Hazukashime
(Shame)

--by Mikkeneko

Over the course of Ranma’s life, Genma has done some pretty awful things under the excuse of ‘training.’ This time, though, he goes a bit too far.

To the Genma fans (assuming he has any:) I’m sorry if you’re offended by this story. Between the seppeku promise, the cat-fu training, selling his son for food (multiple times,) and Jusenkyo, there really isn’t much I’d put past the little scumbag.






Too early to tell, of course, but it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. The part of the sunrise that he could see from the back porch of the Tendo Dojo was not particularly spectacular, but then, there weren’t many clouds to catch the light. It was nice, anyway. Over a lifetime of wandering, Ranma Saotome had seen more sunrises than he’d ever really wanted to; many were overcast and dull, most were nice but boring. Sometimes, though... sometimes everything in the sky would be set just right, and the clouds would light up in a spectacular array of colors that made getting up every single day in the darkness worth it.

He hummed softly to himself as he went through a series of morning exercises, shaking off sleep and loosening the tightness from yesterday’s escapades. No-one else was up yet, although Kasumi was usually awake early to prepare breakfast, and his father would be out soon for their daily match. Alone for the moment, Ranma just relaxed and lost himself in the pleasure of the Art. The Saotome School of Indiscriminate Grappling in particular, and the martial arts in general, were pretty much air and water for Ranma; he had spent over ten years performing feats Achilles would blink at, all for the sake of the Art. It would never occur to him to ask himself -- was it all worthwhile? -- any more than it would occur to another man that he could probably make good money by selling his internal organs. There were times in his life when he felt the question, though, and this morning he was fairly sure that the answer was yes.

The faint noise of clinking dishware made its way to Ranma’s ears, signaling the presence of the eldest Tendo daughter. He didn’t stop his kata, however; he had long ago realized that although Kasumi was very polite on the matter, she viewed her cooking almost like a bride on the wedding day, not to be seen by the groom until the moment of consummation. He would see her when breakfast was ready. No rush.

His father attacked out of nowhere, forcing Ranma into an ungraceful scramble that nearly left him either flat on his back or face-first in the wall. Ranma had to grin at the old man’s ingenuity, using the noise of the kitchen to mask his own approach like that. Genma came at him again, and Ranma flipped up onto his hands and vaulted over his father to land lightly behind him.

“Morning, Pop!” he said cheerily. “You’re even slower’n usual. Might be old age catching up to you?”

“And you’re as careless as ever,” Genma returned, unsmiling. “Ranma, I thought I’d taught you to take the Art more seriously than this.”

“Life’s just full of these little disappointments,” Ranma shrugged, then darted towards his father, throwing a series of quick punches. To his slight surprise, his father blocked them but made no attempt at a counterattack. “What’s up?”

He looked more closely. Genma had a strange, unreadable expression on his face. “Ranma, we spar in the dojo today. We have caused enough damage to the house for the week, with your little show yesterday.”

Ranma flushed slightly at the reminder. Last night it had been the Kunos; both of them, lurking around the house with roses red and black, had been grimly determined to marry Ranma and kill Ranma, not necessarily in that order. It had gotten rather messy, even more so when brother and sister had ceased fighting with Ranma and started in on each other instead. In the end they would not leave until Nabiki came downstairs and made certain threats. Kuno had given in to Nabiki’s authority reluctantly, and Kodachi felt more in the mood to continue the fight with her brother than to search for the vanished Ranma or continue her vendetta against the red-haired trollop.

Genma continued, breaking through Ranma’s reminiscence. “Furthermore, we should not disturb Kasumi while she is busy at her duties.”

Ranma blinked, bewildered. It made a sort of sense, except for the fact that nothing short of a nuclear explosion could disturb Kasumi while she was cooking. “Uh, I guess not, but... why are you only thinkin’ about that now, after all this time?”

His father glared, then turned away. “Ranma. The dojo. Now.”

A bit confused, Ranma followed the older man. “Pop, what’s up? Are we going to be trying a new technique today?”

Uncharacteristically, Genma did not take the opportunity to boast endlessly about his superior expertise as a martial artist. Ranma was starting to be really put off by Genma’s unusual attitude; something was bothering the old geezer, but what? He’d been restless the night before, waking Ranma up twice with his tossing and turning. Genma had talked in his sleep, as well -- names and places that Ranma didn’t know, although he knew he’d heard his mother’s name mentioned. Genma slid open the dojo door and went inside. For a moment, Ranma hesitated, not sure why; the inside of the training hall seemed suddenly threatening.

Stupid, he told himself. It’s just a training hall. That’s all. Determinedly, he followed his father inside, dropping into a defensive stance as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

His father didn’t take the opportunity, oddly enough. He stood in the center of the training hall with his back turned to his son, in the formal pose of the sensei that the old man hadn’t bothered with in years. Ranma scanned the hall automatically, picking up information about his surroundings that he might need during the fight. Several of Akane’s concrete practice blocks were scattered in front of the door, the larger and heavier ones that she only used when she was really, really set off. A bucket stood by the wall still half-filled with water by whoever had cleaned the dojo last; Ranma winced when he saw it, and resigned himself to the fact that before either he or his father left through the door or the wall, one of them would be wearing the bucket and a curse.

“C’mon, Pop,” Ranma said, bounding over to land in front of his father. “What’s the story? You got any new Secret Technique tricks up your sleeves that you wanna show me?”

“The Anything Goes Special Techniques are not just dirty tricks,” Genma retorted, snapping his head up to glare at Ranma.

“Sure they are! What about that Crouch of the Hidden Tiger thing or whatever you showed me? The one that was just groveling? Or how about all those Desperation attacks?” Ranma bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting impatiently for his father to make the first move.

Genma shook his head slowly, a look of sadness on his face. “Ah, my son. All this time and you still do not understand. The School of Anything-Goes Martial Arts is one of the most powerful ever created on this earth, because those who practice it do not seek to limit themselves to a single set of moves, or bind themselves to a tool. Anything Goes, boy. Anything.”

“Wow.” Ranma pretended to be impressed. “I never knew you were such a philosopher, old man! Next thing I know you’re gonna try to convince me of the mystical powers of girls’ underwear!”

He never saw his father coming. Ranma had been fighting with Genma pretty much all his life, and he knew the old man’s moves as well as his own -- or so he thought. Once Ranma hit his growth spurt, and for the first time was actually able to defeat his father, he had begun to entertain the notion that Genma had nothing more to teach him. But you can ask anyone (over the age of thirty) and they can tell you that old age and treachery will always win out over youth and zeal.

Ranma bounced off the dojo wall and, running purely on instinct, managed to keep his on his feet. The dark blur that was his father came towards him from the larger blur of the shadowy training hall as Ranma fought to regain his focus. Genma launched a series of punches that were, for all their dizzying speed, still simple moves that Ranma could easily counter. Father and son circled each other warily, attacking, feinting and dodging; they fell easily into lifelong patterns of fighting that were equal parts savagery and grace.

Ranma began panting from exertion; Genma, too, was breathing hard. Ranma twitched his shoulders to readjust his white linen school shirt on his arms, and wished he had thought to don his gi before starting morning exercises. “Hey, old man,” he said, between punches. “Thought... you were going to... start something new. This is just... the same old stuff.”

Genma spared a precious second to readjust his glasses on his face. “What makes you think you’re worthy to learn from me?” he snarled. “You’ve only wasted the time I’ve spent on you so far.”

Startled, Ranma nearly dropped his guard, and barely managed to dodge Genma’s high kick. “What d’you mean?” he demanded.

His father went on the offensive, starting a slightly more complicated attack routine that knocked Ranma back on his heels. “You call yourself a martial artist? You hardly spend any time training nowadays, boy; instead you’re always off with one of those floozies that’s so hung up on you. You can’t even honorably keep a commitment to your own fiancée!”

“Hey!” Ranma shouted defensively, ducking and weaving. “You’re the one who got me into half the mess I’m in the first place, you know!”

“Don’t try to pin your failures on me, boy. You should -- urk!” Ranma deftly flipped backwards onto his hands, sending Genma stumbling off-balance as his strike encountered no resistance, and on his return upright launched a sweeping kick that planted Genma firmly into the wall.

Ranma straightened from his battle stance and addressed the back of his father’s head. “I get it now. You’re just jealous ‘cause girls like me, when they wouldn’t look in your direction once -- you even have to stay a panda to hide from your own wife. Feh!” He snorted in disgust, then turned to walk out of the dojo. “I’m going to breakfast, old man.”

Instinct spurred him to dive to the floor barely in time to avoid the powerful jab aimed at his neck. Startled, Ranma rolled and twisted back to his feet just in time to dodge the bucket his father flung at him -- but not its contents.

“Damnit,” Ranma-chan muttered, flicking her dripping hair out of her eyes. “Thought we were done --”

“We’re never done,” Genma snarled, his face twisted by some dark emotion. His expression sent a cold tingling crawling up Ranma’s spine; she’d never seen that look on his face before. The water soaking her shirt dripped annoyingly down her back and made the shirt chafe in areas where it suddenly didn’t fit so well, and her belt was now several notches too loose. As she moved, her pants began slipping down over one hip, and she started to take a moment to readjust her clothing to her cursed form.

Genma took advantage of her instant of distraction and charged in close, and the two grappled hand-to-hand for several moments. Ranma quickly realized her disadvantage -- although her father was not as powerful as he could be in cursed form, he was still notably stronger than onna-Ranma. She twisted away from Genma, seeking to break the hold, but he surprised her by slamming his heel into the back of her knee, popping it out and rendering her lower leg dead for a moment.

Ranma staggered, falling to one knee, and her father quickly followed up on his advantage. He seized her arm and twisted it quickly behind her, pressing his knee into the small of her back.

“That’s cheating!” Ranma gasped, struggling against the hold. This whole fight, the strange way her father was acting, was beginning to seriously creep her out; at this point she wanted nothing more than to stop fighting and go to breakfast. “Come on, Pop...” She slashed backwards with her free hand, catching her father under the ribcage, but the angle was wrong and the blow didn’t have much force behind it.

Genma gave a wordless growl of rage and tightened his grip harshly, driving the air out of Ranma’s lungs. His other hand went to the back of Ranma’s head, and he lifted her completely from the ground and slammed her face violently into the cinderblock that Akane had left behind from practicing. The cinderblock cracked and crumbled; Ranma’s vision went white. She could still hear her father’s voice, as from a great distance, over the loud ringing that filled her ears.

“You are not my son!” she thought she heard Genma say. “No son of mine would complain about cheating. Anything goes! Anything!”

The stars began to clear from Ranma’s vision, and she realized that Genma was shouting into her face, dangling her above the ground by the front of her shirt. She kicked out with her uninjured leg, hard -- the breath went out of her father’s lungs in a whoosh and her shirt tore; she landed on the ground a couple feet away with the collar of her shirt still in her father’s hands.

Holding a hand to her head, Ranma began to sit up, but Genma was on top of her a moment later, his knee landing heavily in her stomach, pinning her to the ground. He grabbed both her wrists in one hand and twisted his arm so she could not pull free. Ranma opened her eyes and gasped in shock at the sight of her father towering over her, his face twisted by rage and by something darker --

-- It was like the look on Happosai’s face whenever he saw her change but it was a thousand times worse, because there was none of the old lecher’s playfulness here, only fury, and for God’s sake this was her father, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t --

“You are no man!” Genma shouted into Ranma’s face, and his free hand went to Ranma’s torn shirt, ripping it open further as if to prove his point. “You are no man!”

-- This couldn’t be happening. It was some kind of horrible nightmare. Ranma twisted and fought, but she was still so dizzy from the cinderblock and who would have thought the old man was that strong, and his burning hands on her body made her feel sick, even worse than Happosai --

“Cut it out, Pop!” she shouted hoarsely, and her voice sounded so strange to her own ears. His eyes were burning into her, but he wasn’t looking at her, just through her, and didn’t seem to hear her voice at all. “...Please... Father... stop...” -- his breath was hot and harsh on her face, and his hands went down to her belt which was still too loose, and pulled at her pants that were too big and this isn’t happening this can’t be...

Ranma’s eyes squeezed shut so she couldn’t see her father’s face anymore. A peculiar sound was clawing at the back of her throat, a cry like the one she only made in the neko-ken that she couldn’t remember, but so weak and anguished that she couldn’t stand to hear it coming from her own mouth. Fear and helpless fury built in her, quickly mounting to unbearable levels. She twisted helplessly within her father’s grasp as the cry tore its way out of her throat.

“Don’t TOUCH ME!” she screamed, and the dojo was filled with the light and thunder of the Shi Shi Hoko Dan.

There was silence.

After a long moment, Ranma dared to open her eyes once more. The walls of the dojo were seared and blackened by the force of her ki blast, and the bucket and cinderblock chunks had been scattered into the corners. Genma was standing still by the door, his back to her. His own gi was tattered and singed, but if he was badly injured his stance gave no sign of it. Slowly, painfully, Ranma sat up. Never taking her eyes off her father’s back, she pulled herself over onto hands and knees. Her head throbbed in agony where she had hit the cinderblock, and she raised one hand to her face and hissed as her fingers encountered the long, shallow scrape. “What the hell was that supposed to be?” she demanded of her father, her voice raw and unsteady. Genma did not answer. Ranma’s fury began to build again. “Well, Pop?” she shouted. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

He turned his head slightly over his shoulder to speak to Ranma. His eyes were closed. “You learned nothing. You did not understand. I was a fool to hope that you would understand.”

Ranma’s anger drained out of her at her father’s quiet words, leaving her with only a rising confusion. “What?” she demanded. “What don’t I understand?”

“Twelve years. And in all this time you didn’t listen. Everything I’ve done, to make you stronger, and it failed because of your weakness, your refusal to accept my discipline.” Genma seemed to be talking to himself, now. “It is nothing, what you think you know. You are a disgrace to the school.”

Ranma shook her head and immediately regretted it. “No. Wait a minute, Pop. You can’t just...”

“Ranma.” Genma opened his eyes to look at his son for the first time. His face was a frozen mask barely covering some inner turmoil that Ranma could not read. “You have failed to learn from my teachings and disgraced the School. I am ashamed to admit that you are my child.” Moving stiffly, like a sleepwalker, Genma opened the door and walked out. Ranma stayed where she was for a long moment, her eyes wide in shock. Genma’s words echoed over and over in her head. Disgraced the school -- no son of mine -- ashamed -- you are no man --

She tried to stand, and slipped back to her knees as dizziness assailed her. There was a rustle of cloth, and Ranma looked down to see the forgotten torn edges of her shirt flapping as she moved. Absently, she pulled loose the ties and awkwardly refastened them across the rip. It was a messy and impermanent repair job, but at least it satisfied -- modesty --

Suddenly the dojo seemed like a trap. Her breaths started coming harder, and before her eyes the walls started to loom closer, hungering to close in and suffocate her. Ranma leapt to her feet and ran outside, the world tilting dangerously around her. She stopped at the door, leaning on the frame for support, and her wild eyes raked across the yard. It was empty; it was safe.

Ranma pushed away the support the doorframe offered and ran blindly across the yard, towards the kitchen. Kasumi was probably there, but that was just too bad, because Ranma needed hot water so badly she could almost taste it. She needed to be a guy again, to be the real Ranma again, the Ranma that was Genma Saotome’s only son and heir.



Kasumi looked up from her cooking at the sound of Ranma entering the kitchen. She smiled brightly and said, “Good morning, Ranma! Breakfast is almost ready. Did you have a nice....”

The eldest Tendo daughter trailed off as she saw the way he -- currently a she -- was moving. She didn’t answer Kasumi’s greeting -- didn’t seem to notice her at all. Ranma’s hair hung down over her face and obscured her expression, and she moved clumsily, recklessly, without any of her usual grace. She stumbled across the kitchen and grabbed the kettle in which Kasumi had been heating water for tea, and hoisted it over herself with shaking hands. The water spilled everywhere on the floor, hissing angrily as it was disturbed, but if the near-boiling heat bothered Ranma he made no sign. Kasumi was too startled and shocked by this strange behavior even to reproach him on his rudeness as he dropped the kettle and took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked up at her, as if registering her presence for the first time, and his eyes widened. Then, just as abruptly, he turned and fled the kitchen area.

Kasumi stared after him, lost in thought. Absently, she finished her statement. “...workout?” she asked no-one in particular. Frowning at the dish of rice that had almost boiled over during her moment of inattention, she continued her cooking as she recalled the look of wildness she had seen briefly in his eyes. This matter would require some attention... but now was not the best time...

Calmly, Kasumi lifted the strainer from the pot and set it safely down on the counter. She crossed the kitchen floor to the door leading into the dining room, opened it, and smiled when she found the object of her search already there. “Akane? Could you go find Ranma for breakfast? I still have to make the tea.”



Male and clear-headed -- mostly -- once again, Ranma fled to the back side of zthe dojo to be alone. It was still early enough in the autumn morning that the sunlight did not reach between the buildings, and this part of the garden was in deep shadow. Ranma sat with his back against the wall, stared at nothing, and shivered. He tried to think; at the same time he tried not to think. His thoughts seemed to come in staticky bursts; he couldn’t stop them from forming, and he couldn’t bear to finish them. My pop and I were just -- No! --We were fighting, and then -- No! -- and then he -- no, no, NO!

What had happened? Nothing had happened. Nothing could have happened. Ranma had to believe that, but he couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t seen that look on his father’s face and he hadn’t -- No!

It just didn’t make sense. Pop wouldn’t do that, ever, he wouldn’t; I’m a guy, he knows that, so he wouldn’t -- but what, then? Maybe it was just what Genma said it was. Maybe he was just trying some new kind of training -- but what could it be, I don’t understand! He didn’t understand. He had failed.

Ranma curled into a tight ball, pulling his legs tightly against his chest and pressing his face against his knees. He was shaking; he felt like he was wrapped around a giant ball of ice in his stomach. He didn’t understand what had happened just then or how he felt right now, but he had felt the coldness often enough in his past to know the taste of it. Disgrace. Failure. Humiliation.

Shame...

“Ranma?” someone said. Someone standing very close too close! For an instant, Ranma was seized by terror; with a strangled yelp, he uncurled himself and twisted into a defensive stance before his brain began to kick in. For a start, it was a female voice, so that meant it’s not him it wasn’t any danger; secondly, it was a voice he knew very, very well, even though he usually heard it loud and furious, not when it was soft and... worried. Like this time.

Akane.

Ranma opened his eyes and relaxed. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, full of relief. He was so glad to see her; she was distracting, that was nice, it kept him from thinking. That lasted all of about ten seconds before he remembered: he didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone, not now when he was feeling like this. “What do you want?” he growled.

The concern in her eyes vanished abruptly. “I just came to see if you were going to show up for breakfast,” she snapped. “We’re not going to hold it forever.”

Ranma thought about breakfast. The very thought of food made him want to throw up. “No, thank you,” he muttered. He sat down again and folded his arms across his chest. “’M not hungry right now.”

Akane snorted incredulously. “You! Not hungry? I never thought I’d live to see the...” Something about his attitude caught her attention, and she looked more closely at his face. She gasped as he turned his head slightly away from her, seeing for the first time the vicious purpling bruise that was rapidly swelling his left eye shut. “Ranma! What happened?” Akane reached out to brush the bruise in disbelief; he wasn’t often marked up this badly. Ranma was a fast healer; already the wide, shallow scrape that followed the line of his cheekbone was closing over, but the swelling and colors seemed to be just getting warmed up.

Ranma flinched away from her hand. Actually, he had almost forgotten about his injury, but the reminder of it suddenly brought the pain back with renewed force. The bruise began to throb heavily, increasing his feeling of nausea. “Nothing. Nothing happened. I just got careless.”

“You weren’t fighting with Ryoga this morning or anything, were you...?” Akane trailed off; she knew he hadn’t been. She knew that he hadn’t been fighting with anyone except his father, in their normal morning workout. “Ranma, did you and your father have an argument?” That might explain the funny way Genma had been acting; he, too, had refused breakfast, and when Soun had tried to talk with him, he had turned into a panda and left the room.

“Nothing happened,” Ranma repeated dully, hugging himself tightly. “Akane, go away. It’s none of your business.”

Indignant, Akane began to retort angrily, but the odd new tone in Ranma’s familiar rejection caught at her. She knew, she just knew that something awful had happened, but she couldn’t imagine what it could be. She held on to her temper by counting to ten, staring at Ranma who refused to look at her. Maybe if Ranma had still been a girl sitting in front of her she would have guessed, but he wasn’t and she didn’t.

Ranma hunched over again. That stubborn girl, why wasn’t she leaving? It wasn’t any of her business. It really wasn’t. It was between him and his -- no! He didn’t want her around to see him like this.

“Ranma,” she called his name. Her voice had a note of pleading in it that made him look up, meet her eyes for the first time. “What’s wrong, Ranma? Tell me. Please. You know you can tell me.”

He stared at her for a long moment, wishing that were true. Maybe if he told someone he could figure out what had happened, and maybe he could sort out what he was feeling now. It was true; if he could talk to anyone, he could talk to Akane... He took a breath to speak with, but the words wouldn’t come out. What should he say? He didn’t know what to say. ‘This morning in the dojo my father and I were fighting and then he turned me into a girl and --’ no! She’d look at him like his father had, full of loathing and disgust. Never! He didn’t want to see that look in her eyes; he didn’t want her to know about his shame. Ranma let out the breath he’d taken and closed his eyes, shaking his head violently. He didn’t say anything.

Akane sat there, torn, for a moment more. She could see, in his eyes, that something had hurt him terribly -- but he had refused to tell her and she didn’t know how to break through to him. Maybe Kasumi could have, but Akane wasn’t particularly good at getting people to open up to her. Confused, uncomfortable, Akane climbed to her feet and began to head back to the house. She paused at the corner and looked back at him. “Well, if you change your mind...” she said lamely, then trailed off and left.

Ranma didn’t look up as she went; he just sat there in the darkness behind the training hall. Never in his life had he felt so low. Everything had been fine this morning, and then something happened and Ranma lost everything. He’d been so sure that no matter what his curse made him look like, he was a guy, no matter what. But if he was really a man, then why would his father... touch him like that? He must have done something wrong. There had to be something wrong with him, because nothing else made sense. Ranma opened his eyes and looked at his hands; they were shaking. He was shaking on the inside, too, and the next breath he took sounded suspiciously like a sob. He tried to force it back, and swallowed hard against the traitorous tears that were burning in his eyes. He was lost, failed, and humiliated, but he would not complete his disgrace by crying like a baby! Ranma summoned all of his discipline and tried to still the turmoil in his head. He found that he was selfishly wishing that Akane was still here -- he realized that even if he couldn’t talk about it, he didn’t want to be alone right now. All his life Ranma made friends easily, but all his life he had been taken away from them -- taken away from his mother, from his school, from his home. The only constant in Ranma’s world had been his father, his foolish, infuriating, selfish dolt of a father, who he had cared about in spite of all that because after all, it was his father and he’d always been there when nobody else could be. Now, there was no-one; no-one in the dark shadows except him and his shame.




AUTHORS NOTES: I don’t really remember what gave me the idea for this story; I was just sitting at my computer one day and suddenly there it was.
On a more serious note: Sexual abuse can happen between parent and child -- even between two men or two women. If the above story sounds familiar to you, then don’t make Ranma’s mistake -- tell someone!
Oneechan: Write a sequel? Are you crazy? I don’t even know where to begin!
MUCH LATER: Hmmmm... Nah. Well, maybe.