had 
not been aware of having even contemplated the problem.  The last week had 
been one of both perfect simplicity and the utmost complexity.  Only one 
thing had dominated his time, intense, single-minded training; but each 
technique and exercise and form had been dissected and studied with 
thoroughness.  Such concentration had left little room for other 
considerations.
	At night, however, lying on his hard earthen bed, there were those brief 
moments before utter exhaustion and body weariness overtook him: in that 
brief time, what did his mind turn to?  He could never remember by morning, 
and his dreams faded quickly -- snapshot images of Akane, perhaps?  
Certainly not of Furikan, and of those who had betrayed him.
	There�s nothing for me there, he reminded himself.
	He felt sluggish, and the clarity he possessed during training eluded him 
once he began the necessary mundanities of morning.  With a fresh fire 
crackling and his kettle set over it, he walked down to the shallow forest 
steam that flowed nearby.  The water was icy-cold, he knew from previous 
experience, and after stripping out of his clothes a quick dip served to 
dispel errant thoughts and shock him to full wakefulness.  His 
dirt-and-sweat encrusted clothes he washed and scrubbed and hung to dry, 
then turned to his morning ablutions.  Squatting by the river-side, he 
wished he�d thought to do so before turning female.
	Glinting in the rising sunlight, a reflection caught his eye: a young 
red-haired girl, naked and crouched by the water -- himself, of course, and 
normally he would have shied away from the image.  This time, however, he 
paused: something felt strikingly familiar, and he grasped for recollection. 
  Unlike earlier, however, the memory this time eluded him, and suddenly 
ashamed by his own female nakedness, he turned away.
	It�s probably nothing, he told himself.  Something left over from a dream.
	Returning to camp he pulled his other set of clothes -- equally dirty as 
the others, it seemed -- from his pack and dressed.  What to do next, he 
wondered.  Strength, speed, endurance, reflex, form, stance, and attack 
training: he�d tackled them all, and every muscle and joint still ached from 
the effort.  No new techniques learnt in the last seven days, perhaps, but a 
further perfection of what he already knew.  Maybe now he should focus on 
his female side?
	You could go home, drifted through his mind.
	He had neglected his cursed form all week, reverting to male form as 
quickly as possible each time circumstances had forced a change.  Well, 
maybe another week of training focused entirely upon his female body�s 
strengths and weaknesses was necessary.  How often had he needed to resort 
to shameful feminine trickery due to a lack of confidence in his woman�s 
body�s abilities?  Again his mind began to draw together abstract ideas and 
concrete knowledge, and build a potential training regimen.
	�What am I training for?�, he suddenly asked himself, out loud he realized, 
and the sound of his own voice and the very question itself shocked him into 
sudden stillness.  It seemed the question hardly required asking -- and yet 
having done so, he began to doubt.  I�ve trained this hard before, he told 
himself, this is nothing new.  But this time was different, and he knew it: 
for while the near-desperation that had underscored the week�s effort was 
familiar, this time there was no tangible enemy confronting him.  This 
perfection of his technique, against whom would he apply it?  This 
dispelling of all thoughts not immediately related to martial arts -- what 
was he avoiding?
	Akane, he told himself.  A moment later he realized that wasn�t true.  
There were issues yet unresolved between him and her, yet the thought of 
confronting her held little fear for him now.  Somewhere, amidst the 
confusion and hurt of recent events, that wall of hesitancy that had always 
hindered and made any attempt to speak honestly with her had simply 
disappeared.  At a cost, of course. . . what else had been lost?
	All week he had danced about and studiously avoided the question of whether 
or not to return to Nerima; this he recognized, but again, settling upon the 
idea at this time brought little unease.  Quite simply, he didn�t want to, 
and could see little reason to do so, his promise notwithstanding.  Return 
to those bastards at Furinkan?  Deal with his remaining fiancees?  Face off 
against more rivals?  His parents?  He snorted.  Not likely.  He might only 
be seventeen, but he could get by without any of them, he could take care of 
himself just fine.
	And yet. . . .
	He was lonely.  So very lonely.
	There it was.  Finally accepting the truth he had tried to bury beneath 
incessant physical exhaustion was enough to drop him to the ground, legs 
curling up to his breasts as he released a deep sigh that seemed to resonant 
from impossibly deep within.  Damn this stupid body, he cursed himself, 
holding back on a sudden wetness of his eyes, but again he knew that being 
female had little to do with it.  When was the last time he�d been so truly 
alone?  Ten years of traveling, but during that entire time, his worthless 
idiot of a father, despite any other shortcomings he may have had, had 
always been by his side, morning, day, and night.  In the last 
year-and-a-half, since his arrival in Nerima, he had often felt lonely: 
surrounded by people but seemingly understood by none, their presence had 
served to only heighten his isolation: but now, truly isolated with noone 
within an unknown distance, he understood how the former paled in comparison 
to the second.  At least in Nerima, there were voices to be heard other than 
his own -- even if those voices were usually underscored with anger and 
carried only curses and threats.  It was attention, at least.
	�Guess I�m not the noble wandering martial artist I thought I was,� he 
whispered to himself, and smirked in self-depreciation.  How does Ryoga do 
it?  I�ll have to ask him next time I see him.  It�s probably why he hates 
me so much: what else does he have to think about other than revenge?  
Anything, even hatred, would be better than focusing on being alone.
	Finding his feet once more, he knew a decision had been made.  What choice 
did he have but to return to Nerima?  His training had not been in vain: it 
had served to bring him to this precise point: now he felt prepared to 
confront the people he thought he had left behind -- from fiancees to 
schoolmates, things as they had been could now come to an end.
	�Time to finish this,� Ranma muttered, and then nearly laughed at his own 
declaration.  It helped to think of his return as a final showdown.  It was 
a concept he felt more at ease with.
	He returned to maleness, and as he gathered his few possessions and began 
to pack once again, his stomach churned uneasily.  The wild food he�d caught 
and eaten had been anything but delicious, and his stomach had reacted most 
negatively.  Now _there_ was a reason to go back: Kasumi�s cooking.  He 
smiled at the prospect and, hefting his backpack over his shoulders, Ranma 
took the first step towards returning home.

******
******


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