Ranma ½ Baby Goliath and the Ugly Duckling

[lokinishizaki]

Hello. I'm a man of few words, so I'll keep this short.

It's been a while since I last crawled out of my hole. I'm here now because I need some help. I don't know if anybody still pays attention to this series, but I need some good, honest feedback and this forum has always been a good place to get it.

This story is something I've been working on for a couple years, from the planning stages to the first, second and third drafts. I've hit a dead end. I don't have a beta or an alpha reader, and I don't think I can make any more progress on my own.

So here you go. And please, tell me what you think, honestly and without restraint.

[hr]

Baby Goliath and the Ugly Duckling​

Chapter 1 - The Challenge​

Keitaro Takamura leaned over and waited for the aroma wafting from his steaming cup of jasmine tea to fill his nostrils, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His wrinkled face hinted towards a smile, and he took a hearty sip of his favorite beverage. Soothing warmth spread throughout his chest. The old man exhaled deeply and savored the unique taste.

A young woman stood on her heels beside his table. She held her silver serving tray between them as though it were a shield, and her eyes were fixed on the wooden floor as if it were a thin sheet of ice.

Keitaro finally swallowed his mouthful and gently placed the steaming porcelain cup onto its saucer with a barely perceptible clink. The young woman looked up to him, worriedly. He exhaled and she flinched at the sound, remaining tensed in anticipation.

“Come now,” he thought. “Am I truly so frightening?” He turned to her and gave her his most charming smile. “Young lady, you do your grandmother great honor,” he praised. “This tea is both subtle and impactful. It fills my heart with great reassurance to learn that this tea house will be in such good hands in the future.”

The hostess loosened up and bowed gracefully. “Thank you, Master Takamura. Was there anything else?”

Keitaro bowed his head slightly. “No thank you. This tea will suffice. If we have further need of your services, we will call for a waiter. There is no need for you to personally wait on us hand and foot.”

“I see,” the young woman said. She smiled cutely and bowed to him. “Enjoy your stay, Master Takamura.” She then turned to his companion and bowed again. “You as well, Master Kuwabara.”

Ichiro Kuwabara nodded grimly, and sipped from his cup. The young proprietress slipped away and left the two masters in their booth. As soon as the girl was out of earshot, Ichiro lowered his cup and snorted. “You are much too kind, Master Takamura,” he admonished. “The old crone's tea was far superior. This is little more than flavored water. There is no subtlety, no depth to this tea.”

Keitaro chuckled and drank another mouthful. “That old crone had over forty years of experience.” Ichiro's disdain twisted his gray mustache like a woolly worm. For the fifth time that day, Keitaro thought about suggesting that he shave it.

“All the more reason to speak the truth,” Ichiro said. “How do you ever expect this swill to improve if you refuse to guide its maker properly?"

Keitaro looked up at his companion. Though Kuwabara was only fifty-three, the man looked weathered and the tea house’s subdued lighting threw his worry lines into sharp relief.

Keitaro moistened his lips and gently deposited his teacup. “I find that cultivating students is not unlike tending to a garden. Techniques that make one plant strong will simply kill another. You cannot simply treat a blushing maiden as you would a burly farmer. That young woman was quite nervous, and her feelings certainly affected her performance.”

Ichiro snorted. “Then she is weak.”

Keitaro nodded carefully. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “But you mustn’t mistake weakness for worthlessness. A blossom might be a thousand times as fragile as a cactus, but it more than makes up for that fragility in beauty.”

Ichiro harrumphed and downed the rest of his tea.

Keitaro smiled. “Ah yes. I’d forgotten. Your wife is quite prickly herself. Your daughter, on the other hand...”

His jibe earned him a wonderful glare.

Ichiro discarded his empty cup on the middle of the table and stood up. He shot off one last glare and stomped towards the exit without even a farewell.

The restaurant quieted. The other customers turned and stared as the man hurried towards the exit. The four students Master Kuwabara had brought with him shot to their feet and hurried off as soon as they realized that their Master’s meeting had ended.

“Is that your answer then?” Keitaro asked, at room volume. Ichiro didn't respond, and continued his march towards the door.

Keitaro chuckled and took another sip of tea. He breathed in and took the time to truly enjoy the pleasant warmth spreading throughout his chest. Sighing contently, he looked towards the entrance, where Ichiro and his students still crowded the path.

“Well?” Keitaro asked. “How long will you keep stalling, Ichiro Kuwabara?”

Ichiro's shoulders tensed and his back braced as if the weight of the world suddenly pressed down upon him. Ichiro spun around to face him and yelled, “What could you teach her that I haven't!”

The dam had been flimsy and haphazardly put together, so it was no surprise that it collapsed. The flood of emotions spilled out all over Ichiro’s face, and Keitaro saw a man denied, clad in restraints that his formidable strength could not even budge.

He looked around the restaurant and saw the other patrons keeping their eyes down, intimidated by the burly master's outburst. He frowned. This would not do. He would have to apologize to the proprietress afterwards, he judged as he finished his tea.

“Well? Have you nothing to say?” Ichiro asked. “Why did you invite me here? What could you have possibly seen in fifteen minutes that I would have missed in fifteen years?”

“You didn’t miss anything,” Keitaro corrected. “You held it the problem in hand and judged it insignificant.” Keitaro met Ichiro’s eyes directly. “Compassion, kindness, mercy, and how to discard those feelings without cutting herself apart. These are the lessons I could impart. Your passion is your strength Ichiro, but your daughter is not like you. Her heart impedes her every step of the way. No matter how much it may pain you, you must realize that the Kuwabara style does not suit her. Even if she had the strength, she will always hesitate to crush a man underfoot.”

Ichiro's fists clenched in frustration and Keitaro recognized this as a critical moment. If this was to happen at all, it was going to have to be this man's decision. Keitaro wasn't worried. Ichiro truly did love his daughter. With a clear head, there wasn't any doubt that he would come to the correct decision-

“What kind of incompetent Master can't even teach his own child?” A customer came out of left field and interrupted their conversation quite rudely.

Keitaro’s ears twitched as he experienced uncomfortable dissonance. When juxtaposed against those harsh words, that pitch that delivered them felt almost absurdly high. His internal image was skewed, like he met a sumo wrestler with the voice of a pop star.

He turned in his seat and surveyed the entire room. His search quickly narrowed down to a booth where two blue-eyed children sat, a black-haired boy and a blonde girl. The girl wore a pair of loose white shorts, a pink shirt and an expression of complete mortification. She whispered urgently to the boy and looked between her little friend and Master Ichiro apprehensively. Keitaro passed her over almost immediately. He knew a bystander when he saw one.

Ichiro stood in the doorway and just stared at the other kid. Keitaro imagined that he was quite shocked that a boy younger than his own daughter would have the gall to call him out in public. The boy had almost certainly earned himself a beating, but it wasn’t every day that an unknown stepped forth from the background and openly challenged a Master. How novel.

Keitaro smiled and subtly signalled the proprietress. When he caught her eye, he lifted his empty tea cup. She understood immediately and nodded gracefully. He offered her a smile. Truly, this tea house was in good hands.

Ichiro finally managed to choke his shock down. He shoved past his furious students, stormed past Keitaro and stopped next to the kid’s booth, looming over them, his head angled down to glare at the kid. His shoulder muscles bulged aggressively and strained against his thin shirt, threatening to rip it to pieces. “What'd you say you little brat?” Ichiro managed to grit out through his clenched jaw.

It was a warning. The child would have had to have been blind and deaf to have missed it, but he just smirked and stood up from his booth, ignoring his blonde friend's calls to sit down.

Dark, loose clothes. Long concealing sleeves to hide his muscular structure and movements. Thin-soled footwear allowed for precise adjustments to his positioning. He certainly dressed like a fighter, Keitaro mused. And that hair… a waist long queue like that one would have been more in style in China circa 1850.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” the boy said quite facetiously. “It's just that I came all this way to see the Akita’s Raging Bull, and this is what I find? I mean, can you imagine my disappointment? A man that’s only half-”

The little blonde girl pulled strongly at the boy’s sleeve. She’d obviously had enough. “Ranma!” she whispered loudly.

The so called Ranma turned back to her and gently pulled his sleeve out of her grasp. “Hush Usagi,” he admonished. “I'm picking a fight.”

Keitaro snorted in amusement. Ichiro didn’t find it quite as funny.

The girl whispered something else to him, causing him to groan. “Oh, come on! He was about to leave and I told you already why I don’t want to do this in his dojo! What was I supposed to do? Can't we just get something later?” He proposed, somewhat desperately.

She hissed something at him, shaking her head.

His shoulders slumped in defeat. “You can't be that hungry.” She nodded, whispered to him and pointed towards the kitchen.

Ranma looked up towards the heavens and sighed exaggeratedly. “Alright, alright,” he said, waving her off. “I’ll make it quick, promise. Five minutes tops.” He pledged and started off towards Master Kuwabara.

The girl shook her head spiritedly. “No! Do it before!” She appealed to him.

Ranma stopped short and stared at her. “Wha- Are you serious?”

She nodded sharply. Ranma opened his mouth to reply when a man took hold of his shoulder none too gently. Ranma looked up to Master Kuwabara's most promising student and smiled wryly. “Not sure that's going to happen, Usagi.”

The difference in height between the two was measured in feet. The student’s right arm alone might be heavier than both of Ranma’s legs, Keitaro mused. Now, what was the man's name? Was it Shinta? No, that one left to start a dojo in America… Junpei?

The student spoke through clenched teeth, “Kid, why don’t you come back to our dojo with us? We’ll make sure to teach you a valuable lesson about respecting your elders.” Keitaro’s head shot up in sudden remembrance, and he dropped a fist into his palm. Naota! Yes, yes, that was his name. Satisfied, he settled to watch the proceedings.

Ranma blinked, seeming to contemplate the man’s ‘offer’. A few seconds passed and he nodded.

Naota smiled tightly. “Trust me, kid. You’ll thank us one day,” Naota told the boy, but the boy wasn’t listening.

While Naota was talking, Ranma turned towards his lady friend and said decisively, “Tell you what, we'll go half-and-half.”

Keitaro raised an eyebrow. “Oh ho,” he muttered. The kid was serious about this. For a martial artist like Naota, being treated as though he was about as significant as an insect was quite the insult. The boy’s cheek was going to get him hurt, Keitaro judged. And right on cue, Naota scowled and squeezed the boy's shoulder as though it were a juicy orange and he’d just choked down Madam Kyoko’s cod, the saltiest dish in the eastern territory.

The memory of that infernal evening was enough to pull a grimace out of him, but the boy didn’t flinch in the face of his mistreatment. The girl stared at the hand on the boy’s shoulder and frowned cutely. Ranma waited patiently. Naota grunted in exertion, but his supposed captive ignored him entirely. Following Ranma’s lead, the girl chose to ignore him as well. “Half-and-half? How are we supposed to do that?” she asked.

Ranma grinned, despite the ever increasing pressure exerted by Ichiro’s student. “Gimme a minute, and be ready.”

And with that, he performed a sharp scissor-like motion and slipped his shoulder out of Naota’s grip about as easily as one would tear through gossamer cobwebs. He calmly took a few steps back and stopped at the edge of Naota’s range.

“Oh ho!” Keitaro exclaimed. “So the boy’s had training.”

Naota stared at his empty hand for a moment, clenching it repeatedly as if to check his grip. His face firmed and he turned towards to boy, aiming to pursue.

The child gestured for him to stop. “I feel I should give you to opportunity to step out of my way,” Ranma said not unkindly. “You know, save yourself some pain and humiliation.”

Naota sneered. “Are you serious?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah, absolutely. Don’t damage the pelt just to bring down the beast. That’s my motto.”

Naota snorted. “How far will you go to ignore us? A pelt? A pelt has no claws.” He jerked his head to the side.

Ranma sneaked a glimpse and found three of Naota's fellow disciples standing obtrusively around the tea house, blocking likely escape paths. Behind them, their master pulled a chair from an empty table and sat back to observe the proceedings.

Ranma frowned. “Oh, I see. Fine. We'll do it your way. Just don’t come crying to me later,” he complained, wagging his finger.

Naota crossed his arms and looked down at the young challenger. “An insult against the Master is an insult against those who stand in his shadow. Tell me, what kind of eagle steps aside for a songbird? A no-name rascal like you has no right to fly above the rest of us.”

“So you’re an eagle? What does that make your master then?”

“To you, he may as well be a dragon,” Naota countered.

Ranma tilted his head. “You called me a no name punk before I even introduced myself, and you're right. You wouldn’t recognize my name even if I gave it to you. But I’m no bird. To you, I might as well be a phantom.” The boy wiped his nose with his thumb and fell into an open stance. “Let’s see if you can even catch a glimpse of my outline.”

Opposite the boy, Naota settled into his stance with a deep release of breath. Behind the boy, the girl slumped forwards, planted her elbows on her knees and supported her head with both her hands. She mumbled something that softened Ranma's stance and made him roll his eyes exasperatedly. “I didn’t forget! You want me to go at it just like that? What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

The young proprietress arrived at Keitaro’s table with a fresh pot of tea. Keitaro turned and greeted her with a kind smile as she poured him a new cup.

Ranma’s young friend sniffed and mumbled something else. Ranma snapped his head towards her and dropped out of his stance. “What?” He fairly sputtered. “How was his stuff cooler than mine?”

Keitaro shook his head and raised his teacup. “The fight has already started, child,” he whispered. He took a sip.

A fist cut through the air. The sound reached his ears and his entire body tensed instinctively. The tea almost went down the wrong hole, but he managed the choke it down without coughing it up. He turned back woodenly and saw the young boy with his fist outstretched, and Naota standing ten feet back from where he’d been. There had been no impact, but the man had dodged such that he’d cleared twice the boy’s body length. And even now, Naota stared at the boy like he was seeing a lion’s gaping maw.

Ranma straightened and walked closer to his opponent. Naota took a step back before getting a hold of himself and putting up his guard. Ranma smiled and settled into his stance outside of the man’s range. The boy’s toes wiggled in his soft soled shoes, pressed into the tea house’s wooden floor and pulled him forwards an inch. Then another, and another. Slowly, Ranma entered the edge of Naota's range.

Naota twisted his core to feed a hard right straight. Ranma ducked inside and kept his arms high. Naota tried a knee strike to prevent the boy's advance, and before his knee could rise so much as a foot, Ranma’s descending elbow rammed it back down. Naota’s foot slammed down against the floor and forced him to steady himself.

Ranma built up torque around his waist and unleashed into a sharp hook. Naota brought his arm down and caught the blow on his folded elbow. His feet weren’t set, and the impact sent him stumbling. He slapped a hand onto a nearby table to steady himself, startling the old couple eating there and dislodging a few grains of rice out of a bowl and onto their table.

Ichiro stood up sharply, grimacing. “Fool!” he yelled. “Better to fall to the ground than to disrupt a customer’s meal!”

Keitaro hummed and took a sip of his tea.

The boy stared his opponent down, but Naota was too busy expressing his profound remorse to the old couple to notice. He sniffed and stalked towards the kitchen. The three other students exchanged looks and converged on him, taking three steps to his two. Ranma took quick looks around him, grimaced and took off. The students launched themselves in pursuit.

Ranma and the first student met mid-stride. Ranma struck out like a snake bite, past the man’s outstretched hand and grabbed onto his sleeve. He pulled sharply, like a fisherman battling against a shark on his line. The student turned out to be much easier prey. On one foot, he easily tipped over.

His eyes wide, the young man kicked his leg out and fell into a split. His hand reached out instinctively, grabbing at Ranma’s long queue, but the boy jerked his head without looking, and the trailing braid slithered out of the student’s grasp.

Student number two cut the boy off and stood squarely between him and the kitchen. Ranma jerked his head and shoulders forwards once, twice, three times. On the third aborted motion, the student overreacted and moved his hands out of position. Ranma lunged into the opening, slapped the students' hands out of the way, grabbed his gi and rolled them both like a merry-go-round. One short go-around later, the student was launched towards the ground and Ranma was sprung towards the kitchen.

Ranma reached the kitchen counter at full speed. He caught himself against the counter, absorbing the entirety of his momentum with his arms, and kicked back viciously. The last student put on the brakes, but still caught the boy's foot right in his face. He flew back, slamming into his compatriots and imparting enough momentum for Ranma to flip gracefully into the kitchen. The young martial artist submerged himself into the kitchen's depths and disappeared from sight.

“Incredible,” Keitaro whispered. He shook his head as the three students helped one another stand on their feet. He knew these students. The youngest of them was twenty-three years old, and with diligent practice, each had the potential to become masters in their own right. And yet… Three of them together were unable to corral a child.

The customers being treated to this show didn't understand, couldn't possibly understand. Their incredulous faces whispered amongst themselves. They saw a child outmanoeuvring trained men and obviously thought the men deficient, when it was the child who was extraordinary.

Predictably, Ichiro was much too caught up in the humiliation to care about any of that. He shot to his feet, ready to intervene. If he clenched his jaw any tighter he'd chip a tooth.

Just then, a bowl of yakisoba noodles whipped out of the kitchen towards the blonde girl. For a moment it seemed as though the porcelain dish would strike her right in the face, but she noticed just in time and ducked with an ear-piercing squeal. The bowl crashed against the wall and shattered into a hundred pieces. Fried noodles, chopped cabbage and onions, and bite-sized chunks of pork splattered over the adjacent booths and their occupants.

Everyone and everything stopped. Perfect silence enveloped the restaurant.

Almost in unison, everyone in the room turned away from the fresh mess and towards the kitchen. Ranma knelt on the counter, his hand outstretched like the Frisbee King. He looked just as surprised and dismayed as anyone else in the room.

The wide-eyed girl slowly emerged from under the table with both hands covering her head, luckily having avoided most of the ruined meal.

Ranma gaped at her. “You were supposed to catch that!” he exclaimed.

Keitaro couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.

The blonde blinked several times. She turned to look at the mess covering her booth, and turned back. “How? With my face?” Her look of confusion quickly turned to outrage. “You didn't even warn me!”

Ranma pointed at her righteously. “I- You-! I said be ready!”

“You threw it too fast!” she complained. “What am I supposed to eat now?”

His mouth moved, but no words came out. Finally, he pulled his finger back, glowered at the girl and turned to someone further in the kitchen. “Where’s the bread?”

A pair of Ichiro’s students flipped over the kitchen counter and boxed Ranma in. The boy ignored them completely. “You heard me! The bread, where is it?”

Keitaro's laughter softened as muffled directions emerged from the kitchen. “What an amusing boy,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

At his side, the young proprietress bowed her head. “If you would excuse me Master Takamura, I must make sure that boy doesn't destroy my kitchen.”

Keitaro smiled gently, even as Naota and his fellow student crashed through the kitchen door. “I'm afraid you would only get in the way, my dear.”

The young woman bowed her head again. “Then, perhaps you could...” she trailed off.

Keitaro opened his mouth, thinking to immediately shoot down that suggestion, but the words would not leave his mouth. His sense of propriety clashed against his heart and was crushed utterly.

Keitaro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… Perhaps I will.”

[hr]

Naota’s eyes shot around the impromptu battlefield and he quickly realized that none of the paths available to him would allow him to hound that wicked little monster. He could go after him, but it would be less of an action-packed chase and more of a slow, careful trail. For once, his size was more hindrance than resource. He nodded at his friends and fellows, watched them pass him in pursuit and pretended that he wasn't feeling incredibly relieved.

He clenched his clammy fists and tried to settle the runaway beat of his heart. “Calm down,” he told himself. “It’s just one brat.”

That brat flung the bag of bread he held into the air and shoved Jin back. He allowed the recoil to push him back, twisted around and channelled that momentum into a lightning quick rush. Subaru stood in direct obstruction with his feet planted and his muscled forearms protecting his chest like a bank vault.

The kid's wide, unblinking eyes did not waver. A slight extension of his supporting leg sprung him up a few feet. He brought his knees up to his chest, and lashed out with both feet. Subaru did not attempt to dodge.

The boy's feet slammed into the man's guard, and while the safe door was not breached, the safe itself was knocked off its moorings. Subaru was flung off his feet and crashed into a large oven, breaking the handle and denting the door. He collapsed to the floor and did not get up.

The kid landed on the tips of his right foot and cracked a smile. With the greatest of ease, he reached out and caught the bag of sliced bread he'd thrown. Naota felt a bead of sweat trickle down his brow.

The boy's hands casually pulled at the knot holding the bag closed. “Hey you,” he said, nodding at one of the three cooks standing around the kitchen's perimeter. “I'm going to need some ingredients. Tomatoes, lettuce, meat. Some dressing. I'd do it myself, but I doubt you want me going through your stuff with these guys after me.”

Jin stomped closer to that little monster. “How long do you intend to mock us?” Jin asked. Naota started. He'd never seen the normally benign man look so furious. “Do you really think that we'll let you make that girl a snack?”

“I dunno,” the boy admitted as he flung three slices of bread onto the heated griddle. “All I know is that I'm a man of my word. So I'm going to do whatever I can to make Usagi this sandwich. The rest isn't up to me.”

Jin glared at the boy, then turned to Kenta and jerked his head to the side. Kenta nodded, and the two of them split up and moved to surround their opponent.

The boy grabbed his braid and threw it over his shoulder in a practiced manner. Its momentum sent it looping until it coiled around his neck like a cobra.

A cook holding a fresh head of lettuce and a plump tomato approached them. Ranma held his hand up and motioned for him to stop. “When you've got what I need just throw it here. I can't guarantee your safety if you get too close.”

The cook nodded respectfully, took a step back and immediately launched the produce into the air. The boy's eyes naturally turned up to track the articles’ trajectory. With his attention divided, Jin and Kenta both sensed an opportunity and eight years of collaboration allowed them to simultaneously lean down low and charge.

The boy kept his eyes on the approaching ingredients, seemingly paying little mind to the imminent danger. He stepped forward and lightly hopped onto the middle of a long stainless steel countertop with his hands held out high and ready to receive. Several feet away from him, Kenta slowed, grabbed onto the countertop and quickly climbed on top. On the boy's other side, Jin bellowed like an ox, accelerated and lunged for the kid's kneecaps.

The boy raised his right leg up to his chest and stomped down, catching Jin right below the neck. He slammed Jin against the steel top, bringing the man to a brutal stop. The red fruit and the green vegetable landed softly in the boy's hands.

He placed the tomato on top of the head of lettuce and balanced both with one hand as he turned to the cook who'd sent them to him. “Thanks. I'm gonna need a knife. Any will do.”

An older cook, who wore a white apron and was quite muscular, pulled a gleaming chef’s knife off of a magnetic strip and threw it overhand. It whirled wildly as it zipped directly towards the kid's face.

That brat easily plucked it out of the air, his index and thumb pressing down on the blade. He turned to the older cook and nodded. “Thanks.”

Jin weakly pawed at the kid's ankles. “Can't breathe…” he wheezed. Naota felt his heartbeat stutter and quicken.

The little monster had the gall to nod in face of Jin’s anguish. “Yeah. I figure that if I let you get more air than what you’re getting now you'll only cause more problems,” he admitted. He flipped the knife around in his right hand and took a few practice swipes. Seeing them, Kenta took an involuntary step back. “So you'll just have to deal with this while I get this ready. Won't be too comfortable, but you'll live. Probably.”

He jerked his left hand up and sent the tomato flying off the lettuce. His right arm shot out like a flash, swinging through the air with blows Naota's eyes couldn't catch. The knife stopped. The tomato continued along its trajectory, completely intact. The boy ignored it and began to tear leaves off the lettuce head, even as it passed its peak and began to fall.

Naota suddenly noticed that a wooden cutting board just happened to be at the end of its trajectory. The tomato hit the wood and split apart. Two dozen even slices artfully separated, sliding down the length cutting board. Not even one slid off the end.

Naota gaped at the boy. Over near the edge of the counter, Kenta did the same.

That kid looked down at the cutting board and raised an eyebrow. He held up the knife and cocked his head. “Huh. Nice knife.”

The three cooks bowed deeply in unison. The oldest, with the apron, spoke. “Many thanks, young master.”

Naota moistened his dry lips and eyed the door. “We don't stand a chance,” he thought. “M-maybe Master would-”

“Naota!” Kenta called.

Help me. His fearful eyes said it all. He would not find the courage to attack the kid alone. His treasured junior was terrified.

Naota’s stomach untangled. What had he been doing? This wasn't a fight he could avoid.

To back away here would be to abandon all pride in himself, his colleagues and his master. To besmirch that man's name in such a way was an unforgivable offense.

To you, I might as well be a phantom. Let’s see if you can even catch a glimpse of my outline.

If he was an eagle, and Master Kuwabara was a mighty dragon, then that boy was either immortal or a demon from the pits of hell.

Naota clenched his fists and rallied his heart.

Either way, he would go down swinging.

 

[lokinishizaki]

Usagi picked the last loose noodle off of her shoulder and flipped it onto the table. It landed with a distinct plop.

“Blech…” She grimaced and quietly yearned for a bath.

As she wallowed in mild misery, her eyes naturally gravitated towards the huge mess coating her immediate surroundings. Her stomach grumbled discontentedly and drew a weary sigh from her pouty lips. Tragically, even scattered all over the furniture, the meal still smelled delicious.

She looked towards the kitchen and listened to the racket emerging from within, hoping to distract herself from her yawning hunger.

Ranma flew past the wall's opening and executed a flawless dropkick. The sound of a great impact reverberated throughout the restaurant, presumably from his unseen target hitting the nearest wall.

“Mou…” she complained. “What's taking him so long?” Idly, she wondered if they would be held responsible for any damages. She assumed that they would at least have to pay for the broken bowl. Well, she said ‘they’, but only Ranma had any money.

The boy’s face flashed back into her mind. His furrowed brows and clenched jaw lent him the look of a man stuck in a loveless marriage, according to her mother’s soap operas. It didn't suit him at all and she could almost start to believe that maybe it was just a little bit her fault.

But no, that was silly.

Ranma's disapproving eyes pierced her from inside her mind. She closed her eyes. It didn't help.

She pouted. “Wasn't my fault,” she mumbled. So what if she hadn't been paying attention?

Usagi slumped, rested her chin on her right hand and surveyed the room. Near everyone was angled towards the kitchen, hoping to catch a glimpse of the action. Strangely, not one customer got out of their seat. Save for the hostess and that man Ranma had wanted to fight, no one looked at all concerned.

She blinked. “These people are so weird,” she mumbled. “A fight breaks out and everyone just lays back and enjoys the show. Aren't they scared at all?” She wasn't scared either, but that’s because she knew Ranma. His face flashed back into her head again. She pouted again, crossed her arms on the table and laid her head down on the crook of her elbow.

Her stomach grumbled. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut. In the darkness of her own mind, her world overflowed with the chatter of the restaurant-goers, the outcry emerging from the kitchen and the rising growl of the so called ‘Raging Bull of Akita.’

Her stomach gurgled in protest. She squeezed her eyelids down harder. Maybe if she ignored everything in the world her hunger would go with it.

Seconds passed.

An urge passed through her mind unimpeded, and she took a deep breath. The amalgam of delicious smells filling the tea house shot up her nose and pierced her mind. Her stomach roared. Her eyes shot open.

A chunk of beef caught her eye. It rested on a bed of fried noodles, perfectly cooked and divinely seasoned. Her mother had always warned her not to eat any food that had fallen off of her plate. But presumably, that chunk of beef was insulated from the table by the noodles. It may not have come into contact with the table at all.

Her stomach whined pitifully. Surely… it would be fine if she just had a nibble. Just a taste. She reached out, carefully.

A body came crashing out of the kitchen. The previously closed door strained against its hinges, whipped through the air and collided with the wall with a tremendous bang. Startled, Usagi snatched her hand away. She looked up just in time to see Naota's body thump against the ground like a sack of rice and roll to a stop between two tables.

Usagi winced in time with the other customers. “That could not have felt good,” she mumbled. She wondered if he was okay. As if in answer, a wretched groan emerged from Naota's crumpled, shattered body.

Heavy footsteps heralded the arrival of the bout's uncontested victor. With his right hand, he wiped off a trail of blood leaking out from the corner of his lip. With his left, he held up a double layered sandwich on a porcelain plate-

Her eyes snapped onto that plate.

That sandwich. That sandwich! Crisp, fresh lettuce, plump tomato slices, chicken slices like she'd never seen them cut before!

She stood up, almost without her knowledge.

Dijon mustard! A tasteful application of home-made mayonnaise! A single slice of Swiss cheese! All that goodness impossibly packaged above, below and within three slices of bread!

Usagi noticed something amazing. She blinked, and then blinked a few more times. She felt her eyes moisten with tears. “You even grilled the bread?” she asked. Carrying a mega sandwich fit for the front page of a cooking magazine like it was the Olympic torch, Ranma set off towards her at a steady clip.

Behind him, on the fringes of the restaurant, a bull snorted through thick nostrils and charged. Usagi’s eyes widened. Her heart seized with fear.

The master martial artist crossed the length of the restaurant floor in three lightning quick strides, his fist cocked and primed to launch.

“Ah! Sandwich,” Usagi cried, reaching out towards her only hope for salvation.

Ranma sluggishly turned back to face the threat. Ichiro’s fist swung down like a wrecking ball. Ranma’s eyes widened in frightened realization, and he jerked back to avoid the blow, but Ichiro’s meaty fist caught him just beneath his right eye. The impact sounded throughout the restaurant and whipped his head back, forcing his body into a precarious slant.

Ichiro's foot stomped on the ground as he advanced for a follow-up. Ranma’s head snapped back into place and his feet spread out wide, restoring his balance. Ichiro hesitated, then committed, shifting his weight and shooting a sharp hook. Ranma snarled. His free hand lunged like a viper and clamped down onto the man’s long sleeve. A quick application of force sent Ichiro stumbling, while Ranma spun off, his left hand held above his head with the sandwich somehow still intact. Ranma glared at his opponent’s back, reached for his bruise and grimaced.

Usagi’s hands covered her mouth. “Ranma,” she cried, horrified. He glanced at her and quickly turned back to his newest opponent. The urge to ask him if he was okay nearly overwhelmed her, but she bit her lower lip and choked it down. To distract him now would be too much.

In the time she’d known him, only one man had ever managed to lay a hand on Ranma. This 'Raging Bull' wasn’t even a tenth as intimidating as that overwhelming monster, so she'd just assumed-!

Ichiro cracked his neck and turned to face the boy wonder. He saw the boy cradling his cheek and chuckled. “Heh. For a kid, you sure know how to take a punch.”

Ranma dropped his hand and glared up at his aggressor. “Don’t you dare touch this sandwich!”

Ichiro's smirk disappeared. “What?” His eyebrows curved into a furious scowl. “Is that all you have to say, you brat?”

Ranma held up his fist threateningly. “I swear, if I have to get back into that kitchen because of you, I'll make you eat your teeth, one by one.”

Ichiro scoffed. “You know what they say about the dog who barks loudest, kid?”

“It's probably different from what you'll say in a few minutes if you ruin this sandwich.” Ranma stated. “Ask your boy over there. It'll sound a little like-” Ranma made a noise like a doe slowly being eaten by an anaconda.

Ichiro lowered his haunches and leaned forwards. “I think I'll really enjoy making you apologize-!”

“Wait.” An old man approached the Raging Bull without hesitation, his hand held up peacefully. “Master Kuwabara, please. Let me.”

Ichiro harrumphed but acquiesced immediately, straightening out of his stance. He stomped towards his fallen student, his every step reverberating through the restaurant, without even putting a word in edgewise.

Usagi stared at the Bull's wide back. “Eh? Is that it?”

Ranma glared at the man who punched him up until he knelt down next to his student and started to gently shake him. Only then did Ranma’s expression cleared, and he turned to look at the old man. He gave him a slow once-over and Usagi had the distinct feeling that behind his blank face, her friend was warier than he’d been when facing four burly men in a medium-sized kitchen.

Ranma looked up and met the man’s eyes. “Who are you supposed to be?”

The old man bowed slightly with a kind smile. “I am Master Keitaro Takamura.”

“Never heard of you,” Ranma replied rudely.

Usagi winced, but Master Takamura didn't seem to take offense. If anything, his smile only widened. “I can't imagine you would have. Still, I wonder if you would do me the kindness of accepting my challenge.”

Ranma straightened, clearly surprised. “You're challenging me?”

Master Takamura stared at the boy for a moment. He smiled and said, “Have you never been challenged before? I find that quite surprising, given your skill.”

Ranma snorted. “I don't exactly hang around people of my own age group,” the boy admitted. “And no adult would demean himself by accepting a kid as an equal.”

Takamura smiled, clearly amused and Ranma nodded. “Present company excluded,” he acknowledged.

The old master nodded thoughtfully and deliberately turned his stare towards Usagi. She inched away from the old man's piercing grey eyes and was suddenly quite clear as to the reason why Ranma handled this old man cautiously. The last thing they needed was someone poking their nose into their situation.

Ranma took a half-step in her direction, but didn't look away from the old master. “She's a special case.”

Keitaro raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Who is she?”

“She's my sister,” Ranma answered brusquely.

“You look nothing alike,” Keitaro remarked.

“Our mother was unfaithful,” Ranma replied with a straight face. Usagi flushed red and glared at her shameless friend.

The old man smiled wryly. “You, boy, are a terrible liar.”

Ranma glared at the old man, his patience clearly running low. “And your chatter is starting to bore me!” He sniffed. “Are you ever going to attack, or were you planning on talking me to death?”

Keitaro chuckled lightly. “My boy, you never accepted my challenge.”

Ranma stared at the old master, and frowned deeply. He abruptly broke off from their stand-off and stalked towards Usagi's booth. The old man watched him go with a wide smile.

The customers he passed all turned to stare at him, but he didn’t pay a whit of attention to any of them and though he was walking towards her, his eyes were clouded and unfocused. He passed by her and plopped the sandwich down on their messy table. “Here. Sorry about the yakisoba. This is the best I could do.”

She opened her mouth to thank him and tried to catch his eye, but he was already off, prowling towards the old master.

Her heart lurched. She called, out softly and with great hesitation. “Ranma?”

The boy somehow heard her and stopped. His shoulders slumped and he sighed before responding. “What is it now, Usagi?” He asked tiredly.

Usagi stared at his back and felt the acute sting of holding someone back. She looked down and felt like apologizing, despite feeling like he wouldn't appreciate it.

She bit down on her lip and smothered the urge. Keenly aware that the entire room’s eyes were aimed directly at her, she felt her face begin to flush. Still, she swallowed her embarrassment, and said what her manners and genuine gratitude pushed her to say. “Thank you.”

Ranma turned towards her and she saw his face twist in confusion. She hurriedly tacked on, “For hurrying! You really went out of your way for me, so thank you. I really appreciate it.” Also, he was paying for the meal, but if she started listing everything he did for her then it would just feel like piling on. She finished with a deep bow and held it.

A few moments passed in silence. She started to feel a bit of discomfort in her lower back, and looked up to find Ranma staring back at her.

A certain stiffness about him loosened, and he looked off to the side and idly scratched the back of his neck. “Don't worry about it. Really, it was fine.”

A powerful feeling of relief flowed over her, and she couldn't help but smile as she straightened out of her bow. Ranma met her eyes and grinned. He pointed at their table. “Come on, eat up. We’ll probably have to leave in a little while.”

Her stomach trembled. “Ah! Right.” She sat down, reached for the plate, picked up the sandwich and bit into it. Her eyes filled with tears.

Maybe it was because she was starving, but right at this moment it was the single greatest thing she'd ever tasted. She chewed slowly, savouring the exquisite taste, and watched the sandwich’s architect stalk towards Master Takamura.

Ranma stopped just outside of grappling range, stretched his neck and limbered his shoulder muscles like a boxer on his ring walk. “Come on. Let's get this over with. I accept your challenge.”

Master Takamura smiled and tilted his head. “Just like that? Aren't you going to give your name and school?”

“No. This has nothing to do with you, me or our schools. I didn't come here for you,” Ranma stated. He reached for each of his wide sleeves in turn and folded them in. “We’re strangers, meeting on a dusty road. Our eyes meet, and we both wonder who’s stronger. I'm not making a statement here. I don't have an agenda.” He dropped into a wide stance and motioned his opponent closer. “I'm satisfying my curiosity. That's all.”

Master Takamura chuckled delightedly and absolutely destroyed the mood. “My, how old-fashioned!”

Ranma's face flushed red. He snorted. “I don't want to hear that from you, old man!”

“Fair enough!” Master Takamura nodded agreeably. The old man looked towards a beautiful young woman dressed in a fancy yukata and nodded meaningfully.

The young woman stood with subdued elegance and bowed to the Master. Straightening, she turned to face the room and held everyone’s attention as a matter of course. Still, she had the grace to ask. “Excuse me everyone, may I have your attention?”

The room collectively maintained their eyes on the young hostess. She smiled and bowed slightly in thanks. “I apologize for the interruption. The Master has decided to provide you all with a free demonstration of his art! To the patrons seated on the specially marked tables in the middle of the restaurant, please stand and move outside of the arena.”

With an air of unmistakable anticipation, a dozen customers gathered their belongings and vacated the middle of the room as waiters and cooks hurried to empty their dishes.

With the delicate dishware collected in his cart, a cook kicked a table and sent it flipping into the air. Usagi nearly choked on her sandwich, but no one else even seemed to blink. Near the wall, a waiter jumped up, kicked it precisely and sent it spinning until it landed squarely on top of another table near the corner.

Usagi blinked as she watched the other workers start to fling furniture around. “Martial artists?” she mumbled through a mouthful of her sandwich. What kind of person would hire so many skilled fighters to staff a restaurant? Still, she couldn’t say they weren’t effective. In thirty seconds flat, a space opened up in the middle of the room, a twenty feet wide square demarked by a black line. The displaced furniture was stacked neatly in a corner of the room, and the guests forced to stand were lined up alongside the kitchen wall.

Ranma stood squarely within the impromptu ring and examined his surroundings with a raised eyebrow. He crossed his arms. “So what? Do you own this place or something?”

“In part, yes,” the old master nodded.

Ranma nodded back thoughtfully and declared, “I'm not paying for damages.”

The master smiled wryly. “Isn't that for the winner to decide?” he asked.

Ranma smirked back. “Hope you don't regret saying that old man.” He fell into a stance. “Let’s do this.”

Takamura held up his hand. “Patience, young man.”

Ranma frowned in annoyance and straightened. “What now?”

Takamura smiled wryly. “This isn't a street fight, my boy. We've not spoken of the terms of this challenge. How will we identify the winner without establishing the rules and agreeing on the winning conditions?”

Ranma crossed his arms again. “Fine. No lethal blows. To knockout.”

“Unacceptable,” the old man replied.

Ranma's frown deepened. “You can't be serious. That's about as basic as it can get. Street fight 101.”

“This is not a street fight,” the old man stressed. “And even if it were, I refuse to beat a child into unconsciousness.”

“You don't think you might be getting ahead of yourself there, old man?” Ranma shot back.

Takamura nodded. “Perhaps. However there is no point in accepting a challenge that one is not equipped to win. My ability to defeat you does not come into question. Even if you were to let me, I would not purposefully beat you unconscious.”

Ranma pouted slightly, but nodded. “Fine. What then?”

“To knockdown,” Takamura suggested.

Ranma snorted. “You’re kidding me! If you don’t take the kid gloves off, you’ll find them stuffed down your throat in minute,” Ranma threatened. The old man did not budge under the force of Ranma's glare. Ranma snorted, unimpressed, and shot back with, “Best of nine.”

“Three,” the master replied. “Or first blood.”

Ranma took a moment to think it over, and nodded sharply. He uncrossed his arms.

Takamura buried his hands in the wide sleeves of the opposing arm.

Just like that, noise inside the restaurant arena died. Usagi looked around the restaurant and found everyone holding their breaths. One corpulent man’s full cheeks were flushed red as sweat coursed down his face. He pulled a fancy handkerchief out of an inner pocket and patted his forehead down. Usagi took another a bite of her sandwich and the sound of the lettuce crunching travelled through the entire restaurant. She shivered.

Ranma took one step and stopped like he ran into a wall. He immediately scowled and pinned the old man’s immobile feet with a glare. Old Takamura cracked a smile.

Ranma’s lips thinned. He firmed his shoulders, released an abrupt cry and launched himself forwards. The old man waited for him calmly and slid out of the way of a right straight. Ranma threw a fierce succession of sweeping punches, aiming to batter the old man's rib cage like a drum. With the merest shift of weight, Master Takamura was able slide into position to meet each strike elbow first, stopping the force and keeping his hands buried in his sleeves. The sound was pounding and pervasive, but the two acted like they were hitting pillows and cushions.

After his umpteenth failure to pass Takamura’s guard, Ranma broke off with a frustrated grunt. He glared up at the old man and set his fists at his waist, cocked and ready. Master Takamura cocked an eyebrow, seemingly amused. Ranma took a quick breath, held it and built up tension.

“Ha!” Ranma shouted as his fist slammed into Takamura’s open palm. The wind generated by the impact rushed through the restaurant, pushing back those who stood too close. Usagi’s hair was disturbed and fell over her eyes. She brushed it out of her face and blinked twice. From where she was sitting, the world seemed like a movie that skipped a few frames. That punch was so fast she completely missed the transition between the set up and the impact.

“Wow,” she whispered. That never ceased to amaze her.

A pang of worry hit her. That old man… he managed to block even that?

Ranma stared up at his opponent and smirked. Usagi saw that smile and felt the tension slip out of her shoulders. “Couldn’t see that one coming, could ya?” Ranma taunted. “You’ve got a lot of experience, but how are your reflexes?”

Old Takamura grinned. “Swift and cat-like, young pup.”

“Ha!” Ranma laughed. He set his shoulders and upped his onslaught.

Takamura slapped away three straights punches. The fourth slipped past his hands and slammed into his chest. The old man grunted and took a half step back to compensate. Ranma followed up quickly, shifting his weight to his leading foot and bringing the trailing knee up to his chest. He shouted, “Hya!” And thrust his foot out like a battering ram.

Master Takamura slid back like an eel, avoiding even the tips of Ranma’s toes. With a tremendous surge of acceleration, he burst forward like a tiger pouncing on an unwary antelope.

Ranma's eyes widened and he yelped. Caught on one foot, he tried to bring his leg down and his hands up. The old master's fist smashed past Ranma's late guard and sent him stumbling. Ranma backpedalled into a backroll and came up with his arms ready to block.

Takamura stood four feet away, silently contemplative.

Ranma frowned. “What? D'you get a crisis of conscience or something? You had me.” His head shot up in realization. “And that wasn't a knockdown, by the way!”

The old man opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Your skills…” He trailed off.

Ranma loosened his shoulders and climbed to his feet. He slowly began to close the distance. “What about 'em?”

“If it were just your offensive abilities then I could just dismiss you as a mere prodigy. However, your reflexes are another matter. Your defense is extraordinary,” Takamura affirmed.

“Thank you,” Ranma replied. He aimed to knock a few of the old man's teeth out with a high kick. Takamura ducked under it and pounced forwards. His swift strikes tore through nothing but air as Ranma cartwheeled out of the way.

Takamura straightened and settled back into a stance. “You could have blocked that strike if you hadn't started off late.”

“Gee, thanks for the advice,” Ranma said disingenuously. He brought his knee up to his chest sharply, but Takamura didn't flinch. He frowned and brought his foot back down.

“You saw my strike coming, you were in position to block, but you protected your heart until it was too late,” Master Takamura elaborated. “That wasn’t a conscious decision. Who trained you?”

Ranma stiffened. “Nobody.”

Takamura stared at the boy for a long moment, assessing that answer. “That’s an obvious lie, but even so, I'm inclined to agree. A man who would throw such blows at a child is not fit to train anyone.”

Ranma huffed as he inched forwards and launched a few probing strikes. “What makes you think it was a man? Maybe it was my mother? My birth ruined her marriage, after all.”

“I've yet to meet a woman with such a cruel heart,” Takamura asserted. “And how could your birth ruin your mother's marriage? Your so-called sister is younger than you.” Takamura blocked a high arched kick and stepped back out of the way of another. Takamura threw a glance towards Usagi's seat, twisting his neck just slightly, putting Ranma out of focus just slightly.

Usagi popped the last chunk of the first half of her sandwich into her mouth, and noticed the attention. She waved shyly.

Motion caught the old master’s eye and he jerked his head aside. A streaking black projectile skimmed past his face and slapped against the wall above the crowd. He looked back and saw a black slipper slipping down the wall and beginning to fall. Eyes wide, Takamura sought to put his full attention on his opponent once again and found the boy sliding to a stop with his fists at his waist, cocked and ready. Takamura brought his arms down to protect his torso.

Ranma shouted, and thrust both fists out like ballistae bolts.

Takamura received the blow like load bearing brick wall received a wrecking ball. His head jerked slightly as his consciousness snapped away from the haze and into reality. His body was sharply angled and falling fast. His legs moved to catch him, but they started late and didn’t get there in time. He twisted, and landed shoulder first with a thud.

The crowd’s chatter rose in volume. Usagi heard an excited man speaking to his wife, “Honey, did you see that? When’s the last time that the Master took a tumble?” The plain, short-haired woman shook her head and answered him at a much lower volume.

Old Takamura squirmed in pain and grimaced. Ranma stepped closer to his fallen opponent and sniffed. “You sure you can afford to fight distracted?”

Takamura slowly sat up, winced, and rubbed his chest with one hand. “Apparently not.” His self-massage slowed to a stop. Takamura looked up at Ranma, seriously. “It's Ranma, isn't it? Who trained you?”

Ranma scratched the bridge of his nose. “What makes you think I'm the older sibling?”

Takamura humphed. “Common sense. You've got two years on her at least. Please answer the question.”

Ranma raised his eyebrows. He turned to look at Usagi. She blinked back at him and he turned back. “I turned thirteen a few months ago. How young do you think she is exactly?”

The old man frowned. “Truly?” Ranma nodded and the old man's jaw firmed. “Who trained you, Ranma? What is your master's name?”

The two stared at one another for a long moment. Ranma looked away and sighed. “You don't know him, old man. And if you know what's good for you, you'll keep it that way.”

Usagi winced. She knew that wasn’t a threat, but she also really doubted anyone else in the restaurant would understand that. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Ranma,” she mumbled.

Old Takamura carefully climbed to his feet and gracefully settled into his stance, with his legs placed as if in mid stride and his torso facing Ranma at an angle. His arms extended before him with exposed palms. “If you insist on being so stubborn, I'll have to seek my answers at the end of your fists, young man.”

Ranma smiled and slipped his remaining shoe off. “Good luck with that.” His toes gripped the polished wooden floor as he bent his knees low, gathering force to feed his rush. Takamura waited patiently.

Ranma shoved off the ground like a sprinter. He charged towards Takamura, shoulder first.

Where Ranma’s rush was done in two stages, gather and burst, Takamura’s was singular. Without giving any other indication, he ignited and burst forward like a rocket.

Takamura’s stiff fist smashed into Ranma’s unprotected chin. Wild eyed, Ranma sluggishly stumbled, his heavy footsteps barely maintaining his balance. His arms moved to cover his torso, but were much too slow. A knife hand slammed into his exposed shoulder blade and the heavy palm strike that followed crashed past the boy’s limp guard and into his chest.

Ranma’s feet sought purchase against the floor, and miraculously managed to stabilize him enough for him to whip his fist out in a desperate backhand. Old Takamura easily ducked under it and struck with his index, middle and thumb fingers extended. His wrinkled fingers clamped down onto Ranma’s exposed armpit like a three-pronged steel vice grip.

Ranma’s eyes widened and his jaw snapped shut with a loud clack. His nostrils expanded and he took a sharp noisy breath. His arm trembled and slowly rose about a foot before it fell limp and a tortured groan slipped out from between his clenched teeth.

Usagi bit her lip to keep from calling to him. She couldn’t help, so the least she could do was to avoid being a distraction.

Ranma glared at the old Master furiously, and Takamura shook his head. “The pain should be crippling, but only as long as you fight against it. Fall, and you will emerge without injury.” Ranma ignored him. The boy breathed in sharply through his nose and struggled again to lift his arm. Takamura frowned and tightened his grip.

Ranma's head jerked up. “Ugh!” He grunted.

“You have lost. Accept it and conserve energy for the next round,” Takamura advised. “Struggling here will only prolong your suffering! You will fall!”

Ranma's eyes flashed open. He pulled his lips back, exposing his teeth for a savage smile. “You act like… the struggle isn't worth it.” His right leg snapped out and cracked into Takamura's knee. The old man's jaw twitched. Ranma snarled and kicked the man again, with similar results. And again, and again, and again.

Finally, Takamura's knee buckled slightly on impact. He grimaced, and with Ranma still on one foot, he pulled strongly and forced the boy off his feet. Ranma's off-hand chopped down on the old man's elbow and dislodged the hold. Freed, but still off balance, he flowed into a handless cartwheel.

Takamura stepped forward before the boy was halfway through. Ranma twisted and brought his leg down, slapping the old man across the face. Takamura powered through it with a pained grunt. His hands reached past Ranma's attempts at defense, and struck strongly.

Ranma landed on his back, hard. He stayed there, grimacing for a moment and flipped back on his feet. “Not bad,” he admitted with a nod. “I don’t think I could have gotten out of that without losing a knockdown.”

Usagi slumped down in her seat and sighed. He was okay. She didn’t know what they would do if he got seriously hurt. It wasn’t like they could go to a hospital or anything… Usagi shook her head and picked up her sandwich. At this point, the only thing she could do was trust in Ranma.

“You certainly made me pay for it.” Takamura rubbed his jaw and winced. “I may have underestimated you, Ranma.”

Ranma snorted. “If you had, you'd be flat on your ass right now, bleeding from every orifice.”

Master Takamura frowned. “That wasn't an idle threat. You've seen that happen before, haven't you?”

Ranma smiled wryly. “I could give you a demonstration?”

Takamura smiled back and settled into his stance.

Ranma chuckled and shook his head. “You're alright Master Takamura. Almost makes me feel sorry for what I'm about to do to ya.”

“Don't hold back on my account. By all means,” Takamura motioned for his opponent to go ahead.

Ranma's lips tilted up as he began to pull at the ties holding his shirt closed. “You know. You admit that you took me lightly, but then you still invite me to go on the attack. Don’t you think you might be making the same mistake?”

Takamura shook his head. “I said I underestimated you. You turned out to be stronger than I expected you to be. My expectations were in error, not my actions.”

Ranma thought that over and nodded. “Alright, I can believe that. Skill wise, where would you rate yourself as compared to me?” Ranma asked, as he slipped his shirt off, leaving him in a tight white tank top.

Takamura smiled. “Isn't that what this contest is all about? We won't know the answer until we establish a winner.”

Ranma grinned. “Good answer!” He twisted his shirt into a tight cord of cloth and flicked his wrist.

The old man jumped back with a muffled curse and wide eyes, barely avoiding the cord whipping through the air. The sound was just barely tolerable. Most of the patrons flinched and moved to cover their ears. Usagi took another bite of her sandwich. He’d practiced that technique for a few days now, so she was pretty inured to the sound.

Takamura stared at Ranma in complete shock. “You- Where did you learn ‘Iron heart, Iron man?’” He demanded.

Ranma caught the end of his cloth cord in his right hand and tightened it for another go. “Master Shan Shen,” he answered.

Takamura narrowed his eyes. “Master Shan Shen is dead.”

Ranma nodded. “I know. Almost two years now.”

Usagi slowly stopped chewing as she realized what had happened. Old Takamura didn’t say a word. He watched his young opponent without a trace of good humour.

Usagi stared at the sandwich she held in her hands and felt sick. She choked down the mouthful she’d bitten off and coughed quietly as it tumbled, bricklike, down her oesophagus. She gently placed the sandwich down onto its plate and pushed it away. As the other restaurant patrons murmured to one another in this impromptu break, Usagi clasped her hands together in her lap and waited for the cue to leave.

Finally, Takamura hummed from deep within his throat. “What is man without possessions?” He asked.

“Savage,” Ranma recited. “An Iron Man weaves steel cloth.” Ranma smiled slightly. “He was a good man. Kind of like you. I'm glad I got to know him a bit.”

“Shan Shen was a dear friend, you know,” Takamura revealed. “I'd known him for over thirty years.”

Ranma bowed his head slightly. “My condolences. I'm sure you must miss him.”

“He was always so excited to teach,” he reminisced. “I think he must have told me about every student he ever had.” Ranma met Takamura's eyes evenly. Takamura extended his fingers to their fullest reach and allowed them to relax. “I last saw him two weeks before his corpse was found. Why wouldn't he have mentioned you?”

Ranma said nothing. Takamura narrowed his eyes. “Nothing to say?”

The boy lips thinned. “Alright. I’ll admit it. My Master killed Master Shen.”

The crowd gasped. Usagi closed her eyes as Ranma continued. “He tracked him down, challenged him before his wife and children and struck him down in the forest behind his home.”

Takamura grimaced as the crowd shifted uneasily. “You call that a challenge? His eldest spoke of threats and little more.”

Ranma nodded. “Yeah, Master Shen didn’t really have the option to refuse. Still, he accepted, if only so he could choose his battleground. He led us through the woods for about an hour and fought to the full extent of his ability. He died bravely, on his feet.” Ranma shook his head slightly. “That’s really amazing, you know?”

Takamura started, shocked. “You were there? You watched?”

Ranma bowed his head. “I did.”

Takamura closed his eyes. “What were his last words?” Ranma stayed quiet for a long moment and Takamura clenched his fists. “Will you deny me even that?”

“You’ll only be disappointed,” Ranma admitted.

“Then disappoint me, child!” Takamura shouted.

The silence that followed was oppressive. Ranma’s sigh was perfectly audible from the entire restaurant.

“A righteous man slays Leviathan or he is born again with a fresh face. Child, always remember that the evil you face is supplemented by the hatred in your own heart. Love and be loved, if you wish to stand against evil. Those were his last words.”

Takamura stared at Ranma quietly, then closed his eyes. The silence of the restaurant amplified his stillness, lending a trembling anticipation to the moment. Finally, the old man tilted his head towards the ceiling and released a heavy breath. “Where is he?” He asked.

Ranma’s fists clenched over his shirt-cord. “I won’t tell you.”

The old master's face firmed. His eyes opened a crack. “Oh?”

Ranma turned up his nose. “You aren’t strong enough!” A deft twist of his hands sent the cord whipping close to the floor. The stiffened fabric nipped at the old man’s ankles as he slid back. “Give up on your revenge, Keitaro Takamura!” Ranma shouted. “It leads you to your death!”

Takamura ducked and weaved around the whirling cord, his feet sliding on the floor like it coated with oil one moment, the next gripping down and generating traction like tank threads. His eyes opened wide with fervour. “You would have me ignore my friend's murderer?” The old man bellowed. “What sort of man do you take me for?”

“A man with precious things to lose!” Ranma yelled. He whirled the cord over his head like a helicopter propeller, gathering momentum. “This fancy restaurant, these fancy students! Who will take care of them when you're dead?”

“What of my responsibilities to my dear friend?” Takamura argued, his arms ready to defend from any angle. “His daughter in tears, pleading for bloody satisfaction!”

Ranma brought his arm down and whipped the cord down at its greatest range. Takamura slipped away as the bundled shirt smashed through the wooden floor with a great smash. “And who will avenge you when you fall? Huh? Who will be the next to die?”

Takamura pushed ahead and struck with sharp hand thrusts. “Do you really think so little of me? A battle is never decided until it is fought!”

“And you know nothing about the man you seek!” Ranma roared. He spun away, the cord, now as stiff and rigid as a staff, whirling around his waist preventing pursuit. “In all the time I've known him, I've never seen him bleed.” The boy took the staff-cord and thrust it like a spear.

Takamura snarled as the boy's staff smashed into his shoulder. His knees bent, and he began to slide around the room. “What would you have me do then? I must find him!”

“Your friend died well! Take that thought to heart and be content!” Ranma said. The old man zipped forward and swiped underneath Ranma's defenses. The boy back flipped out of reach and swung his staff through air, but the old man slipped back with ease.

Ranma landed softly and pointed his black staff at his opponent. “Remember who you are. You're a passive, precision fighter, and your target has no weak points. Even Master Shan Shen's iron fists couldn't pierce that monster's skin. Your art, Master Takamura, doesn't have what it takes to face him evenly. If I thought you had a chance I wouldn’t stop you, but I won’t witness another slaughter.”

Takamura just stared him down silently and Ranma lowered his shirt-staff. He sighed. “This is pointless. You’re not even listening.”

The old master huffed and crossed his arms. “Of course not. If I cannot even believe in my own strength, what can I believe in?”

Ranma raised his head. “Believe in me.” He waved his staff and it dissolved back into a wrinkled shirt. He put it back on one arm at a time and carefully retied the shirt's links. “But you can't. Cause no matter how much you try not to, at the end of the day, I'm still a kid. Even if you respect the danger I represent, you'll never trust my judgement over yours, and by the time you realize that I’m right and you’re throwing your life away, you’ll already be dead.”

Ranma smoothed down his clothes. “I don’t want that. Luckily for me, you don’t know where he is, and you won’t find him either; not without my help.” He cracked his neck. “The door’s right behind you. Think you can hold me here?”

Takamura narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely.”

“There isn't so much as a shred of doubt in your mind, is there?” Ranma smiled. He walked the few steps that separated them. “Still think you aren’t taking me lightly?”

Takamura fell into a hard stance and Ranma tilted his head. “What happened to your form, old man? You're like a cow entering labor. Relax, or this'll be over before you even realize how wrong you are.”

Takamura huffed. “Careful, boy. Build yourself up too high and you may not survive the fall.”

Ranma smiled. “Don't worry about me. I've travelled the world and discovered much about myself. Care to guess my greatest strength?”

“Aren't you about to show me?” Takamura retorted.

Ranma shook his head sadly. “You've become such a poor sport,” Ranma complained.

Takamura sneered. “Enough stalling, child! Make your move or lead me to your master.”

Ranma sniffed in disdain. “For your information, my greatest strength is that I'm a quick learner.” He lowered his haunches and brought his arms up. “Think of this. We've been fighting for about five minutes. Do you think that I’m the same fighter I was when I walked through that door?”

“…I’m sure there’s a measure of difference,” the old man agreed. “But if you think that five minutes of experience will change the outcome of this fight, you’re quite mistake—”

Ranma’s lip tilted up. Takumura choked on the end of his sentence and his fist shot out on reflex. It scraped past his target’s forehead and caught mostly air.

The boy stopped with his face inches away from the old man’s chest. “You sure about that?” Ranma asked. He tilted his head up, and the top of his head brushed against the old man’s chin. “Maybe you want to think about it for a minute?” His soft chuckle gently ruffled the old man’s button down shirt.

Takamura tried to pull back and the back of his calf hit Ranma’s. They deadlocked. He met Ranma’s eyes. “Footwork’s pretty good too, you know,” the kid taunted. Takamura growled and tried to shove his fists down Ranma’s throat.

Ranma shifted his torso to minimize his profile, swept his arms precisely and parried every punch sent his way. Takamura frowned, tucked his arms in and shoved his shoulder forwards, trying to use his weight advantage to clear some space.

Ranma crossed his arms and caught the charge between both wrists. It stopped cold. “Strength’s okay. Could be better, but it’ll do in this case,” Ranma added. When Takamura started to lean back, Ranma turned his shoulders and waist into a right cross.

Takamura dodged most of it, but felt the last knuckle scrape against his cheek. Quickly, the old Master threw his strongest palm strike and pulled his trapped leg off the ground.

Ranma immediately twisted his torso and bent his waist. Takamura’s thrusting palm brushed past his shoulder as he stepped forwards, placing his right foot behind Takamura’s planted leg. He stood up straight, pulling his right foot sharply back and threw a weak left cross.

Takamura ate the punch on the chin as his stanchion leg wobbled. His right foot stomped on the ground, preserving his balance, but leaving him just as trapped as he’d been before. The old man grimaced and threw a quick left jab. Hidden at his side, the smallest fingers on his right hand curled, leaving three extended. His eyes lingered on the young man’s left shoulder blade even as his fist rocketed towards the boy’s face.

Hard fingers snapped shut around his wrist like a steel handcuff. He instinctively pulled back, but the grip was unrelenting. Ranma reached for Takamura’s left shoulder and the old man’s eyes widened even as he slapped the boy’s hand away with his longer reach. “Grappling?” He exclaimed.

Ranma smirked. “I’m more than just a striker!” He pulled his right foot back, established better footing and lunged for Takamura’s defenseless shoulder.

Takamura, with his left leg now freed, planted his right foot down and launched a vicious roundhouse.

Ranma smiled. “Heh.”

He slid back like an eel to avoid the strike, and burst forward like a tiger pouncing on an unwary antelope. The acceleration and deceleration were ludicrously sharp, like an eighteen wheeler going from zero to sixty miles in three seconds and stopping on a dime.

The speed of the strike wasn’t too much to deal with, but the acceleration was such that if you didn’t know it was coming, it would easily blindside you, turning even near misses into catastrophic blunders.

Five minutes. That was the lesson Ranma learned in that time span. The technique itself he’d picked up the second time he saw it in action.

Takamura was wide open, and completely at his mercy. Ranma brought his hands up and aimed for softer tissue. It wouldn’t do to leave the old man healthy enough to follow him, after all.

The old master took six hits to bring down. He crumpled and immediately struggled to stand. “Impossible…!” Takamura's sentence dissolved into wet coughs.

A chair clattered against the wooden floor amidst the silence of the restaurant. Master Kuwabara stood ramrod straight. “Unbelievable. I wasn’t sure at first but… that’s ‘Sliding Viper Bites the Breeze’. That brat stole your technique!”

Usagi stared at the Raging Bull, blinking repeatedly. “I kinda forgot he was here,” she mumbled.

Ranma turned to glare at the man. “Hey, I didn't steal it! I reinvented it through discerning observation. It’s not like I spied on him, you know. He showed it to me of his own free will.” He frowned thoughtfully. “It is nice to know the name though. I probably would have called it ‘Achilles’ Gamble’. My legs feel pretty shredded.”

“Y-you haven’t undergone the training—” Takamura coughed some more. The hostess and a couple waiters hurried to his side and helped the old master sit upright.

Ranma waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Power I’m not ready for is dangerous, I could destroy myself, yadda, yadda, yadda, shortcuts threaten me both physically and spiritually and I’m too young to know what’s good for me. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten this speech.” Ranma frowned in annoyance and shook his head. “Anyway, you’re on your ass for the second time, so that’s my win.” He turned back towards his booth. “Usagi!”

The blonde straightened. “Ah! Are we done?”

Ranma reached for his neck and began to uncoil his braid. “Yeah, we’re done. You ready to go?”

“Um!” The girl nodded and shuffled out of her seat. As she jogged towards her friend, the old master weakly raised a hand.

“Wait…” he said, hoarsely. “I understand. When you said you never heard of me—” He coughed harshly.

“Yeah,” Ranma admitted with a nod. “As it turns out, I’m a pretty good liar.” Usagi snorted lightly and Ranma turned to her, frowning. “Hey. Don’t laugh. You’re weirdly perceptive, so you don’t count.”

Master Kuwabara stepped back, stunned. “Wait. Y-you engineered all of this just to learn that technique?”

Ranma shrugged. “Something like that. You should let him teach your daughter, by the way. I think it’ll help them both. He’ll need something to keep him busy after this.”

He turned back to Usagi and she pouted at him with her arms crossed. “Don’t call me weird,” she complained. Ranma just grinned at her, placed his hand on her waist and gently guided her towards the door.

As they passed old Keitaro, Ranma stopped and bowed his head slightly. “Sorry about all this. Something came up recently and I just don’t have the weeks I’d need to massage your ego enough to get you to teach me. I don’t mind making a few enemies here if it’ll get me the power I need faster.”

Ichiro Kuwabara shook his head in disbelief. “What could you possibly need that much power for, boy? Look how strong you are already!”

Ranma laughed shortly and continued on. He let Usagi walk out the restaurant, and stopped at the edge of the door frame leading out.

“I’m pretty weak, actually. It’s about perspective. The masters in this and every other town are about as strong as they need to be for the pond they live in. There are exceptions, of course. Master Shan Shen was one. He was world class. There aren’t too many of those anymore. His pond was more like a sea.”

“And… what of you, Ranma?” Takamura asked.

Ranma chose his words carefully. “The pond I’m swimming in is about as big and as deep as the sea, but it’s more of a poisonous swamp than anything else. There’s only one other living thing in it, since it killed everything else.

“I want to put it out of its misery,” Ranma admitted. “The legendary Leviathan. The tallest mountain. The strongest man under heaven. But he’s not a man anymore. He’s just a monster.”

With that said he left to join Usagi. A cold breeze passed through the open door, carrying his final statement.

“A man-eating demon.”

The door caught the wind and slammed shut.

Ranma sighed and nodded to Usagi. “Come on, let’s get going.”

The blonde held herself, trying to ward off the cold breeze. She looked at him with concern. “Are you okay, Ranma?”

Ranma frowned and he stalked down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. His long queue rode the wind like a Chinese dragon.

“Akuma needs to die, Usagi. And I’m going to be the one to do it.”

She watched him go. She wanted to say something, but in the end she kept silent. He was right, after all.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

[hr]

There you go. Honestly, I've been working on this for so long that I can't even read it properly anymore. Honestly, I'll appreciate feedback of any kind.

 

[Dumbledork]

Wait, so Ranma's master is Akuma, from Street Fighter? Where's Genma? And what does Usagi (the one from Sailor Moon I presume) have to do with all of this?

It's really an interesting story, but I really want know more about the main character's backgrounds. As it is the story reminds me a lot of the old Hong Kong martial arts movies from the 70s.

THis story shows a lot of promise, but there's not enough information to give a thorough review on the plot.

 

[Fellow Sufferer]

A snap observation:

A young woman stood on her heels beside his table

feels awkward.

Well, that was as far as I went before the story sucked me in. Once Upon a Time in China / Ip Man flashbacks galore, and it's glorious.

It's likely that I will try and dissect it some more later, but for now I have just one thing to say (besides 'I like it very much!'):

Usagi seems a little superfluous. Perhaps her involvement will be explained and expanded on in later chapters, but she played no role here that couldn't have been played better by one of the martial artists present - viewpoint- and plot-wise, that is. Though, without her the whole affair would've been much less funny - perhaps even grim...

I need to think about it.

 

[Lord Raa]

I quite like this.

Not sure about the addition of Usagi, though.

The description of her makes it feel like it's a tired reference to Sailor Moon. That's not to say that there can't be other blonde girls called Usagi out there, but it does feel like it's a cheap addition.

 

[PCHeintz72]

Ok... I can say I know nothing of Akuma, or these other characters.

I'm somewhat with DumbleDork on this one.

The problem here is not the quality of writing... in fact I was quite entranced with it... very few if any complaints. my main one is the use of 'Kaitaro' for the old grandmaster. I had actually thought this was a Keitaro Urashima.

The problem is you have jumped to the story you want to tell, but left out the set up and provide the backdrop to get there. How did Ranma get separated from Genma, at least 2 years back, if the bit on the dead master is true. How did he meet Usagi, How does she know Akuma, why is she in agreement and seemingly somewhat guilty over it. How is this guy running around with out any other masters knowing of it.


and so on... we the readers are left with tons of questions...

 

[lokinishizaki]

I'll answer your questions after this.

[hr]

He was so quiet. It wasn’t like him.

Usagi sat equally quietly and sincerely regretted the choice of tree she’d picked to lean against. She wriggled around and only managed to accentuate the discomfort she felt. She winced, and decided to endure.

Ranma knelt in front of his huge pack with both hands buried in its depth, looking for a spare pair of shoes.

His expression was so empty. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Usagi asked.

He looked up briefly and turned his focus back to his backpack. “I’m fine. It’s just… bad memories.” His rummaging slowed to a stop. “It took us too long to get here.”

He pulled a hand out and massaged the bridge of his nose. The skin on his cheek was a bit darker than the skin on his hand, and she realized that he was starting to bruise. “We might have to skip the ferry and take the tunnel to Hokkaido, even if it’s riskier.”

She blinked in surprise. “We’re going already? Aren’t you tired?”

He chuckled mirthlessly and rolled his shoulder. “No time for that, Usagi. Opportunities like this one don’t come along too often. Don’t you remember what I had to do to get this one?”

Usagi looked away. “No, I remember… It’s just– What if you get hurt?” She knew he was tough, but he took a lot more hits than she’d expected him to. And now he wanted to track down and fight another Master?

Ranma shook his head vigorously. He quickly pulled out a new pair of shoes from his backpack and fastened the straps. “Don’t worry about me,” he said boisterously.

He pulled the pack onto his back, slipped his shoes on and stood up with such fluidity and energy that it forced a smile out of her. She never got tired of seeing those casual feats of strength.

She’d tried to lift that pack once. Only once.

He jogged right to her and knelt to her level. “This is all my fault, anyway. I got you involved. Even if it hurts, I gotta take responsibility for that. Don’t worry about me getting hurt. I’ve been doing this for years, Usagi. I can handle it. It’ll all be okay, alright?”

She had a ‘but!’ lying in wait, but that’s not what came out of her mouth. “Alright…”

He grinned. “Come on, let’s go.” He stood and held his hand down to help her up.

She stared past his hand into his blue, confident eyes. She reached up and grasped his hand.

Chapter 0.1 – All his fault​

The man looked like a Japanese Mike Tyson, only twice as ugly with thick, leathery skin and stiff, upright white hair. His eyes were inhuman, with sclera as black as night and irises like coagulated blood.

He’d never met the man before. The stranger also neglected to introduce himself.

Even so, Master Hibiki knew instantly that he was fighting for his life.

He ducked under a whirling roundhouse and backpedalled away from the following knife hand. In an instant, twenty-five feet separated him from his assailant. With space to breathe, he let out a deep breath and lowered his stance.

J-Tyson regarded the distance between them and huffed. He bent his knees like coiled springs.

Hibiki frowned. Was he really going to jump? How foolish. To make it so obvious at that distance? The man was asking for—

The stone beneath J-Tyson’s feet cracked under sudden pressure.

Hibiki flinched and threw himself aside. A fist whipped by him and the left-most knuckle caught his cheek and cut it open. His blood splashed out, but he didn’t feel the pain. His feet stabilized him. J-Tyson’s hand hung in the air a moment too long.

“Punish him,” his mind whispered. Hibiki immediately launched his foot at the man’s unprotected ribs. By chance, his eyes met the burning embers in J-Tyson’s eye sockets.

His leg seized mid-kick. His instincts screamed for escape and he leaned back.

J-Tyson mercilessly advanced, his weathered black gi fluttering under g-force of his incredible push. His balance was off so he fell into a backroll and hopped away, feeling the wind parting around him, and the edge of his opponent’s strikes. His shirt and skin tore from the bite of that man’s blows, his wounds bleeding in rivulets.

Escape! He needed to escape! He dipped into the early stages of hyperventilation when a harsh sigh cut through the clearing and the white haired man paused in his rush. Hibiki scrambled back, his eyes pinned on his foe.

“Lame!” A young voice lamented. “You had him!”

Hibiki skidded to a stop thirty feet away from his attacker. J-Tyson slowed to a stop and glared at a young boy sitting on a boulder just far enough away to be called a spectator rather than an actual participant. “Quiet. You’re distracting him,” the man said, with a deep gravelly voice that suited him perfectly.

The boy snorted. He was a martial artist, judging by his off-white gi and compact musculature, though his white belt labelled him a beginner. His black hair was fashioned into a long queue, and his blue eyes crinkled in amusement. He looked like a child on the cusp of adolescence sitting in the stands of a wrestling competition, having paid the full price of admission.

“I’m not a distraction. Have a look in a mirror sometime. You’ll see what his problem is,” the boy quipped. “Besides, why should you be the one that has all the fun? I get bored too, you know.”

J-Tyson growled. “Don’t interfere,” the man said, and turned back to face his target.

The kid glared at his back. “Oi, are you listening to me? What did I just say?”

Hibiki had to assume that the boy would come to the conclusion that the man was in fact not listening. His steady advance said in so many words that the conversation was over and done with. Hibiki took a deep breath and tightened his stance.

“Fine! You want to see a distraction? I’ll show you a distraction you crusty old bastard!”

Hibiki tensed and focused on his footwork. If the boy tripped him up, he’d be dead in—

J-Tyson pushed off and fell upon him like a boulder in an avalanche. Hibiki quickly sidestepped, only to jerk to a stop mid-motion. Thick hands gripped his shirt collar. Hibiki immediately moved to break J-Tyson’s grip.

That man’s powerful hands quickly forced that attempt to abort as they pulled him down. His rising knee kindly met him halfway. The force of the impact lifted him off the ground and compressed his chest forcefully, forcing air to leave his lungs, blood to leave his heart, and sense to leave his head.

His assailant pounded him with three more disorienting knee strikes before mercifully flinging him away. He hit the ground like a sack of rice.

The sky was breathtaking. Today, not a single cloud dared to mar its wide blue expanse. How cold, that the Heavens above would not even bother to weep for his plight. If only he could get lost.

His perfect view of the endless sky was cut off by that child’s frowning face. “Hey, mister? That was pathetic. You’re way too slow. You can’t disengage. Determine the angle of attack, mitigate and counter. Going after his hands was just stupid. You’re fighting scared.”

Told off by a child. He could go no lower. He wheezed, “Offering advice against your Master, kid?”

The boy glared at him. “Shut up. If you killed him, it would save me a lot of trouble. I won’t bother to ask, I already know you can’t. Look out.”

Hibiki blinked, and quickly rolled out of the way. J-Tyson slammed into the ground like a bombshell. An explosion of dust and dirt obscured his position on the battlefield.

Hibiki scurried out of the dust cloud and turned to stare at the point of impact. His heart throbbed.

“My name is Ranma Saotome. What’s yours?”

His head snapped to the side, where the boy loomed over him, standing straight and unruffled. Hibiki blinked. This boy moved like a shadow. The boy’s master moved like an ogre. It didn’t make sense. And that white belt… What kind of system did their school use?

The boy, Ranma, tilted his head. “Well? Your name?”

“Juushiro Hibiki,” he groaned out automatically.

Ranma bowed politely. “Nice to meet you, Mister Hibiki.” The boy’s eyes flickered towards the dust cloud. “You’re going to want to dodge this one.” A soft lilac light emerged from the thick dust, like catching a glimpse of a volcano core through smothering clouds of ash.

A pair of small hands settled on his chest with an impossibly strong grip.

A meteor of churning lilac burst out of the cloud, dispersing it like an explosion. It cut through the air like a cannonball and slammed into a stone cliff with ten times the force. Debris flew off into the air as stone chunks rained down, many of them hefty enough to shake the earth beneath his feet.

The killer’s dark eyes burned even as white smoke emanated from his outstretched hands.

Ranma patted him on the shoulder. “You can dodge faster, can’t you? If I do that again, he really will try to kill me.”

Hibiki slowly nodded his head. He understood clearly. The boy wouldn’t be helping next time. If his own legs didn’t get him out of the way in time, he would die. Hibiki had no illusions as to what would happen to him if he allowed an attack like that to hit him. So he climbed to his feet and settled into a stance he didn’t favor, one that favored mobility. His vaunted toughness wouldn’t help him here.

“Looks awkward,” the boy critiqued. It certainly felt awkward. “You’re one of those power types, right?”

J-Tyson scoffed at Ranma. The boy crossed him arms. “You’re not on the scale, Akuma. You’re more of an Oni than a strongman.”

Hibiki nodded towards J-Tyson. “Is that his name? What does this Akuma want from me?”

Ranma stared at his associate. “The same thing he wants from everyone. He’s an adrenaline junkie who’s run out of thrills. He’s lived too long and gotten too strong.” For such a harsh critique, the boy delivered it so flatly. It creeped him out.

“What if I don’t want to fight?” Hibiki asked.

Akuma shifted his weight. Hibiki’s entire body tensed and his eyes snapped towards the man.

Akuma hadn’t moved more than an inch, hadn’t opened his mouth, but it almost felt as though he had screamed into his ear from a foot away. It felt as though he were the shogun’s decapitator, looming with a freshly forged sword sliding out of its scabbard. Hibiki clenched his moist fists.

“He’s very convincing,” Ranma said, smiling sadly.

The killer took a step forward, and he, his intended victim, could not help but take a step back. Bile bubbled up his throat. “So, that’s it? Is this what my life is worth? A cheap thrill and nothing more?”

“Pretty much,” Ranma answered. The boy tilted his head. “To be honest, fighting him just plays into his hands. You could always just lie down and accept your fate.”

Hibiki glared at the boy, offended at the mere suggestion. “Of course. And I’m supposed to believe that—”

Stones trembled noisily. Boulders cracked outright.

Ranma pivoted to face his master. Hibiki’s voice dried out like a dammed river.

Akuma’s black gi billowed ominously as his pores exuded vermillion miasma. A furious snarl twisted every inch of his face, until it looked more like a Shikami mask than an actual man. Surrounded by a red corona, Akuma stood on the earth as an angry god. He had lowered the boundaries of his spirit and opened himself up to corruption. Only his will was as denser than lead, so it was the world that suffered corruption.

Juushiro Hibiki fell to his knees. The child at his side brought his hands behind his back and squeezed them into tight fists.

Hibiki was a master martial artist. He was 38 years of age. He had a wife and a son that he rarely saw, simply because none of them could regularly find their way home.

He had lived the life of a nomad. He would die on the whim of a monster. This, he realised at that moment.

His killer eyed them both for a long moment, and relaxed. He flexed his shoulders, furious but unconcerned. “You’ve grown insolent, boy. Hold your tongue.”

Ranma swallowed a lump, but spoke freely. “Why should I? I’m having fun here. It’s fun to talk to a real person, even if you do end up killing him.”

“This is not a debate, child!” Akuma shouted. His crimson aura erupted into a bonfire and expelled a strong outward force. Wind picked up fiercely. Ranma covered his eyes to protect them from the dust. Hibiki didn’t bother. He stared at the raging demon Akuma had revealed himself to be and blinked repeatedly as his eyes teared up.

The boy clenched his jaw but continued unabated. “And I don’t care! Master Shan Shen said that ‘Man cannot survive on a diet of hatred’ and he wasn’t wrong! I want you dead, but I wanted it more last summer!”

The crimson shine surrounding Akuma abated to a mere glow, and the wind slowed his gi’s frantic flutter mellowed into a languid billow.

Ranma unclenched his fists and glared at his master. “You keep me with you all the time, but you have got the personality of a brick, so I might as well be all by myself! I don’t have any friends or pets or anything. You made sure of that. Even if I manage to kill you, what am I going to do after you’re dead? What’s the point?”

“Do you not hate me?” Akuma asked. The question seemed rhetorical. Ranma bared his teeth like a mad dog. Hibiki was suddenly struck by the resemblance between the two, though the master and the student looked nothing alike.

“Of course I hate you. That’s why I want you to suffer,” Ranma said, his eyes as cold as river stones. “Why should I give you exactly what you want? Huh? Wouldn’t it piss you off more if I just died right here? Ten years wasted? Your most promising chance ruined?”

Akuma’s only reaction was to cross his arms, but Ranma’s eyes did not waver. “I know you Akuma, so I know I don’t have to kill you to hurt you. You don’t know how to pace yourself, so you’re running out of challenges. The last five masters you’ve murdered never even made you sweat.” Akuma frowned at the memory.

Ranma lowered his head. “Sometimes…” Ranma’s white gi began to waft and billow. “Sometimes I think about running away, just so I can find your targets and kill them all myself.”

Shadows covered the boy’s eyes, and Juushiro couldn’t tell if it was the boy’s fringe blocking the sun, or something more.

Akuma sighed, a long drawn out sound that sounded more like a bear’s than a man. “I understand,” the killer claimed. Ranma straightened slightly, his eyes narrowed under furrowed brows. Akuma uncrossed his arms. “Tomorrow, we go to Tokyo. There, you will make a friend.”

Every single crease in Ranma’s expression smoothed over and his mouth gaped open. “Eh? Really? A-are you serious?” he asked excitedly.

Akuma said nothing. Seeing this, Ranma grinned widely and shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, as if he were on the verge of bolting straight for Tokyo. “Well, what are we waiting for? We can go today!”

Akuma did nothing. Moments passed quietly. A gentle breeze passed through Hibiki’s hair, soothing him as he watched the smile fall off of Ranma’s face. He smiled grimly and stared into the beautiful sky.

And he felt nothing. Everything was numb.

The muffled thump of a soft impact came from his forefront, followed by the sound of a young man clearing his throat. He ignored the boy, and simply continued staring at the sunny blue skies.

“For a second, I wanted to tell you to hurry up and die. And I started to hate myself.”

Something inside of him stirred. Hibiki looked down and met Ranma’s blue eyes.

The boy continued. “I need to go to Tokyo. I want to get there as soon as possible. I want to go on ahead and leave you both behind, but that wouldn’t be fair.”

“You speak to me of fairness?” Hibiki scoffed.

Ranma nodded. “We aren’t gods, Juushiro Hibiki. We aren’t just. Real justice is beyond any of us. We just aren’t strong enough. But we can be fair. That is what I strive to be.”

The boy grabbed Juushiro’s hand and cradled it between his own. “You are my brother, Juushiro Hibiki. We’re outdated, you and I. The art of hand to hand combat is dying. We are warriors in a world that no longer needs us to fight. We’ve lived our lives on self-made battlefields, and today, a blood-soaked field of battle has found you.

“Rely on your strength, Hibiki. You cannot run. I’ve seen you fight. You lack the speed and the guile to shake loose a tail, especially one as persistent as Akuma. Two paths remain open to you now. Fight and win, fight and die.”

Hibiki laughed humorlessly. “You consider death a path?”

Ranma smiled. “Yes. Death can be a choice. It is the greatest, most meaningful choice of all. The last choice. I won’t fight today. My part in this is to witness these final moments. Yours or Akuma’s.”

The taste in Hibiki’s mouth turned bitter. This speech sounded practiced. Not well, but… “And how many have you witnessed?” Hibiki asked.

The boy’s soft features shifted into a grimace. “Almost as far back as I can remember, I’ve watched men die. Most die on their knees, on their backs, on their stomachs. Most die cursing everything under the heavens. A few die on their feet. One died looking satisfied.” Ranma’s eyes unfocused for a moment.

He sighed. “Still, if I can say one thing, it’s that I’ve seen too many ugly deaths.”

Hibiki grimaced.

“I don’t want to die like that. You shouldn’t either. Master Hibiki, the truth is that you’re going to die. I’d like to believe otherwise but I just know better. The rest is up to you. It’s the only choice you’ve got left. The only question you haven’t answered. How will you die, Juushiro Hibiki?”

Hibiki stared at Ranma. “You’re a creepy kid, you know that?”

Ranma jerked back, stunned. “Eh? Really?”

Hibiki snorted and climbed to his feet. “When you go find that friend of yours, make sure you don’t speak to them like that. They’ll just run the other way.”

The young man stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Hibiki smiled softly, and felt better about the young man. Ranma Saotome was creepy and dangerous, true, but he wasn’t a bad kid.

Not yet at least.

“I have a son about your age. His name is Ryoga. My wife will be fine without me, but my son… I worry. He gets depressed easily,” Hibiki understated.

Ranma broke out of his thoughts, thinking. “Ryoga Hibiki? Sure. I can’t promise you I’ll ever seek him out, but I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

Hibiki laughed. The members of the Hibiki family were always lost, but they always ended up at their destination, even when walking blind. “Don’t worry about seeking him out. I’m sure you’ll run into one another eventually. You’re more advanced than he is, but he’s not too shabby himself. You’ll be great friends, I’m sure of it.”

The mood was different now, he mused as he pulled his shirt off. It was odd. Nothing about his situation had changed. He was still a dead man walking. Akuma would kill him before the sun passed over the horizon, of that he had no doubt.

But it wasn’t about him anymore. Never was, really.

The members of the Hibiki family were always lost, but they always ended up at their destination, even when walking blind. Ranma was wrong. Akuma didn’t find him, Juushiro realized. He found Akuma. Or rather, he found Ranma.

Ranma sat quietly with his legs crossed and his head cradled in his right hand, intently watching.

That kid was remarkable, a genuine prodigy, the future of martial arts, Juushiro realized. Nothing else could thrive like that under a monster’s upbringing. A man like Akuma could not be allowed to poison this child. Hibiki knew that he couldn’t have been the first to realize this.

Many died wretchedly. A few stood tall, and shone brightly in Ranma’s mind. Juushiro smirked. He’d make sure to shine brightest.

The monster stood twenty feet away, his arms crossed imperiously as he waited for Hibiki to man up and face his fate.

Hibiki grinned. He’d never fancied himself much of an actor…

But any respectable father knew how to play hero for kids.

[hr]

Usagi loved her father, but he complained too much.

His frequent admonishments shared a certain quality between them. They were all very easy to ignore. Whether he chided her about her lax studious habits, her eating habits or the perpetual mess that was her bedroom, all she needed to do was nod, look properly contrite and that would be the end of it for the foreseeable future.

She wasn’t really blowing him off. She gave token effort for a while and she really did feel bad, but old habits died hard.

She didn’t bother to do that when he needled her about her lack of athletic ability. Every time, she rolled her eyes and told him it didn’t matter as long as she watched her weight. And if he insisted, she asked if he thought she’d gained some weight. After he was done stumbling over his compliments and reassurances, he dropped the subject without fail.

“Okay…” Usagi said, wheezing. Beads of sweat dripped slowly down her forehead. The weight of her exhaustion bent her in half, and she hung onto her knees to avoid complete collapse. Her legs trembled under the additional strain but held, if only barely.

“Maybe—” She gasped for breath. “Maybe Dad was right.” Also, maybe she shouldn’t have tried to sprint through the two kilometers that separated her school from the Game Center.

But she couldn’t stop now! Even if her legs wanted to fall off! Even though her lungs burned like an oven roast and her heart felt like an engine running on nitro! Usagi glared resolutely at the three blocks that kept her from her destination. She had to hurry! If she didn’t get to the Game Center soon she wouldn’t be able to play the new edition of Maximum Overdrive Supreme Fighter IV! She wiped her forehead off and steadied her heaving chest. Her legs felt like lead and her backpack seemed more like a ball and chain than ever before. Still, regardless of the obstacles before her, regardless of how her body betrayed her, she would not fail!

Usagi pictured the starting line at a hundred meter race and fell into an aggressive crouch. “Bang,” she whispered, and lunged.

Her legs exploded with force. Her black, worn loafers attempted to grip against the concrete sidewalk and failed nigh instantly. Halfway to the ground, she loosed a scream. The sound cut off quickly, with a quiet thump.

Her previous aches and pains were joined by a bundle of scrapes and abrasions. Unfortunately for her, her blue knee-length skirt ended immediately above her knees, leaving her soft skin completely unprotected. Her elbows, chin and palms felt raw and stung painfully.

Tears quickly welled in her soft blue eyes. She sniffed and sobbed softly. Just as she prepared to cry in earnest, her quiet misery was interrupted by loud, braying laughter.

Blinking, she looked up. A cute boy stood on the other side of the road, bending over as his chest heaved with laughter. His long black hair was fashioned into a long braid. He wore a black traditional Chinese outfit, a changshan. The long-sleeved, high collared, silk shirt had an elaborate golden dragon embroidered into the fabric and the trousers were loose and unrestrictive. Black slippers with white soles completed the outfit.

Usagi blinked again. He looked like he’d jumped right out of a page of her favorite manga. In fact, his outfit almost looked like a replica of evil Master Jing Wu’s in Volume Three.

“A costume,” she mumbled. “Is that a wig, then? But Master Wu is bald…” The boy's boisterous laughter wound down into hearty, breathless chuckles and she stiffened, remembering just what he’d found so funny.

Her jaw tightened. Her blood boiled and her tears evaporated.

Usagi scrambled to her feet. The streets weren’t clear, so she waited until a gray station wagon passed and rushed to the other side of the street. The owner of a red convertible abused his horn as he screeched to a halt. The boy wiped his eyes with his silk sleeve, completely oblivious to her approach.

For a moment, she imagined actually taking advantage of his carelessness instead of screaming at him. She could just walk right up to him and slap that cruel smirk right off of his stupid face. Yeah. And he’d fall over and then he’d be the one on the ground, crying and hurt. And— Usagi realized that her hand loomed, poised to strike. She froze.

What was she doing? She wasn’t the kind of girl that hurt others, physically or emotionally, no matter what. When she thought about it, what did this boy even do to deserve…

Cool blue eyes stared at her through a rugged fringe. The boy’s head tilted to an insolent degree. “Well? Aren’t you going to hit me?” The angle of his grin was like a spark, and she was dried grass, she was gasoline, she was TNT! Her hand was ready. All she had to do was swing.

The boy tilted his head to expose his cheek, daring her to take that chance.

She took it. Her hand bit through the air like a wrecking ball. Her arm completed its motion successfully. She held the pose.

“What the hell was that?”

Usagi opened her eyes and saw the boy looking stunned. She realized that she’d never felt the sharp retort of his cheek on her hand. “You dodged!” She accused him.

The boy frowned. “I didn’t have to. You closed your eyes and missed.”

Usagi felt her face burn as the boy looked at her incredulously. Somehow, his disbelief felt a thousand times as humiliating as his laughter. She looked down and prepared to endure his volley of insults.

“No. That won’t do at all. Try again,” the boy said.

Usagi looked up at the boy, feeling very much confused. “What?”

He placed both hands on his hips. “Hit me. That last attack was so terrible I’m ashamed to have been its target, so try again, and keep your eyes open this time.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” The flames of her anger had been completely extinguished by the shame he’d provoked. If he had laughed she might have tackled him to the ground and scratched him for all she was worth, but right now all she wanted was to go back home and to wallow in misery.

The boy frowned. “Why not? You just tried to slap me. You’re no pacifist.” He sounded disappointed.

Usagi flushed again and couldn’t meet the boy’s eyes, unable to dispute his claims.

He continued, “I mean, I was going to dodge before, but I won’t this time. And I won’t hit you back, I promise.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to hit you.”

“You just tried to do it!” he pointed out. “What, do you only try to hit people when you think they can’t see you coming? I could close my eyes or find a blindfold.”

She felt like running home and hiding in her parent’s closet for a while. “Y-you just… You pushed me into it! I was angry, alright?”

The boy leaned against the concrete wall and crossed his arms. “You know, for such a pudgy girl, you’re way too complicated. At this rate, you’ll become an old maid.”

Her jaw tightened so quickly that her teeth clacked. “I don’t want to hear that from you,” she hissed through her teeth. “Girls don’t like otaku.”

The boy’s eyebrows twisted down and he straightened from his slight slouch. He stared at her quietly.

Usagi felt the urge to back away. Was he trying to intimidate her? She clenched her fists and fought to keep meeting his eyes. She wasn’t going to let this jerk get away with bullying—

“Are you calling me an asshole?” he asked. She stared at him for a moment, confused. Seeing her reaction, he continued, “No? Are you saying I’m ugly or what? You can’t use obscure insults and expect me to get properly angry at it.” His frown cleared. “Or are you calling me an idiot because I don’t understand your slang?”

Usagi slowly shook her head. “No, that wasn’t really an insult.”

The boy scratched the back of his neck. “Sure sounded like one. Why’d you call me that, anyway?”

She pointed at him weakly. “Your costume…”

He looked down at his clothes, then back at her. “…What costume?”

Usagi stared at him. He seemed genuinely confused. “Do you dress like that all the time?”

“Yeah…” The boy pulled at his silk collar, seeming uncomfortable. “These are my favorite clothes. Master Chan’s wife makes me a set every year. What’s wrong with them?”

Usagi shook her head vigorously. “Ah! Nothing! It’s just… You look like you came straight from Hong Kong to challenge Japanese values through ritualistic combat.”

He blinked. “What?”

“It’s the plot of ‘The Art of Fighting III’,” she added.

He looked at her strangely. “Are you okay?”

Usagi knew that he hadn’t asked the question seriously, but she didn’t let that stop her. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion, her flesh was bruised and her delicate skin was torn raw. She thought about going to the arcade, about the excitement of a new game. She thought of wielding her joystick like a knife, dismantling all challengers and reveling in victory.

Nothing. There was no enthusiasm left in her. She sighed. “Not really.” She hesitantly touched one of the scrapes on her right palm and winced. “I think I’m going to go home.”

The boy looked strangely disappointed. “Oh. Well, you mind answering a question before you go?”

“Hmm…” she hummed noncommittally.

“What does otaku mean, anyway?”

[hr]

Usagi craned her neck up as the boy walked on the two inch rod at the top of an eight foot tall chain-link fence as though it were a four foot sidewalk. “Wow! So you’re really a martial artist?”

The boy nodded vigorously. “Yep! I’ve been training so long that I don’t actually remember when I started.” He stopped on a dime and whirled to face her. He leaned forwards, a small frown on his face. “I can’t believe you thought I was just playacting.”

She stared at his feet. There was no wobble, no hesitation whatsoever. “How are you doing that?” she mumbled. It was amazing. That last move should have ended with him making face-first contact with the sidewalk.

“What?” The boy looked down at his feet. “This is nothing. Anyone can do this with a bit of practice.”

“Not like that,” she argued. “You’re not even paying attention!”

He blinked. “Well, no, of course not. You don’t pay attention when you walk either.”

“That’s different!”

He crossed his arms. “How?”

Usagi stumbled over her words. She felt that he was wrong, but she really didn’t know how to explain it. Was he even wrong? After all, he was still just walking.

The glass door to a convenience store opened, and a balding man with thick glasses leaned out. “Hey kid!” the man yelled. “Get down from there! What are you, crazy?”

The boy tilted his head and stared at the man, and didn’t make a move to come down. The store owner continued to yell, gesticulating wildly. It was attracting attention from the few pedestrians.

Usagi bit her lip. “Maybe you should come down. You might get in trouble.”

The boy blinked at her and shook his head. “Man, city-folk sure are uptight,” he complained, a moue of dissatisfaction settling on his face. He shrugged it off and gracefully leapt from his perch.

An easy front-flip later and he stood before her, looking her right in the eyes. “Hey, what’s your name, anyway?”

She blinked, and suddenly remembered her manners. “Oh! I’m Usagi Tsukino! Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she presented herself. She bowed politely, her arms at her side.

The boy grinned. “Heh! So polite all of a sudden.” He brought his hands before his chest, clenched his right hand into a fist and wrapped his left around it. He matched her bow. “Ranma Saotome, at your service.”

 

[lokinishizaki]

They walked into what could only barely be called a restaurant. Usagi hesitated at the door.

To call it small was too charitable, as it only had a couple of two-seaters and a single four-seater to its name. It was clean enough, but the decor could best be described as functional. The entire place was nearly empty, even though it was already dinnertime. The only customer was an older schoolgirl immersed in a textbook and puffing on a cigarette, the cold remains of a half-eaten yakisoba dish pushed to the edge of her table.

Ranma was already at the counter. She hurried to catch up to him and stopped mid-way. The old man at the counter had a faded tattoo running up his neck and onto his jawline. She swallowed and marched the rest of the way to Ranma’s side.

He turned to her. “So yeah, what’d you want Usagi?”

She shot a look at the old man. He ignored her, in favor of entering the order in the register. She licked her lips. “Um… Ranma, are you sure we should be here?”

He blinked. “Eh? Yeah. This old guy makes these killer pork buns. How many you want?”

Usagi grabbed at the edge of her skirt and shook her head. “No thank you. I’m fine.”

The boy mulled that over, crossing his arms. “Well, I did order a dozen. I guess I could share if you get hungry…”

“That will be forty-eight hundred yen,” the old man interrupted.

She felt anxious, jittery, as she stood squarely in the kind of place her parents had always taught her to avoid. She looked around the restaurant and saw that the girl was still busy working on her homework and that no one else had entered in the minute since she’d walked in.

She turned back. Ranma reached into his sleeve and pulled out a wad of bills larger than her fist. She gasped. He picked out a single ten thousand yen bill and handed it to the old man. “Here you go.”

The man took the money and quickly handed the boy his change. Ranma took the five one thousand yen bills and dropped the two one hundred yen coins in a tip jar.

“W-why do you have so much money?” she asked him, incredulously.

He blinked. “What? I don’t have a bank account, so I carry all my savings with me.” That being said, he put the wad of bills back into his sleeve. The wad made no indent on his clothes.

With that visual magnet gone, she was free to look up. “Aren’t you worried? What if you get robbed?”

He smirked. “Then they better bring tribute.”

[hr]

Ranma reached into the plain cardboard box and picked out his ninth pork bun. “You sure you don’t want any?” he asked for the third time.

The dish looked amazing. They left the restaurant fifteen minutes ago and the bun was still steaming. And the smell was divine! In any other circumstance she would have already eaten four.

“I’m not hungry,” she revealed.

He stared at her. The scrutiny made her uncomfortable and she looked away. “What?”

She heard him close the cardboard box. “Alright… Well, you mind telling me what had you so spooked back there?”

She flinched. “Oh… you noticed?”

Ranma scoffed. “You weren’t exactly subtle, Usagi. Of course I noticed.” She lowered her head and bit her lip. She really hoped the old man didn’t get offended. “So, you gonna tell me or what?” Ranma asked.

She swallowed a lump. “…I think that old man was Yakuza.”

A moment passed. She looked up to see Ranma staring at her again. She stared back for a second before she realized that he was waiting for more. “…You don’t think that’s scary?”

He raised his eyebrows. When she didn’t say anything, he realized that she was serious and chuckled. “You’re so silly. That old man’s harmless.”

She blinked. She knew he was from out of town and that he was strong, but surely he realized how dangerous gangsters could be for normal folk. Unless…

She stepped away from him and stopped walking. He quickly noticed. “What is it? Don’t tell me that you’re upset just because I called you silly.”

She looked him square in the eye. “Ranma, are you a member of the Yakuza?”

He jerked back, stunned. “What? No! What made you think that?”

“Then why don’t you think the old man was dangerous?” she questioned.

“Because he isn’t,” he said with a shrug. She sighed and he crossed his arms. “Seriously, you need to get your eyes checked. The girl was much more dangerous.”

That derailed her train of thought. She watched him closely but he seemed completely serious. “Who?” she asked weakly.

“The only other person in the restaurant? She was probably his niece or something,” Ranma explained.

“And?” she urged him. “Why is she more dangerous?”

He scratched the back of his ear. “She’s Yakuza. Active, too. That old man’s retired and full of regret. Like I said, he’s harmless.”

She shook her head disbelievingly. “H-how can you tell?”

“As soon as he saw the cash I had on me, he warned her not to do anything,” Ranma revealed.

“Seriously?” she exclaimed. “When did he—”

He waved her off. “You weren’t exactly paying attention. And he was actually subtle, so I’m not surprised that you missed it. Anyway, her makeup covers up a few scars. She got cut up, probably with a balisong or a switchblade—”

“It was a straight razor, actually,” a young lady interjected from behind her. Usagi froze. She didn’t recognize the voice, but connecting the dots was something she’d been good at as a toddler.

Without missing a beat, Ranma glared over her head and insisted, “Let me finish!” Then, he turned his focus back on her. “And most importantly, she’s been following us since we left the restaurant,” he finished lamely. He sighed and hung his head. “You see what you did? You ruined the moment.”

His nonchalance jumpstarted her into working order. She rushed to take cover behind his back, and peeked over his shoulder at the yakuza schoolgirl.

She was a pretty in a rugged sort of way, with messy chin length black hair, soft features and a small nose. Her body type was almost ideal for ballet or gymnastics, except that her hips were too wide and she was a bit too top heavy.

The girl’s full lips glistened with tastefully applied lip gloss as she sucked on an unlit cigarette. “I’m real sorry about that.”

Ranma snorted. “Yeah. It’s all over your face.”

Usagi didn’t recognize the girl’s sailor uniform, but it unmistakably high class; the kind of uniform issued by exclusive private schools. She couldn’t imagine why a girl like that would choose to become a gangster of all things. And try as she might, she couldn’t see any evidence of any scars.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was following us earlier!” she hissed into his ear.

Ranma crossed his arms and looked up at the young woman. “Why? She can follow us if she wants to. Doesn’t bother me any.”

Usagi pinched him.

The girl grinned. “Are you trying to be brave for your little girlfriend, kid? That’s cute. You’re cute.”

Ranma huffed. “Not really. I am trying to impress her though, and it would be a lot easier if you stopped wasting my time.”

"Well, you seem like a smart kid. If you just give me what I want, I’ll be out of your way in just a second," the girl offered.

“Yeah. I don’t think so,” Ranma immediately responded. “When I said that you should stop wasting my time, I meant that you should bring out your crew already. I’d like to finish beating them before my food gets cold.”

The girl’s smile dimmed. “You know, arrogance is a really unattractive trait. You should adjust your attitude before it gets you in trouble.”

“Ranma… are you sure this is a good idea?” Usagi whispered in his ear.

He waved her off. “Thanks for the advice. Here’s my advice for you: Call for backup. You’ve got two guys around the corner behind you and two more in the alley waiting to jump us. You’ll regret it if you think four punks will be enough to handle me.”

“You think a bit of martial arts will help you here? This isn’t a dojo, kid,” the yakuza warned.

Ranma shook his head. “Enough talk. You want something I’ve got, and I’m not going to let it go without a fight. So either force my hand or go away.”

The girl gnawed on her cigarette for a moment. She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a pink cellphone and a pink disposable lighter of a darker shade. She pressed a button on her phone and put it back in her purse.

Hurried footsteps resounded. Usagi flinched. Four men appeared and within seconds, they were surrounded.

The gangster girl spun the lighter’s flint wheel to ignition and sunk the end of her cigarette into the open flame. A boy in a black hoodie slung an aluminum bat over his shoulder. “Fumiko, are you serious? Four of us for a couple of brats?” he complained.

“He’s right, you know,” Ranma agreed. “These losers against me? Maybe I should tie my hand behind my back?”

The young men stiffened and glared at Ranma. The hoodlum with the baseball bat stepped towards them aggressively. Usagi squealed and drew herself closer to Ranma.

“You idiot,” Fumiko muttered.

The boy jerked to a stop. He turned to look at her, but not before removing every single trace of animosity from his entire body. Fumiko didn’t look at him. She still faced Ranma, and gently puffed on her cigarette. The boy hung his head, and took a step back.

She puffed out a cloud of smoke. “I called for you four because I wanted to handle this without a fight. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

The boy bowed. “I’m sorry.”

Ranma raised an eyebrow. “That’s a tight leash you got there. I’m kinda impressed.”

“Will you reconsider then?” she asked.

Ranma laughed. “Not at all! This just makes it more interesting.”

Fumiko shook her cigarette, scattering ashes in the wind. “What about you, girl? Are you really willing to risk your well-being for the sake of this boy’s pride?”

Usagi looked down. “Um…” Her hands squeezed Ranma’s shoulders reflexively. She wanted to go home. “Ranma?” she asked fearfully.

He looked over his shoulder. “Usagi. I’ll promise you, right here, right now, that none of them will lay even a finger on you,” he said, comfortingly. “But if you don’t want this to happen, I don’t mind giving them what they want.”

She looked up, shocked. “You… you’d do that?”

He straightened and grinned. “Yeah, it’s no problem. There’s nothing stopping me from tracking them down and taking it back after I bring you home, after all.” He nodded resolutely.

That pulled a few giggles out of her. For a moment, she wondered how she could have ever been concerned with this boy at her side. “Okay… I’ll put my trust in you, Ranma.”

He smiled. “Great! Now stand back and enjoy the show.” He handed her the box of pork buns and stepped forward casually. Halfway to his opponents, he stopped and bowed shallowly.

Ranma stood casually and smiled cheerfully. He waved his hands in invitation. “Well, come on. You heard the lady.”

The men looked towards Fumiko. The gangster girl slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke and closed her eyes. Her features tightened, and she nodded. “Rough them up a bit,” she ordered.

Ranma rubbed his hands in anticipation.

Her henchmen looked to one another until a plain boy with a silver earring strutted out of their loose perimeter. “Let me take care of this,” he said.

“You’re serious?” Ranma asked. He groaned. “You morons are coming at me one by one?”

“Stop talking like I need help to teach a brat like you a lesson!” the man answered. “What? You think you’re the only one with training?” He lowered into a stance, with his knees bent and his legs spread out. His left hand extended out at shoulder level and his right hovered horizontally around his ear. “Come on; show me what you’ve got kid.”

“This is so lame.” Ranma sighed. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” Shaking his head, he walked towards his opponent.

The goon sneered. “It’s too late for regret—ugh!” His head swiveled to the side and he fell back, losing his balance completely. He hit the ground hard and only barely managed to stop the back of his head from hitting the ground. The other three tensed like startled deer. Fumiko’s cigarette hung loosely from her gaping lips. The injured goon slowly dragged himself onto his side, groaning.

“W-what happened?” Usagi asked, her eyes fixed on the fallen thug.

Ranma turned back to her, blinking. “What do you mean? I punched him.”

“Wha-” Usagi looked between the goon and Ranma. “…really?”

“What? You didn’t see it?” Ranma asked, surprised. Usagi shook her head. He tilted his head. “Huh. Guess I’ll have to dial it back a bit—”

Usagi caught a glimpse of a punk ready to swing his aluminum bat behind Ranma. Her eyes shot wide open. “Ran—”

The punk made contact as she formed the first syllable, but wound up hitting Ranma’s back with his wrists instead of the bat. The punk winced on impact. By the time Usagi realized that the young martial artist had hopped back into the swing, he was a blur, spinning around the older boy until he faced his back. His left knee eased between the punk’s legs and with a deft twist and a concurrent shove, the punk fell to the ground.

“ma…” Usagi’s shout petered out, and she winced. With his hands clutched around his baseball bat the punk couldn’t brace himself. He landed face first and splattered the concrete with red flecks.

The third punk was huge. His white tank top displayed a bulky neck, shoulder muscles, arms and pectorals. He looked like he could wrestle a bear, but in his advance, he brought his shoulders in, tucked his head and brought both forearms in front of his chest with his fists at nose level.

The huge thug’s left hand shot out, cutting through the air like a snake and caught Ranma right in the face. Usagi bit her lip as the man jabbed again and again, each time seeming to strike Ranma full on. Was he in trouble? Why wasn’t he reacting? “Doesn’t that hurt?” she mumbled. That huge guy was hitting him full on, but every time he pulled back Ranma’s face was left completely unaffected. No bruising, no reddening… not even wincing. Her eyes chanced upon his waist and saw subtle movement. He was leaning back in time with every punch, avoiding contact by slivers of inches!

Usagi gasped. “Wow!”

Finally, the huge thug leaned into a punch and immediately found Ranma’s foot buried in his stomach. “Ugh!” His red, sweaty face writhed with pain.

Ranma calmly brought his leg down to the ground and brushed his queue aside. His opponent fell to a knee, clutching his stomach. Ranma huffed. “Quit your ‘bellyaching’. You overextended.” He grinned. “Heh. Get it? ‘Cause I kicked you in the—” A click caught his attention.

The last punk, a jacketed youth with dyed blond hair and facial piercings, held out a thin double-edged knife in front of him. Ranma’s smile slipped off of his face.

Usagi took several steps away from the thug. She’d never seen a real knife before, and even knowing that it wasn’t aimed at her did nothing to settle her beating heart.

Ranma turned to face the armed man and crossed his arms. “A switchblade? You sure you want to play around with that?”

Usagi looked towards Fumiko, but the yakuza girl didn’t seem to object. She just stared at Ranma with intense, single-minded focus and Usagi knew that she had no interest in stopping this robbery from escalating into attempted murder.

The thug snarled, and rushed towards Ranma. Usagi gripped the box of meat buns and squeezed tightly.

Ranma settled on his back foot and raised his arms unevenly. When the thug tried to thrust his knife into Ranma’s chest, the boy grabbed his arm over the wrist and elbow, and twisted. The punk let out a shrill scream as his arm bent uncomfortably. Ranma pulled down to his knees and forced the cold blade against the punk’s skin. His scream cut off abruptly.

Ranma stared at his captive in the eyes. “If you’re not careful, you might just hurt yourself.”

The punk’s arm trembled in Ranma’s grip. “W-why can’t I?”

The young martial artist smirked. “What? Did you think you were stronger just because you’re bigger? Imagine that.”

Fumiko approached him as one would approach a tiger in the wild. “Incredible. You’re incredible.”

Ranma didn’t even look at her. “Thank you, but you weren’t the one I was trying to impress. Speaking of which,” he said as he surveyed the field. “Is that it? Really? You guys aren’t even going to bother getting back up?”

“Would it even matter if they did?” Fumiko asked.

Ranma looked at her, confused. “Of course it matters. I barely even showed any of my moves. How am I supposed to show off properly if the opposition can’t even make me sweat?”

“You looked pretty impressive to me,” the yakuza admitted. Fumiko smiled suggestively and leaned forward. “Say, Ranma right? How would you like to work for me?”

Usagi flushed with embarrassment at the thinly veiled proposition.

Ranma didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Fumiko raised an eyebrow. “So quickly? You haven’t even heard my sales pitch.”

Usagi bit her lip. Her mother had warned her about women like this! “Don’t listen to her Ranma!”

The witch shot her an annoyed look, but kept her lips sealed. The boy rolled his eyes and released his captive’s elbow. With his freed hand, he pried the punk’s clenched fingers loose easily, as if he were peeling a banana and grabbed the knife. “You aren’t the first to ask. I’m not interested in selling my skills to the Yakuza.” A shove sent the punk rolling away past Fumiko, losing momentum until he stopped and clutched his arm. Ranma straightened, pulled the blade into the handle and immersed the switchblade into his sleeve.

“So, if you don’t have any more fodder to throw at me, I think we’ll go,” Ranma nodded in his friend’s direction. “Coming Usagi?”

Usagi straightened, an exhilarated grin on her face. “Oh, right!” He won! He really won! She rushed to him, but Fumiko wasn’t finished.

“30000 yen a day.” Usagi tripped and stopped. She stared at the yakuza girl in shock. That amount couldn’t be right. The gangster girl smiled. “And that’s just for starters.”

Ranma raised an eyebrow. “You sure you can afford that?”

“You’re worth the investment.”

Usagi swallowed. “Ranma, you’re not thinking of…”

He looked at her and snorted. “Of course not. Don’t think so little of me. I’m priceless!”

Usagi sighed in relief and smiled at him. “I’m glad.” He motioned her closer and she went to him, passing past three groaning, incapacitated henchmen.

He pulled the box of meat buns out of her hands and pulled one out. He bit into it and nodded. “Still warm,” he commented. “Give your uncle my compliments, girl. He does good work.” With those parting words, Ranma led them down the road.

Fumiko ran in front of him, blocking his advance. “Are you sure I can’t convince you?”

Ranma spun the cardboard box on his index finger. “Certain. I don’t want money,” he revealed.

“What do you want, then?”

“Something you can’t give me.”

“You can’t know that,” Fumiko rebuffed, shaking her head. Usagi felt Ranma tense. “Why don’t you give me a chance? A trial period—”

Fumiko stopped short the second she caught sight of Ranma’s face. Usagi blinked and turned to look at her newest friend, but only caught him closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and released it. Then, he quietly threatened the older girl, “Don’t presume to know what I know and don’t know, yakuza. Get out of our way, or I’ll make those scars of yours look like laugh lines.”

Usagi drew away from Ranma, just a bit. Fumiko bit her bottom lip and shivered. “You’ve got sharp eyes, Ranma,” she said quietly. “That only makes me want you more.”

“My fists are sharper. Trust me on that one.”

Fumiko nodded. “I can’t stop you from leaving,” she admitted. “But I want you to know that I’m not giving up. I’ll make you mine. That’s a promise.”

Usagi felt a block of ice settle in the pit of her stomach, but at her side, Ranma just shook his head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. It’s a bad habit.” Usagi felt Ranma’s hand take hold of hers and lead her past Fumiko. She followed, but couldn’t take her eyes off of the older girl.

Fumiko stared at their joined hands and snarled. Usagi felt the urge to shy away, but Ranma’s grip wouldn’t allow her to slip her hand out.

As they got further away, Fumiko gathered herself. “Before you leave, could you tell me your name?”

Ranma looked back and yelled back without hesitation. “Saotome!”

Fumiko bowed in thanks. They left her there, surrounded by the shattered remains of her henchmen. They turned the corner, and found themselves alone.

Ranma let go of her hand and scratched his neck. “Okay, so that was creepy right? I mean, you got that feeling too?”

Usagi shuddered and nodded. “Yeah… That girl gave me the creeps. I hope I never meet her again.”

Ranma grinned. “Good!”

Usagi frowned. “How is that good?”

Ranma blinked and smiled sheepishly. “Well, someone told me I was creepy a while ago, and I started wondering if I had a skewed outlook or something.”

Usagi followed him quietly. She hadn’t known Ranma for very long, but already she knew that he would brush off her concerns. She wanted to tell him that he did have a skewed outlook, but she felt like saying anything would only result in wounding his ego, so she didn’t say anything at all.

He looked back, took one look at her face and stopped walking. “Are you okay?”

Usagi’s lips thinned into a line as she restrained herself. She hoped he would just drop it.

Ranma looked her up and down. “You’re still scared,” he realized. “You want me to go back?”

Her eyes widened. “No!” she blurted out.

He jerked back at her outburst. “Why not? If you’re that scared of ‘em then I obviously didn’t beat them hard enough. Seriously, I could give them a beating so bad that they’ll give up on a life of crime and become salarymen.”

Usagi shook her head wildly. “No! Don’t fight them anymore, Ranma! Aren’t you scared?”

Ranma blinked. “I— what? No. Scared of what, exactly?”

He sounded offended, but Usagi couldn’t believe she had to explain this to him. “She said she was going to hunt you down, Ranma! What if she gets help? What if they come after you with a hundred guys and overwhelm you? This is serious! Why aren’t you worried about this?”

The boy looked shell-shocked. “Wait… You’re scared for me?”

She nodded. Was she getting through? “Maybe… maybe we should go to the police,” she suggested.

“No.” He shook his head immediately. Her heart plummeted. “No, you don’t need to be afraid for me, Usagi. Numbers don’t matter. And if they ever came at me with something I can’t handle then the police won’t be any help.”

She shook her head. “B-but—!”

He put his index finger on her lips and looked her in the eye. “I want to show you something,” he said, and walked off.

Usagi blinked and quickly followed. “What is it?”

Ranma cracked his neck. “I don’t want you to be scared for me. Those chumps weren’t enough to even get me warmed up. Come on, I’ll show you what I can really do.”

[hr]

“Hm…” Ranma tapped his chin thoughtfully as he paced on the sparse, sandy grass between the swings and the weathered park benches. “This is harder than I thought.”

Usagi sat on an otherwise empty bench, with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hand. “Can’t you just show me a kata or something?” she asked.

Ranma grimaced and lowered his head. “I don’t know any. My training is mostly informal. I could show you my exercises, but no amount of pushups will showcase my art, no matter how fancy I make them.” The boy blinked and looked up. “But that’s a good idea!”

“What is?” she asked.

He grinned. “Shadowboxing!” He closed his eyes and the smile fell off his face, his features hardening in concentration. He took a full breath and released it.

She straightened, her hands falling into her lap. “Ranma? What are you doing?”

He took another full breath before answering, “Visualizing my opponent.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, Ranma grimaced and shook his head vigorously. Usagi blinked. “Is something wrong?”

The young martial artist didn’t open his eyes. “Not really. I’m just… having a hard time visualizing a different opponent.”

“Okay,” Usagi muttered confusedly.

His features did not relax. A strong breeze blew by, dragging his queue along for a sinuous dance. It died down in seconds and his hair settled back down. Without that small movement, he seemed statue-like, devoid of even the smallest twitch.

She shifted. His ears twitched.

He sighed, and the tension left him. “I guess it can’t be helped,” he whispered. Without fanfare, he bent low and jumped, soaring into the air as though he’d bounced off of a trampoline.

She gaped, and craned her neck to follow his trajectory.

He crested over twenty feet in the air and bent into a forward roll, drawing his legs up to his torso. He rolled repeatedly, each rotation increasing in speed. Halfway to the ground, on the fifth revolution, he stretched to his full height with his right leg held up in a vertical split.

Ranma released a war cry, and bought his leg down like a whip. It generated enough wind to blow away the sand scattered on the ground and turned the area into a miniature sand storm.

Usagi closed her eyes and squealed, bringing her arms up to protect them. Her hair fluttered violently as the gale passed her and settled quickly as the pressure equalized. She blinked repeatedly to dislodge the particles stuck in her eyes and stared past her tears. A black blur flitted about, jumping around her field of view like a five foot rabbit.

Usagi wiped her tears on her blouse’s sleeve and looked up just in time to see him hop up and punch an imaginary man’s head off. He twisted at the waist and spun into the strike’s momentum. “Kya!” he shouted, and unleashed a roundhouse back kick that felt more like a dragon’s tail wag. Wind buffeted her face, forcing her to narrow her eyes.

He landed flat-footed and immediately flowed into a forward somersault, followed by another that he interrupted halfway by pushing off the ground to launch himself into the air. He hit the ground on the balls of his feet and quickly spun to the side, weaving his torso up and down even as his feet kept him moving. He cartwheeled to the side and rolled backwards immediately afterwards. As soon as his feet hit the ground again, his strong legs launched him off the ground and into a backflip kick.

“So fast,” she murmured.

He landed into a crouch and launched himself forwards, knee first. His landing flowed into a sliding kick that propelled him four feet, after which he split his legs horizontally and quickly dragged to a stop. Then, he gathered torque, pulled his pelvis up until his entire weight rested on his head and swung his legs like a propeller.

“Wow,” she whispered.

His rotations slowed to a stop, as though he’d closed the ignition. As soon as he came to a full stop, he collapsed onto his back and groaned.

Usagi eyed him curiously, and decided to approach him. “What happened?” she asked him. “…Did you get dizzy?” She knelt next to him. He stared at the clouds with a blank look on his face. She was actually starting to get worried. “Ranma?”

His eyes met hers for a second. He closed them with a sigh. “I died.”

“Wha?” She felt like grabbing his shoulders and shaking him until he started making sense. No part of what she had seen led to defeat, let alone death. ”How?”

That strange blank look came back on his face. “Not enough power. I tried to counter after he dodged my slide, but that sweep wasn’t strong enough to knock him off balance. I can’t dodge from that position, or at least not enough for it to matter. He gets a free shot at me, and I won’t get back up from that.”

She couldn’t imagine who he’d been fighting, and while she wanted to ask, he seemed so bummed about it that she decided to drop it. “Sorry.”

He sighed again, and pulled himself up until he sat on the ground. He picked at his hair, pulling blades of grass out individually. “No, I’m sorry. That was pretty lame.”

“What? No!” She could barely even believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. “That was amazing! I’ve never seen anyone move like that!”

“Really?” He looked at her curiously. She nodded twice. “Wow. You need to get out more,” he advised.

She glared at him and poked him in the arm. “Hey, stop acting like that wasn’t anything special. Seriously, that’s not cool at all.”

Ranma looked at her for a long moment.

“What? What’d I say?” she asked, blinking.

He chuckled without any real humor. “Maybe it really is me,” he muttered, and jumped to his feet. He brushed his clothes off and cracked his neck. He looked down at her and smirked. “So! You still scared for me?”

Usagi blinked. She shook her head.

He nodded, shoulders squared and arms folded, the very picture of satisfaction. “That’s right! No man in this world can stand against me! I’ll beat anyone, so don’t worry!”

Usagi tried to hold it in, but her laughter escaped one giggle at a time until the dam burst and she laughed in his face. “Hehe… so I just have to worry if you go up against imaginary men?”

Ranma deflated. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” He looked to the horizon with a kind smile. “It’s getting late.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Usagi surged to her feet. “Eh? Already?”

“There’s only about half an hour of daylight left,” Ranma pointed out. “It’s this way, right?” He asked as he walked off in her house’s general direction.

“Yeah… But what about…?” Usagi trailed off. It was only now that the ride was about to end that she realized that she didn’t really know all that much about this boy. The person was so interesting that she hadn’t bothered to learn anything about his circumstances.

“Usagi, you coming?” he yelled out from the sidewalk forty feet away.

“Ah, yes!” She jogged towards him. He set off as soon as she reached him, setting a sedate pace. “Um… so, Ranma,” she hesitated. Her hands began fiddling with her skirt. Why was this so hard? “You don’t live in Tokyo, right? Are you moving here?”

Ranma snorted. “I doubt that.” He looked at her and saw the confusion on her face. “I don’t really live anywhere,” he elaborated. “I just follow Akuma around as he seeks out his next challenge. I suppose you’d call us vagrants. It’s pretty annoying. We don’t have passports, so we have to sneak out of the country whenever he wants to fight someone in China or India or America or wherever the hell he feels like going. And I always have a hard time convincing foreign masters to train me…” He trailed off as he noticed the growing look of incomprehension on her face. He shrugged. “Mostly, I spend a lot of time in the wilderness.”

“Wow, really?” She asked. He nodded. She didn’t know what else to say. That way of life was so completely alien to anything she had ever experienced that she had no frame of reference to help guide her reaction. She was a city girl through and through. She’d never even gone camping. “So… is that why you’re in town? Is your master challenging someone who lives here?”

Ranma frowned. “He’s not really my master, and no, not this time. I’m looking for something.”

Usagi knew he was being intentionally vague, but she didn’t care about specifics right now. “Is it hard to find?” she asked.

“Harder than I thought, actually. I’ve been here a week already, I’ve visited at least a dozen dojos and I still haven’t found anyone. It’s pretty frustrating,” he admitted. “I was actually on my way to this Tendo Soun’s dojo before we met. Guess that’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

Usagi’s face flushed. “Oh. So you’ll be here for the next few days? In that case…”

Ranma blinked. “What is it? You look a little…”

“I’m fine!” she squeaked. “It’s just… are you doing anything tomorrow?” Her face flushed further.

Ranma frowned at her. “You’re acting real shifty, Usagi.” She flinched. He shook his head. “If you’ve got something to say, just come out and say it.”

She lowered her head. “But it’s embarrassing…”

Ranma grinned. “That’s fine. You’re delicate, so I promise I won’t mock you too bad. Just say what you mean.”

“I don’t know how!” She wanted to ask if he wanted to meet up tomorrow after school, but that just sounded like she was asking him out on a date. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea!

Ranma cradled his jaw as he mulled her predicament over. “Alright! Think about what you really want then,” he suggested. “You must want something, right?”

She blinked. Yeah.

She wanted to learn about his travels. She wanted to watch him showcase his Art again. She wanted— “I want to get to know you better,” she told him.

If he left and she never saw him again, it felt like she would regret it forever. Ranma Saotome was unique. He was the main character of an action flick come to life.

“I want us to be friends,” she added. But more than that…

Right now, Ranma Saotome was an open door. She didn’t know where that door led exactly and she didn’t have any assurances that she would make it to the end unscathed, but she did know one thing. When she saw that door begin to close, she’d felt more anxious than ever. She’d always dreaded saying goodbye.

Usagi looked at him shyly. “I don’t want you to leave.”

So even if she wasn’t ready or willing to leap in head first, the least she could do was place her leg in the way and hold it open while she came to a decision.

“You want to be friends?” He asked softly.

He looked stunned. Like a landlord after an earthquake destroyed his building. Like a husband learning that he’s going to become a father.

Her throat dried. She swallowed nervously, and nodded.

His eyes lit up, and suddenly he was deep in her personal space with both hands on her shoulders. “Really? Are you serious?”

“Y-yes?” she asked.

He grinned widely and shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” She was so confused. What did he mean? “You don’t want to be friends?” she ventured softly.

He jolted and stared at her, wide eyed. “No! I mean yes! Yes, I want to be friends! It’s just…” He struggled over his words. She gave him time, immeasurably relieved that he hadn’t rejected her offer. “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve talked to over the week? They were all jerks! All they ever wanted to do was fight! And after I beat them, they never want to be friends. I tried to be nice, but then they just insult me until I lose my patience. I don’t know what I was doing wrong!” His shoulders dropped. “Maybe it’s because they were all boys? Do you think that had anything to do with it?”

She blinked. “Wait… you came to Tokyo to find a friend?”

He paused. “Is that weird?”

Usagi thought about everything she knew about Ranma Saotome. She giggled. “For you? Not really.”

[hr]

The cotton ball swiped across her knee’s torn skin, applying antiseptic to the scrape. The sharp sting that followed took her by surprise, like always, and forced a flinch out of her. She hissed in pain and clamped down on the edge of their kitchen table.

Her mother looked up to her and frowned. “Stay still, Usagi.”

Usagi pouted, but her mother didn’t even see it. The older woman focused entirely on her daughter’s wounds, and mercilessly tended to her daughter. She soaked the cotton in more antiseptic and passed it over her wound with more force than was strictly needed.

Usagi winced. “Mom! Not so hard!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” her mother gave her a feigned apology. “It’s just that I need to hurry. These scrapes have been sitting for so long…”

Usagi closed her eyes and groaned. “How many times do I have to tell you,” she asked, frustrated. “I’m not getting bullied!”

Her mother’s lips thinned. “I’d have an easier time believing you if you would just tell me what happened,” she asked, looking up expectantly. Her daughter looked away and clammed up immediately. Ikuko Tsukino sighed and continued to treat Usagi’s various abrasions.

Usagi’s shoulders slumped. She didn’t like that she hurt her mother by keeping things from her, but what was she supposed to say?

“Sorry I’m so late! I met this martial arts vagrant on the way to the arcade and we got to know each other! He’s very cute, and he’s strong enough to take down four yakuza enforcers without breaking a sweat! Oh wait, I didn’t mention the Yakuza?”

If she mentioned that she’d met a new boy, then her mother would want to know everything about him, and Ranma Saotome was a subject that she wisely decided to keep from her parents, lest they decide that he was too dangerous for her to frequent. She could just imagine the look on her father’s face if he ever learned that she’d been in the presence of actual gangsters!

“What the heck happened to you?” Her little brother asked as he passed her on his way to the fridge.

Usagi frowned at him. Shingo was such a pain. “None of your business.”

Shingo rolled his eyes and opened the door to the refrigerator. “Mom, what’s up with Usagi?”

Her mother huffed. “Apparently, it’s none of my business either.”

Usagi winced, both because of her mother’s hurt feelings and her less than tender ministrations. Shingo kicked the door to the fridge closed and pulled the tab to his soft drink. “Huh. She won’t tell you?” He took a long sip of his beverage. She stared at him in warning. He smirked. “Are you going to ground her?”

Usagi’s eyes widened. “Shingo! Shut up!”

Ikuko sat back, clearly considering the idea. “You know, I probably should.”

“Mom!”

Shingo shuffled off towards his room, chortling obnoxiously. She glared at his back with everything she had. Did he really think he was going to get away? She jumped to her feet, aching to get her revenge.

“Young woman, where do you think you’re going?” Her mother’s cool voice was like a steel bar in a bicycle wheel. She could try to advance without dealing with it, but in all probability she’d end up falling flat on her face.

Usagi faced Ikuko’s stern countenance with a smile. “Bed!” she lied. “I have school tomorrow, you know.” Her token explanation fell between them like a decoy, and she took the opportunity to try and make her escape. She made it to the entryway unopposed. A feeling of triumph surged and she started thinking about the punishments she would visit on her brother.

“Usagi,” her mother’s voice called her back softly.

The girl stopped three steps out of the kitchen. Her mother’s tone brought her pause. She turned back until she stood on the outside looking in. Her mother squeezed a roll of bandages next to the burn cream then reached for the bag of cotton balls. Usagi knew better than to wait until she was finished. “Yes, mom?”

Ikuko brushed her hair back and met her daughter’s eyes. “If you need to talk, I’m always ready to listen.”

Usagi softened. “I know, mom.”

Her mother nodded. “Good.” With the conversation over, she went back to repacking their first aid kit.

Usagi smiled softly and left the room. Seconds later, as she reached the stairs’ halfway point, her mother leaned into the hallway. “Make sure to leave your brother alone and go to bed, Usagi. I’m sure you need rest after such a mysterious day.”

She flinched. She stood on the staircase, staring at the carpeted steps leading to the upper floor, and contemplated flouting her mother’s instructions, infiltrating Shingo’s room and wrestling him into submission. She frowned. Only she needed to do it quietly, because if she got grounded then she wouldn’t be able to meet Ranma tomorrow. She spent less than a second thinking about the chances of that sequence of events happening successfully.

Usagi pouted, and went to her room.

[hr]

She woke up at 01:15 AM, slightly disoriented. Her heart was beating like a drum. Her room was filled with moonlight.

Her mother, brother and half the neighborhood woke up at 01:16 AM.

By the time the police arrived on scene, she was long gone. Her window lay in shards all over the floor. The window’s frame had cracked and broken into splinters both large and small. Her pink bed sheet was torn nearly in half.

No body was found at the scene. Nor was there any sign that she had suffered an injury.

The APB went out at 02:17 AM.

 

[lokinishizaki]

I perfectly understand what you guys are saying. I actually wrote all the scenes in sequence, but when I read them it just felt weak. In the proper order, it lacked impact. Ranma's separation from Genma is a crucial scene, but if I present it first like in the original, I feel like the reader doesn't have the time to develop a proper appreciation for the characters. They just can't care enough. I understand that this is fanfiction and everyone comes in with preconceived notions and baggage, so they'll care because of that, but that's not enough for me.

In chronological order, this chapter one is actually the original chapter three. I really felt like that chapter was the best way to introduce the readers to this version of Ranma Saotome.

Truthfully, this reaction is very promising. You've got questions. You're curious. I feel like that's a good thing. As long as you feel something, I know I'm doing my job. I'm fairly confident about the plot. My issues with this story were mainly technical in nature. It just didn't flow well when I read it in my head, so I kept rewriting the same scenes over and over.

About Usagi. That's not a reference. That's copypasta. That's really Usagi Tsukino from Sailor Moon. I'm aware that some readers won't like this and will avoid this story on principle, but that a design decision I was ready to make. Potentially limiting my audience was worth it because she's crucial for the story I want to tell. The contrast between Magic and Martial Arts will be a very important theme going forwards.

If you don't know anything about Sailor Moon, don't worry about it. You really won't need to in order to follow along.

When I came up with the idea for this story, I decided that I needed both a credible antagonist and someone to provide contrast to Ranma. I chose Akuma and Usagi for those tasks respectively. I could have designed original characters, but in fanfiction, OCs lack gravitas. Honestly, in this setting, an original character would just distract from the story I'm trying to tell, especially since the Ranma universe is so used to crossovers anyway. Well, when I say 'distract', I mean up the word count, and I'm a slow writer to begin with.

Well, that's not entirely true. The OC I'd create in Usagi's place would pretty much be Usagi with another name (and none of the advantages, like an antagonist all packaged and ready for Book 2). Akuma's here just because I like him and most people won't question his overwhelming superiority. I won't be using anything else from his universe, so I guess I could have made an OC in his place. I made a back story for him, but it really isn't all that interesting compared to the rest of the plot, so we'll just skim over it anyway. Akuma is only relevant in his interactions with Ranma. If you like, consider him a cameo and forget about it.

I think I'm starting to ramble, so I'll end this here.

tl;dr : Don't worry about Usagi. Her character arc is a particularly interesting one. Akuma is a cameo. Don't worry about anyone else from SF showing up. In fact, don't worry about any of the other senshi showing up either. That'll happen in book two and that's a long way away.

 

[Deathwings]

Holy shit, you're still alive ?! And your fight scene are just as breathtaking as ever I see, nice to see you haven't slipped up any during your long absence.

 

[lethum]

Nice job.

 

[Fellow Sufferer]

A young woman stood on her heels beside his table.

Awkward sounding.

“Come now,” he thought. “Am I truly so frightening?”

Thoughts and speech marked with the same delimiters? Is it a deliberate choice?

impactful

Is it a real word?

“You held it the problem in hand and judged it insignificant.”

Reword / delete first 'it'?

Ichiro's fists clenched in frustration and Keitaro recognized this as a critical moment. If this was to happen at all, it was going to have to be this man's decision. Keitaro wasn't worried. Ichiro truly did love his daughter. With a clear head, there wasn't any doubt that he would come to the correct decision-

I'm curious as to what is Keitaro's interest here? Is the girl THAT attractive a student? Something else?

a blonde girl

No remark on the hair color?

He shoved past his furious students, stormed past Keitaro and stopped next to the kid’s booth, looming over them, his head angled down to glare at the kid.

The child would have had to have been blind and deaf to have missed it, but he just smirked and stood up from his booth, ignoring his blonde friend's calls to sit down.

“I’ll make it quick, promise. Five minutes tops.” He pledged and started off towards Master Kuwabara.

I'm confused about their positioning. Kuwabara first stops to loom over the booth, then Ranma manages to stand with no mention of them colliding or inconveniencing each other in any way, and then he 'starts off' towards the master? Plus, 'he' and a comma instead of a period.

For a martial artist like Naota, being treated as though he was about as significant as an insect was quite the insult.

Strange observation. I would imagine that it'd be quite an insult for anybody to be treated as an insignificant insect.

And with that, he performed a sharp scissor-like motion

Insufficient imagination, sorry. What did he perform a scissor-like motion with?

“Oh ho!” Keitaro exclaimed. “So the boy’s had training.”

He already spotted Ranma's fighter clothing, this exclamation seems a little to much like a surprised one. I'd like to think Keitaro could've figured it out just by the way Ranma stood up from his booth, but it may be a bit too much wuxia ^_^

The boy wiped his nose with his thumb and fell into an open stance.

Ahh, here it is...

A fist cut through the air. The sound reached his ears and his entire body tensed instinctively. The tea almost went down the wrong hole, but he managed the choke it down without coughing it up. He turned back woodenly and saw the young boy with his fist outstretched, and Naota standing ten feet back from where he’d been. There had been no impact, but the man had dodged such that he’d cleared twice the boy’s body length. And even now, Naota stared at the boy like he was seeing a lion’s gaping maw.

I'd guess it's something akin to Happosai's intimidation of Ranma during their first fight - that could be why the Master reacted so to the mere sound of the fist cutting through the air - but it's not quite clear enough.

Ichiro stood up sharply, grimacing. “Fool!” he yelled. “Better to fall to the ground than to disrupt a customer’s meal!”

Don't know why, but I dislike the word 'yelled', and tend to pay a particular attention to it. It's the second time I notice Ichiro yelling in this chapter. Plus, while it's an admirable ideal, one would think it would be more applicable to a cooking-themed martial arts. What I'm more interested is the themes I've noticed so far are more Chinese than Japanese. Is it just me?

The boy stared his opponent down, but Naota was too busy expressing his profound remorse to the old couple to notice. He sniffed and stalked towards the kitchen.

'He' should be replaced with 'Ranma' to avoid confusion, I believe.

One short go-around later, the student was launched towards the ground and Ranma was sprung towards the kitchen.

Ground? Shouldn't it be a horizontal direction?

Ranma gaped at her. “You were supposed to catch that!” he exclaimed.

Keitaro couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.

He wasn't the only one.

Keitaro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… Perhaps I will.”

I'm curious - did that amount to something in the end? Because he didn't intervene until after Ranma left the kitchen.

his index and thumb pressing down on the blade

Not quite sure what the visual is supposed to be here, maybe clarify?

Naota suddenly noticed that a wooden cutting board just happened to be at the end of its trajectory. The tomato hit the wood and split apart. Two dozen even slices artfully separated, sliding down the length cutting board. Not even one slid off the end.

And it's all canon, folks!

---

More later.

 

[Lost Star]

Ok, I really, really like this.

 

[Stormfury]

This makes me so happy

 

[SHINKIJIN]

Nice! Loved to read a different interpretation of a serious Martial Artist w/o going into that cloying-and-overused pseudo-Paladin archetype. To be honest though, I feel a bit of cognitive dissonance (that somewhat detracts from my fully enjoying the story) by the inclusion of Usagi as a character. Blame it on having read too many SM/Ranma stories T_T

 

[daniel_gudman]

I like the in media res thing you're doing. I feel like the way you jump back and forth in time is good too. So be confident with that.

Two points:
1) I didn't know whether Ranma & Usagi were 12, 17, or anywhere in between until the fight was nearly over. I suggest you have Takamura guess their ages when he first sees them.

2) Have Ranma talk about his father, not his mother; reading it as it stood, I was trying to guess whether it was significant. If Ranma did go on that training trip but it was cut short, then Ranma doesn't really know his mom. So referencing dad instead would be better I think.

... Is it just me, or will it turn out that Akuma has Dark Juju that makes him superhuman compared to regular dudes, and that's why "magic vs martial arts" will come from?

 

[Fellow Sufferer]

Heavy footsteps heralded the arrival of the bout's uncontested victor. With his right hand, he wiped off a trail of blood leaking out from the corner of his lip.

So they managed to tag him after all.

Ichiro harrumphed but acquiesced immediately, straightening out of his stance.

Interesting. So he swallows his pride just like that? Why? For the sake of his students' health? Afraid of loosing? Something else?

“No. This has nothing to do with you, me or our schools. I didn't come here for you,” Ranma stated. He reached for each of his wide sleeves in turn and folded them in. “We’re strangers, meeting on a dusty road. Our eyes meet, and we both wonder who’s stronger. I'm not making a statement here. I don't have an agenda.” He dropped into a wide stance and motioned his opponent closer. “I'm satisfying my curiosity. That's all.

I think this is the first instance of Ranma, let's say, waxing lyrical - out of his canonical character. Where would he learn to talk like that, I wonder? One of his teachers?

Ranma stood squarely within the impromptu ring and examined his surroundings with a raised eyebrow. He crossed his arms. “So what? Do you own this place or something?”

“In part, yes,” the old master nodded.

Convenient, but is it really necessary? Maybe it's just me, but I feel like there's a fine line between an epic wuxia-style showdown and Nerima silliness, and this setup straddles it. I don't quite get which you're trying to invoke here.

Ranma raised his eyebrows. He turned to look at Usagi. She blinked back at him and he turned back. “I turned thirteen a few months ago. How young do you think she is exactly?”

Wow. Monsters indeed - though in different meanings of the word - both the master and the student.

Where Ranma’s rush was done in two stages, gather and burst, Takamura’s was singular. Without giving any other indication, he ignited and burst forward like a rocket.

It's the second time he demonstrated unnaturally fast accelerations. I guess it's a cornerstone of his style.

Ranma said nothing. Takamura narrowed his eyes. “Nothing to say?”

I know it's the narration and the dialogue, but the wording is repetitive.

The silence that followed was oppressive. Ranma’s sigh was perfectly audible from the entire restaurant.

“A righteous man slays Leviathan or he is born again with a fresh face. Child, always remember that the evil you face is supplemented by the hatred in your own heart. Love and be loved, if you wish to stand against evil. Those were his last words.”

Takamura stared at Ranma quietly, then closed his eyes. The silence of the restaurant amplified his stillness, lending a trembling anticipation to the moment. Finally, the old man tilted his head towards the ceiling and released a heavy breath. “Where is he?” He asked.

Again, I feel like inclusions of 'the silence' are too close to each other.

Takamura ducked and weaved around the whirling cord, his feet sliding on the floor like it coated with oil one moment, the next gripping down and generating traction like tank threads. His eyes opened wide with fervour. “You would have me ignore my friend's murderer?” The old man bellowed. “What sort of man do you take me for?”

And now we finally see the unflappable old master quite flapped, indeed.

“This fancy restaurant, these fancy students! Who will take care of them when you're dead?”

What students? The staff?

The old master huffed and crossed his arms. “Of course not. If I cannot even believe in my own strength, what can I believe in?”

Ranma raised his head. “Believe in me.”

...Who believes in you. Heh. That's quite a request to make of a martial artist - no matter who makes such a request, a random gifted kid or a fellow sensei.

Master Kuwabara stepped back, stunned. “Wait. Y-you engineered all of this just to learn that technique?

Ranma shrugged. “Something like that. You should let him teach your daughter, by the way. I think it’ll help them both. He’ll need something to keep him busy after this.”

That stretches belief. He couldn't have known Keitaro would challenge him. Was his plan to throw Shan Shen's death into Takamura's face to force a fight?

---

Should I continue this?

 

[shiki]

I like it if only because it has loli Usagi bringing levity to the whole fudged up situation.

 

[lokinishizaki]

I probably won't respond to everything, but be assured that I read your command and I very much appreciate your input.

Let's start with this: Yes. I'm alive.

Next question.

Awkward sounding.

I'm not sure how to remedy the situation. That's exactly what I meant to say.

Thoughts and speech marked with the same delimiters? Is it a deliberate choice?

Absolutely.

Is it a real word?

According to the internet, yes. It's certainly used as if it were at any case and that's enough for me to use it in this setting. This isn't an essay, after all.

I'm curious as to what is Keitaro's interest here? Is the girl THAT attractive a student? Something else?

It'll never come up in the story, but if you're curious, it's because the girl has pedigree. She truly has talent, but her family style just doesn't suit her, both physically and spiritually. The physical limitations she can overcome, but the spiritual ones are crippling.

Master Takamura wants to teach her both because he enjoys teaching and because prospective students of her caliber don't knock on his door every day.

No remark on the hair color?

Nope. Didn't come up in either series, won't come up here.

I'm confused about their positioning.

A booth is two benches with a table in between. Kuwabara stops at the middle of the table. He's quite tall and the kids are both sitting and pretty short, so it's pretty easy for him to loom over them even though he's a foot or two away. And when Ranma starts off towards Kuwabara, he's facing Usagi. So when he 'starts off', he 'begins to turn in Kuwabara's direction', only in a way that doesn't sound awful to me.

Strange observation. I would imagine that it'd be quite an insult for anybody to be treated as an insignificant insect.

The difference between a mere insult and quite an insult in Kuwabara terms is that the latter is grounds for a fight. I'm pretty sure most strangers in the street won't hurt you just because you ignore them utterly. They'll just leave and hold a bad opinion of you.

Insufficient imagination, sorry. What did he perform a scissor-like motion with?

His entire body. Look at it from the top, starting from the point where Naota is grasping his shoulder. he advances and retreats diagonally.

He already spotted Ranma's fighter clothing, this exclamation seems a little to much like a surprised one. I'd like to think Keitaro could've figured it out just by the way Ranma stood up from his booth, but it may be a bit too much wuxia ^_^

There's probably a level of difference between what you consider training and what Takamura would consider training. Besides, to him, clothes don't make the man. Just because Ranma dresses like a fighter doesn't mean he's any good. Also, the main impression he got when Ranma stood up was less "That's a skilled martial artist" and more "That's a cocky little prick."

I'd guess it's something akin to Happosai's intimidation of Ranma during their first fight - that could be why the Master reacted so to the mere sound of the fist cutting through the air - but it's not quite clear enough.

It's ambiguous, certainly. The one with the point of view didn't see what happened.

Don't know why, but I dislike the word 'yelled', and tend to pay a particular attention to it. It's the second time I notice Ichiro yelling in this chapter. Plus, while it's an admirable ideal, one would think it would be more applicable to a cooking-themed martial arts. What I'm more interested is the themes I've noticed so far are more Chinese than Japanese. Is it just me?

You're thinking too narrowly. This has nothing to do with a cooking-themed martial art. Don't disturb customers in a building owned by another master. A master who generously invited you and your students into his place of business. If the customers had taken offense, Ichiro would have had to pay reparations to Takamura. For what it's worth, if his master and Takamura hadn't been there, Naota probably wouldn't have cared.

The culture will probably be a mish-mash of everything I love about martial arts.

Ground? Shouldn't it be a horizontal direction?

Nope. Ranma definitely threw him towards the ground.

I'm curious - did that amount to something in the end? Because he didn't intervene until after Ranma left the kitchen.

Of course it did. He fought Ranma. He wasn't planning on doing that before. He certainly wasn't going to go into that kitchen to fight him when there was a perfectly good arena right there. Besides, if four trained martial artists couldn't stop him, then going in that kitchen would only do more damage, even if Takamura won.

Not quite sure what the visual is supposed to be here, maybe clarify?

squeezing.

I didn't know whether Ranma & Usagi were 12, 17, or anywhere in between until the fight was nearly over. I suggest you have Takamura guess their ages when he first sees them.

Takamura describes them as children when he first sees them, but maybe that's insufficient.

He says:

His search quickly narrowed down to a booth where two blue-eyed children sat, a black-haired boy and a blonde girl.

You really think that's not clear? An important point is that Takamura later overestimates Ranma's age based on his fighting prowess, so I'm not sure how to handle this.

2) Have Ranma talk about his father, not his mother; reading it as it stood, I was trying to guess whether it was significant. If Ranma did go on that training trip but it was cut short, then Ranma doesn't really know his mom. So referencing dad instead would be better I think.

Everything he says about his mother is a filthy lie. It's specifically because he doesn't have any image of her that he uses her to lie here. Also, knowing what happened to Genma, I also feel quite strongly that he wouldn't use him in this situation. I think you'll understand once I show Ranma's relationship with his Father.

You may be right though. The way the chapters were originally ordered, it was obvious that he was lying because you'd already seen Usagi's mother and you knew she wasn't his sister, but maybe it is misleading now. I'll have to think about it.

So they managed to tag him after all.

Naota went down swinging.

Interesting. So he swallows his pride just like that? Why? For the sake of his students' health? Afraid of loosing? Something else?

It's not a matter of pride. Takamura owns the building they're standing in. Ichiro is his guest. He can't do whatever he wants here, and he knows that. The only reason he's even fighting is because he knows Takamura allows it. Otherwise, he would have said: "Let's take this outside." This isn't neutral ground.

I understand that he wants to beat Ranma's ass, but he doesn't want to go through Takamura to get there. He could have tried to convince Takamura, but why would he embarass himself, arguing in front of a crowd when he already knows the answer? Once Takamura made the decision to fight, it was over and Ichiro knew it.

Convenient, but is it really necessary? Maybe it's just me, but I feel like there's a fine line between an epic wuxia-style showdown and Nerima silliness, and this setup straddles it. I don't quite get which you're trying to invoke here.

Here's some back story. It's not obvious in the story, and I don't want it to be. I'm just leaving it here because you asked.

Keitaro chuckled and drank another mouthful. “That old crone had over forty years of experience.”

That old crone is Keitaro Takamura's wife. The young proprietress that served him and Master Kuwabara is his granddaughter. The cooks and waiters are all his students. The tea house is family owned. He says 'in part' because it's entirely being maintained by his children, but really he has veto power over everything. This is his business.

There's also a dojo attached to his house, but that opens later in the evening. The students work at the tea house to provide for their upkeep so they don't have to hold down another job and they can fully focus on studying the art.

In short, they don't teach Martial arts Tea Ceremony or some other rubbish at this tea house. It's a place of business. It's just that they often have the students perform demonstrations and such. Such being fights and challenges. The people in the restaurant are regulars and know the deal.

It's not convenient, at least I don't think. There's a reason Takamura chose to have the meeting at this particular tea house and there's a reason why Kuwabara brought four of his best students as back up.

It's the second time he demonstrated unnaturally fast accelerations. I guess it's a cornerstone of his style.

Yep. The name of the technique is 'Sliding Viper Bites the Breeze'.

I know it's the narration and the dialogue, but the wording is repetitive.

Again, I feel like inclusions of 'the silence' are too close to each other.

Good point. I usually try to avoid that.

That stretches belief. He couldn't have known Keitaro would challenge him. Was his plan to throw Shan Shen's death into Takamura's face to force a fight?

Not at all. Ranma didn't want Takamura to know about his involvement in Shan Shen's death.

It's not a stretch at all when you consider that it's not very hard to get into a fight with a Master when you're on his home turf, even if the master doesn't take you seriously enough to answer your challenge as is often the case with Ranma.

Just start a fight with anyone you can and work your way up. Eventually, once you beat up enough of his people, the Master will have to come talk to you. When he does, insult him and presto! You've got a fight on your hands.

Ranma was surprised because Takamura challenged him of his own free will. Basically, Ranma thought that he would have to do two things. One, defeat Kuwabara, showing that no one but the Master stood a chance. Two, mock Master Takamura to the point where he had no choice but to fight Ranma or look like a huge bitch in front of all his students. In other words, Ranma strikes the first blow by attacking Takamura's honor.

Basically, Masters don't refuse fights unless they don't respect the opponent. Beat all his students and he has to answer your challenge.

And done! And it only took... three hours!

 

[Fellow Sufferer]

Awkward sounding.

I'm not sure how to remedy the situation. That's exactly what I meant to say.

Well, here's the image I have in my head whenever someone "stands on their heels":

I guess I could buy it as a nervous gesture... It's just that I've never seen anyone do it, literally.

I'm confused about their positioning.

A booth is two benches with a table in between. Kuwabara stops at the middle of the table. He's quite tall and the kids are both sitting and pretty short, so it's pretty easy for him to loom over them even though he's a foot or two away. And when Ranma starts off towards Kuwabara, he's facing Usagi. So when he 'starts off', he 'begins to turn in Kuwabara's direction', only in a way that doesn't sound awful to me.

Insufficient imagination, sorry. What did he perform a scissor-like motion with?

His entire body. Look at it from the top, starting from the point where Naota is grasping his shoulder. he advances and retreats diagonally.

Not quite sure what the visual is supposed to be here, maybe clarify?

squeezing.

I'm just throwing out things that confused me in case you wanted to streamline you work a bit. For what it's worth, I've had no problems visualizing everything else in the fight.

Strange observation. I would imagine that it'd be quite an insult for anybody to be treated as an insignificant insect.

The difference between a mere insult and quite an insult in Kuwabara terms is that the latter is grounds for a fight. I'm pretty sure most strangers in the street won't hurt you just because you ignore them utterly. They'll just leave and hold a bad opinion of you.

Well, all indications were that the fight was already an inevitability at this point. Ranma himself admitted it was what he was looking for. It wasn't even the first insult he flung in the encounter, and I'm thinking insulting one's master is the grounds for a fight as well.

Don't know why, but I dislike the word 'yelled', and tend to pay a particular attention to it. It's the second time I notice Ichiro yelling in this chapter. Plus, while it's an admirable ideal, one would think it would be more applicable to a cooking-themed martial arts. What I'm more interested is the themes I've noticed so far are more Chinese than Japanese. Is it just me?

You're thinking too narrowly. This has nothing to do with a cooking-themed martial art. Don't disturb customers in a building owned by another master. A master who generously invited you and your students into his place of business. If the customers had taken offense, Ichiro would have had to pay reparations to Takamura. For what it's worth, if his master and Takamura hadn't been there, Naota probably wouldn't have cared.

The culture will probably be a mish-mash of everything I love about martial arts.

Interesting. So he swallows his pride just like that? Why? For the sake of his students' health? Afraid of loosing? Something else?

It's not a matter of pride. Takamura owns the building they're standing in. Ichiro is his guest. He can't do whatever he wants here, and he knows that. The only reason he's even fighting is because he knows Takamura allows it. Otherwise, he would have said: "Let's take this outside." This isn't neutral ground.

I understand that he wants to beat Ranma's ass, but he doesn't want to go through Takamura to get there. He could have tried to convince Takamura, but why would he embarass himself, arguing in front of a crowd when he already knows the answer? Once Takamura made the decision to fight, it was over and Ichiro knew it.

Convenient, but is it really necessary? Maybe it's just me, but I feel like there's a fine line between an epic wuxia-style showdown and Nerima silliness, and this setup straddles it. I don't quite get which you're trying to invoke here.

Here's some back story. It's not obvious in the story, and I don't want it to be. I'm just leaving it here because you asked.

Keitaro chuckled and drank another mouthful. “That old crone had over forty years of experience.”

That old crone is Keitaro Takamura's wife. The young proprietress that served him and Master Kuwabara is his granddaughter. The cooks and waiters are all his students. The tea house is family owned. He says 'in part' because it's entirely being maintained by his children, but really he has veto power over everything. This is his business.

There's also a dojo attached to his house, but that opens later in the evening. The students work at the tea house to provide for their upkeep so they don't have to hold down another job and they can fully focus on studying the art.

In short, they don't teach Martial arts Tea Ceremony or some other rubbish at this tea house. It's a place of business. It's just that they often have the students perform demonstrations and such. Such being fights and challenges. The people in the restaurant are regulars and know the deal.

It's not convenient, at least I don't think. There's a reason Takamura chose to have the meeting at this particular tea house and there's a reason why Kuwabara brought four of his best students as back up.

I guess it was my knowledge of martial arts themes that played a mean joke on me, here. From the beginning, I was convinced for some reason that the two masters held roughly equal amounts of influence in the situation. Perhaps earlier indication that Kuwabara is a guest and Takamura is a host would make things clearer.

 

[chiku_b3.0]

I'm glad to see you're back on the scene. Seeing this made re-read Eclipse from the sheer nostalgia. When I compare the two it seems like your fight scenes have improved a bit! The martial arts VS magic thing really interests me. Are you planning to cross over with any other magic based series?

Also, if ranma isn't going to run into any street fighter characters how is he going to learn fight Akuma? Being able to learn from someone like Gen who's actually fought akuma and lived to tell the tale would be essential. Even people like Terry or Geese from KOF would be a huge help.

And lastly is ranma going be learning any magic? I have this image stuck in my head of ranma fighting several high level martial artists while reading a beginner's magic book ala Kakashi from Naruto.

 

[Fellow Sufferer]

He had lowered the boundaries of his spirit and opened himself up to corruption. Only his will was as denser than lead, so it was the world that suffered corruption.

I understand what you're trying to say here, but the wording is awkward - both sentences end with 'corruption'. Also, use either 'denser' or 'as dense', not 'as denser'.

The second half, when they go to the restaurant, seems to start a little abruptly. Previously, Usagi indicated a desire to go home, and on the way there she got to talking to Ranma. A smoother transition would be nice.

On the abduction, I'm split. Either it's Fumiko following them and making a very stupid play, or Akuma decided that Ranma will be less annoying if his newly-made friend was around 24-7.

 

[Lost Star]

I thought it was pretty obvious. Akuma wants Ranma motivated. He let Ranma make a friend. Now he's going to kill her in a set time period.

Thus Ranma has a reason to get better.

 

[Fellow Sufferer]

I thought it was pretty obvious. Akuma wants Ranma motivated. He let Ranma make a friend. Now he's going to kill her in a set time period.

Thus Ranma has a reason to get better.

Well, given that I'm completely unfamilliar with the source material (SF), and that Akuma's character and his relationship with Ranma wasn't explored in any depth in this fic so far, I don't feel confident yet making claims about what Akuma might want.

Of course, it may be that simple, but consider this: He doesn't have to kidnap her to light a fire under Ranma's ass, just inform the kid about his intent to kill her.

I kinda wonder how long he's willing to let Ranma improve - what is the 'time period' in this case, and in general as well.

 

[shioran toushin]

if i may speculate, he (Akuma) didn't kindap anyone, it was either Usagi somehow escaping from Akuma (who wanted to scar the **** out of her to motivate Ranma) or Ranma 'kidnapping her' because he is scared for her life because Akuma implied to have an interest in her (as in murdering her to see Ranma's reaction).