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 werenÕt many clouds to
catch the light. It was nice, anyway. Over a lifetime of wandering, Ranma Saotome
had seen more sunrises than heÕd 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, but they had left the yard a complete
mess when they went.
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 fiancˇe!"
"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 wild scream 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, the dizziness and sickness rising with every step she
took. Kasumi was probably in the kitchen -- making breakfast like there was
nothing wrong -- 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 good...."
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 the
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 considered 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. To leave a bruise like
that... someone would have had to hit his thick head pretty damn hard. 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 had never
been any good at getting people to open up to her. Confused, uncomfortable, Akane
climbed to her feet and began to back away. 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 the words wouldn't come out, 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.
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