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Hello!

I'm sending this on behalf of Mike Noakes.  Please send comments to him at:
noakes_m@hotmail.com

Ilana

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


Hi!

Here's the latest chapter of Choices, confusingly titled 'Decision,' which 
some may remember was the name of the _previous_ chapter.  Well, as some 
people pointed out, in the last chapter it seemed very little actual 
_deciding_ was done, so I changed the name to "Contemplation" and called the 
new, fourth chapter "Decision".  If there's confusion, it's probably because 
it's been over a year since part three.  I'm kinda slow, you see....

Anyway, enjoy!  And feedback (earnestly desired, whether good or bad) can be 
sent to: noakes_m@hotmail.com.  This story can also be found on my webpage 
at www.geocities.com/noakes_m.

Later!
Mike Noakes

noakes_m@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m
http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m/webcam/webcam.htm




Choices:

Decision 

 



The morning sunlight was bright and the air unusually warm, the weather seeming in sharp
contrast to the stark dream images that fluttered moth like just beyond the edge of
recollection. He felt tired in a way he had rarely felt before, with a weariness that
laid not so much within the body as it did within the mind. He remembered clearly the
exhilaration that a decision made had brought him only one week ago: but now, having
again come to the same conclusion--though this time for very different reasons--he felt
only a numbing exhaustion.

Ranma Saotome sat up in his futon with a barely stifled groan. The anger that had buoyed
him last week and carried him through most of a weeklong training session was entirely
lacking, and in its absence lay a painful hollowness. The idea of leaving now left him
feeling drained and empty; and a seed of unwanted emotions weighed heavily in the pit of
his stomach.

When did I come to this decision? Ranma wondered. He last remembered lying in the dark
and staring at his pack next to him, the brisk night air descending quickly as the heat
bled from the room. His pack was ready; it seemed to him as if it had always been ready;
reaching back to his earliest memories, he could always recollect a heavy backpack
bulging with his few belongings waiting next to whatever bed he lay upon that night. For
a while I forgot, he thought, or at least fooled myself into forgetting. For a year I
settled here, and this stupid pack sat in the closet, but I never took it apart, and I
guess somehow I knew this day would finally have to come, and now it has, only it hurts a
lot more than I ever expected. I guess I never expected to go at it alone, without Pop.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it for a lie. He felt curiously ambivalent
about leaving his idiot father behind; somewhere inside, Ranma felt a solid certainty
that, wherever he might go, his father would eventually, inevitably, catch up and find
him. Rather, the numb pain came from knowing what he was willingly giving up. The only
home he had known in a decade; kind Kasumi and her father, even Nabiki; his mother as
well, no matter how stressful those times usually proved to be. And . . . .

With sudden resolve he took to his feet and dressed quickly. After a final check and
hasty repacking, he dropped his backpack out the window. Turning his back on the easy
escape, he left the room by the door. He wondered if this morning would be the last time
he would ever see the Tendos. A nagging suspicion grew that today was going to be a very
bad day indeed.

Whatever, he told himself. I’ve made my decision, and now it’s time to carry it through. 

 



The scene of absolute normalcy that presented itself when he joined the Tendos struck
Ranma as both absurd and nearly insulting. Kasumi, impossibly fresh-faced in the morning
as usual, was serving breakfast to her newspaper-reading father and his panda friend
sitting at the table. Mr. Tendo acknowledged the arrival of breakfast with a slight nod,
absorbed by his reading; Genma tossed the paper aside and attacked the food with
chopsticks he somehow held in his giant furry paw. The TV was playing softly in the
background, providing morning news in a low-voiced monotone, and outside, past the
sliding doors kept shut against the February winds, the faint chirp of birds could be
heard. The heater, wreathed in a faint aura of oil-scented heat, glowed red from its
place on the tatami next to the low-set heated kotatsu table. Ranma, standing at the
entrance to the room, watched and grasped the sight as a memory he hoped to always
retain. This is what I’m turning away from, he told himself, feeling a curious
ambivalence: surprisingly intense pang underscoring muted elation; and it seemed to him
strange to be confronted with such casual cheerfulness on the morning of the day that he
chose to change his life in such a fundamental way.

“Good-morning, son,” said Mr. Tendo, as Ranma came forward with forced nonchalance.
“Feeling better?”

Ranma stared at him for a moment before nodding in reply. Soun had not even glanced away
from his paper. Genma continued to devour his food with a decidedly bear-like appetite.
Kasumi stepped back into the kitchen for more food. Ranma suddenly noticed that both
Akane and Nabiki were conspicuously absent. She wouldn’t avoid me, would she? he
wondered, feeling a little hurt. She knows I was thinking of leaving today.

Unless, he added, she decided last night that she really doesn’t care after all. Which is
all too possible, Ranma thought darkly. Either that or she thinks that I’m too much of a
coward to carry such a big decision through. Well then, won’t _she_ be surprised when she
finds out I’m already gone!

Feeling childish, he sighed and sat at the table and stared blankly at the back of the
newspaper Mr. Tendo presented to him. Weather forecast for the week; story of a forgotten
dog that followed its master’s move from Aomori to Tottori prefecture; bra advertisement
promising superior cleavage; talent scout blurb, Yes, you too could be a model or music
star! It slowly dawned on him that his decision came with massive consequences as yet
un-contemplated. Where would he go, what would he do? He needed a place to live, probably
a job, and did he really want to give up the few academics he had achieved?

It was while considering this, mechanically eating the food Kasumi placed before
him--unthinkingly, but still very much aware of how delicious her cooking was--that
Nabiki came rushing downstairs. She was already dressed for school, schoolbag at her
side, and as she quickly passed by it seemed to Ranma that she avoided looking at him.
What’s up with her? he wondered, even as Kasumi called out after her younger sibling. The
middle sister, already out of sight, replied with a yelled “I have to get to school early
today,” and a moment later he heard the door slam shut behind her. Kasumi, unperturbed,
dumped the extra food on Genma’s plate. Ranma shrugged and turned back to his breakfast.

To his surprise, his panda father stopped inhaling food long enough to dump a cupful of
hot water over his own head, shifting back to human form. Pulling a convenient dogi over
his bulky form, he leveled a glare at his son.

“I allowed you the luxury of missing morning practice this morning,” Genma growled, “out
of respect for the torturous ordeals you underwent last night. But I will not idly sit by
and allow the heir to the Anything-Goes school of martial arts--”

Ranma broke into a cold sweat, thinking, He knows! He already knows, and I knew this was
coming eventually, but not this soon, I’m not ready yet! Did Akane tell him I was
thinking of leaving?

“--to go soft on me!” finished Genma, to his son’s immense relief. “I effortlessly steal
a third of your meal, and you don’t notice?” He presented his chopsticks with a flourish,
displaying a piece of fish captured from his son’s plate.

The younger Saotome forced a scowl to conceal his pleasure, and glanced down at his
plate. He noted with surprise that his food was, in fact, missing. Man, I must’ve been
out of it, he thought. Pop’s right to call me all that.

“And then,” Genma continued, “to allow Kasumi to give me extra food without a struggle?
What’s wrong with you, boy?”

“I haven’t spoken to you for a week, and that’s the first thing out your fat mouth?”
Ranma’s tone dripped insolence. “How about, ‘How was the training trip, Ranma?’ or ‘Good
to see you, son!’ Is that too much to ask?”

“Not at all,” said Genma, suddenly all smiles. “How was the trip?”

“Fine,” Ranma answered guardedly.

“Good to see you, son!”

“You’re weirding me out, Pop.”

“But why? I’m just trying to be friendly, you know, to bond a little and maybe be there
for my son--”

“Um, thanks.”

“--who’s acting like some kind of freakin’ girl!” Genma yelled, and lunged forward, a
vase-full of cold water splashing towards Ranma. It was a testament to either the elder
Saotome’s skill, or to his son’s distractedness, that Ranma simply sat there unmoving as
the attack hit him square in the face. He blinked through the dirty water coursing across
features suddenly turned softer and feminine.

“What a disgrace!” wailed Genma, red in the face and leaping to his feet. “What did you
study for the last week, the Saotome Anything-Goes Special Technique of Being Slow? The
Deadly Art of Being Utterly Useless?” He stalked back and forth, gesticulating wildly, as
an unperturbed Soun continued to read his paper and Kasumi rescued her flowers from death
by trampling. “Ten years of training for nothing! Must I restart my disappointment of a
son from the beginning? Oh, the shame!”

This, Ranma thought, as his father proceeded to decry the flaws of youth in general and
of his son in particular, is exactly how I want to remember Pop when I’m gone. He smiled
broadly and stood up. “Yo, Pop,” he said, cutting Genma off in mid-rant. “How ‘bout I
show you a little of what I’ve been studyin’?” 

 



Leaving his grinning father lying half-unconscious in the pond with swirling eyes and
lumps on his head, Ranma headed to the bathroom for some hot water. Beating the crap out
of Pop had done wonders to dispel the melancholy of the morning, and with renewed vigor
he faced the prospect of leaving the house. Only as he went to slide the door open did it
occur to him that, by leaving, he would be giving up the very thing that had just cheered
him up; and his mood plummeted once again. Man, he thought, leaving is a hell of a lot
harder than I expected. But his determination didn’t waver, and he felt secure in the
knowledge that he was doing the right thing. He was doing what he had to do. What others
had forced him to do. Ranma opened the door.

Akane was there in her yellow fish-cake pajamas. She was brushing her teeth.

They stared at each other for a moment, and for some reason Ranma felt intensely
surprised to see her. He recovered and bowed apologetically and wordlessly backed away,
and as he went to leave she recovered as well, spitting out a mouthful of water, the
corner of her mouth still flecked with toothpaste foam, and reached for the door and kept
him from closing it behind him. “Ranma, wait!” she said.

A brief pause was all Akane needed to grab him by the arm. He allowed her to pull him
into the bathroom, and watched bemused as she checked to see if anyone was around. She
closed the door.

Akane looked tired, her eyes looked tired, more so than he could ever remember seeing
her, almost as if she hadn’t slept all night. She wasn’t worried about me, was she? Ranma
thought, feeling a sudden pang of both guilt and guilty pleasure. But of course she’s
not, he added, why would she be? She’s known for awhile now that I’d be leaving, she
wants me to leave, she’s better off with me leaving . . . she doesn’t really care either
way. Akane’s made that abundantly clear.

He noticed that she was examining him with equal intensity, searchingly, and suddenly he
felt strangely embarrassed by being female in front of her. Feeling like this was stupid,
he knew, but he still felt acutely aware of his femininity in a way he had rarely felt:
the way his shirt tented and draped off his breasts, how his pants hung high and
stretched across his wider hips; and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror he had a
sudden disjointed recollection, similar dreamlike snapshot image of disheveled hair wet
and framed face feminine flashing to mind--but it slid away, ephemeral, and with it the
shame he felt before Akane. A subdued anger filled its void: where does she get off
making me feel like this?

“Yo, Akane,” he said, rather more brusquely than intended. “Something you wanna say?”

Whereas she had stopped Ranma without hesitation, that confidence now seemed to escape
her and left her at a loss for words. He stared at her impatiently, and finally Akane
blurted out, “You’re a girl,” almost as if unable to think of anything else.

He shrugged. “Yeah. Shit happens. Jusenkyo, bad luck, a little water: instant
sex-changing freak. You know how it goes.”

Akane frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

He bit back a retort, feeling bad for snapping at her. Ranma turned away and reached for
the sink. “I just came for some hot water. I’ll be out of your way in a second.”

A soft touch on his shoulder--surprisingly timorous, almost frightened--checked him.
“Ranma, I. . . I don’t care,” she said.

“I know,” he said, a whisper, a savage hurt seizing him, twisting his insides, and his
hand trembled on the faucet tap. “That’s why I’m leaving.” Ranma hated himself for it,
but as the words escaped he looked back, had to see the statement on her face and confirm
the truth of her feelings for him; he did this despite knowing that his own features must
betray him, mirroring the pain he felt inside. What he saw, so clearly written on her
face, crystallized the decision within his mind and hardened his heart to the pain:
mingled disgust and fear offset only by stark pity, and he wanted none of either three
from her. He turned away quickly, face burning. Ranma composed himself and straightened,
momentarily forgetting about changing back.

“That’s not what I meant,” Akane said softly.

“Yes, it is,” he answered, more bitter than expected.

She shook her head vehemently. “Ranma, no, you . . . don’t understand.”

He laughed. “Oh, but I do, Akane--finally! And you’re right, so absolutely right. You and
your friends and everyone. Well--goodbye.” He went to step past her but she refused to
move, and he was reminded of the same scene one week ago, with he ready to leave and she
constantly blocking him. Well, I’m not going to play her game this time, he thought. With
sudden speed and a bit of deft footwork, he slipped past her and through the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked. When he ignored her and stepped away, she asked again,
louder. “I’ll keep asking,” she promised, “louder and louder, until I’m screaming down
the street after you. I don’t know what you’re planning to do, and somehow I don’t think
you are, either, but I’m guessing you’re not quite ready to face up to our fathers just
yet.”

“What do you care?” he retorted without looking back, his voice low enough to not be
heard by the adults down the hall. “We’re through, remember? You don’t want to have
anything to do with me. So what does it matter where I go?”

He could feel her stare on his back. “It matters.”

Ranma sighed and turned back. “Fine. You know what I’m planning to do? I’m planning on
moving away. Out of Nerima.” Even as he spoke he realized he was making a choice, and
that in the process of answering Akane’s question he was deciding his own future. “I’ll
camp out until I find a job or something I can make some money off of.” He shrugged,
glanced down, and stuck his chest out. “If this body’s been good for anything, it’s
getting work and free food.

With some money, I’ll find somewhere to live, and finish school, I guess.” He was
surprised to hear himself say so, but then suddenly realized that his education was
important to him. He had worked his ass off to get into a public school as decent as
Furinken, and even if his current grades were crap, he wasn’t about to waste all that
effort. Everybody thought he was a jock moron; well, he’d prove them wrong. “If Ukyo can
do it, then so can I.”

If Akane looked at all surprised or dubious of his plan, she showed none of it. “And
then?” she asked. Something in her tone reminded him of a mother chiding an immature boy,
and it infuriated him.

“And then what? How should I know? I’m only seventeen, Akane! Do you have any idea what
you’re going to do after high school? Any of your friends know?” He stalked up to her and
confronted her in a restrained, angry whisper. “I don’t give a shit about later! All I
want is to leave--to leave this fucking place, and all you people screwing with my life .
. . I want to go away, and start all over, and forget about all of you and the last year
and a half and find a new home and new friends and never have to see either you or your
friends or your family ever again . . . but that’s a lie, Akane, because I _don’t_ want
to leave, because I’m happy here, and I like your family and even your bitchy friends and
our stupid school and all these jerks who keep bugging the shit out of me; and leaving
here is the hardest, most painful thing I’ve ever done . . . and the only thing keeping
me stuck between the two is you, Akane, _you’re_ the one tearing me apart, because I’ve
already decided to leave, it’s the right thing to do and it’s what I have to do; but you
won’t let me leave! Let me go, Akane! Can’t you see what you’re doing to me? Do you enjoy
hurting me? Let me go!”

With eyes brimming with tears and so full of pity it hurt to see, she answered, “Oh no,
Ranma, no, I don’t, and I hope you’ll never understand how much I hope you’re okay.”

He believed her. The words were delivered with such heartfelt intention, from such a
depth of honesty that it was impossible to doubt her sincerity. Again, however, that
overwhelming pity in her eyes, and he refused to accept that from his former fiancee. I
don’t need your pity! he wanted to scream, can’t you see I’m only leaving because of you?
But how to convey the full range of his feelings, when he himself didn’t fully understand
to what depths they reached? Those emotions surged and roiled within just below the
surface, and for a moment he trembled with the potential of statement, unsure of what he
might say or do if his honest feelings were given free rein; and he swiftly turned away
as he sought to master himself. Now was not the time, he refused to expose himself so
blatantly to her, not when under that emasculating sympathetic gaze.

“Ranma,” she said softly, coming up behind him. “Can we talk?”

Still struggling for control, he shook his head in the negative.

“Ranma,” she tried again, sounding hurt, “last night, you said we would.”

On your terms, he thought, is that it? I don’t think so. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”
he said, still looking away. He remembered her words from last night:

_After supper, we’ll talk. I need time to think. I’ve been doing a lot all week, and now
. . . I think I’m ready to make some choices._

But she just doesn’t get it, he thought. This isn’t about her anymore, and it’s not her
choice to make.

“No!” she said. “Not like this. Not . . . angry. A real talk. I don’t think we’ve ever
had one, not in all the time you’ve been here. I’d really like to try, Ranma.”

He was tempted, there was so much he wanted to say, or thought he wanted to say, even
though unsure of what that might be. But he could not allow himself to be swayed from his
decision, especially not like this; leaving was proving difficult enough as it was. I
have to leave, now, or she’ll draw another promise out of me, and this will keep going on
and on, and I don’t think I could take that. I won’t do that to myself, I won’t do that
to her. It’s time to burn my bridges.

He hardened himself, and stubbornly answered, “Well, that’s funny, Akane, really ironic
like, because last night, _I_ was ready to talk, but you weren’t . . . and this morning,
you know, I really don’t feel like it anymore.” He turned on her, forcing himself back to
anger. “We had our chance for a heart-to-heart and you blew it. I’m leaving. I’m leaving.
I don’t need this house, this family, and I certainly don’t need you, Akane, so you can
wipe that pity off your face, because I sure don’t want it; and you can forget about your
stupid little talk.

“We’re through, and when our parents come looking to place the blame, you can dump it all
on me, yeah, just like you always do: but you’ll know it’s all your fault. This started
because I took you seriously for once--treated you like the martial artist you so want to
be but will never become--and you couldn’t take it.” He hated himself, hated every
spiteful word he hurled at her and the pain it so clearly caused her. He despised the
lie, when he knew that in his drunkenness it had been he who had gone too far, and the
residual guilt rankled worse than ever. His self-loathing at that moment was so deep that
he grew furious himself, with the same intensity he felt whenever anyone would dare
threaten his Akane; and he channeled that inward anger outwards into his words, towards
his fiancee. “We had one chance to talk about it, and you threw me out of your room, you
poisoned me, you made a mess of it as usual. You screwed up, and really, I don’t think
there’s much more to say, ‘cus I sure as hell don’t want to live with a violent, uncute
tomboy like you!”

Akane stood as if stunned, tears freely flowing, looking so hurt--no, even worse,
betrayed--that Ranma was immediately overwhelmed with guilt. He wanted to rush forward
and apologize, he wanted to take it all back and try again. He had to leave, but not like
this; it had to end, but not like this . . . it couldn’t end like this!

The shock faded and she flushed red with anger, and she shook with such a fury of emotion
that he flinched back against the blow surely to come. When he opened his eyes, she stood
trembling with hands clenched at her side, and she pierced him with such a look of
disgust and hate that he quailed inside, his chest becoming unbelievably tight, and he
knew with absolute certainty that he had lost her forever.

“Get out of my house,” she hissed.

He reeled back as if physically struck, though her words were no less than he expected.
His every insult and curse and mingled truth and lie had been to bring her to this very
point, where she would finally release him. So why did it hurt so much? At that moment,
an unbidden memory surfaced:

Raven-haired pale-faced black-skirted friendly girl--what was her name?--holding him
close. No, _her_ close, female flesh bound tightly in bikini red, red shirt hanging open.
Tears and guilt: release.

_You-you really love him, don’t you?_

Tight stabbing pain, burgeoning nascent agony of awareness come too late.

_Yes._

“Yes,” Ranma whispered, the blood draining from his face. Remembrance had come too late.
With the same absolute certainty with which he knew that he had lost his fiancee, he
suddenly also realized that he loved her, truly and profoundly. At the very same moment
that Ranma Saotome finally consciously accepted that he loved Akane Tendo, he also had to
accept that he had just given her up. The constant emotional buffeting of the last few
minutes proved too much; everything--anger, fear, love, shame, guilt--flayed him raw from
within, and he locked up, physically and mentally.

“Yes, that’s it, _yes_?” Akane stormed forward. “Then go!” she spat, and shoved him,
hard, and again. He stumbled back, defenseless. “Go! Get out!”

“No, wait!” he stuttered, trying desperately to catch his footing, “Akane, no, Akane I lo
. . . .”The words died on his lips. Under that withering hateful gaze, what could he say?
His shoulders slumped*in defeat. He turned away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

And then, louder, “Goodbye, Akane.”

Those first steps were among the most difficult he could ever remember taking, heavier
even then when he fled from her back in Ryugenzawa. There had been another man that time,
a rival and outside source, something to drive him with righteous anger and send him
sprinting across the forest. This time he had driven her away himself, and there was no
one else to blame. When Happosai had stolen his strength, he had also been prepared to
give her up. Somewhere deep inside, however, he had hoped--known--that she wouldn’t
abandon him, and she had proven him right. Though the shame of his weakness had been
almost too much to bear, her presence had been a very real comfort to him, and now he
understood why: even then he had loved her, but only now did he know to what extent.

Ranma walked away. He felt light-headed. Thoughts were consumed in a subliminal buzz. He
felt somehow disjointed, as if watching from outside his body’s slow escape. The
immediate was lost in a haze, the periphery coming to bear; and from far off he could
hear, stunningly clear, the trill of a morning bird. A telephone ring. Humming of a
cheerful song. The loud clack of a shoji stone against wooden board. A stifled, choking
sob.

Hurried footsteps as Kasumi, somehow oblivious to what had transpired only a few meters
away, came to him. “Phone call for you,” she said, and smiled. “It’s Doctor Tofu!” 

 



Ranma picked up the phone.

“Ranma?”

“Err, hi Doc. Listen, now’s not-.”

“I’ll be brief. I need you to come to the clinic with Akane this morning.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Maybe nothing. Nabiki set up an appointment this morning. She’s very worried.”

“Is it serious?”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s nothing. The earlier you come the better.”

“Akane won’t want to come with me. We just had a big fight”

“It’s very important for you to come with her, Ranma.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. See you soon.”

Doctor Tofu hung up. 

 



When Ranma returned from the phone call, his head a confused jumble of thoughts and
impulses, Akane was gone. He heard heavy steps from upstairs, and assumed she had gone to
her room to change for school. Now what do I do? he thought, and wandered in a daze back
to the living room. He slumped to the ground, ignored by his father (now recovered) and
Soun (enjoying a cigarette) as they continued an intense game of shogi. What do I do, he
thought again, and immediately after: I love her! “I love her,” he whispered, feeling the
roll of the words off his tongue, how easy it seemed to say now. “I love you, Akane.” His
heart soared with the newfound knowledge of its desire, and for a moment, consumed by the
elation that it brought, all the difficulties of the day thus far disappeared like the
morning’s frost.

_I sure as hell don’t want to live with a violent, uncute tomboy like you!_

What have I done? he thought, crashing back to earth. Oh man, what have I done? He could
clearly remember now that moment at the party, admitting in his drunkenness his feelings
for Akane to a complete stranger. The pain of that moment had been so intense! How much
worse it was now, without the buffer of alcohol, without the emotional release his female
form might offer under different company! The worst, however, was realizing that despite
the full knowledge of his feelings, it changed nothing. His decision was still made, and
now more than ever, he knew he had to leave. No matter how painful, for the good of Akane
he had to leave. Surely it was the least he could do if he truly loved her, and he hoped
that fact would make his departure easier.

Nope, Ranma told himself, it doesn’t.

Before he could go, he had one last responsibility: to take Akane to Tofu’s clinic, and
concern momentarily displaced his sense of loss. Talking to Doctor Tofu had been
intensely strange, in part because of the state of near shock he had been in as he picked
up the phone. The doctor himself had seemed odd, his voice devoid of its usual
cheerfulness, his request delivered in a tightly restrained, brusque and clinical tone.
It must be pretty damn serious, Ranma thought, if he was able to get a coherent message
across to Kasumi. Shit. I hope Akane’s all right.

Nursing this thought and drawing courage from it, he went upstairs to Akane’s room. Her
room seemed strangely quiet. Oh, man, I hope she’s not crying, he thought. Maybe it was a
good thing that he was a girl right now. His female body seemed more comforting, somehow,
or better suited to such emotions. Not that he would cry. He was a man, and he had to be
strong. Especially if there was something wrong with Akane. Ranma tried a hesitant knock
on the door.

“Come in.”

She looked surprisingly composed as he entered, and the look she directed his way was one
of cool indifference. She was dressed for school, closing the final tie on her schoolbag.
“You’re still here?” Her voice, normally so passionate--whether with anger or caring--was
painfully flat, and sounded, if anything, mildly annoyed with the necessity of talking to
him. Anything would have been better than that neutral hollowness, so alien to
her--anger, tears, even hatred directed his way would have been better. But she’s already
erased me from her life, he thought, just when she’s become the most important thing in
mine.

Ranma nodded in reply and tried to appear casual. No point in letting her know how he
felt. It certainly wouldn’t help anything at this point. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’ll be
gone in a few minutes.”

“Good,” she said, and looked away. Her face was hidden from him. “What did Doctor Tofu
want?” she asked. Ranma heard a slight tremor in her voice.

“He wants us to swing by the clinic,” he said, “for a check-up. Sounds pretty normal, I’m
sure it’s nothing serious.”

“Fine,” she said. “You can walk me to school and we’ll stop on the way. It’s probably
better that way, so our fathers won’t suspect anything.”

“Good thinking.”

“Then let’s go,” she said. She turned around, and briefly her face belied a deep anxiety,
if not outright fear; and then her previous impassiveness slid back into place. What
happened, Ranma wondered, deep concern forming a tightening knot centered on his stomach,
what happened while I was away? I never should have left!

Akane reached down for her school bag. “The sooner we get this over with,” she added,
taking a step towards him, “the faster we can get you out of here.” As she spoke those
words, so painful for Ranma to hear, she suddenly appeared frozen in time; a statue in
his mind; and never before had she seemed so beautiful to him. She stood half crouched,
one hand grasping the handle of her bag as she picked it up, the other holding the hem of
her skirt clear from the floor. Her skirt pooled around her feet, blue pleated
concealment of legs that were, he knew, slim and beautiful and taut with muscle and
vitality. The image burned itself into memory. Hazel eyes half-lidded and far from
passionless; the slender length of pale arm exposed by the white school blouse she
wore--how strong she was! Akane, a tomboy? Sure! he thought, and I’d rather have my
Tomboy than any of those other small weak girls at school.

But she’s not _your_ Akane anymore, is she? he added a moment later, and looked away.  

 



The walk to school that morning was among the most uncomfortable he could ever remember.
It certainly wasn’t the first walk to school with angry tension between them, the result
of some previous fight as yet unresolved. Ranma suspected, however, that it would be that
last. Once Tofu reassured him that Akane was fine--she had better be fine!--he would have
no choice but to leave. His backpack, collected as he left the house, was slung over one
shoulder. There was no reason to return to the Tendos’ household, other than the single,
all-important one following him; and she wanted nothing more to do with him. Her cold
refusal to speak as they walked was a silent testament to that. He had tried walking next
to Akane, but her clear hostility had driven him back to the top of the fence; and now,
standing above and in front of her, he could feel her gaze burning into his back.

Only a little longer, Akane, he vowed, and I’ll let you move on with you life.

Again, that feeling of absurdity as he walked, the weather so unusually pleasant for this
time of year, warm enough for Akane remove her winter uniform jacket. The sun shining
brightly above complimented the idle, pleasant chatter of other students on their way to
school. He hated them. No, not hate, he amended, but their absolute ignorance infuriated
him: how could they not understand what was happening? The sacrifice he was making, the
decision he was being forced into--they didn’t know, and worse, they didn’t care! He
wanted to scream at them, to the world at large, “I love her!” but he was afraid, certain
that the returning echo would proclaim, “She hates you!”

The trip to Tofu’s was thankfully short, and within moments they stood in the lobby of
the doctor’s clinic. It had been a long time since their last visit. The doctor had been
absent recently. According to Kasumi, he had been studying advanced techniques with a
teacher in China, and Ranma couldn’t recall stopping by since the pressure-point incident
with Happosai nearly half-a-year ago.

There were no other patients. Ranma waited nervously, hovering protectively near the girl
he loved. He watched her furtively. She stood unmoving, hands held clasped together in
front, ignoring him. Despite her effort to conceal it, she clearly became increasingly
nervous as they waited, and his concern for her grew proportionately. Please be okay,
Ranma silently prayed, so that I can leave you.

Finally, Doctor Ono Tofu greeted them.

“Ah, my two favorite patients,” he said, and smiled. To Ranma, it seemed slightly
strained. “Long time no see.”

“Um, yeah, Doc,” Ranma said. “Long time no see.” Akane bowed and said nothing.

A brief but intensely uncomfortable silence resulted, before Tofu seemed to snap out of
deep thought and back to attention. “Well,” he said, “you guys have to hurry along for
school, so let’s get this over with as quickly as possible, shall we? Akane, if you
please?” He took the girl by the hand and led her to a side-room, quickly returning. “And
if you’ll follow me, Ranma?”

Moments later the boy was sitting anxiously in Doctor Tofu’s examination room while the
doctor attended to Akane. Charged with bored nervousness, he soon started to pace the
room. Why were they here; what happened to Akane; why hadn’t anybody told him? What am I
going to do if she’s sick; what if I’m somehow responsible? Is this all my fault, again?
He stopped his idle march and stared up at the skeleton hanging in the corner. “Yo,
Betty,” he muttered. “What’s up?” Betty grinned at him. “Yeah, yuck it up, but it ain’t
funny,” he insisted. He slumped down into a chair and continued to stair up morosely at
Tofu’s life-sized toy. The silence and waiting became oppressive, and he suddenly blurted
out: “I love her--I really do! But she hates me; and I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s
sick! Hanging around ain’t doing her no good, but I can’t leave unless I know she’s
okay.” Ranma sighed, and his gaze dropped, until all he could see were Betty’s bony white
toes at the edge of his vision, and he muttered, “You’re lucky. You’re just a stupid
plastic toy, you ain’t got to worry about this shit. Man, this sucks! I thought that when
I finally figured all this crap out, things would finally get easier. It’s just worst
than ever!”

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” said a sudden voice from behind him, sending Ranma
flying across the room in sudden fright, “You’ll hurt Betty’s feelings.” Tofu, silently
closing the door behind him, smiled kindly at the younger boy.

Ranma climbed sheepishly down from his place on the wall next to Betty. “Where’d you
learn to move so quiet, Doc?” he asked.

“I’m the son of an unholy union between a demon of the dark realms beyond, and the
matriarch of an ancient evil ninja clan; and I draw power from the ineffable forces that
lay gibbering beyond the stars.”

“Wow, really?”

Doctor Ono Tofu chuckled. “No. Actually, I have a very sharp-eared mother who loves to
meddle. My room used to be down the hall from her. My childhood would’ve been spent on
exactingly menial chores and pointless pre-arranged dates, if I hadn’t learned how to
creep by her room without being heard at a very young age.” The doctor took a seat and
gestured for his patient to sit down opposite him. He cast a quick but searching eye over
the boy-turned-girl, pushed his glasses back along the bridge of his nose, and his
demeanor turned professional. “Well, then, let’s get down to business then, shall we?”

Ranma shrugged. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I see that you’re female this morning.”

“Yeah,” Ranma grumbled. “Pop’s fault. And Akane and I had a big fight before I could
change back. Guess I kinda forgot.”

“Not a problem. Convenient, actually, since I want to examine your female side as well.”

“Me?”

“Akane tells me that you’re leaving Nerima. I can’t let my favorite patient go without a
clean bill of health, can I?”

“I . . . guess not,” Ranma answered.

“Exactly.” Tofu proceeded with a routine check-up, and Ranma sat through the initial
steps, only slightly embarrassed at having his female body examined. But his patience
quickly wore thin as his concern for Akane steadily grew. The doctor was cradling one
slender wrist in his hand, silently counting out Ranma’s pulse, when the boy snatched his
arm away and blurted, “Doc, what about Akane?”

Tofu blinked, concentration broken, and said, “Excuse me?”

“Akane! What’s wrong with her, you’ve got to tell me!”

“Ranma,” Doctor Tofu said, “if there’s anything wrong with her, and she hasn’t told you,
then I’m sure you’ll understand that I can’t break my patient confidentiality with her.”

“But-.”

“Ranma, no. Would you like it if I told Akane how you feel about her?”

“No,” he muttered sullenly, blushing a furious red and looking away. He didn’t resist as
the doctor took up counting his pulse once again. How can I help her, he thought darkly,
if Doc won’t tell me what’s wrong? _She_ sure won’t tell me. She wants me gone. With
sudden spite, Ranma started to mess around with his pulse, speeding it up and slowing it
down through simple meditation exercises he picked up while in China. After thirty
seconds of this Tofu looked up. He locked eyes with his patient, and a steely glint Ranma
had rarely seen there took him aback.

“Getting passive-aggressive on me isn’t going to help.”

Ranma wasn’t too sure what that meant, but stopped.

Tofu sighed. “Listen, I’ll say this. I suggest you stay near Akane, at least for a little
longer. Believe me,” and here his voice suddenly sounded very tired, “if there’s anything
wrong, you’ll know by the end of the day.

“Now. Shall we proceed?” 

 



“I really hate this body sometimes,” Ranma muttered, as he squatted and shivered and
tried to urinate in the cup he held gingerly beneath his female bottom without getting
any on himself. He despised Japanese-style toilets now. Before the curse, he had never
noticed just how inconvenient they were--for women, anyway, and he avoided whenever
possibly using the washroom in his cursed form. I hate pissing as a chick, he thought,
but Tofu wants a urine sample and so here I am. He winced as the splashback sprayed his
hand, and he cursed the necessity of squatting over the porcelain hole in the ground that
served as a toilet. Halfway through he held back, clamping down with muscles he’d rather
not acknowledge; and carefully putting the steaming container aside, he reached for a
glass of hot water. Trying to not think about what he was doing, he splashed himself and
reverted to maleness, grabbed a second empty cup, shifted his stance, and relaxed once
again. “I really, _really_ hate this body sometimes.”

A few minutes later, he silently handed both containers over to Doctor Tofu, who labeled
them and put them aside. “Thanks, Ranma,” he said. “Hope it wasn’t too much of a bother.”

“Not at all,” the boy answered. “It was a first for me. Normally I don’t notice, but
since I was concentrating on holding back this time, I got to feel my groin change and my
bladder move and _everything_! Yeah, no bother at all,” he finished with a crooked smile.

The doctor shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.”

Ranma waved it off. “No problem.”

The doctor resumed his check-up of the boy. He worked quickly and efficiently, running
through the same series of examinations--except where gender difference required some
change--as he had just performed on Ranma’s girl-half. At first he worked silently, Ranma
sitting through the process patiently, but then he began to speak.

“About six months ago,” he started, startling the boy back to attention, “you came here
suffering from a pressure point strike that Happosai had used against you. Remember?”
Ranma could never forget. Though he had learned one of his most powerful techniques
because of that incident, it had proven one of the most difficult ordeals of his life
thus far. The blow to his pride, being struck down weak and near defenseless and forced
to depend on the charity of people like Ryoga, how it had rankled! Even the thrill of
victory, coming as it had despite his weakness, had felt hollow, for he thought the only
cure for the pressure point curse lost in the battle. So much given up, he had thought,
because he had rescued Akane from the cyclone he himself had created.

It’s funny, he thought, smiling mirthlessly. Back then, I didn’t even question why I was
willing to sacrifice my cure to save my unwanted tomboy of a fiancee. Now, it was all too
painfully obvious.

“Well,” continued Tofu, “I learned a lot from that incident. Actually, I’ve learned a lot
through your injuries in general, Ranma, and encountered techniques I only read of in the
most obscure of textbooks. After encountering that weakness pressure point, and not being
able to counter it, I realized I needed more training.”

“Really? I dunno, doc, you never seemed stupid or ‘nothing to me.”

Tofu smiled. “Thanks . . . I think. Now don’t move.” Ranma felt a tiny prick as the
doctor slid a needle into his arm, and pulled out a small blood sample. “So I got in
contact with my old shiatsu teacher, who put me in touch with his teacher, and without
further delay, I left for China. It was . . . a very enjoyable, if very difficult time.”

Ranma smiled wistfully. “I know what you mean.”

“I suppose you do. For three months, my teacher and I settled in this remote farming
village, not far from where you traveled, if I’m not mistaken. It was there, a few weeks
into my training, that I encountered one of the most difficult challenges of my life.”

The young martial artist nodded. “Yeah. Which was it for you? Amazons, cursed pools,
deranged monks, dragon princes?”

“I fell in love,” Tofu said, and closing his eyes briefly, he released a deep sigh. “It
was love like I’ve only known once before, deep and dark and it lurked at the very depth
of my soul, and it was all I could do to keep myself from throwing myself at her feet;
from proclaiming my love and sweeping her away; from throwing aside everything I’ve ever
achieved to please her, if she so wished it. But it was stupid. She was the daughter of a
local farmer, a young girl already betrothed to another man against whom I bore no
grudge; and more importantly, whether she knew it or not, I saw that she cared for this
other boy. Not to mention my own life here in Japan, and the pers--people in it, to which
I would soon return.

“But one day, as I was searching the surrounding countryside for certain herbs my teacher
required for my training, we met. Or rather, I saved her. A small group of brigands were
attacking her. I . . . intervened.” Again, Ranma saw that momentary hardness in the
doctor’s eyes, and was suddenly reminded of how little he really knew the doctor. There
was the kind, slightly goofy man that acted strange when Kasumi was around; and now this,
a hidden depth only rarely glimpsed. Which was the real Tofu?

“The temptation was terrible,” the doctor continued. “She was so very grateful to me, and
her interest was obvious, and we were alone.” He chuckled. “Maybe it’s presumptuous of
me, but I rather imagine I appeared the dashing hero appearing at the nick of time. There
would never be a better chance to declare my love to her. After all, that’s what heroes
do, right? But I couldn’t. It wasn’t right, I needed control. So I retreated from her in
the only way I knew how.

“I hopped around in circles and made toothpicks out of a couple of trees, and ran off
laughing like a madman. And from that day on, every time I would see her I would act
strange, until the villagers eventually learned to keep her away from me. It hurt, and it
was hard, being that way; but in the long run it was probably best that she saw me like
that. And eventually I finished my training there, and moved on, and returned to Japan,
and her final impression of me will always be of the giggling lunatic, the bumbling
doctor who passed through during her youth and never returned.”

The doctor fell silent. His gentle ministrations never faltered once during his story.
After some time, Ranma hesitantly spoke up. “I . . . think you’re wrong, doc. I dunno,
but maybe the last thing she’ll hold on to is that memory of the ‘dashing hero’ that
saved her.” He shrugged. “Seems like a better memory than some geek makin’ pretzels out’a
lumber. But I ain’t no girl, so who knows?”

Tofu’s answer was a slight smile and tight grip. “Turn your head and cough, please.” 

 



They talked very little after that. The doctor soon finished. “Well, that’s it for now,
so you’re free to go. Akane went off ahead while I finished with you, but you can catch
up with her at school.” Tofu, maybe catching an indication of doubt or indecision in the
young boy, added, “I really think you should follow her to school, Ranma. Like I said,
just for today.”

Ranma nodded, an uncomfortable feeling churning inside.

“Ranma,” the doctor asked, “are you okay?”

“I-,” he started, and hesitated. The boy frowned. “I’m . . . scared?”

His face strangely impassive, Tofu asked, “About what?” He sat down on one of his beds,
and patted the seat next to him. Ranma joined him distractedly, eyes clouded.

“I’m not sure,” the boy said. “For Akane, of course. And about what I’m going to do. I
didn’t think leaving was going to be this difficult. But now that I’ve realized that I
love her . . . .”

Tofu nodded.

“But that’s not it,” he continued after a moment of silent thought. “I mean, all that’s
part of it, but it’s all just so big, too big for me to wrap my head around it right now.
This is something new.” Again, the doctor waited, until Ranma felt ready to continue. “I
think . . . it’s the idea of going back to school.

“Stupid, isn’t it?” he snorted. “With everything else going on, I’m worried about
something like that. It’s just that I never thought I would be, you know, going back that
is. I thought I left all that behind. I mean, sure, part of me kinda _wants_ to go back,
try out some of that closure stuff Hinako keeps going on about; but mostly, I don’t think
I want to see any of those people ever again. But like you said, I should stay with
Akane, she might need me, and even if she hates me, I won’t leave her when she’s
hurting.” He glanced aside at Tofu, but finding no indication there whether Akane was ill
or not, continued. “So I’ve got to go back, and I wonder what people’ll say and do,
especially after the way I left last week.”

Tofu shrugged. “That I can’t tell you,” he said. “My high school days are way behind me
now. Or as far behind as they ever get. Whatever else you might think of Furinken, Ranma,
and of everything that’s happened recently, believe me when I say--you’ll never forget.”

“No kidding, ” Ranma said.

“And now,” the doctor added, “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.”

A few minutes later, the young martial artist found himself alone and reluctant, standing
out front of the doctor’s clinic. Feeling uncomforted by his stopover, Ranma Saotome
resumed his slow walk to school. The weather had taken a decided turn for the worst
during his checkup, and a strong, bitter wind tugged insistently at his clothes, setting
the trailing end of his shirt to snapping. Dark, heavy-looking clouds loomed on the
horizon. Good, he thought, finally the weather’s clueing in to my mood.

He sought determination to carry him the final steps back to Furinkan, but discovered
resolve lacking within. He wavered between his acknowledged responsibilities to
Akane--especially if she were sick, which considering Tofu’s unusually clinical behavior
seemed increasingly likely--and his strong instinct to avoid the people responsible for
his current situation. If it hadn’t been for that party, he thought, and for the way
those people treated me, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have drunk so much,
I wouldn’t have pissed Akane off by fighting, we wouldn’t have argued, and everything
would still be the way it had been.

And I wouldn’t have realized how much I love her, he added, and kicked at a hapless
stone. Shit.

Left to their own devices as his mind wandered elsewhere, his feet deviated from the
proper path, and he found himself halfway to the Nekohanten before taking notice. You
have to do this, Ranma berated himself, and turned back. I thought I worked this through
last week!

But intellectual beliefs achieved in an abstract setting proved tenuous, and despite
believing that his week alone in the forest had brought around a state of mind from which
he could confront his peers, he found himself extremely averse to doing so. A week ago,
storming away from his school, anger had made him superior; unreachable; and from his
lofty perch he had judged his fellow students and found them wanting. They were shallow
and cruel and false, preoccupied with hollow pursuits and wholly consumed with selfish
desires . . . .

And how he yearned for what they had and what they were, the acknowledgment of his
loneliness and the rightness he felt at the Tendos convincing him that despite their
perceived shortcomings, they possessed something of value that he had never known.
Perhaps he had touched upon it during his stay at Furinkan--those relaxed moments between
classes, or waiting his turn during gym, or chatting with Hiroshi or Daisuke after
school; but how fleeting those times had been! I thought I found it during the party, he
added, but look what came of that!

Then he found himself before the closed black gates of Furinkan High School, and he
dispelled any doubts he still had. Akane was in there, and the doctor had told him to
watch over her. Concern overrode any personal fear he held about entering. As for his
former friends and persecutors: he realized that, compared to the argument of this
morning and the decision to leave the woman he loved behind, confronting the people who
had driven him away seemed meaningless; and suddenly he was wholly without fear. I’m only
here for Akane, he reminded himself, and everyone else can just screw off.

Newly resolved, he hopped over the school wall and, seeing the clock above, noted that he
was over an hour late. It struck him as pointless to head to class when it had already
started, especially since rejoining school wasn’t his reason for being there. Ranma could
imagine the furor his late and sudden arrival would cause, the flurry of note-passing and
whispered gossip that would take place; and he saw no reason to subject himself or Akane
to that. Rather, he decided to check up on his former fiancee from outside. He meandered
around to the other side of the school, quickly clambered up one of the tall trees lining
the building, and leapt across the remaining distance. Clinging spider-like to the wall,
he crept over to his old classroom. Hanging from above the window, he slowly and
furtively glanced inside.

Akane sat rigid in her seat, staring forward at the unrecognizable kanji drawn on the
blackboard. Frequently she would turn slightly, eyes glancing up at the clock, before
returning her attention to the front. Even at a distance Ranma could tell that something
was wrong: something nearly imperceptible in her appearance conveyed the impression of
unhealthy tension, like a spring coiled tight and denied release. It wasn’t restrained
anger--he recognized _that_ statement on her all too well--but something entirely
different. If people are harassing her about my return, he vowed, I’ll kick the crap out
of every last one of them.

Satisfied that Akane was at school and more-or-less okay, the pigtailed martial artist
retreated. Already being near the top of the school, he decided to hang out on the roof
until class was over. As he approached the chain-link fence that kept students from
falling off (or, as was the more likely case at Furinkan, either being thrown off or
attempting dangerous aerial martial techniques), he heard student voices talking.

Clinging to the side of his school, unmindful of the growing wind that sought to topple
him, Ranma listened to the conversation. It beat listening to his own unhappy thoughts. 

 



First Boy: “So, yeah, Goda, how’s Kensuke doing?”

Goda: “Not so hot. He’s still pretty broken up about the whole Ai thing.”

Girl: “You ask me, the turnip deserves it.”

Goda: “Yeah, well, nobody did, Maya, so shut it.”

Maya: “Screw you. Pass the tea.”

Second Boy: “What’re you guys talking about?”

Goda: “Shit, Jun, you don’t know? Kensuke and Ai broke up.”

Jun: “No way! When?”

Goda: “Yesterday. But it started last week. Um, Monday.”

Maya: “Big fight. Ai found out Kensuke’d been fooling around behind her back with Satomi,
and-.”

First: “Satomi Ito?”

Goda: “That stuck up bitch? Get real, Kitano--Satomi Tanaka. From class 3-1. You know,
the one with the huge-.”

Maya: “Hey! Anyway, Kensuke was all pissed off about getting his ass kicked by Yuuta,
and-.”

Jun: “What the hell were they fighting about, anyway?”

Goda: “Kiyoshi’s party. Kensuke tried it on with Yuuta’s sister, and-.”

Maya: “Shut up, Goda, you’re getting it all wrong!”

Goda: “Bite me. Pass the Pocky.”

Maya: “You wish. Anyway, Kensuke was all pissy and Ai couldn’t give a shit, and that just
pissed him off more, and they fought and she took off, but that slut Satomi came up all,
‘Oh, you poor stud of a man, you,’ and they took off together and-.”

Kitano: “Bullshit. I was with Satomi. She wanted help practicing her lines. With Saotome
gone, she figured she might have a shot at a better part.”

Jun: “Saotome Naoki?”

Kitano: “Moron. Saotome Ranma!”

Jun: “I thought he took off _two_ weeks ago to fight some Edo-period half-dog demon
hiding in Malaysia.”

Kitano: “I heard it was a transvestite ninja-clan and he was undercover as a cabaret
dancer.”

Maya: “Idiots. He had that big fight with Akane at the party, remember? So Ayumi told me
he was so upset over the fight he decided to live the rest of his life as a woman.”

Jun: “Eh, whatever.”

Goda: “I thought you crashed the party. Didn’t you see?”

Maya: “Like I give a shit about those two? Nah, I was taking care of bozo the drunk over
there while he tried to pick his ball out of his throat.”

Ryuta Uehara: “Maya, like he said: shut it!” 

 



Ranma, perched a scant meter below the conversation, blinked as he recognized Uehara’s
voice. He stopped listening, remembering the fight at the party and how that asshole
bully had incited him to violence. Maybe, he thought, and grinned, coming back to school
was a good idea after all. I might not be one right now, Uehara--but payback’s a bitch.

With a single smooth movement, Ranma lifted himself over the edge onto the roof, pushed
off from a crouch and leapt to the top of the fence; fingers barely brushing the edge, he
swung over and dropped down, pushing off and tumbling out of his fall. He landed softly a
few meters away from a group of students huddled next to the door leading back inside.

He didn’t know most of them, though he more or less recognized them. They were some of
the rougher kids in the school, always skipping class and getting caught for smoking or
dying their hair or other stupid things like that. Maya slouched against the wall, her
skirt indecently short, hair dyed blonde and wearing makeup; Goda sat opposite her,
smoking, uniform undone despite the cold, his short hair gelled up spiky and streaked
with blue. Ranma had never really paid them much attention before, since they weren’t in
his class and moved in very different circles than him. They _have_ a circle, after all,
Ranma thought. I’ve got more of a line.

But I know you, Uehara, Ranma added.

Engrossed in their conversation, they didn’t immediately notice his arrival. Uehara,
sitting slightly outside the circle of friends, saw him first. His eyes widened in
surprise. “Well, shit! Speak of the transvestite, guys, we’ve got company!”

Everybody looked back.

“Oh, hey, Saotome,” said Goda, and gave a slight wave. “Long time. Anyway,” he continued,
turning back to Jun, “like I was saying, Yuuta said to Kensuke, ‘You touch my ‘lil
Pikachu again, you bastard, and I’ll . . .” The others gave him a slight nod and returned
to their conversation and card game.

Slightly taken aback at being so quickly ignored, Ranma walked up. Uehara didn’t look
away, and watched his approach with curiosity. He stood up when the pigtailed boy came
near. “So, you’re back,” he said, with apparent disinterest.

“For today,” Ranma said.

Uehara nodded. “Good. I got some unfinished business with you, Saotome.”

Ranma raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” The fingers of one hand curled closed. He tried to
tell himself he wasn’t going to enjoy this. He wasn’t restrained by some promise this
time, and he didn’t care what any of these people thought of him. But for the whole
series of events Uehara had started . . . Ranma didn’t consider himself a vengeful man,
but he knew that venting some of the tension he felt on the individual responsible for
most of it would somehow feel . . . good.

“Yeah.” The tall, blond-haired boy slowly raised one fist. “See this?”

Ranma nodded and tensed himself to spring forward.

The fist curled open. “Here.”

The martial artist stared blankly at the open hand. “What?”

“It’s my hand, you moron!” said Uehara angrily. “Shake it already!” 

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because I’m sorry, that’s why, you idiot!”

Ranma blinked. “You don’t sound very sorry.”

“Damn. Yeah, I always screw that up; I’m not very good at this kinda thing. Listen, I
wanna apologize for being such a jerk at the party last week. Like I told those gimpy
friends of yours, when I drink too much I get a little . . .”

“Aggro?” said Goda.

“Horny?” added Maya.

“Stupid?” offered another boy.

“Shut up!” he yelled at them, waving his fist, then turned back to Ranma. He stuck his
hand out again. “So, yeah, like, I’m really sorry ‘bout what happened, ‘kay? Shake on
it?”

Ranma reached out. As his fingers slid along Uehara’s hand, a dozen techniques flashed
through his mind, wrist-locks and grapples and throws, a dozen ways to inflict all kinds
of pain back onto the boy. You have no idea how you screwed up my life, Ranma thought,
and for a moment his grip tightened on the bully’s hand. You have no idea what you’ve
cost me.

“Yeah,” Uehara continued, “I heard about all that shit that went down last week. Stupid
idiots. Heard you showed ‘em who’s boss though, right?”

“I guess,” Ranma said, slowly shaking his hand.

“So why’d you take off after that?”

“I don’t belong here.”

The taller boy laughed. “I keep forgetting what a _wimp_ you are, Saotome!”

Ranma frowned. “Watch it, Uehara.”

“Oh, relax,” Ryuta said. “You mean, you actually care what those bitches down there said?
Man, you’ve got a lot to learn! Now, listen, it’s like this . . .”

“Oh, crap, not again” Goda chirped. “Not the wisdom of Uehara Ryuta!”

“Shut up!” the tall boy yelled, “Or I’ll tell Saotome how you’ve got a boner for his
girl!”

“Uh--what?”

“Forget it. Now, listen,” Uehara said, gesturing for the martial artist to sit slightly
apart from the other group. Shrugging, Ranma did so, thinking, It’s not like I’ve got
anything better to do until class is over. The larger boy, obviously pleased at having an
audience, took a seat opposite him.

“It’s like this, see,” Ryuta began. “You’re a wimp, because you’re weak--hey, don’t
interrupt!” He raised one hand to forestall Ranma’s protest. “I’m not stupid, I know you
can kick my ass. You already have twice. You’re strong, Saotome . . . but you’re not
tough. Not where it counts, up here.” The bully tapped the side of his head. “Oh, sure,
you’re no dummy, and your grades are probably higher than mine, and you’ve got that
martial arts discipline thing down . . . but you care, man, you actually buy into that
shit everybody’s been shoveling your way.

“And there’s so much of it, it fuckin’ stinks so high, even up here at the top of the
school we’re surrounded by it. All those losers down there, so obsessed with getting
great grades, just so they can go to some university their parents picked and graduate
and get some job with some lame company they’ll work at until they die. But, hey, that’s
cool, but those idiots _don’t see it_, and that’s the sick thing, they’re all too
pathetic to face up to the truth. So they join clubs and play games, they watch tv and
write stories and do their homework and fill their tiny little brains with pointless
crap, so that they never have to think about how meaningless their lives are going to be,
or how they really have no clue what they want to do, and how lonely and unhappy they
really are.

“But not me. Nope. My life might be as shit as everybody else’s but at least I know it.
So why should I waste my friggin’ time tryin’ to impress those idiots below, or some
teachers or my parents, when none of them want to have anything to do with me? Screw
that. I’ll scare them instead, and steal their lunch money because I can, and I’ll make
sure that no matter how hard they try, they’ll never be able to ignore me or forget that
I’m here. I’m here to have fun; that’s why I come to this stupid school, because if
anything else, it’s a riot--especially when you’re around. But I’m not gonna study any
more than I have to, and I’ll just keep picking fights and kicking ass until some Yak
scout notices and picks me up, and, hey, that might be as pointless as everything else,
but at least I’m having fun, right?

Uehara’s rant made little sense to Ranma. He had never felt his life to be pointless, nor
had he ever doubted his future. He was training to be the greatest martial artist of his
generation. There was meaning in that. His incomprehension must have been apparent,
because Uehara scowled.

“An unbeliever, huh? I don’t get you, Saotome. I mean, you’re strong. You’re always
fighting, hell, more than even I do. And you _crush_ your enemies! Like that dude with
the umbrella. You take him down, hard, and you enjoy it!”

“No I don’t” Ranma protested. “I don’t like hurting people!”

“Not even Kuno?”

The pigtailed boy smiled wryly. “Well, maybe Kuno.”

“Exactly. That’s why I don’t get you, Saotome. Yeah, I’ve watched you around school and
stuff, and you’re downright _mean_ when you wanna be; and then you turn around and pussy
out for the stupidest reasons.”

“It’s called water, Uehara.”

“Whatever. Like that crap at the party and here at school. You were sad, man! One second,
you’re laying the smack down on me, and dude, that’s the worst ass-kicking I’ve _ever_
had; the next, you’re moping around all pathetic-like, going, ‘oh woe is me, I sure wish
I had a friend!’ It’s like, why? You’re better than those people, stronger than them, so
who cares what they think? And then that shit with Tendo, dude, I can’t believe you were
actually beating yourself up over that. It’s about time, you ask me, that bitch had it
com-.”

“Don’t. Call her that.” Ranma intoned, voice cold, eyes unbelievably hard, his hand
suddenly vice-like around Uehara’s throat.

“See,” the bully croaked. “See?”

The martial artist threw him down. “You’re full of it. I ain’t like you. I don’t care if
people forget about me, and I don’t beat up people because I can, and I don’t care if
those idiots like me or not.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re just so much deeper than the rest of us.” Ryuta smiled. “Not.
Now who’s full of it?”

“Shut up.”

“Stop being such a bitch about this, Saotome, and face the truth like a man. You’re not
like the others, and you’re not going to change that. They think I’m strange because . .
. well, just because, and ‘cuz I’m violent and rude and do things differently than they
do. But think, man--if I’m a weirdo because of my parents and the shit I do, then
you--you must be the freakiest thing this city’s ever seen, you change _sexes_ man, and
your glow when you’re pissed, and you fight monsters in your free time!” 

With a grip suddenly gone weak, Ranma released the offending finger. Uehara continued.
“And don’t tell me you don’t like being different, because you go out of your way any
chance you get to make damn sure everybody knows it. It’s not like you keep a low
profile, Saotome, between picking fights with the principal and inviting your buddies
over to the school field so you can kick their ass in front of an audience. Hell, even I
do my ass-kicking in private; you make sure everybody damn well _knows_ you’re a badass.
So face up to the truth, man: you’re different and you _love_ it, and you’re never gonna
be like the rest of the flock. So stop chasing after the favor of those shit-faced losers
below, ‘cus it’s just pathetic, and you’re making me sick!”

Ranma never got to further debate the wisdom of Ryuta Uehara, however, for at that moment
a deep, sultry voice inserted itself into the conversation. “So what do we have here?” a
woman asked. “You wouldn’t be . . . delinquents, would you?” 

 



>From the door leading back into the school stepped the tall, curvaceous form of the adult
Ninomiya Hinako, the school’s vampire-like disciplinarian. The yellow dress that fit her
six-year old frame was stretched impossibly tight across her full, voluptuous figure,
accentuating the exaggerated femininity that seemed poised to burst free of their scant
restraint. The sheer sexuality she exuded could have been distracting, if it didn’t have
such a painfully terrifying source. She tossed back the long lustrous sweep of her hair
with a flick of her head, and looked down at the students with a look that could only be
described as hungry.

“Aw crap,” muttered Uehara. “Crap.”

“So then,” Hinako purred, “who do we have here?” Fixing Goda with her heavy-lidded gaze,
she ticked off one finger, drawing it languidly back. “Mr. Takemoto, how . . . good to
see you again. This is your third time this month, isn’t it? And smoking, too--my, you
are being naughty today, aren’t you?” Goda, already quivering, went white. “And Ms.
Koyama, still by your man’s side, I see.” Maya flushed red, glancing aside at Uehara.
“That color suits you, but I believe you know how I disapprove of makeup at school.” She
checked a third and fourth finger. “Kitano Matsushita, absent from class again; Jun
Iwato, also absent.

“And last,” she said, lips curving in a dangerous smile, last slender finger curling into
her small fist, “we have Ryuta Uehara. Not much of a surprise, really. Uehara and his
little gang of troublemakers. I see inappropriate uniforms, absenteeism, smoking,
snacking, and defacement of school property. I see delinquents!”

The teacher’s assault proved rapid and devastating. Ranma, watching from the shadows he
had faded into, had to admit he was impressed by the efficiency with which she disposed
of the delinquents. Within a minutes flat all five were withered husks laying crumpled on
the ground. With a ‘hmph’ of displeasure she collected the students in her arms and
hauled them back into the school. “Back to class with you,” she said to no one in
particular, and left. Ranma shrugged, waited a minute, and followed her in.

Soon after, the end of class bell rang. 

 



Ranma walked next to Akane in silence, unsurprised by her silence but concerned by the
obvious anxiety that lurked behind her eyes. He had found her at the front office, where
she had just received a call from Doctor Tofu. Apparently, the doctor wanted them to come
back to his office immediately.

He had to admit to a certain anxiety of his own, sufficient enough to displace any other
selfish concern he felt. His fears of leaving, the pain of his absolute break-up with
Akane: these became secondary when he realized that something might be very wrong with
his ex-fiancee. Why else would the doctor call them back in the middle of a school day?
Yet as they walked, he saw that she glanced frequently his way, and it occurred to Ranma
that Akane was maybe worried about _him_!

Why on earth would she be worried about me, he wondered, especially since she hates me?
He decided that Tofu must have led her to believe that he was sick, so as to deflect any
stress she may have as to her own possible illness. Clever, he decided. I’ll have to
thank doc for that after.

It didn’t take long to reach Tofu’s clinic. He was waiting for them within the lobby.
Again, they were the only patients. The room was silent and empty, and the doctor’s
statement grave.

Ranma’s fears jumped when he saw the doctor’s face, and he realized that something was,
indeed, very very wrong. He turned to Akane, saw that she was pale and visibly trembling,
and his stomach churned with anxiety. He couldn’t look away, kept his eyes locked on her
even as she kepts hers on the doctor, and he watched her as she reacted to the doctor’s
words.

“I don’t know how to say this,” the doctor started, voice hesitant. He wavered, fell
silent, tried again. “It’s . . . bad.” Ranma felt himself go weak. Please, let Akane be
okay, he thought.

“Something happened at that party,” the doctor continued. “Which is why I ran all those
tests today. I’m afraid something happened to you, Ranma.”

Surprised at being addressed, the young man turned to the doctor. “Me?”

Pale but grave, the doctor nodded. “Akane and Nabiki both knew, and arranged for your
check-up today.”

“But I feel fine!” Yet, by the statement on his face, by the tears now escaping from
Akane’s fearful face, he suddenly realized that he must be anything but. Concern focussed
outward suddenly turned inward, and his stomach rumbled with anxiety. “I’m fine!”

“You’re not,” the doctor said. “Both the urine and blood tests I ran revaled traces in
both your male and female body. It’s not an . . . illness, per se, but very serious
nonetheless.” Ranma trembled and his innards clenched tight. “I’m sorry, Ranma, but
there’s no way around it. As impossible as it seems, you are now most certainly lactose
intolerant,” the doctor pronounced, and Ranma farted loudly, his stench quickly filling
the room, and he suddenly realized that he shouldn’t have drank all those brown cows at
the party last week.  



The End. 



Happy (belated) April Fool’s! 



(Obviously, this isn’t _all_ meant as a joke. It turns somewhere around where Hinako
shows up. I’m hoping to have the real chapter done within a few weeks, and I’ll be
posting (somewhere) soon!)




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