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Hey,

Here's the second part.

-Mike

***

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 buried snugly beneath the bed 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 determinedly 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 seems 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 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 doughnut 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."
    "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.  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 begin?"

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 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.  He watched his peers as they played games during the brief free time between lunch and cleaning period.  Games, baseball, volleyball, soccer, stupid meaningless ignorant games, as if nothing had happened, as if they weren't responsible -- as if they _all_ weren't responsible for possibly destroying a man the day before.  Nothing had happened.
    I did nothing, he whispered to himself.  But what could I do?
    "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 the comic relief, 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.  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.  Whereas the jacket made most boys seem 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, youngest-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 its 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 real 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."
    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 century-long 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, look how her collarbone stands out, does she even have any muscle-tone?  Look at her pull that box down from the closet, she's struggling with the weight.  I've picked up _boulders_ three times the size without straining.  Look at those boots she's wearing.  The platform must be at least ten centimeters, she can hardly walk in them.  What if she got into a fight?  Then she thought, what's wrong with me, who cares how strong she is, why should she get into a fight, 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 contributed a disjointedness and surreality to her current activities.  Sitting in another girl's room, trying on clothes in preparation to walk 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;  black skirt, oversized socks, blue mini-T with a corporate white swish centered over the swell of normal-sized breasts: 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, especially following the death of her mother: 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 herself.  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 really 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 protecting 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 were 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 lives 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 protective 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 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.  Not-Ranma, but an consequence of him nonetheless.  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, watching 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 might 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.  The inside scoop could give me the edge I need to finally snare by boy."
    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.  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 more tense 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 suddenly felt small.
    Kodachi had required more convincing.  Only violence, and some poetic intervention on the part of her brother 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) proving 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 sisterly 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 remained unsure until the very end 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.  The idea was received with enthusiasm.  The party went well -- mostly.  Many friends came, Sayuri, Yuka, Naomi, 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.


******


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 Furinkan, 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 stream 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 squatting 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 the abilities of his woman's body?  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 -- held, even, a certain attractiveness.  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 ultimately fail, 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 resonate 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 no one around, he understood how the former paled in comparison to the latter.  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 conceit.  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.

***
***

In the brief interlude during which the pain abated slightly, he had time to morosely contemplate the water before him and think, why do I put myself through this shit, before his stomach clenched up, his throat spasmed, and he again forcefully and noisily puked up more of the night's meal.  This time, at least, he remembered to hold his pigtail clear with one hand--its length was already wet and dotted with clingy pieces of half-chewed rice--and with the other he shakily reached up to flush the toilet once again.  The brownish, chunky water swirled and carried its load of curry and vegetables off to a better place.
    Bent double over the Tendos' toilet, long, stringy strands of saliva looping from mouth and chin, Ranma Saotome turned his head and leveled a glare at the girl standing in the doorway.
    "Um. . . would it help if I said I'm sorry?" said Akane.
    He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand.  "No."
    "Well I am."
    "Is this why you wanted me to come back so badly?"
    "I didn't mean-."
    Ranma raised one hand to forestall her protest, and returned his attention to the water before him.  With something closer resembling a hiccup, he brought up another dollop of bile, and it landed wetly in the toilet.  "Akane.  I really, really don't feeling like talking right now."
    She left without another word, and he barely noticed the door sliding silently shut.  Nose filled with the acrid scent surrounding him, throat burning and raw, Ranma returned to his not-so-silent contemplation at the porcelain throne.


"Oh, hello Ranma, you're home."
    Kasumi's soft and gentle welcome momentarily threw him off guard as he returned from his week of training: a greeting he had most certainly anticipated, but his expectations had ranged from cold indifference to various levels of violence or parental screaming.  Despite his confidence of that morning he felt nervous, but the eldest Tendo sister's few words abated his concerns and immediately put him at ease.
    "Um, yeah," he answered, slipping off his shoes and stepping through the door.  He was well aware of both the appearance and scent he projected.  His shirt and pants were encrusted with dirt and sweat stains, and his hair clung to his scalp with a slick tenacity that the hot weather hardly warranted.  He shrugged off his pack and dropped it by the door, and followed Kasumi into the kitchen.
    "So how was your training?"
    "Pretty good.  Excellent, even.  I think I nailed down a few techniques I was having trouble with."  As he talked he peeked into the fridge and nabbed a few sticks of leftover yakitori.  "How've things been here?"
    "Oh, fairly quiet for the last week," Kasumi answered, returning to her domestic routine.  "A nice new little shop opened a few days ago.  The owner's really sweet.  Miss Nakamura a few doors over was feeling a little ill, so I helped out. . . but I don't want to bore you, Ranma, you must find all this terribly dull."
    Leaning up against the wall, he smiled.  "Naw, not at all."
    So the eldest sister continued to fill him in on the details of the week as she worked at cooking and cleaning about the kitchen, and the smoothness and surety with which she moved struck Ranma as appearing nearly martial in its expression.  Domestic trivialities -- the sickness of a nearby pet, the small bird that accidentally flew into the dojo, the favored bowl recently broken -- that had never concerned him gained a significance beyond their prosaic value through her retelling.  When was the last time he had truly listened to Kasumi, he wondered, or taken note of the undercurrents of life running through the neighborhood?  It had never seemed important before.  After a week alone in the wilds of Japan, however, the sudden feeling of a community surrounding him was reassuring.   Kasumi, on her part, seemed to enjoy the unexpected audience.  The tension slowly drained away as he gave himself over to her voice.
    "And that's it, really.  Nothing compared to your week, I'm sure."
     "I dunno.  Sounds like you've been busy.  I never realized you did so much out of the house."
    Kasumi smiled.  "Oh, it's nothing, really.  But thank you."
    "For what?"
    "Listening."
    He shrugged, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed.  "Um, so, where's everybody else?"
    "Well, Father and uncle Saotome are out chasing grandfather Happosai again: they said they got an urgent call for help.  Nabiki is spending the day at a friend's, and she said she wasn't sure if she'd be back for supper."
    "Oh, okay."  He felt somewhat relieved that Nabiki wasn't home.  The debt he supposedly owed her returned fresh to his mind upon hearing the name.  "And. . . ."
    "Akane's just gone to pick up some ingredients she needs for supper tonight," continued Kasumi.  "She should be back soon."
    A curious mix of pleasure and anticipation arose at the realization that he would soon see, and confront -- possibly for the last time -- his ex-fiancee.  Then the full portent of Kasumi's words registered, and his stomach, already uneasy, flopped and sank.
    "Akane's cooking supper?"
    "Oh yes!  She seemed rather excited that you were returning, and insisted on preparing the main course."
    Anticipation turned to dread.  Urgent call indeed.  Might not be back for supper, sure.  Apparently everyone else had bailed, leaving him the sole target of Akane's latest culinary attempt.  I suppose I should be flattered that they trusted me enough to come back when I said I would.  It was small consolation in face of the upcoming meal.  He muttered a few choice invectives against fate in general and resigned himself to a night of possible torture.  After all, how bad could it be?
    Collecting his possessions by the door, he dropped them off in his room before trudging off for a bath.  A vague unease began to gnaw at him, and it was a deeply preoccupied Ranma who stripped out of his clothing and stepped into the furo.  He soaped and scrubbed and rinsed and hardly even noticed turning female.  Only after sinking into the bath, the hot water easing muscles even as it flared half-healed training scratches and cuts into clean but smarting awareness, did the source of his distraction become clear.
    Kasumi.  The house.  The bath.  His bedroom -- _his_ room, when a scant week ago he had denied any attachment to this building and its residents.  Just now, the path from kitchen to room to bath: how often had he traced that very same route, with the same instinctiveness and comfort?  Seven days ago he had felt a stranger in this house, unwanted, eager to leave.  The urge to move on remained, yet the same urgency that had led him to that decision was now lacking, and he questioned the imperative that had led him to depart so quickly.  He cursed himself and sank deeper into the water and tried to silence the hinting doubts arising in his thoughts.  Too much of that lately, he decided.  Thinking.  Oh, sure, the week of training in the forest had been blissfully quiet, but ever since his awakening this morning, his mind had been abuzz with nettling half-formed ideas.  Perhaps that was why I latched on to Kasumi's words so quickly, he thought.  Hearing her words, I could ignore my own; focus on her images, not mine.  After all, why else would I care about what happens around here?
    But strangely enough he found that he did, and after a few more minutes of forcefully trying to deaden his own mind -- stopping just short of actually banging his head against the ceramic tiles of the wall -- he decided he was just wasting his time and vowed to head over to the dojo for a purely-physical workout; and rising from the cooling waters, he returned to his senses just in time to hear the door slide open on its rollers, and he turned to face a very naked Akane stepping into the room.  The small white towel, with its delicate edge of embroidered blue leaves and scattering of carefully rendered sakura blossoms, the one he remembered was given to Kasumi as a gift for help in a neighborhood bake sale -- he had helped too, running interference to keep Happosai away, and so had Akane, though nobody bought her attempt at cookies (something which, obviously, had annoyed her to no end, with the eventual result that he'd been forced to eat most of them) -- did very little to cover her modesty.
    Their eyes met.  For far too long, it felt, they simply stared at each other.  He found it impossible to read anything from those brown, slightly startled eyes, yet looking away never occurred to him.  She stepped back through the threshold and slid the door shut once again.


-Mike Noakes

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

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