Ranma ½ Sors Immanis

(REVISED 8/4) CHAPTER ONE: SUNTORY HALL AND THE HEATHEN
#1
SUMMARY:
Ranma Saotome finally chooses, but who and why are just the beginning of this story. With "happily ever after" quickly turning out to be a disappointing fantasy, Ranma and the one girl he actually comes to love must now deal with the consequences of their indiscretions and find constructive ways to move forward on their divergent Fated paths. AU-Continuity/Divergence

DISCLAIMER:
I do not own Ranma 1/2 or any of the related characters. The Ranma 1/2 series was created by Rumiko Takahashi and is owned by Shogakukan and Viz Video. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights to the original Ranma 1/2 story belong to Rumiko Takahashi.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:
My inspiration for "Sors Immanis" came while listening to Carl Orff's "O Fortuna" from the Carmina Burana cantata on a morning run. This story will be an experiment with some new ideas and writing techniques. To clarify upfront, this story is unrelated to "The Stage at Kiyomizu-Dera" or any of my other Ranma ½ stories.

Feedback and comments are always appreciated.

Thank you for reading.
– KL

SORS IMMANIS

Sors immanis et inanis,
Rota tu volubilis, status malus
Vana salus,
Semper dissolubilis
Obumbrata et velata,
Michi quoque niteris…!

(Fate, cruel and inane
You are a malevolent spinning wheel,
Vain hopes for my wellbeing,
Inevitably fading into nothingness
Veiled and in shadows,
You torment me…!)

– Excerpt from “O Fortuna” of the Carmina Burana
Anonymous 13th Century Bavarian Monks​


CHAPTER ONE: SUNTORY HALL AND THE HEATHEN

Present Day

Sors immanis et inanis….

Most people thought Carl Orff wrote the words for the Carmina Burana cantata. The woman sitting alone in Row 10 of block RB knew otherwise. She had read the actual text from Schmeller’s compilation for a class once back in her Todai days. Orff had simply orchestrated a small subset of the poems.

Tonight, the renown crossover cellists Hauser and Sulic were on stage debuting their new collaborative arrangement of Orff’s cantata with the visiting King’s College Choir. True to form, the giant Croatian were rabid stage animals as they tore through “O Fortuna” with their fierce facial expressions, wild body motions, fingers blitzing with lightning speed up and down their fingerboards, and sonorous vibratos wringing every last ounce of resonance from the long notes. It was all bone-chillingly sublime and profound.

Even then, the Friday night ushers at Suntory Hall had other more interesting preoccupations than the two master cellists. Many of them were university part-timers from Todai or one of the other nearby schools. Management loved them because they were cheap, eager, abundant, and yet sufficiently educated to handle the kind of clientele that sought refuge from the rest of the world at a place like this.

They were also avid people-watchers with vivid imaginations. Currently, they were whispering again amongst themselves about the young woman and the air of mystery about her. She was a regular who had bought the whole row out for the entire season.

To be fair, Row 10 of block RB was hardly a row per se, consisting of only 2 seats, but that was exactly why Row 10, with its unobstructed right wing view of the stage was the most desirable position in the entire house. For both acoustic and business-minded reasons, the engineers and architects had deliberately designed the Main Hall without private boxes. Row 10 in block RB was as much of a private sanctuary as anyone could find in that hall.

The name on the season subscription was “Akiko Tendou” (1). However, rumors had been going around for some time that this name was just an alias, the ironic kind of thing that truly “special” people used when they went around town trying to be themselves. Indeed, the woman did exude a certain gravitas that smelled of power and influence. The boys fantasized about speaking to her, and the girls dreamed of being her.

She was extremely beautiful and uncommonly so. Her face was delicate and heart-shaped with full, soft cheeks. She had the flawless complexion of a porcelain doll and bold, luminous eyes. Her thick and shiny silken hair was tastefully pinned up in a simple and tidy bun.

Her clothes and jewelry were simple and elegant, standing in stark contrast to the festive evening dresses and flashy earrings and necklaces that most other girls her age favored when they came to Suntory Hall. In fact, the woman usually showed up looking like she had come directly from a boardroom meeting or something of the sort.

Tonight, for example, she had arrived in a clean cut black double-breasted gabardine overcoat. Underneath, she had on a custom-tailored black knee-length pencil skirt, matching suit jacket, and handwoven silk ivory blouse, all of which elegantly showcased her petite frame and its lithe, slim-waisted figure. Her long legs were well-toned and pleasingly shaped. Her dainty feet were clad in handmade Italian black patent leather heels. A pair of bold, iridescent solitaire pearl earrings completed the ensemble.

Of course, the woman knew that the concert hall staff were scrutinizing her and throwing around gossip about who she might be. She knew because she had been one of them herself back in her undergraduate and law school days. Probably, they thought she was here at the behest of some wealthy father or other fancy patron. Even in the modern 21st century, Japan was still sadly a man’s world, and her looks hardly helped with staving off the undesired unconscious biases about pretty girls that came with that reality.

At thirty-two, she still looked young enough to be a junior paralegal fresh out of university rather than a managing partner and the chief legal counsel at a unicorn firm like Taniguchi & Ishikawa. Correcting those preconceived notions, however, would have been disadvantageous and self-defeating. To serve her ambitions and appease the indignant, smoldering rage of her disillusioned misanthropy, she had taught herself to prey on people's prejudgements about women. People meeting her for the first time found themselves unknowingly disarmed by the initial illusion of dainty innocence wrapped with a bowtie of enigmatically charming charisma.

Ultimately, the right of might was all that distinguished justice from sin and barbarism and the "haves" from the "have-nots". She had no choice. She had to become the most ruthless of all wolves in sheep's clothing, a bitch and a heathen of the most dangerous kind. She had to get even. For her mother. For Kumi and all of the other have-nots in the world left to rot and die as she had. For her sister.

Surviving to win had been all that mattered.

Indeed, by every outward measure, she had won. Aside from still being young and beautiful with a genius IQ, she was wealthy and connected, secure in her possession of the power to take almost anything she wanted whenever she wanted from whoever she wanted.

Except she was miserable. Unfulfilled. Her whole world view shattered and discredited.

With a sigh, she fought to redirect her attention back to the ongoing performance on the stage below. Tonight of all nights, if even for just an hour or two, she needed something to distract herself from the spiraling descent toward madness raging in her head.

Just an hour ago, she had been at the hospital listening to questions that no one ever wanted to be asked.

Just last night, she had stood the night before on the dimly lit rooftop of her firm's office skyscraper off Shibuya's iconic Scramble Square, commiserating in solitude with her self-loathing misery. She had come so close to throwing herself off the edge.

# # # # #​

The misty evening breeze carried the rich, fresh scent of petrichor from the heavy late afternoon April squall that had blown in from the Bay earlier. The rain had ceased only a half hour prior or so. Only then had the remaining clerks and associates been able to escape for the night, giving "Akiko" the privacy she had been secretly craving for the better part of the day. In the omnipresent glow of city light, she had scowled derisively at her own unwelcome reflection staring back from the murky puddle of water at her feet.

Like Charles Foster Kane in his sorry Rosebud moment, she had found herself drowning yet again in reflections on the simple, singular root of her whole haunted lifetime of misery and anger. Kane was just a boy who did not want anyone to take away his one favorite toy in the world. She was just a girl who did not want people to laugh at her for not having things.

The Robinhood morality arguments she had used to justify her actions, her penchant for the little wealth redistribution projects that made her Machiavellianism palatable, were all lies. Whether her way or Kane's, the result was the same. Inside, she knew she had become just as much of a monster as Orson Welles' protagonist, the kind of rotten, hubris-filled "have-all" she had once so bitterly sworn on her beloved mother's grave she would never become.

Frustrated with herself, she tugged with her left hand at the right lapel of her coat and began grinding the pointed heels of her stilettos into the slick, wet EPDM surface, slowly making her way toward the West parapet. All of this shit running through her head now was a waste of time, just like everything else lately. No matter what she said or did, she was still just one very fucked up little heathen.

At the parapet, she swung her legs over and dangled her feet over the edge. A numb, morbid fascination settled in as she studied the countless cars and people unknowingly milling about on the busy Shibuya streets far below. Her calm, cool detachment despite the circumstances shocked even her. Even her acrophobia no longer registered. From that dizzying height, death would be unnecessarily messy and grotesque, but almost certainly instantaneous. There would be no time to feel pain or even muse about the sloppiness of the method.

She smiled wistfully at the thought of how far her own views on death had evolved since that day in Suginami when she had first grasped her own mortality, now about a dozen years ago (1). In her innocence, she had agonised with unspoken shame and sadness over all the things she would not have the chance to do or say with the people she loved. If there was in fact an afterlife, she imagined that her dead mother would have spent a good first part of Eternity giving her stupid daughter shit for dying so young and leaving so much unfinished business.

Except she did not die. The boy whose heart she meant to break ended up being the one to save her sorry ass. Afterward, she found herself deluded by a sublime illusion of joy. The world truly looked and felt wonderful, all so real and full of hopes and crusades in which she could believe with her whole heart.

It ultimately proved to be just one very cruel, protracted lie. After all, this story had begun with a question not unlike what Eve brought to Adam when Eden ended. Everything after was naturally pre-ordained.

Am I the reason?

Dying that day in Suginami would have been merciful. She just did not know it then. Fate was just balancing the books now, collecting its dues of inexplicable misfortune and senseless tragedies.

Her sister. Her man. All of that blood. In her hair, her hands, her clothes — everywhere. It would not come out, could not be washed away.

She could never forget.

Now amid the lonely shadows of this shattered Camelot, everything looked and felt unbearably tired and gray. All of her righteous fires of indignant purpose had been put out by the cold, unfeeling cruelty of Fate. If she died today, she knew no rosy sentimentalities or soulful longings would haunt her final moments. Everything had become inconsequential, all of it flowing forward in the inescapable, unidirectional current of Time. It would all culminate one way or another in the immutable certainty of Oblivion.

In that sense, the difference between being blown off the roof versus jumping off or even doing nothing had felt annoyingly small and trivial.

All that kept her from going over the parapet was the haunted bit of knowledge that, despite everything, both her man and her sister had never stopped believing in her. Why they loved her and valued her sorry life more than each of their own still confused her, but that did not matter.

Her man was the one fighting for his life now because of her, hanging on by a thread. He still needed her there to keep the vultures away.

So she did nothing.

# # # # #​

The next day, the hospital called her in for a goals-of-care discussion with one of the doctors.

He looked the same when she arrived, of course, just as he had for the last few months, silent and unmoving. His head was wrapped in bandages. Tubes were shoved down his throat and up his nose. The color had long ago been bleached out of his skin. The muscles of his face had been wasted away by cachexia. Monitors and chimes droned on in the background. The vent remained set on full assist.

The irony of them calling her just after four (2) in the afternoon was not lost on her. She had a fair idea why they wanted her to come. Still, she was livid when they actually said it to her face.

"You're asking me to let him die."

"No, Ma'am," the doctor replied. "We're just asking you to objectively consider what is best for him — and for you too. It's been over four months. You shouldn't feel guilty. Everything imaginable and then some has already been done. Please consider letting him rest. His mind is already — ."

"What the fuck am I paying you for!"

"Ma'am, this isn't about — "

"Get the Hell out of here before I break your face and see to it that you never practice again in this country!"

The woman turned away, stormed towards the seat by the man's hospital bed, and reached frantically with her left hand for his unmoving right one.

The world knew him as the famous manga illustrator Hibiki. As far as the doctors were concerned, he was already a brain-dead corpse. She just knew him as the one boy she had ever loved. To her, even in his sad emaciated incapacitation, he still remained the most beautiful human being she had ever seen.

He was an ex-martial artist turned manga illustrator and writer who had made a considerable name for himself. He excelled at blending the fantastic with the grit of reality, packaging it all in a unique comedic style imbued with a sardonic wit. His execution of this while remaining unpretentious and believable in his lofty ambitions really stood out for his readers. It all stood in remarkable, ironic contrast to the brash recklessness that had been so off-putting about him when they had first met as kids all those many years ago.

His best known series was about a teenage martial arts genius who had trained in his family's form of the Art his whole life. The boy also happened to be cursed to turn into a girl whenever exposed to cold water, and to complicate matters further, he was helplessly honorbound to choose a fiancee from among three sisters from an old, traditional family. The girls' father was best friends with the boy's own father.

The books were good. She had read them all from cover to cover, even fed him some of his ideas, especially ones about the really naughty and fucked up middle sister in his most famous series.

After all, she had been the one who had gotten him into sketching in the first place. Of course, he had long surpassed her though. He had always had that annoying habit of so easily excelling at things whenever he cared to apply himself.

The secret to why these books made such an impression on people was because many of the stories were not fictional at all. The man really did train in his family's ancient form of the Art from a young age. His childhood on the road really did result in significant social deficiencies, leading most people to write off his considerable native intelligence. His father and hers did agree to a union of their families before either of them were even born.

She and her two sisters did come from an ancient family of previous high-ranking samurai prior to the Restoration. Consequently, they still had land and even a dojo in the middle of Tokyo's affluent Nerima ward; their father sat on the local municipal council for most of his adult life despite not having a regular job or other typical qualifications for the position; and antiquated, inadvertently misogynistic notions of honor and duty unconsciously pervaded the Tendou's dysfunctional family life.

As to whether a boy could change into a girl at the touch of cold water, well, the woman wryly thought of how going to the moon too had been considered a fevered fantasy for the vast majority of humanity's sorry time on this lonely planet.

She sighed as memories of his essence washed over her. His sweet cedar and pine wood scent. The forbidden thrill of his fingers once so freely intertwining with her own. The reassuring warmth of his hand wandering across the nape of her neck just under the edges of her hair. The firm, unyielding strength of his muscular arms reaching behind to wrap around the achingly aroused endowments of her bare chest.

The metallic taste of blood emerged in her mouth as she bit back on the pain of her memories. Her sister eventually walked in on them one day of course. If he had chosen her sister instead of her, things would have turned out a lot better for everyone.

Tears again began spilling uncontrollably down her cheeks. The simple platinum band on her ring finger felt unbearably heavy and painful to wear. Yet, although she knew she was unworthy of this ring, she could not bear to take it off.

Ever so tenderly, she took up his unmoving right hand in both of her own. As her fingers intertwined with his, a stormy sea of memories stirred anew within her broken heart.

"I'm here, Ranma," Nabiki Saotome (3) whispered in her husband's ear. "I won't let them hurt you. I promise. Please just wake up. You don't even have to come back to me…."

# # # # #​

Sors immanis et inanis….

The dramatic final chorus refrain of “O Fortuna” had come around. As the last chord reverberated through the Hall, the giant Croatians stood and smashed their wooden cellos into the stage.

Fate was a fucking bitch, and “happily ever after” was just a cruel children’s fantasy. She could be okay with that. She just wanted him to wake up.

You don’t even have to come back to me.

I love you.


# # # # #​


CHAPTER NOTES:

  1. These details become relevant in later chapters.
  2. In Japanese, the word for “four” and “death” have the same pronunciation.
  3. Japanese law requires a married couple to share the same surname. However, the law does not specify that a wife has to take her husband’s name or vice versa.
 
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(REVISED 8/4) CHAPTER TWO: MISTAKES
#2
CHAPTER TWO: MISTAKES

Thirteen Years Ago

Nabiki Tendou was pissed.

Today had been exceptionally shitty for the 19 year-old university fresher from Nerima Ward. The coffee-stained blouse that she could not save had been an expensive personal gift. Her smart phone was destroyed by river water. She had a new 3rd degree burn wound over the left side of her chest and had vaso-vagaled out like a weakling when it happened. On top of all that, she lost nearly 50000 yen in revenue. Nothing had gone according to plan.

She urgently needed money right now. She no longer had her gossip network and the betting pool revenue streams from her high school days. Still, she intended to keep her promise, but she was running out of time. She needed to scramble to scavenge every last yen she could manage.

Going home for the Winter recess had been a mistake. This visit was her first one back since moving out the previous Spring to start at Komaba in Meguro Ward (1). Nothing had changed. The same pointless, endless charade of banal insanity continued to revolve around her younger sister Akane and her hapless arranged aqua-transexual fiancé Ranma Saotome. The same crazies also continued to hang off of their clueless coattails chasing delusions of consequentiality. Nabiki quickly remembered why she had been so eager to leave in the first place.

She had woken up before sunrise to see Takagi-san, the middle-aged lady who owned the coffee shop she used to frequent when she had still been a high school student. She planned to drop in before opening hour to present some new pieces and catch up on some neighborhood gossip.

Most people did not know, but Nabiki had picked up sketching and painting from her mother and kept up with these hobbies in secret for years. Akiko Taniguchi had been an unconventionally progressive and passionate woman, despite having married into the Tendou family for the most traditional of reasons. She was a British Nisei, born in London and hailing from a fairly well-to-do ex-pat family. She had spent a good amount of her childhood in the cultured halls and classrooms of well known girl’s boarding schools, becoming quite well versed in Western art and literature before eventually moving to Japan as a teenager.

Nabiki’s maternal grandfather, having made his fortune abroad, needed the union with the old, venerable House of Tendou to cement the Taniguchi’s status in more traditionally established Japanese circles. Despite Akiko’s unwavering outward show of domestic contentment throughout Nabiki’s childhood, Nabiki had always harbored private doubts about her mother’s actual happiness or sense of fulfillment in her marriage. Even though Soun Tendou constantly professed his eternal, undying love even now for his now-departed wife, wholeheartedly believing that their marriage had ended up being a true love match after all, Nabiki knew that her father had always had a propensity to be a slave of his own melodramatic imagination. Westernized as Akiko was, she still remained Japanese enough to understand the value of her family’s honor and had constantly extolled the primacy of family above all else to her daughters.

At the same time, Akiko had always emphasized that her daughters needed to know how to see and hear things for themselves as they were, not as they were told they were. She immersed her daughters as best she could in all of the Western literature and art she had studied at a young age. After her death, however, Kasumi and Akane found other interests. Nabiki alone had stuck with painting and drawing and her mother’s other teachings. She was forever grateful that she had. The philosophical principles that Akiko had passed on to Nabiki through art had set her apart early on with tremendous advantage. As a bonus, Nabiki realised at some point that people were willing to pay for her expressive creations.

Takagi-san was one of those people. The woman liked to decorate her shop with works by local amateur artists, and she always offered prices that were more than fair. In addition to buying pieces, she used to allow Nabiki to display other works for sale in the shop.

Even better, Takagi-san respected Nabiki’s desire to remain anonymous. She had worked hard to create the image of the cold-hearted, self-absorbed, mercenary Ice Queen of Furinkan High. The damage otherwise to her painstakingly crafted reputation would have been incalculable. She needed that image to protect her interests — especially growing up in a place like Nerima.

Carnage ambushed her when she came down to the kitchen to make her morning coffee. Scattered ingredients, utensils, and bowls littered the sink and countertops. Nabiki knew Kasumi would outright faint in horror at the sight of her ravaged domain. In the middle of this disastrous warzone stood their youngest sister Akane, evidently trying to prepare breakfast. Their poor sister had always been clueless and hopelessly bad at cooking.

“Good morning, Oneechan! I thought I’d make you and everyone else something special since you’re back,” Akane explained with a bright smile. She proudly declared that she was trying out some new recipes for beginners that she had found online.

Nabiki masked her discomfort by replying with an excessively cheerful morning greeting. She had neither the desire nor the time to spend imprisoned between her bed and the commode. Her mind raced to cobble together an excuse for not staying. She babbled something about appreciating Akane’s thoughtfulness but not wanting to take food away from Ranma and the rest of the family. Besides, she was on a diet and had already arranged to meet a friend.

While stumbling through her excuse, she inconspicuously rescued her coffee machine from the ongoing storm and carried it to the farthest possible end of the counter. She forced her hands to stop shaking as she rushed to prep the machine as fast as she could manage. The brew cycle lasted forever. Finally, with her precious black elixir secured in a thermos, she bolted for the front door, pausing only to slip on her coat and shoes and sling over her shoulder the tube carrier with the pieces she planned to show at the shop.

Because of her rushed escape, she made it to the familiar foot bridge traversing the river a few blocks down from the cafe just as the low set Winter sun was cresting the horizon. She decided to stop, sip her coffee, and admire the fiery streaks of red and gold angling in against the Earth. The light cut mysterious, intriguing shadows between the shops and homes around her. In her mind’s eye, she could readily see the tableau laid out appealingly on a canvas. Thinking herself alone with no one to see, she afforded herself a secret, contented smile.

A shrill, livid scream suddenly ripped through the cool, morning tranquility.

“RANMA NO BAKA!!!!”

Her younger sister.

Before Nabiki could react, a heavy blow struck hard against her left shoulder, causing her to stumble forward. The scalding contents of her thermos splattered down her top. She hissed fiercely in pain.

Another shout followed seconds after, this one a bellowing male voice.

“RANMA! HOW DARE YOU MISTREAT AKANE! PREPARE TO DIE!”

Ranma’s Saotome’s eternally hopeless self-declared martial arts rival Ryoga Hibiki.

Looking up, Nabiki made out the outline of an ominous looking projectile coming directly at her face. In horror, she reached deep into her memories for what remained of her father’s old self-preservation lessons. Though she would never be a martial artist, she still proved athletic enough in her own right to throw her body out of the way with a few centimeters of clearance between the object’s path and her eyes.

Her landing, however, was outright shit. Her body slammed down hard against the unforgiving pavement. The shoulder strap of her carrier tube broke. Her phone and thermos flew out of her hands. She could only watch helplessly as all three objects tumbled over the side rail into the icy water coursing beneath the bridge.

The inputs into her brain quickly became too overwhelming to process. Her arms and legs felt hot and heavy. A deafening roar rushed up in her ears. The edges of her vision collapsed in on themselves as her consciousness faded into nothingness.

# # # # #​

As Nabiki came around, she felt like her head would fall off her shoulders. Another part of her registered that her entire body burned with pain.

“Fuck…!”

The money along with the promise she had made were almost certainly all lost causes now. “Non-combatant” or whatever nonsensical category she fell into in these crazies’ minds, who was she to think that her safety had ever been assured in the midst of a constant warzone like Nerima.

Screw all of these spoiled, bratty, self-centered, thoughtless, resident assholes: her sister; that clueless self-righteous bandanna-pig asshole; and, of course, Ranma Saotome, that arrogant, inane, vacuous, transsexual future brother-in-law of hers. They all deserved to part with every last yen she had squeezed out of each one of them over the years and more. Better people could do better things for the world with all the gifts and blessings those stupid, spoiled kids never even appreciated they had.

Adding insult to injury, Akane’s annoying, tear-streaked face was the first thing that came into focus as Nabiki finally forced her eyes open.

“Come to finish me off?” Nabiki grumbled as she fought to sit up and take her first look at the damage.

She was back home in her own bed. She had been changed to a set of flannel pajamas. Her left arm had been placed in a sling to immobilize the shoulder, and a velcro brace had been strapped around her left wrist. The left side of her chest had been dressed with large strips of gauze held up by wrap-around bandages. Dr. Tofu, the long-time family doctor, clearly had already been by the house.

“I’m sorry, Oneechan,” Akane said, bowing her head low in shame. “It’s just that stupid Ranma — “

“Akane!” Nabiki barked, cutting her sister off. She could not stand the old, tired refrain that she knew was about to follow. “For once, can you just swallow some responsibility without excuses? How many times have we been over this shit before? You’re ridiculously spoiled and have a nasty anger management problem. Grow up and change before someone actually gets hurt around here. Someone who actually matters.”

“Oneechan! Don’t say that! You matter!”

“Oh please. Other than incidentally being your sister, I barely register to you and your wrecking crew entourage.”

Nabiki tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed and stand up. A wave of dizziness struck as she did. An ignominious thud rang out as she collapsed to the floor, loud enough to draw attention from the whole house. She knew because the footsteps of the herd began thundering up the stairs and toward her room.

“Oneechan!”

“Don’t touch me! You’ve done enough!” Nabiki hissed as Akane approached her.

“My daughter!” Soun Tendou cried out in a panic as he barged in, nearly tearing the door off its hinges. Kasumi and the Saotomes piled in behind him.

”Stop it, Nabiki!” Kasumi said as she knelt on the floor and hugged her sister. “You’re hurt!”

“Everyone get out of here!” Nabiki hissed hotly through her gritted teeth. “Just everyone get out!”

Kasumi backed her up by throwing a look at the rest of the family that permitted no argument. Akane, their father, and the Saotomes sheepishly left in quick succession. Nabiki was grateful.

“I can’t stay here, Kasumi,” Nabiki said once they were alone. “This shit is too much for me. I’m going back to Meguro.”

“Language, Nabiki!” a horrified Kasumi scolded. As usual when the two sisters were alone, her unnatural facade of unflappable serenity faded away.

“Fine,” Nabiki growled. “<Fuck!>” she spat instead in English, their mother’s real first language.

Akiko had insisted that her daughters learn it too (2). Its open use in their home had gradually faded in the years since their mother’s passing, particularly since Soun Tendou had no clue what his daughters were saying when they conversed in the language. Of course, Nabiki, always pragmatic and forward-thinking, had kept up with speaking on her own. She had made a special point of keeping up with the choice words in particular.

“<I still understand that too>,” Kasumi commented disapprovingly.


“Fine,” Nabiki said, giving up and switching back to Japanese. “It’s true though. I need to go back.”



“You should rest,” Kasumi insisted as she started to help Nabiki back up onto the bed. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

“No! I mean to be out of here today!”

“Nabiki, please calm – ”



She could no longer restrain the actual thoughts burning at the tip of her tongue. “Mom would be appalled by this shit!”



“So you just want to walk out on us…?!”



Nabiki winced, unable to hold her stern expression in the face of the panicked sadness in Kasumi’s suddenly downcast eyes. Family truly had always been the heart of Akiko’s values, the center of her entire world. Even as the free and self-assured independent spirit that Nabiki was, she could not conceive of defying their dead mother’s memory when Kasumi put things that way. With a resigned sigh, Nabiki reaffirmed to her older sister that she had no intention of abandoning anyone or anything.



“Still, no matter what, Akane needs to grow up at some point and assume responsibility for her actions. We never help by making excuses for her. Like I told her, she needs to change before someone actually gets hurt. That goes for you-know-who too. Whether I’m here or not is irrelevant. Maybe my leaving like this might even make a constructive impression on someone that there’s a real problem here.”



“Okay, yes, we have problems – “



“Thank you for finally admitting that – “



“But what family doesn’t. Be careful what you wish for, Nabiki,” Kasumi admonished quietly.



“Hey! What exactly do you think I’m asking for?”



“I’m not sure,” Kasumi conceded. “I just know that perfection is the enemy of great, and change isn’t always good. We’ve both been through enough to know that.”



“I’m not asking for ‘perfect’ or anything extraordinary. Just something better than this pointlessly overblown fucking insanity,” Nabiki grumbled with a frown.



“Nabiki!”



“Look, Oneechan,” she went on, ignoring the look on Kasumi’s face. “Life is short. Honor agreement or not, those two have to either move forward or move on.”



“You have a talent for always making things sound so simple.”



“Because it is simple. Too bad not everyone can be as smart as you and I.”



“That’s not what I’m trying to say. This has nothing to do with being smart. I’m your sister. Akane is too. You and her are not as different as you think. It’s not hard at all for me to imagine Akane behaving and sounding exactly like you if your positions were reversed.”



“Oneechan!” Nabiki chortled.



Kasumi’s mind clearly wanted to run wild again with the idea that her younger sisters were Irish twins.



“I would never allow myself to end up in Akane’s position. I don’t let feelings cloud my judgment, and I don’t have an anger management problem. Most of all, I don’t leave decisions that should’ve been made yesterday sitting around for tomorrow.”



”Be careful about what you say, Nabiki,” Kasumi repeated, fixing the younger girl with the full weight of a very pointed and unamused stare. “I mean it. From a distance, things are always simple. The grass is always greener on the other side. The playing field always looks far more obvious to all of the spectators than the players.”



Nabiki sighed in exasperation. “Maybe, maybe not. I love you dearly, Oneechan, but this discussion is moot either way.”



# # # # #​

When Nabiki returned to Komaba that evening, her dorm, like the rest of the campus, was deserted. Roughly a week still remained in the recess. En route, she ducked into a convenience store next to Meguro station to grab an onigiri, a pack of karaage balls, a pair of canned coffees, and a bottle of OTC ibuprofen. Her chest burn continued to itch and throb beneath the bandages concealed under her top. Her back also ached from standing. She had an unexpectedly long night ahead of her.

On her way out of Nerima, she had called on Takagi-san to apologize for failing to show up that morning.

“Nonsense, Nabiki-chan!” the lady said warmly as she stepped around her counter. She assured Nabiki that she did not need to worry; they had known one another long enough for the old lady to surmise that Nabiki must have had a good reason for not coming. “You obviously had a bad morning,” she noted, eyeing the sling supporting Nabiki’s left arm.

“Not the best.”

Takagi-san helped Nabiki to a seat at one of the tables, brought over a cup of coffee, and took up the other seat at the opposite end of the table.

“Still, Nabiki-chan, I am very much in need of a nice piece for that space,” the lady said, pointing to the open-faced brick wall above the hearth. It faced out against large west-facing windows set in the far wall. Low-set red and gold streaks from the early setting Winter sun filtered in, recapitulating the pretty light that had defined the tableau Nabiki had been admiring that morning before her unfortunate misadventure.

“Tell you what,” Takagi-san said after a moment of thought. “I know the timeframe is short and that you may not be feeling your best, but if you’re up for it, we may be able to still move forward with a deal. Could you get me something, say, by midday tomorrow? Nothing too fancy or overly complex. In fact, more on the Minimalist side would do quite nicely.”

Nabiki politely accepted the unexpected offer with her usual outwardly cool and reserved business demeanor. Inside, however, she was giddy with renewed hope and elation. Not for the first time, she wondered if Takagi-san was on to her. Regardless, the answer to that question was immaterial. At the end of the day, she would still be able to keep her promise.

She took the train back to Komaba with renewed energy and purpose, her body’s protests easily drowned out in the background by adrenaline.

As she carded herself into her residence hall, the sight of the silent and empty atrium lobby made her even more excited. She rushed up to her room to dump her stuff, throw some pills into her mouth, and retrieve a blank canvas and materials. With her left shoulder immobilized and the wrist of her dominant hand in a brace, she really needed every single minute that she could squeeze out of the night.

# # # # #
CHAPTER NOTES:

  1. The Komaba undergraduate campus in Tokyo’s Meguro Ward is 1 of 5 campuses of The University of Tokyo (Todai), which is widely considered the most prestigious and selective University in Japan. Todai is the only University in Japan where undergraduates have two years of a general curriculum before choosing a specialized field of study. Among the University’s alumni, faculty, and researchers, there have been 17 prime ministers, 18 Nobel laureates, 4 Pritzker laureates, and a Fields Medalist.
  2. The detail about English will become relevant later in my story.
 
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CHAPTER THREE: THE VISITOR
#3
CHAPTER THREE: THE VISITOR

Daigoro howled and screamed as he thrashed around in Nabiki’s one-armed embrace. She could feel his fear and frustration. All the more, she clung tighter to the boy as she whispered soothing reassurances in his ear. At some point, she slipped her left arm out of the sling so that she could pull him onto her lap and rock him back and forth.

Eventually, he calmed down and followed Nabiki’s hand as she pointed at all the new objects around them. One by one, she calmly explained to him the colored LED lights, red and green stockings, and other seasonal livery that now decorated the school’s commons area. In doing so, she herself finally had a moment to take in what she had managed to deliver with the money Takagi-san had given her the other day.

A young moni fir roughly 1½ meters in height stood proudly in the center of the room. The tree’s sweet and pleasant scent filled the air with a fresh, clean vitality. Boxes of brightly colored satin balls and a dazzling array of small toy ornaments lay on the floor unopened. The other three children in Class 1F would arrive soon with the teachers and their aids to start dressing the tree. A small blue wagon had also been rolled in with wrapped presents that would be distributed later to the kids. At Nabiki’s urging, the kids had compiled a wish list with the help of their teachers about a week ago.

Most people did not know, but Nabiki had always loved being around children, and they generally seemed to like her too. She started volunteering at the school about a year after Saotome and his father had crash-landed in Nerima and upended the world of the Tendou sisters. In her need for a cause that would keep her out of the house and safe from the endlessly percolating chaos, she came on afternoons when she did not have cram school.

Setagaya Ward was close enough for her to do so, but far enough that she never encountered Akane, Ranma, and their crazy entourage on one of their typical inane rampages. Studying and living now at Komaba only made coming here even easier. As an undergraduate, she had a lot more free time than when she had been a high school student, and Meguro, unlike Nerima, was directly adjacent to Setagaya.

Daigoro had taken a liking to her ever since she had started coming (1). The teachers thought she reminded him of his departed mother. When not consumed by one of his spells, he was a kind and pleasant boy, a fact sadly belied by the unfortunate pugilistic appearance of his features. His face, set in a small head, had thick eyebrows, a small nose, and a downturned myth outlined by an unnaturally smooth philtrum and thin upper lip.

Nabiki had bonded easily too with Kumi (2), who had a gleefully cheerful personality and an obsessive fascination with water. She resembled a puppet with extremely fair skin and light colored eyes. Though she never spoke, she constantly laughed and smiled, and she could easily run circles all day long around others without ever seeming to need to rest.

Takashi was the playful, mischievous prankster in the class, traits which endeared him to Nabiki for the similarities she saw in herself (3). He had not always been that way though. His affect tended to be on the flat side, an unfortunate consequence of his large, flat face with flattened nasal bridge and wide set, upslanting almond-shaped eyes. Her first impression of him had been of a sad and inherently withdrawn child with a propensity for early onset depression. The teachers noted, however, that he changed after Nabiki and Keiko, another volunteer who traveled from Ota Ward, started coming.

William, the newest comer to the class (4), was extremely shy and self-conscious about the deformed appearance of his face, poor hearing, and impaired speech. He had small, asymmetrically set ears, an underdeveloped lower jaw with poor dentition, and deeply sunken cheekbones beneath drooping eyes. The overall effect made him appear as if someone had beaten him at birth. None of that mattered to Nabiki though. She remained hopeful that he would find himself in time.

Each time Nabiki came here to the Komei School to play with the children, they would come running to throw themselves at her with fierce, warm, unreserved hugs of joy and gratitude. Their eyes invariably shined with innocence and blind faith. In that space, she felt safe enough somehow to still believe that genuine human goodness and hope were not merely stupid follies of her naive imagination.

Nabiki burned with her unspoken resentment toward society and the world for not wanting these children, marginalizing and hiding them away like dirty secrets of humanity. For her, they were each equally beautiful and special in their own right as human beings. Certainly, she considered them far more deserving of kindness and good fortune than the brats rampaging around Nerima and the self-centered, uncaring assholes who ran the world.

All the more, she hungered to ascend to a position of power where she could crush all the other powerful people in the world and make them feel the anguish of material and emotional deprivation and need.
# # # # #
By the time Nabiki left, the sun already touched the horizon’s edge. With her promise kept, she finally realized how exhausted and sore she actually was. Still, none of that detracted from the pride she felt thinking of Daigoro, Kumi , Takashi, and William’s smiling faces and the time she had just spent with them.

Her good mood, however, evaporated when she saw the pig-tailed boy sitting on one of the street side benches just beyond the school’s main gate.
With a weary, resigned sigh, she walked over and plopped down beside him. She had no chance of getting away from the martial arts prodigy even if she were uninjured.

“You followed me,” she snapped without any preamble. “Why?”

“Sorry,” he said. He sounded genuinely apologetic. “I just, well, ya haven’t been picking up any calls for the last few days. Everyone got worried.”

“So they sent you to track me down.”

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said crossly. “Even people who aren’t martial artists have lives too.”

“Kasumi wanted me to remind ya to eat and rest. You’re still hurt and all.”

“Well, that’s your fucking fault!”

“I…. I also came ‘coz I wanted to tell ya that I’m sorry ‘‘bout that. Didn’t get a chance before ya left the other day.”

“Yay!” she exclaimed, sarcastically schooling her features into an exaggerated caricature of schoolgirl excitement. “This is the part where you start talking about my sister and your whole litany of cliche excuses for why you got trapped in another fight, right? I’m so ready for this! Let’s go!”

“Nah,” he said. “I can’t speak for your sister or the directionless bacon brain, but I ain’t gonna waste your time with any of my own. I should’ve led them away from ya the other day. I’m sorry.”

She was far too familiar with the direction in which this conversation was going. It made her angrier. “Because I’m not a martial artist, right? Weak and helpless as if I’m made of glass and all that shit.”

“No!” he shot back with surprising vehemence. “Because ya just shouldn’t have been caught up in my shit.”

She chuckled sardonically. “I can’t tell you how touched I am to finally hear you say that after all these years. That may be the most mature thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Visibly exasperated, he blew air loudly through his thinned lips. Then, suddenly, he smirked at some sort of realization in his head. “Ya know, before today I would’ve offered ya all the yen on me right now to make ya feel better. Now, though, I don’t think I should.”

“Oh?” she asked, genuinely intrigued. “Why not? Even your money is still money.”

“Because I finally think I get it after watching ya with those kids just now and after hearing ya talk to your sisters in your room the other day.”

“You’ve been fucking spying on me?!”

“N-no! Ya got it all wrong, Nabiki!”

“Sure, Ranma. Whatever.”

“It’s true! Ya weren’t exactly soft-spoken when ya and Kasumi were talkin’.”

Nabiki took a deep breath and bit back on the additional choice words hanging at the tip of her tongue. She wanted to know something. “Why are you suddenly shy about giving me money that you obviously owe me? For a new phone at least?”

“Because ya don’t actually give a shit about having money for money’s sake at all.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Money is just a cover for ya to chase what you’re really after.”

“Which is?”

“To get even.”

A strange silence followed as his words hung in the air. Something about the unexpected moment pleased Nabiki somehow in a way that nothing else had for a long time. Unconsciously, she clutched at the lapel of her coat with her right hand and huddled in as she felt the heat inside of her start to cool for some reason. Without it, though, she felt completely drained.

“I’m not Akane,” Nabiki eventually said with a small, tired voice.

He smiled. “Naw. You’re angrier and more dangerous.”

Her laughter this time reflected genuine amusement. Fear, after all, was the root of all respect.

“It’s true,” he said. “When your sister comes at someone, they can see and hear it from at least a mile away.”

“So why do you never manage to dodge?”

He ignored the bait. “You, on the other hand, just slit people’s throats and gut them before they ever figure ya don’t even like them.”

The clarity of his observations surprised Nabiki. She made a mental note to herself to come back to the one about Akane later. For now, she pressed on with what he said about her.

“What do you think I’m so angry about?” she smirked. “What’s the score that you think I want to even out?”

“So ya admit you’re angry.”

“Not at all. I’m just sufficiently amused to hear your reasoning.”

“Like I said, it’s in how ya I saw ya handle the kids here at this school and what ya said to your sisters the other day.”

He recalled how furious, hateful even, she had been when she called Akane ‘spoiled’ and told her that she had to grow up and change before someone actually got hurt. With the children, though, she had looked and acted so differently.

“You’re actually a nice person.”

She laughed. “You must be talking about some other girl.”

“It’s true! Ya bought them all the presents and decor and stuff, right? That and ya spent a long time playing with them too even though ya look and must feel like shit.”

“Way to add to a girl’s self-esteem, Saotome,” she noted dryly. “No wonder Akane always wants to hit you.”

“Sorry! I… I – ”

“Forget about it, Ranma.” She sighed. “Your point?”

“Ya see the world full of people who have everything, but who ya think don’t appreciate or deserve all these things they have going for them. That’s what ya think about Akane. Maybe even me too. At the same time, ya think there’s also a whole lot of other people who deserve things, but ain’t got anything at all. That kind of unequal stuff actually really bothers ya.”

“I’m impressed,” she reluctantly admitted. “You’re actually acting and sounding rather rational and intelligent today.”

“Hey! I ain’t stupid!”

“Calm down, Saotome,” she said. “Never said you were.”

Seeing how Ranma in particular muddled through life irked her precisely because she knew that he was profoundly capable and intelligent. The incredible adaptability he routinely demonstrated in his fights and his unrivaled aptitude for learning and improving his fighting techniques in record time gave her more than enough proof.

“It’s so fucking annoying to watch you, Saotome. Life’s short. Why waste your time like that?”

“Same reason Kasumi and ya cover all the time for Akane or why you’re here doing what ya just did for those kids.”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Don’t make assumptions. You don’t know anything about these kids. Do you even understand where we are?”

He nodded as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and held the screen up for her to see. “I looked it up. The Komei School for children with special needs.”

She hated the use of that word “special.” It was just a fucking worthless platitude to make everyone else feel better.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I get it. You were just reciting what you read. Society’s problem, not yours this time,” she said, throwing her head back with a sigh. By now, the sun had disappeared completely. “Everyone has needs. Their needs are just different.”

“Their parents must appreciate the time ya spend with them.”

“They don’t have parents,” she bit out tersely.

“Oh. So —?”

“It’s getting late,” she said, cutting him off. She did not have enough mental or emotional energy left to go into the details. “Help me get on a train back to Meguro. Then, we can say you’ve accomplished your mission, and you can be on your merry, destructive way out of here. You can still even make it home before dinner.”

In the end, she found herself appreciating that he had tracked her down. She had become too exhausted and sore to walk any meaningful distance.

He could not piggyback her because of her arm and shoulder, so he ended up carrying her in his arms as he hopped roofs and ran back to the station.

At first, she thought the situation would be awkward like the time when he had saved her and broken her fall off the laundry balcony that Akane destroyed (5). Somehow, however, it was not. He smelled of something between fresh pine and cedar, a combination of the laundry detergent

Kasumi preferred along with perhaps the body wash he used. She secretly had a moderate fear of heights, but the scent along with his firm, confident hold reassured her. She even found herself comfortable enough to look down and watch people going about their business on the street below as the two of them zipped past above.

As they boarded the train, he told her she could doze if she wanted. He would wake her just before they arrived at Meguro Station. When she stood to disembark, however, he surprised her by standing too.

“I’ll help ya get all the way back to Komaba,” he explained as the doors slid shut behind them. The train quietly slipped away from the platform a moment later.

“Oh really,” she drawled. She could not keep the drowsiness out of her voice.

“You’re annoyed by that?”

“I need some sleep.”

“Your sisters also gave me some money to make sure ya ate something. We can pass by a convenience store or some other place for takeaway.”

Now she was genuinely irritated. “For all I care, you can go treat yourself and tell Kasumi you fed me.”

“Honest! I just think the least I could do is help ya get back all the way, keep ya company while ya munch and settle in.”

“Bullshit. I’m hardly your type of company. Normal girl, remember? No fighting skills or magical powers.”

Just then, the audible grumble of someone’s empty stomach rang out between them. To her considerable annoyance, it was her own.

“Fine,” she said with a resigned sigh. “Let’s go.”


# # # # #
CHAPTER NOTES:
  1. Cornelia de Lange Syndrome (CdLS) is a genetic condition characterized by numerous physical, intellectual and behavioral differences. Children with CdLS usually have low birth weight, are smaller in size and height and have a smaller head circumference (microcephaly). Most also experience developmental delays that range from mild learning disabilities to profound intellectual impairment. The condition takes its name from the Dutch pediatrician who was one of the first to formally describe it, in 1933. CdLS occurs in an estimated 1 in 10,000 live births annually.

    Common physical characteristics include; facial features such as an upturned nose, eyebrows that meet in the middle, long eyelashes and low-set ear; severe gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) that can make eating painful and contribute to slow growth and other intestinal differences; upper limb differences ranging from small hands to missing fingers or forearms; and a cleft palate. Diaphragmatic hernias, vision and hearing problems, excessive body hair (hirsutism), heart defects, seizures and dental issues are also common. Autism and behavioral issues such as self-injury or attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, might also be present.

  2. Angelman Syndrome is a genetic condition associated with delayed development, intellectual disability, and balance problems. Most children have seizures and small head size. Children with Angelman syndrome are usually happy and excitable, with frequent laughter and hand-flapping. These children usually have minimal or absent speech. Children with Angelman syndrome most likely also have a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder (ASD), as many features of the two overlap. Angelman syndrome shares a common genetic basis with some forms of ASD. Angelman Syndrome also occurs in an estimated 1 in 10,000 live births annually.
  3. Down Syndrome, also known as Trisomy 21 Syndrome, is the most common chromosomal anomaly in humans, occurring in about 1 in 5,000 live births annually. Individuals with Down syndrome nearly always have physical and intellectual disabilities. As adults, patients have mental abilities typically similar to those of an 8- or 9-year-old; poor immune function; and an increased risk of a number of other health problems including congenital heart abnormalities, epilepsy, leukemia, thyroid diseases, and mental disorders. The disorder was first identified in 1866 by John Langdon Down, a British physician, and later named after him.

  4. Treacher Collins Syndrome (TCS) is a rare genetic condition affecting the way the face develops — especially the cheekbones, jaws, ears and eyelids. Most children with TCS have a very small lower jaw and chin (micrognathia); very small upper jaw (maxillary hypoplasia); undersized cheekbones; ears that are very small (microtia), unusually formed or missing; eyes that slant downward, and a notch in their lower eyelids (coloboma). Some patients also have hearing loss caused by problems with the ear canal or the 3 bones in the middle ear that transmit sound. At least half of children with Treacher Collins syndrome have hearing problems; cleft palate; and an airway tso small that it causes serious breathing problems. These differences often cause problems with breathing, swallowing, chewing, hearing and speech. Children with TCS usually have normal cognitive development.

  5. In the anime episode “Nabiki, Ranma’s New Fiancee!”, Akane, frustrated by merciless teasing from her older sister and fiance, destroys the laundry balcony that the 3 of them are standing on, causing everyone to fall toward the ground. As she falls, Akane recalls that Nabiki, who is untrained in martial arts, does not know how to fall and panics. Ranma, however, saves Nabiki by catching her in his arms and gently carrying her down to the yard. In the ensuing awkward moment, Ranma tells Nabiki that he had to save her instead of Akane because she’s weak and "ordinary", unlike her younger sister. Ranma then walks over to Akane in order to make sure she understands, but Akane slaps Ranma in anger before declaring to Ranma that she's had enough before telling Ranma to go and be Nabiki's fiancé instead.
 
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CHAPTER FOUR: UNCONSCIOUS BIASES
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CHAPTER FOUR: UNCONSCIOUS BIASES

Disclaimer: References to “KFC“ are intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from the references. All rights to “KFC” belong to Yum! Brands, Inc.

Author’s Note: I have to confess to being a little bit stuck and in need of some reader advice/input.

To improve plot flow, I decided to relocate the final subsection of the previous chapter to the beginning of this chapter. I would be greatly appreciative of any comments/feedback.

Thank you for reading.
– KL

# # # # #​

“KFC?!” Ranma asked incredulously.

A large paper bucket of fried chicken dangled from Nabiki’s right handA light snow began to fall as they approached the main gates of Komaba.

She shrugged. “Christmas tomorrow, right (1)? Besides, I know you’ll eat it too.”

“But I thought — “

“That a small girl like me can’t appreciate greasy, wholesome food once in a while?”

“No! I…. That’s not what I meant! It’s just that… that….”

“That what?” she challenged him. Inside, she smiled. He was still too easy.

“That ya like nice things!” he blurted out.

She could tell that he was proud of what he thought was a brilliant impromptu save. She gleefully decided to drive the stake home, saying matter-of-factly, “KFC is a nice thing.”

“I…. Aargh! Nabiki!”

She could not contain her laughter. “You deserve it! If you’d just owned up to your unconscious biases up front, you would’ve saved yourself from looking like an ass.”

“But I’m not an ass! No matter what your sister says!”

She laughed even harder as he set her down, and she carded them into her still empty dorm. “Of course not. At least not for having unconscious biases. Everyone has them.

”But ya just said — “

“I called you out for not owning up to the obvious.”

“Like ya own up to yours?”

“I do.”

“Yeah, right. I call bullshit.”

She stopped just as they got to her door and rounded on him with a frown. “What are you getting at, Saotome?”

“Ya think I’m one of those ungrateful ‘have-all’ asses that ya hate so much just ‘coz I’m the best there is at the Art and I look like a model or somethin’ in either of my forms. Ain’t that just as much of an unconscious bias?”

“Sorry, but I never called you a ‘have-all ass’.”

“But ya don’t deny thinkin’ it either.”

She laughed. “Such a vivid imagination and so confident and sure of your inferences!”

“Cut the crap, Nabiki. It’s what ya believe. Ya said as much to Kasumi the other day.”

“You annoy the shit out of me, yes, but I don’t hate you,” she conceded as she plunked the chicken bucket down on her desk and turned for her mini fridge.

“You’re a bit of a hypocrite. Ya swear more than any dude I’ve ever known too. Who knew!”

She froze in the middle of reaching for a canned beer. “Wow. Since when did you get a backbone?”

“Since always.”

“Why do I have this strange feeling you’re not someone I know?” she said, cautiously drawing herself up to her full height to look at him.

“Same reason I get the feeling you’re not someone I know either,” he said, his eyes darting between the beer in her good hand, the chicken bucket on her desk, and finally the drawing pad and pencils lying out on her bed. He walked over and studied the unfinished sketch, a self-portrait of her with one of the Komei School orphans. The surprised lift of his brows gave away that he was clearly impressed.

An awkward silence fell between them, pierced only by the steady, incessant ticking of the second hand of her wall clock. Though she had always known that he was far more intelligent than his behavior often reflected, the reality that suddenly confronted her now disconcerted her. She thought again about what he had said earlier about her sister being an open book that could be read from a mile away. The notion that she had once lived under the same roof as a complete stranger who had been hiding in plain sight for years boggled her mind and wounded her pride. Until now, she had been the best people reader she had ever known.

“Why are you really here, Ranma? Why show your cards now? What do you really want?”

“That chicken’s getting cold.”

“Ranma!”

He sighed. “Fine. What ya said the other day about me and Akane. Ya’re right. Life’s short. Honor agreement or not, we either gotta find a way to move forward or move on.”

Nabiki regarded Ranma with her best poker face as she plopped herself down in her chair and placed the now-open can of Kirin on her desk. Inside, however, she suddenly found herself feeling lightheaded and dizzy with the realization that something bizarrely pivotal was now playing out around her. Thinking back on her last conversation with Kasumi and the last couple of days, she had the vague, premonitory sense of something dangerous and unnatural closing in.

Had she really been the Machiavellian Ice Queen that she had worked so hard to make everyone believe that she was, she knew she should have thrown him out the door right then and there. Her conscience, however, would not allow her to escape the haunting reality of her old filial duty to her dead mother. No matter what, she had promised to help look after Akane and keep the family sane and functional.

“You’re right,” she sighed. “The chicken’s getting cold.”

# # # # #​

The stranger who sat across from Nabiki munching on chicken and leisurely sipping on one of her large canned Kirins sounded like a rather intelligent, mature, and clear-eyed individual. He even displayed evidence of wit and a sense of humor that proved more than superficially one-dimensional. She actually enjoyed their conversation and his company.

“You don’t need my help,” she pronounced as their meal wound down. “You’re not even such a self-centered, have-all ass after all. If you actually spoke to Akane the way you’re talking to me now, you’d be just fine.”

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head as he leaned back in the chair. “Ain’t that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Well, that’s why I need your help.”

“Okay….”

“Not exactly like I dropped into Nerima and your family’s home looking for a wife when I was 16. Truthfully, I, uh, well, I….

“What?” she prodded impatiently. “What are you trying to say?

“Can’t ya guess by now?”

“Why don’t you just tell me? Like the normal person you’ve been acting like just now. It’s actually been kind of nice.”

“I told ya. I ain’t the person your sister thinks I am, but it also ain’t like I cared for her to think good ‘bout me either when we all first met. Honestly figured I’d be back on the road with my old man before the week or even the day was out. Ending up with a girl at some point in my life didn’t even cross my mind. With Akane all naturally suspicious and stuff….”

Nabiki could no longer focus on what he was saying as the implication of his confession struck her. It had the potential to explain a lot. She had to test her hypothesis. “So, wait. That means….”

“What?” he deadpanned with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“Do you… prefer boys?”

“WHAT?!”

“Maybe both?”

“H– H– HEY…!”

“There’s absolutely no shame in this, you know, Ranma-kun. This is, after all, 21st century Japan.”

“NABIKI!!!!”

She flinched involuntarily at the stormy beer- and garlic-laden breeze that blew in her face. From his expression, she immediately knew the answer to her questions. She had not realised how many veins there were on a human forehead or that human skin could possibly flush that brightly and generate that much heat.

For that priceless look alone, she found herself secretly forgiving him for his contributions to her current sorry physical condition. Even then, however, she could not let the game end that easily.

“This is a pretty important little detail, Ranma-kun. Don’t get mad. I need a straight answer. We can’t go anywhere otherwise.”

“I AM NOT GAY!”

“It’s okay if you need some time to — “

“I DO NOT! WE WILL NOT COME BACK TO THIS — EVER!”

For the second time that night, Nabiki again could no longer control herself. She broke down with laughter until her insides hurt.

“Why is sexuality such an awkward subject for you, Saotome?” she finally managed to get out. “Especially with that curse you have, I just don’t understand. You’re the only person I can imagine who has ever had a chance to see everything from both sides of the world and know for sure what you are and what you’re not.”

“Look! I like girls and only girls! End of story! Can ya move on to some real questions now?!”

“Okay. So tell me straight. What is my sister to you? Do you even like her? As a girl?”

“I, well, uh….”

She groaned in exasperation as the thalamus and pre-central regions of his 18-year-old supratentorial sponge fizzled and short-circuited, leaving him withering and regressing back into his old pattern of infantile incoherence over matters concerning the opposite sex. Unlike all the other times when she had watched this familiar B-rated scene play out, however, a strange revelation came to her as she thought back on their earlier conversation about unconscious biases. As she studied him standing by the window helplessly twiddling a chicken bone between his thumbs, she came to a decision. She realized that she needed, even wanted, him to trust her.

“Let’s have some ground rules going forward. To make us both a little more comfortable.” She presented him with a very simple and square proposal.

First, what he said with regards to Akane would stay between them – unless, of course, the matter became an issue of dishonorable or malicious intent. To make everything transparent and fair, the same would apply to what she told him about her sister too.

Second, he had to answer her questions honestly to the best of his ability. In return, she would give him her honest appraisal and without regard for how hard the words might be to hear.

Third, he did not have to agree with her opinions or her advice. However, he had to tell her if he disagreed and why. Similarly, she could not coerce or trick him into saying or doing anything. She could only entreat and try to persuade.

Fourth, no hard feelings should come between them regardless of what happened between him and Akane. The entire matter should remain an objective business affair.

“That’s it. How does that sound?”

“I, uh…. why? How can I be sure this ain’t just the beer or your sleep deprivation talkin’? Don’t ya at least want something back for all this?”

She smiled. Maybe he was right to some degree about the alcohol and her lack of sleep. Still, even those things could not make a person say things they did not honestly mean.

“You were listening in on me with Kasumi the other day, right? It’s like what I said. I think my Mom would be disappointed with the way things are and what we’ve become. No matter how much Akane pisses me off sometimes, Kasumi and I are supposed to look after her, and I think you can be good for her. I always thought that.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Just a feeling.”

“That don’t make sense. Nabiki Tendou always has a reason.”

“Honest, Ranma. Sometimes, for a girl, a feeling is reason enough. Last I checked, I’m still a girl.”

“Okay. But I still think I owe ya something in return.”

“Oh, yes, but that’s a separate matter.”

“Whaddaya want?”

“Well, other than for Akane to finally mature and get her life straightened out, just two little things.”

“Okay….”

“The things I do with my life here in Meguro are my business. You don’t go back to Nerima and talk to anyone about what you see and hear. That includes Kasumi.”

“Fair. The other?”

She eyed the unfinished sketch and the drawing pencils still splayed out on her bed and delighted in watching him cringe as he followed her eyes.

“From now on, you’re going to willingly help me make some money to fund my agendas. I’ll tell you what those are on a need-to-know basis.”

“Uh, nothin’ dishonest or dishonorable, okay?”

Nabiki laughed. “Funny you say that. Whatever you may think, I’ve never been dishonest or done anything dishonorable with you or even any of those fools back in Nerima.”

He glared back at her with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Sellin’ pictures of both my forms to the Kuno siblings back when ya were still at Furinkan? Or stirring up fights so ya could set up betting pools? Ain’t any of that dishonest or dishonorable?”

“On my mother’s grave, I promise you that what I’ve said is true,” she answered with a straight, solemn expression. “None of that was stuff you couldn’t handle, and no harm ever came to anyone. I can’t be responsible for everyone else’s mistaken assumptions and inferences, and too often Life forces you to select a bad choice from only bad choices. A lot of growing up means realizing that’s just the way things are. Anyway, you keep your end of our deal, and I’ll keep mine. That sound okay to you?”

To demonstrate her sincerity, she stood, walked around to his side of the desk, and reached across her chest with her right hand to release her dominant arm from the sling. A flash of pain tore through her shoulder as did. She fought back and extended her left hand to him.

Ranma, clearly panicking, shot to his feet and moved toward her. “Nabiki…!”

“I’m fine,” she lied as she grasped at her left elbow with her right hand to steady herself. For added effect, she threw him the warmest, most inviting smile that she could manage. “Do we have a deal?”

“O-okay,” he said as he reached out and took her hand in his. “Deal.”

“Good,” sighing with relief as he helped her place her arm back in the sling. “So now, let’s try this again, yes? Do you like my sister?”

“I, well — “

“The unvarnished, uncensored truth, Ranma,” she reminded him. “Forget even about honor, duty, and everyone else’s views and assumptions for a moment. Do you or do you not?”

Of course, she knew that her question was merely rhetorical, but even then, a confession from him would still be an important milestone. The actual answer that Nabiki received, however, shattered her entire view on Ranma and Akane’s dysfunctional relationship. She could not recall the last time anyone had so completely caught her off guard. With her confidence in her ability to read people again shaken for the second time that evening, she had to sit down.

“Can you… can you say that again?”

“Told ya, I honestly ain’t sure. Akane definitely ain’t bad lookin’, but spending my whole life with someone just ‘coz of how they look ain’t exactly a smart or right thing to do. I need more in order to answer your question.”

“I…. I don’t understand. You’ve lived in our home for over 3 years now.”

He reached over to Nabiki’s bed and carefully picked up the unfinished self-portrait she had been working on with the Komei School child. “Maybe that’s another unconscious bias talkin’?” he remarked as he studied the sketch.

“I…. I guess so,” Nabiki admitted, genuinely chagrined. “Maybe you should explain it to me.”

He sighed. Their parents, his other iinazukes, and rivals had been breathing down their necks from the day he and Akane had been engaged, trying to dictate and manipulate every single one of their thoughts and actions toward one another. As a result, he never had the opportunity to spend time getting acquainted with Akane as a boy normally would.

“That’s the real reason nothin’ can move forward as ya put it. Other than that she also believes in the principles of the Art, can’t cook, has an anger management problem, gets jealous of everyone and everything, and that yellow is her favorite color, I really dunno much else.”

Nabiki finally understood. “You want to date her — as in like a normal boy asking a girl out. That’s why you want my help.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Something like that, but if I went to her directly as things stand now, she’d clobber me on the assumption that I’ve got some perverted motive ‘fore I can even finish what I wanna say. Ya know how suspicious she gets.”

Nabiki nodded. He had a point.

Just then, however, the toll of the last few days on her body decided to declare itself. A deep yawn overcame her, compelling her to concede, despite how strange and interesting the evening had been, that fighting to keep her eyes open was becoming incredibly difficult. Collapsing and hibernating for the rest of the week seemed like a deliciously appealing idea. Her burn wound itched again too after her little maneuver just now. She needed to change the bandage before she could turn in.

She glanced at the wall clock above her door.

2200.

The snow outside her window had only grown heavier since they came from Setagaya. The last outbound train would come and go soon as well.

Akane likely was already fuming imagining the worst about his whereabouts. Nabiki could only imagine the hell that awaited Ranma whenever he made it back.

“You should go home, Ranma-kun. I’ll do some thinking. We can continue this conversation again soon.”

“I, uh…. Thanks, Nabiki. For hearin’ me out tonight and… Merry Christmas.”

“Sure. I… I guess I should also say thanks. For helping me home and all. Merry Christmas to you too, Ranma.””

He gave her a warm, earnest grin. This, however, quickly dissolved into flummoxed consternation as he appeared to realize something.

“What?” she asked.

"Uh, how will I hear from you…?"

Regardless of how interesting or pleasant the bizarre evening turned out to be, some things simply could not be allowed to change. Nabiki pounced on the opportunity like oxygen at the summit of Everest and gleefully brandished one of her trademark smirks at him. She welcomed the reassurance of finding that some sort of familiar ground still existed between her and the pig-tailed martial artist.

"Well, I‘d urge you to consider delivering me a new phone at your earliest convenience. I understand the fruit company has just come out with a new model. Midnight blue is an available color option…."

# # # # #​

CHAPTER NOTES:
  1. Christmas is a secular holiday in Japan, a country where less than 1% of the population identifies as Christian. In 1974, KFC Japan launched a “Kentucky for Christmas” marketing campaign portraying eating fried chicken as an elegant, authentic way to celebrate the holiday in true American style. The messaging proved incredibly successful, and ever since, a fried chicken meal has become a unique Japanese Christmas tradition. KFC Japan’s busiest day is usually December 24, on which sales are 5-10x more than on typical days.
 
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CHAPTER FIVE: SUNNY SIDE UP EGGS
#5
CHAPTER FIVE: SUNNY SIDE UP EGGS

“I really like this one, Tendou. New inspiration?”

Nabiki and her friend Kozue were in one of the Art school’s studio rooms deciding on their pieces for the Naka-Meguro Winter arts festival taking place the coming week. Presently, the other girl had locked her scrutinizing eye on Nabiki’s newest watercolor. The painting depicted the anonymised silhouettes of a pair of open hands held open to one another over a body of water reflecting an image of sunrise. Despite the cliche subject, Nabiki prided herself for the composition’s bold juxtaposition of blue against red, orange, and black, which she felt still managed to convey a warm, hopeful sentimentality.

“Something like that,” Nabiki replied with a knowing smile.

“Looks like some antithesis to the ‘Hands of God’(1). Truly worthy of a genuine self-respecting Heathen”

“Well, then, woe be upon little Heathen me.”

Hearing her inner Bohemian described as a “heathen” pleased Nabiki considerably. Her relationship with Faith and the Divine had always been tortured and strained anyway. Why should she believe that the Divine would bother to have sufficient interest to preside over such trivialities of humanity as hope and good fortune? After all, this was the same alleged Providence that could hardly be bothered to give a damn about her dead mother and their dysfunctional family. Morality was hardly proprietary for Angels and Believers. The differences between herself and one of those — if such things even existed — were perceptions far more reflective of the beholder than any actual Providential order.

Kozue leaned in with a playful, conspiratorial smirk. “The road to Hell is more colorful and interesting anyway, isn’t it?”

“Naturally.”

Kozue Ishikawa was a blunt and plain-spoken Kobe girl who Nabiki had befriended through an art interest group that they both joined shortly after starting at Komaba. While Ishikawa could be brutally honest when asked for her opinions, she was also discrete about when and where she stuck her nose into things. Nabiki appreciated those traits about the girl.

Most of the time.

“Care to share?” the Kansai girl asked.

“Share?”

“Your inspiration?”

“A thousand yen,” Nabiki replied coolly, holding out her hand.

Kozue studied Nabiki’s right hand before glancing back at the painting. In the end, she laughed. “That’s crap, Tendou. You should be compensating me.”

“For?”

“Giving you honest feedback on your road to Hell, of course.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Yeah, right. Behind that pretty smile of yours, Tendou, I know you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re too smart not to know.”

“I think not. Enlighten me.”

“Well then,” Kozue said as she reached over and took Nabiki’s right hand by the wrist and held it up to the painting. “I’d say here’s at least half the story.”

Nabiki smiled knowingly. Kozue was a sculptor. She would notice such things. “Not exactly like I had the actual subject available to me for a sitting. I needed a proxy.”

“Yeah. Sure. However, that,” Ishikawa pronounced as she eyed the details of the other hand in the portrait up close, “definitely belongs to a man. A strong one too with some really nice forearm muscles that certainly caught your eye — which is why you’re planning to hold onto this one, aren’t you. Not like all the others.”

“No, I think this one could fetch a really good price.” Kumi would benefit from a new scarf and some new gloves, and Takashi needed new shoes. She needed the money too for other no less meaningful agendas.

“I meant the guy, Tendou. It must be wonderful to feel hands like that on your body.”

Nabiki laughed. Of course, her friend had no idea what she was saying. “Gutter brain.”

Kozue laughed now in kind. “How am I the gutter brain? That,” she said, again pointing at the painting, “is not a product of my imagination.”

Nabiki sighed. Though her skin was far too thick for her to be scandalized, she still calculated that ending the game at the expense of her pride for one brief moment was the better part of valor. “If you must know, my sister finally agreed to a date with the guy she’s had her eye on for years.”

“Oh! The one with the secret crush on the doctor who can’t think straight when she’s around?”

“No. The other one,” Nabiki answered dryly.

She never discussed the arranged Tendou-Saotome engagement with any of her Todai friends. Instead, she described Akane merely as her boy-hating tomboy younger sister with a bad temper. The compound embarrassment of how they came from a family so old-fashioned that it still subscribed to such an outdated convention of misogyny and how difficult such a simple little thing as a date had proven to arrange would have killed Nabiki. The engagement could hardly be considered a real one anyway given the state of things.

Ranma proved right about needing her help. The past month had seen her respect for him only grow. Even together, they had needed that much time to work out the details. Convincing Akane that Ranma’s interest in going on dates had no basis in secret perverted intentions or any other nefarious ulterior motives had been a tour de force of persuasion. Arranging to have the fathers, fiancées, and rivals indisposed at the right time on the right day had been a logistical matter of multivariable calculus.

“You must be really happy for your sister,” Ishikawa said.

“We’ll see. It’s just a painting.”

“Whatever you say, my dear sinister Heathen (2). Just remember that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Having hands like that on your body would be amazing.”

“We need to get you a boyfriend.”

“Too cumbersome. Just introduce me to your model some time.”

Nabiki laughed again. “Fine, but look only. No touching. My sister’s a martial artist, you know.”

“You had the actual guy as the model?!”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“I take it back. You’re not smart. You’re crazy.”

“You’re concluding that on the basis of a hand?”

“Correction. Your depiction of a hand.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“When’s the date?”

“Today.”

“Sounds like fun. Seriously, though, Tendou.”

“What?”

“You really want to sell this one off?”

# # # # #​

Following Nabiki’s advice, Ranma had bought tickets for a performance of a two-character play titled "The Folly of Devotion." Ranma had been skeptical of the venue, but then Nabiki reminded him of the starstruck wonder that had overcome Akane that time she had been cast as Juliet in the Furinkan Drama Club’s interpretation of the Shakespearean classic. Akane’s long-standing love affair with the theater was a guarded secret known only to a few people, her sisters being among those few.

“She knows I’m facilitating your setup anyway,” Nabiki had pointed out. “Personally, I think bringing out this side of her would be a good thing for her self-esteem.”

“I don’t get it though. Why would someone like Akane have self-esteem issues? Everyone at school loves her.”

“Yeah. Why is that? Why does anyone?”

“I, uh, dunno.”

“Tell you what, Saotome,” Nabiki said with her trademark Cheshire cat’s smirk. “If you figure this one out with her, it will go a long way toward advancing your relationship. In fact, I’ll dare say that your window to her heart lies in that direction. Start with the play.”

That was how Ranma ended up buying the tickets. The story was about a newlywed couple whose world is turned upside down by a car accident that leaves the woman a quadriplegic. The man is steadfast in his commitment to his wife – at least initially. He showers her with affection and attention, and he spares no effort or price in his desire to protect her. He does everything for her, and he keeps things from her which he believes would only be stressful and burdensome.
The man’s love, however, inadvertently leads to mutual resentment over time. The woman feels he has smothered what remains of her identity; he is betrayed by her resentment. The story ends with the bittersweet sting of their divorce. They go their separate ways not because they do not love one another, but because they do.
“Ya sure about this?” Ranma had asked uneasily after hearing the synopsis.
“You don’t like the story?”
“No, it ain’t that. I see where ya get that’s an interesting concept. Even thought-provoking. It’s just that — “
“On my mother’s grave, trust me, Saotome,” she assured him. “You’ll have lots to talk about after. It’ll be a perfect opportunity for you to demonstrate to Akane some of the brains and sensibilities you’ve revealed to me these last few weeks.”
That was the conversation they had the day Nabiki created the water color of the hands for which Kozue had been giving her grief earlier. Ranma had actually been modeling his right hand over Nabiki’s hand mirror per her direction as they had chatted. She did have to concede that his hand was, objectively speaking, a very good anatomic specimen. His years of training in the Art had resulted in clean, elegantly defined lines of individual muscles, tendons, and bones so clear that even an untrained eye could pick them out. Perhaps even Michelangelo would have been intrigued by such a hand.

Now, the hour had come up just shy of six. She had not heard from either him or Akane for the entire day. Either the date had been an apocalyptic disaster or had gone amazingly well.

# # # # #​

“Well?”

Ranma, who, true to form, had been inhaling the sunny side up eggs and toast on his plate, paused to look up across the table at Nabiki. “Huh? What?”

“Ranma-kun,” she warned as she put her fork down and leaned back crossly into the dingy booth’s dated vinyl upholstery. Well-engineered hand or otherwise, her patience was running thin. “We’re the only 2 people sitting at a 24/7 Denny’s at 1 on a Sunday morning because you dragged me here. Either talk to me, or I’m going back home to sleep.”

Ranma had come to do the expected debrief of his date with Akane. His timing did not surprise Nabiki. His only opportunities to slip out undetected came either late at night or early in the morning when everyone back home was still asleep.

He intercepted Nabiki just after midnight as she was coming back from drinks and billiards with Kozue and some of the other art club kids. Par for the course for a Saturday evening, they had gone to one of the off-campus dives. On account of some guys from another nearby university with long sticks, loose pockets, and a poor understanding of how to work odds, she had been in a rather good mood when Ranma got to her. Her profit margin from the ensuing drunken turkey shoot had been one of her best. She herself had personally delighted in killing off more than one presumptuous narcissist asshole on a single turn at 9-ball, which she found to be a rather trivial physics problem with such basic geometric solutions.

“Sorry. Didn’t get a chance to eat earlier.”

“Really…?” Nabiki asked incredulously.

“Yeah. We, uh, actually kinda lost track of time.” When he and Akane had finally realized the hour, only bars and convenience stores remained open. Kasumi’s leftovers had been sufficient for Akane, but not him.

“That good, huh.”

“Yeah. Ya were right. Play was really good.”

“I was referring to my sister’s company.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. She loved it, just like ya said she would. Had tons to say after.” It was probably the most normal thing they had ever done together.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did you learn anything useful about my sister?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I — “

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, cutting him off. “I just wanted to know that your time was well spent.”

“I…. Thanks, Nabiki,” he said, bowing his head to her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said, waving him off with her left hand. “I’m happy it went well, but it’s still just a first date.”

He nodded to let her know that he understood. “Have ya also seen it?”

“The play?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “They had a showing here at Komaba early last term. The writer is a recent alum.”

“What were your thoughts?” He asked. “Do ya believe in love?”

She laughed. “Here I am losing beauty sleep on a Sunday morning over buttered toast, sunny side up eggs, and bacon trying to sort out your relationship with your fiancée . What do you think?”

“I think the truth is that ya like sunny side up eggs too when no one else is lookin’. Just like fried chicken.”

“Now you’re just being obnoxious.”

He laughed back at her. “Fine. Ya sent us to see a play portraying devotion as a folly and ‘happily-ever-after’ as just a fantasy.”

“No, I didn’t,” she smirked as she shoved a forkful of ketchup-lathered eggs into her mouth. “I sent you to see a play talking about how expecting to be rewarded for devotion itself is a folly. There’s no judgment in there about whether two people who love one another can or can’t be happy.”

“Okay. But ya still ain’t answered the question.”

“Come on. I just did.”

“How so?”

“You remember that line that the guy has towards the end as he’s reflecting with his best friend?”

“The one about the truest measure?”

“Yes,” she nodded before reciting the line aloud. “‘Sometimes, the truest measure of devotion is the strength to turn away from the thing you want the most.’ It means that love isn’t necessarily about whether or not you’re with someone, but about being able to hold their interests alongside or even before your own.”

“High standard.”

“It is,” Nabiki agreed. “And it should be.”

“You’re hoping I can give that to Akane one day?”

“Whoever Akane ends up with, I’m hoping he can give her that. I hope you also end up with someone who’ll do the same for you.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I do.” The confident, cocky grin he gave her was classic Ranma Saotome. She thought about saying something smart to cut him down to size, but then he preempted her with a question. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Whaddaya hope to have for yourself?”

Nabiki started to answer, but surprised herself with the realization that she did not really have anything to tell him. Society tended to expect that if a girl was considered attractive, she could not and should not be by herself. She never fully understood why.

To be fair, she understood that men tended to notice her, and she did occasionally amuse herself with the knowledge that she knew how to tease quite well if she wanted. She certainly had eyes and hands of her own too. In high school, she had accepted the company of one or two boys on a few occasions. Since arriving at Komaba, she had been on a few one-off dates: a pair of European ambassador’s sons, a local print artist, a student chef in culinary school, and one university dropout who drove for Uber nowadays.

Still, Nabiki invariably came away with the feeling of not needing or even really wanting more from anyone. If anything, she usually ended up annoyed or even disappointed for one reason or another. Unsurprisingly, the European boys had proved to be that elitist asshole type that she secretly despised of self-centered, have-all with no actual regard or appreciation of people who were not of a certain background. The local print artist lacked basic foresight and planning skills; he had been late by a considerable margin. The university dropout had “forgotten” to bring his wallet. As for the student chef, Nabiki did not even like his cooking; it had been far too bland.

Consequently, she could only simply say to Ranma, “ I don’t know.”

“You’re kidding, right?” he deadpanned incredulously. “Nabiki Tendou always has an answer for things.”

She laughed. “No, I don’t, Ranma.”

“That’s a bold admission. Especially coming from you. Ya feelin’ okay?”

She laughed. “What’s the point of telling you otherwise now? You’ve already seen through to my fried-chicken-licking, canned-beer chugging, sunny-side-up egg side.”

“So you’re trying to say that ya think of us as friends.”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “Why not.”

“God!” he groaned. “Getting a confession of amiable sentiment from ya is almost as rough as pulling one outta Ryoga.”

“I’m not going to ask for the details.”

“Don’t.”

“To answer your question,” Nabiki said as she studied the last remaining bit of eggs on her plate. “I honestly haven’t ever thought about ending up with anyone. I’m more than fine if I don’t. Love is a good thing for those who find it, but I don’t need it.”

“But you think Akane does?”

Nabiki nodded. “Akane is not the kind of person who can be alone in life. Most people aren’t.”

“And me?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “I thought I did, but after really talking to you recently, I realize that you don’t know either. Maybe you’ll be able to tell me after you get to know Akane a little better.”

Ranma leaned back and mulled over her words. “Modern and ballsy,” he concluded. ”I like it, Nabs.”

“Thank you,” she replied. The “Nabs” part, however, grated on her nerves. “Don’t call me that. Ever.”

“Kiki?”

“No.”

“Nabi?”

“No!”

“I’ve got it! Kani!”

“I’m not a fucking crab!!!” (3)

“Biki?”

“How about just ‘‘Na-bi-ki’!” she gritted through her teeth. “You can manage three syllables. I know because you’ve already been doing it for years.”

“I’m just messin’ with ya, ‘kay?” he said with a laugh. “Didn’t realize ya were sensitive about stuff like that — or really anything.”

“Akane’s wrong about a lot of things,” she grumbled, “but one thing she’s not wrong about is that you really can be an annoying jerk sometimes.”

“Okay, okay!” he said as he held his hands up to ward off the palpable heat from the stormy aura radiating at him from across the table. “I’m sorry, Nabiki.”

“You’d better be.”

“Just one last question?”

“What now?”

“Ya gonna eat that?” he asked, pointing his fork at the long-cold remnants of food in front of her.

With a sigh, Nabiki pushed her plate along with the check at him.

“What?!” he called after her back. “Trains stopped hours ago. I gotta run and walk back to Nerima. That costs calories, ya know!”

“Call me when you’re ready to talk about your next move with my sister,” she replied without looking back.

# # # # #​

CHAPTER NOTES:

1. The “Hands of God” is a famous excerpt from “The Creation of Adam,” fresco painting by Italian artist Michelangelo that forms part of the Sistine Chapel's ceiling in the Vatican. The “hands” are those of Adam and his Creator reaching out and touching one another. Michelangelo painted “The Creation of Adam” between 1508 and 1512.

2. “Sinister” is the Latin word for left-handed. The term came to have negative connotation over the centuries because of the unfair advantage that left-handed swordsmen had against right-handed opponents in battle.

3. “Kani” is the Japanese word for “crab.”
 
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CHAPTER SIX: MOCHI AND PIZZA
#6
CHAPTER SIX: MOCHI AND PIZZA


In the weeks that followed, Nabiki began to hear a certain tender warmth in Akane’s voice when she spoke of Ranma. Even when she complained about him, that feeling still came through. Those occasions, however, suddenly seemed few and far between.

“Thank you, Oneechan,” Akane said when she called one day. That happened about a week or so before Nabiki’s birthday. She had been between late afternoon classes. Other students rushed by as she worked on hurriedly shoving her tablet into her messenger brief.

“For what?” Nabiki asked distractedly.

“I don’t know,” Akane replied with a soft giggle. “For nothing and everything. I… I just feel happy and alive, like all things are suddenly possible. I think you more than anyone can understand what I mean. Like how you maybe felt when you actually realized that you were going to Todai and finally escaping Nerima?”

Nabiki stopped to laugh. “Actually, I was just trying to get away from you, Lover Boy, and all the craziness. Act of self-preservation. Not quite the same thing.”

“I…. I’m sorry we caused so much trouble,” Akane said with an uncomfortable laugh of her own. “What I’m trying to say is thank you for making us talk to one another. Like really talk. It’s helped me realize some things about myself. Important things.”

“I’m glad.”

“Can I come over this weekend? I’d like to tell you in person.”

“Of course. I have something until 4 or so,” Nabiki noted, referring to a commitment she had with Kozue earlier in the day. After weeks of harassment, Nabiki had finally given in and agreed to model a bust for her friend. “But I’m free after.”

“I’ll come around half 4 then. Maybe we can do dinner? Like old times?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Oneechan.”

# # # # #​

“Hold still!” Kozue screamed at Nabiki. “Are you trying to model a frown instead?!”

For the past two hours, she had been perched on the edge of a large window frame with afternoon sun baking the back of her head and her face aching from the facial expression that Kozue had ordered her to hold.

“Fuck, Ishikawa! Why a smirk of all things?” she groused back at the Kansai girl. Kozue had been adamant that no other expression would do for Nabiki.

“Because, my dear Heathen, no one else has one that holds more mystery or beauty than yours,” she teased with a parody of impish, seductive allure dripping off her usual lilting, sing-songy Kansai accent. At least Nabiki thought it was a parody. Still, if Kozue were not so openly lewd in her discussions of men, Nabiki could have sworn more than once that her friend was into her.

Kozue laughed. “If I were a man, hell yeah, I’d want you. Look at you!” She paused in her work to spread her plaster-smothered hands to indicate the outfit she had made Nabiki wear for the sitting. Per Kozue at least, using clothing to help elicit a desired expression from a subject was a standard practice for sculptors.

Nabiki had to concede that the outfit Kozue picked did make her look and feel dangerously pretty. The two-part fit-and-flare midi evening dress had a black, long-sleeved turtleneck top and a heavy, brilliant turquoise floral-print A-line silk skirt with white orchids accented with pink and violet hues. Her shoulders were wrapped in a long silk shawl with brilliant, bold, flaming strokes of crimson, royal blue, yellow, and orange. Her long, shapely legs were clad in black tights accentuated by a pair of black patent leather stilettos.

The dress and shoes had been part of the deal to persuade Nabiki to agree to the sitting. Ishikawa’s father was an import/export distributor for Ted Baker, Reiss, Louis Vuitton, and other European fashion houses, so she had access to such things with a heavy markdown. Nabiki agreed, reasoning to herself privately that she could later turn the clothes over to a consignment shop for a decent amount or rent them to Akane for one of her increasingly frequent dates with Ranma.

Since that night when Nabiki went with him for sunny side up eggs, the world began to move with a new and different sense of invigorated purpose. Akane agreed to go with Ranma to see yet another play the weekend after. With Nabiki’s help, he found tickets for something still thought-provoking, but more light-hearted this time around. They remembered to eat something following the performance too.

Afterward, Nabiki began to hear less and less from him. To her surprise, she missed the brutal, edgy, rapid-fire zingers that had come to define the witty, easy-going rapport that had developed between them. Few people could hold their own and make her laugh the way he had.

A few times, she called in her end of the deal and asked him to come by and model for a quick sketch or painting. She reasoned that doing so was a reasonable pretense to check up on things from his end. After the third session, however, she realised she should not be taking away time that he could be spending otherwise with Akane. Calling him over ran counter to the deal they had made that night over fried chicken and beer.

Escaping the anxious boredom that followed had been her real motivation for agreeing to model for Kozue. Outside, the inscrutable mask of her cool unflappability and the razor’s edge of her vicious wit remained intact — at first. Inside, however, a strange molasses of gray banality gradually settled over things. Aside from going to Setagaya and seeing Daigoro and the others at the Komei School twice per week, little else actually interested her.

Even her inspiration for creating deserted her. The lines and interfaces of light and shadow that she had once been able to so easily see in everything she heard and saw suddenly seemed blurred and vague. Some sort of essence seemed to have left the world, leaving everything simply to exist. Whether or not she thought of or saw any meaning in that existence simply felt agnostically inconsequential. She could not understand why, which was deeply unsettling. When even little William picked up that something about her had changed, she realised that she had to do something.

“Kiki-onee okay?” he asked over ice cream one day.

“I’m fine, William,” Nabiki had answered as she affectionately ruffled his hair and hastily plastered a bright smile on her face. “Why do you ask?”

“Well… Kiki-onee’s ice cream melted before she could eat it,” he replied, pointing at the gooey puddle of melted vanilla and cookie dough chucks on the small table between them.

After she boarded the train heading out of Setagaya, Nabiki dialed Kozue. “I’m free for the next few Saturdays if you are.”

# # # # #​

To meet Akane on time, Nabiki had to rush back from the Art school still wearing the outfit Kozue had given her under the black three-quarter length long coat that she had hurriedly tossed over her shoulders. The brilliant silk of the turquoise orchid-print skirt and her heels teased their presence beneath the coat’s hem. Just as she rounded the tree-lined bend leading up to the residence hall, she caught sight of Akane waiting by the front door.

Akane had in her hands a cloth-wrapped parcel, which Nabiki surmised must have been sent by Kasumi. Akane looked up and smiled as she heard Nabiki approach. Her expression, however, quickly dissolved into an awkward, starstruck gawk as she took in Nabiki’s appearance.

“Hello to you too,” Nabiki said dryly as she stepped past her speechless sister to wave her student ID at the card reader. “Coming?” she prompted as she held the door open.

“It really must be wonderful to be at a place like Todai,” Akane remarked with reverence as she fell in alongside her sister. “You have such a cool sophistication about you now.”

“Hardly. And no, this has nothing to do with a date or anything of the sort. I was just doing a favor for a friend.”

“Favor…?” Akane asked as she cast her gaze down at her sister’s black leggings and patent stiletto heels. “Oh….”

Nabiki laughed at the anxious consternation in her prudish sister’s eyes. “Not that kind of favor! Damn, Akane! Why does everyone have such a gutter brain nowadays?”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean – “

“Don’t worry about it. My face hurts too much to explain right now, but let’s just get this straight once and for all. For the record, I am not, nor will I ever be, a kyabakura girl (1) — for any price — and fuck all the losers who’d pay for that shit.”

“Oneechan!” a scandalized Akane cried out.

“What?”

“How can you say such things?!”

“I’m no different from who I’ve always been,” Nabiki replied coolly as she keyed them into her room. “And I’m not the one here with scandalized thoughts. Green tea Kit Kat?” she offered, procuring a pair of small, green, foil-wrapped bars out of her desk drawer.

“Oh! That reminds me!” Akane, visibly eager to change the subject, extended her hands toward her sister and offered the cloth-wrapped parcel she had brought. “Sakura mochi from Kasumi-oneechan. Just made this morning. She and Dad send their love and regards.”

The mention of Kasumi’s mochi brought a warm sense of childhood nostalgia. Nabiki sensed, however, that their older sister was trying to convey some sort of message by sending over the buns. Akiko used to make the sweet, sticky treats for her daughters early each spring around the time the cherry blossoms came. After her death, Kasumi took over making the mochi and sharing the pastries with her sisters as her own annual tradition. They used to laugh and tell silly jokes and stories as they ate. That tradition, however, had somehow fallen by the wayside in the years since the Saotomes moved into their home.

“I… I miss doing this, Oneechan,” Akane said as she studied the mochi in her hand.

“Me too,” Nabiki agreed. The uncomfortable silence that followed, however, in which the sisters were each left studying their respective buns quickly became too much for Nabiki. “Help unzip me out of this dress while you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Akane, almost certainly thinking the same thing, eagerly obliged. “Yes, I do have things to tell you. I don’t think Kasumi or Dad would understand.”

“Ranma?”

“I… I don’t know,” Akane started with a shy twiddle of her thumbs. “I wanted to talk to you first since this is kind of about him too.”

“I’m listening. Have a seat.”

Nabiki indicated her desk chair with a tilt of her chin as she finished slipping into a more typical and sensible ensemble of dark indigo slim fit jeans with a crème top finished off with a peach-colored button down cardigan.

“I am… happier since you pushed Ranma and I to spend time together,” Akane started. “When I’m with him now, he shares with me thoughts and insights that are so clear and direct and… refreshing. I feel surrounded by possibilities. He’s different from what I used to think he was.”

“Which was?”

“Simple, insensitive, uncaring, self-centered.”

“Arrogant?” Nabiki offered.

“Oh, he’s still that,” Akane giggled. “But I finally understand why he’s so confident and sure about himself in everything he does. You’re the same.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Both of you put yourselves out there, and neither of you are afraid or surprised by the risks and consequences of doing so.”

Nabiki took a seat on the bed, crossed her legs, and leaned forward with intrigue. “Surprised, no,” she conceded. “Afraid? Only idiots actually have no sense of fear.”

“But you still find a way to put yourself out there. You believe that you can be more than what you are and what others say you are.”

“What is it you’re trying to tell me, Akane?” Nabiki asked, giving her sister a gentle, encouraging smile. “You like him, right?”

Akane nodded. “I do. Except….”

“Except?”

“Except that…. that I like him more than I like myself. I don’t think that’s right or fair — for either of us.”

Akane had always had self-esteem issues out of proportion to her looks and abilities, even if there admittedly were a few things with room for improvement. This was the Achilles heel that had always distinguished her from her sisters. Nabiki recalled her previous words to Ranma about this aspect of her sister’s character.

If you figure this one out with her, it will go a long way toward advancing your relationship. In fact, I’ll dare say that your window to her heart lies in that direction….

“So what do you want to do, Akane?”

“I only have a few months left at Furinkan, so I really have to think about my future, right?” Akane reached for her purse and pulled out a set of folded papers, which she handed to Nabiki. “My acceptances,” she explained.

The names on the letters surprised Nabiki. Like her, Akane had always been an excellent test taker. Her recent Sentaa Shiken (2) results were good enough for her to go pretty much anywhere she wanted. That included even Todai and Kyodai. However, looking at the names in her hand now, Nabiki understood why Akane had wanted to talk to her before anyone else in the family:

Tama Art University

Kyoto City University of the Arts

Osaka Arts University

London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art

Tisch School of the Arts

“These are all arts and theater schools,” Nabiki noted, her eyes flashing with surprise and newfound respect for Akane. Her sister clearly had put in a lot of thought and effort — years in fact — into these choices. All of them were very good. Only one, however, was in Tokyo, and two of the five were not even in Japan.

Akane nodded. “You know that theater is the other thing that I’ve always really liked other than the Art. I’ve thought about taking my life in that direction for a while now. Seeing all those plays with Ranma and all the things we’ve talked about these last several weeks made me even more sure. That and, well, I… I….”

“Go on,” Nabiki urged gently.

“Those possibilities that I told you I feel when I’m with Ranma, Oneechan?”

“Yes?”

“I… Wonderful as they are, I realized that they’re actually all his — every single one tied to and anchored by him. They’re not really my own.”

Nabiki found herself confused. “You sound angry with him for some reason. Are you?”

Akane vehemently shook her head. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. For once, this is not his fault. I’m actually happy for him that he can be like that — but as a woman, I should also have just as much for myself. I need to be more like you.”

“Moi?” Nabiki asked, unable to conceal her surprise. “How so? You’re the one everyone loved growing up. I was never popular like you.”

“No,” Akane agreed. “You’re better. You’re so beautiful, and you do your own thing without regard for what others might think or say. You never apologize or justify being yourself to anyone.”

Despite the gravitas of the moment, Nabiki could not stop herself from choking up with laughter. “Sorry, Akane! “ she gasped, clutching at her belly. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m no Diana, Artemis or Athena here. Just an ex-Ice Queen mercenary forced into semi-retirement on account of age.”

Akane, however, did not seem to mind her sister making light of her words. She herself giggled back at Nabiki. “Of course not, but that’s what’s so… so cool about you. I need to be more like that, strong enough to create my own world and opportunities just like you have for yourself here at Todai. To do that, I… I think I need to leave Nerima and even Tokyo for a while. Maybe even Japan. I have to really find myself before I can decide whether or not Ranma is right for me.”

“Or you for him?”

Akane nodded. “Yes, that too. I told you. I don’t think my issues would make a relationship fair for either of us.”

Nabiki glanced over at her desk at the discarded wrappings from the buns they had consumed. She suddenly understood everything, including their conservative older sister’s annoying message to them both. Kasumi would never read anyone else’s letters, but she did receive the mail for the Tendou house each day, and she could read seals and return addresses on envelopes just as well as anyone.

Nabiki's appetite for any more mochi vanished as the ire of the closeted crusader within her stirred yet again. The duty her mother had discharged upon her had been clear: look after Akane and her interests at all costs. Maybe Kasumi had her own ideas about what those interests might be, but damned those prudish, old-fashioned views and ways. Akane had finally found the balls to do something sensible. Her will and desire to find herself had to be protected — whatever the implications might be for the Saotome-Tendou honor agreement and their respective families.

Of course. Nabiki wondered how Ranma would react. He would inevitably learn or discern that she had been the one to encourage Akane to leave. Would he approach this new crossroads with the refreshingly enlightened contemplation of those chats over fried chicken and sunny side up eggs? Or would he view Nabiki’s encouragement of Akane as a betrayal of the fried chicken agreement? Nabiki would simply have to make sure he understood. Ultimately, Akane’s self awareness could only pay positive dividends for him and her both – regardless of whether or not they ended up together. Akane deserved to have the time and space to discover and be herself.

Never had Nabiki’s pride in Akane as her sister been greater than in this moment here and now. Their mother would have been proud too. Biting down on the emotions that memories of Akiko threatened to unleash along with the haunted recollection of what Kozue had just forced Nabiki to endure, she suffered schooling her expression one more time into an amused smirk. “You want my help explaining all of this to Ranma and everyone else. That’s why you’re here.”

Akane nodded. “Am I crazy?”

“Among all those schools, which one do you really want?”

“New York,” Akane replied firmly without any hesitation.

Nabiki guessed as much. “Must’ve been some trip,“ she mused aloud, recalling how Akane had gone to visit the city with her two friends Yuka and Sayuri two summers ago. Sayuri apparently had relatives who lived there.

“I guess so.”

<How’s your English?>” Nabiki asked, abruptly switching languages.

“<Maybe better than you think>,” Akane replied, also switching easily from Japanese.

“<I… I didn’t know you kept up with it that well,>” Nabiki admitted, honestly surprised. Akane still definitely remembered (3).

<I hope Ranma and everyone else won’t be too angry. Please. Will you help me, Nabiki? >”

“<Don’t worry about that,” Nabiki said with a firm, dismissive wave of her hand. “You are crazy, Akane, but that’s because you’re a Tendou — not for realizing that you need to do what you have to do to find yourself. I… I’m proud of you for realizing these things. Mom would be too.>”

“<So you’ll help me…?>”

Nabiki nodded. “<You’ll have to be the one who does the talking, but I’ll help you figure out how to say it. I’ll also help you access the trust fund that Mom left in your name. No charge for any of this. Okay?>”

“Oneechan….” Akane said, her eyes shimmering now with her own naked emotions. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she said, crushing the air out of the older girl’s lungs with a ferocious glomp of gratitude.

“Akane…,” Nabiki gasped. “Normal girl, remember? Not a martial artist. You have to let me live if you want my help….”

“Oh! Sorry!” the chagrined younger girl said as she let go and backed away from her sister.

“This little chat of ours has become too serious,” Nabiki grumbled as she massaged her ribs. “We can talk more later. Wanna grab something else to eat other than mochi?”

Akane smiled with an impish light suddenly in her eyes. “How about fried chicken?”

Nabiki laughed. “What else did he tell you about?” Secretly, somehow, she found herself hoping that Akane did not know about the sunny side up eggs, buttered toast, and bacon.

“Canned Kirins, but that’s about it. Anything else that I should know?”

“Hmm,” she said, feigning thoughtful contemplation to conceal her mental sigh of relief. He would pay though for that little indiscretion about chicken and beer. “He prefers legs and thighs over breasts. Oh, also definitely hens over roosters.”

“Oh…” a flummoxed, beat red Akane whispered to herself. “That’s… that’s gross, Oneechan!”

Nabiki delighted in her unapologetic seizure of the last laugh.“How about New York pizza instead?”


# # # # #​


CHAPTER NOTES:

(1) Regarding “Kyabakura,” the well known Japanese women’s studies scholar Kumiko Fujiwara-Fanselow writes in her 2010 book “Japanese Women: Perspectives on Past. Present, and Future”:
“Kyabakura, where thousands of Japanese women work as hostesses across the country, are establishments that fall somewhere between a cabaret and a club. They sprang up in the mid-1980s and represent just one of several types of establishments, including “soap lands,” pubs, snack bars and “pink salons” that offer various types of services for men.
As a rule, kyabakura hostesses do not engage in sex with their customers, and men are forbidden from touching the women’s breasts and other body parts….

… While many of these women look upon hostessing as a career that pays more than a lot of other jobs available to those with not much education or specialized skills, there are college students who work part time in kyabakura to earn spending money or help pay for tuition. The attitude among such students seems to be that as long as the men aren’t going to touch their bodies, nothing is wrong in getting paid — and paid much more than working part time at a restaurant or convenience store — if men want to pay money to have a drink or meal with them.”

(2) "Sentaa Shiken" refers to the(大学入試センター試験, Daigaku Nyūshi Sentā Shiken), a standardized test that was used for undergraduate admissions for many years by all public and some private universities in Japan. It was held annually during a weekend in mid-January over a period of two days. For many students, the test was the difference between college entrance and one year's study for the next year's exams as a rōnin. Since the test was only administered annually and entrance to top-ranked universities and colleges is so competitive in Japan, the test became a target of scrutiny by many. In addition, rules for tardiness and absences were extremely strict and always resulted in the forfeit of the right to take the exams. There were no "makeup" sessions or re-takes offered except in certain cases such as train outages. The test was replaced in 2021 by a new Common Test for University Admissions (大学入学共通テスト, Daigaku Nyūgaku Kyōtsū Tesuto).

(3) See Chapter Two, chapter note #3.
 
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(REVISED 8/4) CHAPTER SEVEN: BLUE, RED, AND BLACK
#7
CHAPTER SEVEN: BLUE, RED, AND BLACK

“Im Blau,” on loan from the Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen in Düsseldorf, hung before Nabiki on a wall in one of the feature galleries at the National Museum of Modern Art in Chiyoda. Blue had always been her favorite color — cool and unrepentantly fundamental. Few other paintings appealed to her love of this color as much as “Im Blau” with its powerful, unapologetic juxtaposition of it against red and black. Kandinsky somehow succeeded in drawing out of that cacophonic dissonance an unexpected sort of larger harmony. Nabiki adored him for that way he had of speaking directly to the essence of things. He was always bold and unapologetic in his distillations of the world down to the actual core of all that mattered.

“A lot like you, Na-chan,” Akiko once said. That also happened to be the last time “Im Blau” had last been in residence at the museum. She used to bring Nabiki here on weekends — especially on rainy days when idleness rendered her restless mind most prone to carrying out mischief and playing pranks on her sisters and others. Nabiki missed her mother very much. Even now, she still felt that Akiko remained the one person in the world who had ever truly understood her.

The world in which Nabiki found herself now felt very much like the chaos in “Im Blau” — warring with its own Nature to orient itself into some semblance of harmonious meaning. She quickly remembered herself and angrily swiped the back of her left hand across her stinging eyes. It would not do for people to see her like this. She had not come here to wallow in old grief – but to find solace and ask for forgiveness.

Akane, as expected, received considerable grief from both their father and Kasumi for “leaving the family behind” and “neglecting her duties as the Heir” to the Tendou school. Japan had so many fine colleges and Universities, and so many bad things could happen to a young girl living abroad — especially in a wild, lawless place like America. Any number of bizarre ideas could also get into a person’s head in a place like that. Akane might not even be recognizable to anyone in the family when she came back home — if she even came back. Akane’s repeated assurances that she could take care of herself and that she would return seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“The Schools will never be joined this way!” the old man incessantly lamented.

Both fathers also came down hard on Ranma for failing in his “duty as a man” to persuade his iinazuke to remain in Japan. Uncle Gemma had threatened more than once to disown Ranma for his “shortcomings as a Man Among Men.” Only Akane’s strategic, off-handed insertion of the observation that disowning Ranma would be a public admission of Gemma’s own failure — as a father and in his promise to Ranma’s mother on pain of seppuku — had kept the elder Saotome from finishing the sentence. Nabiki laughed hard when Akane told her.

Still, even Nabiki had not been spared from reproach for her role in “this family tragedy.” She still remembered when her father had summoned her home to receive her due earful. Kasumi, of course, had been the one to relay the message, and, of course, the old man insisted on having this discussion in the dojo and when Akane was not around. The two scheming sisters could not be afforded any opportunity collude in their mutual defense.

# # # # #​

“NABIKI!!!!”

“What?”

She feigned a calm, blissful ignorance as she gazed directly at the fury in her father’s eyes. Her show of placid indifference would surely piss him off, but that had never bothered her before. In fact, venting would probably do him some good. The old man definitely had a lot of annoying, old fashioned baggage up his ass.

“This is your fault!”

“Me…? What exactly do you think I’ve done, Dad?”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Nabiki. I’m all for you girls having a good education, but you going to Todai is one thing. This?! Are you trying to ruin our family?! Your Mother made you promise to look after Akane! Obviously, your duty as her sister was to discourage her from contemplating this insanity — not push her off the cliff to do it!”

Nabiki’s impish tolerance for the charade dissolved instantly with the offensive invocation of her mother. “Don’t bring Mom into this,” she warned. “I know exactly what she asked me to do for Akane, and that has nothing to do with the agreement you made with Ranma’s father! Akane has a right to do what she needs to find herself. My job — as is yours I might add — is to support her in that journey of growth. She’d be worthless to you as an heir and to Ranma or anyone else as a wife without that! You should be proud of her!”

“How am I supposed to be proud of daughters who would so callously throw away centuries of family honor and tradition?!”

“DAD!!!!” she roared back at him. “Nothing is being thrown away! If anything, a little self-discovery might even strengthen Akane’s interest and commitment to Ranma!”

Her father slapped his forehead in frustration as he groaned at his second daughter with palpable exasperation. “You and your sister really don’t understand, Nabiki. Honor is about far more than one person’s desires.”

People existed as parts of a community, be that a home, a village, or even a whole society or nation. Every single one needed a bedrock of tradition on which to define its ethical and moral standards.

“For this Tendou family, that bedrock is, always has been, and must always be our honor!”

“I understand all of that, Dad!” Nabiki shot back, struggling not to curse at him. “And I would never encourage Akane to do anything I knew to be dishonorable. How is what she’s proposing different from any of those crazy training journeys you used to take with Uncle Genma?! Tell me how you think Akane’s decision brings dishonor!”

Soun turned pale and incoherent with rage at his daughter’s words. “That is different! We are men!!!”

Stupid and futile as it was, Nabiki screamed and lunged at him wanting to rip his hair out. Before she could get to him, however, Kasumi appeared like a phantom and inserted herself between them.

“Stop it, Nabiki!” the older girl screeched. “What is wrong with you?! Apologise to Father right this instant!”

“For what?!”

“Maybe you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?”

“Nabiki!” Kasumi hissed with a disapproving shake of her head.

“What?!” Nabiki herself now started to feel uneasy.

“I told you before! Be careful about what you wish for! You’re always so sure of yourself and your ability to know everything!”

“Cut to the chase, Kasumi! What happened?”


# # # # #​

That was how Nabiki learned about the end of Ranma and Akane’s engagement.

Ranma informed the fathers that morning of his decision. He agreed that Akane had to find herself before she could determine her needs, desires, and what role, if any, he had in the picture that would emerge. He would not stand in her way. All of this happened just a few weeks after that day when Nabiki had shared mochi and pizza with her sister and days before they graduated from Furinkan.

In retrospect, Nabiki should not have been surprised. Yet, she found herself slapped in the face by the guilty discovery of her own unconscious biases about her sister and Ranma. Somewhere along the way, even she had unknowingly given herself over to the parental doctrine that they were destined to end up together. New York was supposed to just be one step on a road to self-discovery that would still somehow lead to a happily-ever-after ending with the larger-than-life Heir to the other branch of the Musubetsu Kakutou-Ryu.

The Saotomes moved out shortly afterward to Auntie Nodoka’s new home (1). Nabiki learned that it happened to be in Setagaya Ward not far from the Komei School. She found out when she discovered Ranma one day again sitting on one of the benches by the school’s main gate waiting for her. He surprised her by coming to explain things.

By this time, despite her ex-communication for the time-being from the Tendou home, Nabiki had already managed to hear Akane’s version of the story. Still, Nabiki found herself too curious to refuse his side, so she let him accompany her to the station and onto the train back to Meguro. An awkward, expectant silence hung between them until they ended up by the canal, a place where she was sure no one would overhear them.

“It ain’t what you’re thinkin’.”

“What do you think I’m thinking?”

“Ya think the real reason I did it is ‘coz I decided I don’t like Akane.”

She gave him a lop-sided, knowing grin. “A reasonable inference, don’t you think? Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. I think a part of her may even be relieved. She really does need time and space to figure out who she is and what she wants.”

Ranma stopped walking, turned off toward the side rail, and leaned over to study the river flowing quietly beneath the cherry blossoms. After spending time with Akane recently, he did not find her decision surprising. However, her moves compelled him too to wonder about himself and his own future.

“I do like being with your sister,” he eventually admitted. “She’s smart, and she’s got really interesting and different ways of thinking from what I do. We had a lot of fun together since ya helped me get her to open up. She’s pretty cute too.”

“But?"

“I ain’t got no clue if the way I feel is just ‘coz she’s the first girl I ever chose to hang out with like that or if it’s really her.” Maybe there were other guys Akane could like more than him too. With time and other experiences, they might even discover that they liked completely different people and things with no real or meaningful commonality.

Ending the engagement had been an amiable, mutual decision. Akane, however, had already taken a considerable emotional and psychological beating for making her plans known. Ranma chose to take the blame for being the one to walk away officially. He calculated that doing so might take off some of the tremendous pressure already on Akane’s shoulders.

“I was just tryin’ to do the right thing. Sorry ‘bout wastin’ your time. Thought the least I could do wuz come try to explain.”

“It was kind of you to do that for Akane,” Nabiki acknowledged before deciding to throw a verbal backhand at him for good measure. Their conversation had become far too heavy and depressing for her taste. “Don’t apologize either. It’s annoying.”

“Huh? Whaddaya mean?” His face contorted into a bemused frown.

“We all had some fun, and you both learned some important things about yourselves and each other,” she explained. “That’s not a waste. If it means anything, I, for one, think that you and Akane are doing the right thing.”

He nodded to himself as he digested her words. “You’re the first to say that. Thank you.”

“What happens now?” she asked as she stepped up beside him against the rail and also studied the river waters drifting by below.

“Whaddaya mean? In terms of what?”

“Anything,” she said with a small shrug of her shoulders.

He also shrugged. “Be ronin (2) for at least a year, I guess. Figure out if there’s somethin’ I wanna get an education in.”

With his father’s screwy priorities having hung over his head for so long, Ranma honestly never had much of a chance to think through his own desires before. Yet, knowing someone like Nabiki at Todai, hearing about Akane’s plans, and now with the engagement off the table, the potential for possibilities seemed limitless.

“I…. I wanna thank ya for all ya tried to do to help me and Akane. You’re actually a really nice person.”

Nabiki knew he meant well, but she suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Her name and “nice” were not words she was accustomed to hearing together. Even boys and men trying to flatter her did not use those two together. Her mother, as far as she could recall, had been the only other person to describe her that way.

By the time she realised what was happening, she was already too late. Her annoyance had spilled over yet again over into the familiar realms of unresolved anger and unending sadness. Old, haunted questions re-emerged about all that might have been if only Akiko had not died. Maybe Akane could have found her way to questions that actually mattered far sooner. Maybe Kasumi would not be such a damned coward always afraid of living. Maybe her father could actually have been a more even-keeled man, present as a source of loving support for them all instead of the scared, raving ass who always talked about what should not be done.

Maybe Nabiki herself even really could have been a happy person and not the angry, bitter daughter Akiko left behind, cynical and disillusioned by her lonely lack of any real power to influence the crazy, unfeeling, fucked-up world around her. Even worse, she continued to prove too fundamentally weak of a person to not feel for all that she saw and heard around her.

Your Mother made you promise to look after Akane! Obviously, your duty as her sister was to discourage her from contemplating this insanity — not push her off the cliff to do it! How am I supposed to be proud of daughters who would so callously throw away centuries of family honor and tradition…?

He professed to have loved her mother with all of his heart and soul. Yet, he had no fucking clue about her mother’s actual values and beliefs. Idiot!

And then there was that fucking “We are men!!!” shit. She could not forgive her father for saying those things to her either. Akane was not a fucking cow or a doll, and neither was she. Their mother would never have allowed him to speak to her like that. Fuck him for daring to lash out at her like that!

Fuck whatever higher beings were out there laughing for taking away her mother!

It was too late now.

She was out of control again, too hot and rabid to stop herself from smashing into the dam’s breaking point. The tenuous moorings of her consciousness in reality burned away in the heated red of hate and blood that drowned out her vision. All over again, she was the stupid, numb, helpless little girl in black too weak and wretched to say anything or even cry as they sealed the casket and burned away all that remained of her beautiful mother’s earthly existence.

A nasty, dying roar of anguish rang out in the darkness. Vaguely, Nabiki found herself aware that this sickly, inhuman sound was that of her own fury and despair. A bizarre, infernal incantation raw from the Heathen lips of Hell’s angels echoed in the descending darkness of her mind — recurring malevolent, spiteful words that she had first come across in a reading from one of her classes a few weeks back:



Sors immanis et inanis,

Rota tu volubilis, status malus

Vana salus,

Semper dissolubilis

Obumbrata et velata,

Michi quoque niteris…!​


Fate truly was cruel and inane, a wretched spinning wheel conjuring vain hopes and lies about human wellbeing, inevitably fading into nothingness -- veiled and in shadows meant only to torment the living.

Sors immanis….

Why the fuck did you have to leave me?!

Why couldn’t I even say goodbye?!

# # # # #
“Nabiki…?”

Ranma’s hands fell on her shoulders, snatching her away from the ominous abysmal edge of the sudden onslaught of lurking madness. Shaken, she gasped as the terrible vision of her beautiful mother disappeared, replaced unceremoniously by his concerned face before her.

“Ya okay?” he asked, genuine worry audible in his voice. “Nabiki?”

However, the ignominious prospect of discussing anything about the depths of darkness within her with anyone, much less Ranma Saotome, filled her with mortified horror. In a panic, she scrambled to bury the evidence of her demons behind her usual mask of barbed stoicism.

“I’m fine,” she answered. However, the crack in her voice threatened to betray her. She tried to school her features into a disarming smile and decided to keep talking, both to steady herself and to attempt to throw him off. “I also had to listen to my Dad’s rant the other day about the engagement thing, but don’t worry. I’m not a martial artist, but I’m still tough enough for a demon head or two.”

He scrutinised her with a strange, humorless look that she did not understand before saying, “I know I said somethin’ that really bothered ya just now. I’m sorry.”

Dammit. He did not believe her. She prepared to cut him off and make an excuse about having to get back to Komaba. “Ranma — “

“Ya remember that Nekoken technique thing, the one that fucks with your mind by drawing on the fear of cats?”

Nabiki did remember, but before she could say anything, he turned his back to the rail, slid down to sit on the ground, and looked up at her with a silent, impassioned entreaty in his eyes.

“Just listen for a moment, yeah? If ya still wanna leave after, I understand.”

Her resolve to turn away crumbled. For some reason, she did want to hear what he would say. She dropped down to sit beside him. As she did so, she had to avert her gaze. She could not stand letting him read anymore into her.

He talked about a certain look of red in a person’s eyes right before they reached the limit of how much terror the conscious mind could handle before slipping into the cat’s mindset. Uncle Gemma became obsessed with drawing that look out of Ranma when he was forcing him to learn the technique. Over and over, Ranma was forced to thread on that razor’s edge of madness until his mind’s will crumbled and he finally slipped into the Nekoken for the first time. Ranma had been only 10. The memories of all that he endured in order to fall off the cliff into darkness then still continued to haunt him.

“That’s the look ya had in your eyes just now.”

“I… I —“ Nabiki started to protest, but her mouth could not form any words.

“Nabiki — “

Only when Nabiki felt Ranma’s arms closing around her and the heat of her own tear-streaked face against his shirt did she realise that she was screaming. She could no longer contain the pain of her broken heart. Her body exploded and came apart with violent, unchecked sobs unlike anything she had ever known.

She cried for a very, very long time, but he stayed with her, gently rocking her in his arms, and whispering kind, meaningless assurances. His fresh scent of pine and cedar washed over her as he did. Somehow, all of it had a strange, gradually soothing effect on her.

After she had spent herself, she found herself telling him everything. Years and years of unspoken thoughts and feelings bled freely into the open.

Her mother’s beautiful name.

Her father’s words to her in the dojo — and others very much like them over the years directed at either herself or one of her sisters.

The questions that tormented her about what might have been.

The hellacious vision of fire and blood on her dead mother’s face.

The indescribably painful hole that remained cut out in her heart.

Everything but the bizarre, hedonistic vision of the individual words from the incantation from “O Fortuna” turning one by one into angry crimson drops of blood.

That last one would have been too much, though he probably thought she had lost her mind by now anyway. Even Nabiki thought she had. If he did walk out on her, however, that would not have been anything new, and none of what she said really mattered since he was no longer going to be a part of their family. Concluding that she truly had nothing left to lose, she decided to tell him what she really had wanted to say all along.

“Other than Mom, you’re the only person who’s ever told me that I’m ‘nice.’ Please don’t do that again. She told me that, and then left me in this fucked up world where ‘have-all’ asses have their way with all the ‘have-nots’ and where honor, dreams, and aspirations mean different things for a man than a woman. Even if you don’t understand and think I’m crazy, just say that you won’t.”

He smiled. “All right. I understand. Ya ain’t ‘nice’ — but ya ain’t crazy either.”

Her eyes locked onto him with bewildered incredulity. “H-how do you know…?”

“Between my Jusenkyo problem, a crazy panda for an old man, and all the insane wanna-be fiancees I’ve had since comin’ to Nerima, I think I understand a thing or two ‘bout crazy. Maybe you’re a little rough around the edges — a few secrets and a past with some bumps — but ya ain’t crazy.”

She gave him a wan chuckle despite herself.

He did have a point. Compared to her life, his own could make a decent drama or even a manga series.

A weight she had not been aware of previously suddenly seemed to lift off her shoulders.

“What happened by the way? Ya don’t have to tell me if ya don’t want, but – “

“It was a brain aneurysm.”

Akiko’s demise had been traumatically fast. One moment, she had been normal, laughing and talking with her daughters. The next moment, she was just gone. It had actually happened on a beautiful Spring day much like today.

Nabiki had just turned thirteen then, just a few weeks past her first period. Of course, she kept the extra details to herself.

“I’m sorry.”

Nabiki gave him a weary shrug. Anything she could have said would have been an inconsequential waste of breath. She knew from experience.

“That why ya create all those things outta whatcha see all the time?” he asked as he digested her words.

“What do you mean?”

“Paintings like the one ya used my hand for. The sketch I saw that night when we munched on chicken. Those are how ya process and make sense outta all the things ya see, right?”

She nodded. “It helps.”

“The one ya used my hand for. What happened to that one?”

Nabiki sighed. He was referring, of course, to the blue, red, orange, and black one depicting the anonymised silhouettes of a pair of open hands held open to one another over a body of water reflecting an image of sunrise (4). Kozue had been right about that painting really being one of Nabiki’s better creations, and, as Kozue predicted, a part of Nabiki did regret selling it.

Still, as intended, she had been able to get new clothes and shoes for Kumi, Daigoro, Takashi, and William with some still left over for other agendas. The painting fetched just under 30000 yen and generated more additional interest in her style among the locals than she expected.

“Can ya teach me how to do stuff like that?”

Nabiki started to laugh, thinking that Ranma was teasing her. Any moment, he would laugh too, and the joke would be out in the open.

Except he did not laugh.

“You’re serious,” she realized as she saw the disappointed frown on his lips.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just….”

"Another unconscious bias?" he offered. "About ‘have-all’ martial arts types like me?"

Recognizing the moral quagmire in which he had trapped her, she sighed again and threw up her hands in uncharacteristic defeat. This sort of thing was becoming far too common between them. The last few days had clearly taken their toll on her.

"Fine. Why not? But this entire conversation just now stays between us."

“Of course. Even if I ain’t engaged to Akane anymore, we’re still friends, right?”

She returned his smile, touched by his reminder of the last rule she had laid out that night over chicken. However, the memory also triggered her recollection of Akane’s mischievous ribbing a few weeks back about that and the canned Kirins on Christmas Eve.

“By the way, Ranma….”

# # # # #​

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said about you.”

The colors of “Im Blau” staring back at Nabiki here on this late Spring Sunday afternoon suddenly seemed just a little bit brighter. The lines too seemed just a little bit clearer.

He speaks directly to the essence of things, always bold and unapologetic in his distillations of the world down to the actual core of all that matters. A lot like you, Na-chan….

“I miss you, Mom.”

# # # # #​

CHAPTER NOTES:

1. The original Saotome home was destroyed by the fiancees at the end of the manga.

2. In Japan, a rōnin (浪人) is a student who has graduated from high school but has failed to enter any school at the next level, or the school they were specifically aiming to enter. These students usually time to study outside of the school system for entrance in a future year.

3. Cross-reference Chapter Note #1 for Chapter One.
 
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(REVISED 8/4) CHAPTER EIGHT: AN EVERLASTING SIGN
#8
CHAPTER EIGHT: AN EVERLASTING SIGN

Disclaimer: References to “The Things You Are to Me” and “The Secret Garden” are intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from the references. All rights to “The Things You Are to Me” and its lyrics belong to Rolf Loveland and Brendan Graham.

# # # # #​
The thick, obnoxious scent of shrine incense hung in the air.

Akane and Nabiki stood side by side, dressed in traditional formal attire, in the heat of the early August sun. Akane wore a pink silk kimono patterned with purple irises and white sakura complimented by a deep royal blue obi. Nabiki’s kimono was equally striking with its royal blue silk body adorned with soft pink orchids and a vibrant fuschia obi.

In unison, the sisters clapped their hands three times, bowed their heads, and prayed in silence — or at least Akane did. Nabiki, for her part, simply went through the old outward motions their mother had taught them. She was here merely to humor Akane, who had asked for her sister’s company when she went to make her formal offering for good luck.

“Please, Oneechan,” Akane entreatied when she called Nabiki earlier in the week. “I don’t think anyone else would go with me if I asked.”

“Anyone else,” of course, meant Kasumi and their father. After the engagement ended, a fragile truce of resigned civility had eventually been established between the two camps in their family. Akane was probably right though. Asking Kasumi or their father still seemed a little far-fetched.

“I think Mom would be happy if we went together,” Akane added, acknowledging Nabiki’s bitter disdain for the very Providence which had taken their mother from them. Predictably, however, Akane’s clever invocation of their mother’s memory crushed the last remnants of Nabiki’s will to resist.

Now, however, the old adage about no good deed ever going unpunished replayed repeatedly in Nabiki’s head as she stood beside her sister on the temple grounds.

As a concession, Akane proposed going to Ōtori Jinja. She did not mean the famous grand shrine in Asakusa with the same name, but rather the small, humble one in Meguro that happened to be walking distance from Komaba.

However, Akane still insisted on being completely formal about everything. Consequently, Nabiki ended up coerced to desiccate out into her beautified bondage wrap while fighting not to break down in a fit of coughs as she endured inhaling the cloud of potential carcinogens swirling around her.

The way even modern formal kimonos still inherently restricted movement, leaving a girl looking like a helpless flower, grated heavily on her nerves. Even owning a kimono had been a bitter, begrudging concession to the pragmatic realization that there were still occasions when an ambitious girl wanting to advance her own agendas could not escape wearing one, even in 21st century Japan. She rued the day she had made the mistake of casually complaining to Akane about needing to own such a piece of clothing.

“Thank you, Oneechan. It… it means a lot to me that you’re here to believe in me,” Akane said after she finished praying, cutting into Nabiki’s thoughts. Gratefully, Akane wrapped her arms around Nabiki and buried her tear-streaked face in the sleeve of the older girl’s kimono.

Sheepishly, Nabiki felt the balloon of rage within her pop as she saw her sister’s misty eyes. Outwardly, however, she simply gave Akane a curt nod of acknowledgement and, in clipped, restrained staccato tones reiterated her confidence in Akane and that their mother would have been proud. She did not have much more she could say without lying.

Well, maybe she had one other thing.

Everyone in the know understood that Ranma would not come tonight for Akane’s sendoff party or even to Narita tomorrow — nor should he. However, he had given Nabiki one final message to convey to Akane.

“He also wishes you well.”

Akane and Ranma, despite the end of their engagement, remained on surprisingly friendly terms. Akane made no secret of the fact that he remained important to her and that still seeing him around from time to time made her happy. Hearing about the new things he had been up to put her mind at ease.

At the start of Summer, he began teaching martial arts classes at various gyms around Setagaya and in neighboring Suginami ward as well as Meguro. He also took a job at a coffee shop near one of the Suginami gyms, which happened to be in the neighborhood around the Asagaya College of Art and Design. She went to see him there once. He made her a decent latte with some surprisingly good latte art.

He mentioned that he had recently started to explore the art of manga sketching, much to Akane's surprise. She did not quite grasp his explanation for this new hobby, other than his mention that he had been spending time with art students from the college. Nevertheless, he appeared content. Akane asked if she could read one of his manga stories someday, which seemed to make both of them happy.

“Thank you,” Akane told her sister. “For helping Ranma to understand. For being his friend.”

“Of course.” Nabiki replied with a smirk. “Don’t worry. I’ve already added it to your tab.”

Akane chuckled knowingly before turning serious again. “I’ll miss you, Oneechan. Please check up on him every now and then.“

After a brief detour to Komaba to liberate themselves of their kimonos, the sisters rendezvoused with a small group of friends at a karaoke hall located on the outskirts of Nerima and Setagaya. Yuka and Sayuri came as did Daisuke and Hiroshi. A few other recent Furinkan graduates from Akane’s class, but whose names Nabiki never bothered to learn, also came.

For Akane and Nabiki, karaoke invoked especially warm and special feelings, being one of the few activities they had regularly done together with Kasumi as kids, at least before Ranma entered their lives. Akane had always been the best among the sisters. On a stage, she exuded a confident, graceful air that was strikingly antithetical to her usual clumsiness and the notoriously short temper she so routinely flashed to mask her sensitive insecurities. Her singing voice was exceptionally beautiful, and she possessed a surprisingly intuitive sense of how to use lighting to her advantage.

Tonight, however, she was simply and utterly sublime.

Nabiki found herself mesmerized, almost even happy for the first time in a long time. Proudly, she mused to herself that her sister truly deserved her chance to grow and shine in a place like New York. The Tendou Irish twins had always looked out for one another, just as Akiko would have wanted . That was the way it had been and the way that it would always be.

For a moment, Nabiki too felt transported to a different time and place entirely unrelated to the secret mess that her life had become since the day she saw “Im Blau” again in Chiyoda.

That was at least until Akane sang that song. It was a mysterious, sonorous ballad in English that talked about the sky as if it were a painting hung out to dry, an image of such a grand design that it would serve as an everlasting sign of all things that a man meant to a woman in… well, a womanwith a head messed up by those types of feelings.


# # # # #

Do ya believe in love?

Here I am losing beauty sleep on a Sunday morning over buttered toast, sunny side up eggs, and bacon trying to sort out your relationship with your fiancée. What do you think?

I think the truth is that ya like sunny side up eggs too when no one else is lookin’. Just like fried chicken….

Asshole.

By now, Nabiki realized that taking Ranma on as a student had been a mistake. She remained adamant with herself, however, that none of this had anything to do with her secret, long-standing attraction to him. For Nabiki, her ability to keep her head high and avoid the baggage of emotional entanglements had always been a point of pride.

Definitely, she found him pleasing to her eyes. She always had ever since she first saw him standing with his father in their genkan when she was just 17. She even daydreamed more than once about being held in his arms and how it might feel to have him inside of her.

She had never felt guilty or ashamed of those desires. Biology was a truth unto itself, and refusing to admit otherwise was simply a waste of time. From the gossip mill around Furinkan, Nabiki was keenly aware that many other girls thought those kinds of things about him too.

In her case, however, she had the advantage of being able to placate her conscience with the knowledge that he was off-limits by definition anyway. That he seemed a little on the dumb side for her tastes had also served as an extra guardrail for quashing the worm trying to work its way into her teenage head.

Now at the age of 20, however, unfamiliar, nameless emotions crept past her defenses and began messing with her mind. These strange new feelings lacked any of the rosy tint of innocent, lustful teenage curiosity and were far more minascious. To make things worse, those guardrails that she had always relied on in the past, having proved utterly illusory, were no longer there. Before she knew, she found herself helplessly transformed into a confused, fucked up girl whom she could no longer recognize.

Of course, she kept this mess to herself, taking excessive pains to preserve an outward illusion of normalcy around everyone — Kozue, her other friends, the children, and especially Ranma and Akane. They would not understand, and the humiliation would have been unbearable. She could not imagine her reputation ever recovering. Even if Akane had let him go, the shit running through her head still felt weird regardless. More than that, she really did not have time at this point in her life to waste on the stupidity of entanglements like a relationship. Like she said that night over sunny side up eggs, she was going places, and her life was far too busy for that sort of thing — with anyone.

After that day in Chiyoda, the strange mental malaise that had plagued her after creating the water color based on her hand and Ranma’s touching over her hand mirror disappeared seemingly overnight. Her muse returned, suddenly speaking to her about rich, inspired lines and bold colors about everything, everywhere.

Between classes, studying, and the rest of her life, Nabiki struggled to keep track of her ideas. She quickly found herself starting more projects than she could finish. Even then, she still created things at a breakneck pace, averaging a painting and a handful of sketches every week for quite a while.

Maybe Ranma’s sudden and unexpected desire to learn from her acted as some sort of catalyst for this passionate creative Renaissance, or maybe the two were coincidental and unrelated. She could not tell. Regardless, he began meeting up with her on weekends, usually in Meguro. They would go to coffee shops or pick a spot off the tree-lined walk alongside the canal or at one of the numerous parks in the neighborhood. Sometimes, they also met in Setagaya on afternoons when she went to the Komei School.

Just before Tanabata, she began experimenting with manga-like sketches. Originally, she had been trying to find a way to explain the Star Festival myth to Daigoro, Kumi, Takashi, and William. She casually disclosed the new project to Ranma one day during one of their sessions. He seemed genuinely taken by the idea of telling stories through art. He asked her to teach him this too.

“Pretty neat,” he said, handling her unfinished sketch of Ori-Hime and Hiko-Boshi with care, as if it were a precious item. The drawing depicted the two celestial lovers reaching out to each other with their hands touching.

“Why?” she asked, knitting her brows with suspicious curiosity.

“Why what?”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“In?”

“Manga? Telling stories?”

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair as he studied her. “People around me seem to have stories written on their faces worth tellin’. Like my students at the gym or the customers comin’ in and outta the coffee shop where I started workin’. Especially people at the shop.”

“Hmm,” she smirked. “Didn’t think you noticed or cared about such things.”

“Sure I do. Always have. I already told ya that I just didn’t wanna let on before that I do. How do ya think I always win my fights? Musubetsu Kakutou-Ryu’s built around takin’ anything ya can see and hear and runnin’ with it.”

Cocky ass.

“Ya also see the world that way, right?” he asked, drawing her out of her thoughts. “Having, not having – same basic idea.”

He had a point.

However, much as she enjoyed having Ranma open up to her lately, people like him still needed to be cut down to size every now and then. He seemed a little too intelligent nowadays. A mischievous inspiration suddenly struck her.

“What kind of story do you see on my face?”

“Lookin’ for a reason to kill me?” he chuckled.

“I’m not my sister.”

“Definitely not. You’re the dangerous one.”

“Good that we remain clear about that.”

They shared knowing grins as the anticipation of what was to come filled the silence. However, Nabiki's impatience grew as she realized that maybe he was hoping she would forget or change her mind. She would make him pay for that.

“Well?” she prodded sweetly, demurely batting her lashes at him while coyly framing her hair and face with her hands. ”Or are you too scared of a dangerous little girl like me to say what you really think?”

He squirmed and averted his eyes. “Can ya… can ya stop that? If ya don’t think ya can teach me, it’s okay. I ain’t gonna hold it against ya.”

She broke character and laughed, impressed by his little verbal parry. “Not bad, Saotome. I never said I wouldn’t teach you. I just want an equitable transaction. Give me something to take to the bank.”

“I… I thought I just did.”

She frowned and gave him a dismissive wave of her left hand. “Now you’re just being stingy. We can barely make a scene out of that. If you want a story, we need something real to work with.”

“Fine,” he said after mulling something over in his head for a moment. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout that stuff ya said ‘bout light and all the first time we sat down like this.”

She told him that everything a composition made a viewer experience was because of what the light revealed. Colors, lines, shadows, and even Time itself — all of that was defined by when and where the light was. For that reason, he had to first understand the fundamental principles of light before he could create, much less see, anything.

“What about it?”

Of course, she genuinely believed what she told him, and yet something about where he might go with this now suddenly made her feel self-conscious. After all, though she would never admit so to him, she had never seriously tried to teach anything to anyone before other than children. She could not stomach the idea of looking and sounding dumb in front of him of all people.

“Whatcha said’s actually a lot like one of the basic lessons of the Art. Maybe the best way to think of it is one of those final fight scenes in old Kurosawa movies. The black and white ones where the guy who gets the sun behind ‘im gets the kill, and the one facing the sun gets killed.”

She laughed, finally thinking she understood. “You’re trying to decide which one of us is which here?”

The smug, confident grin that appeared on his lips caught her off guard. “Naw. I know which one I am. I think you’re the one wonderin’.”

She frowned. “And?”

“Well, that’s my answer to the question ya asked: the story on your face. But like I said, if ya don’t think yer good enough to teach me – ”

“Fine,” Nabiki grumbled, offhandedly wishing to herself that he could go back to being the old dumb, vacuous Ranma of old.

Of course, however, she did not really mean that. Inside, she was beside herself with intrigue over the idea that their arts might share other basic principles, particularly ones related to motion and perspective. Sketching had made her a rather serious long-time student of human anatomy and biomechanics. She would never be a martial artist, but she was still athletic enough in her own right to appreciate the human body’s potential as a piece of engineering.

Back when she had still been a student at Furinkan, the attention she had paid to Ranma’s fights had been strictly pragmatic and limited only to business. Out of respect for her sister, that had been all Nabiki could allow herself in good conscience. Running betting pools based on his skills became an easy, reliable way to raise money for real agendas like the things she did with the kids in Class 1F.

Now, however, she suddenly found herself unencumbered in her desire to understand more than the difference between who lost or won and the bottom line for her ledger. No frivolous, distracting psychological mind games from hopeless, loud-mouthed opponents. No noisy crowds of spectators. No agendas of profit or narcissistic bravado.

She just wanted to see.


# # # # #​


“Can you show me?” she asked one day.

“Show ya?”

“Yeah. You’ve been watching me do my thing for some time now. I’d like to see you do yours. Can I watch you practice one day?”

He told her to meet him at a small park up the street from the Komei School later that week after her afternoon session with the kids from Class 1F. As Ranma effortlessly danced through kata after kata, he transformed into an incredible precision-crafted machine. Nabiki found herself mesmerized by his sublime concert of passion, power, speed, and steely-eyed purpose. All that she had been so proud of capturing that time over her hand mirror had just been a sad tease of what now inundated her senses.

The chiseled lines of every flawless moving muscle and tendon in his bare hands, arms, shoulders, and torso sent icy, bone-piercing shivers down her spine and took her breath away. Every single part of his body moved in precise harmony with every other part — a surreal living expression of biological engineering perfection. Such things just should not have been possible in flesh and blood, and no human being had a right to look that beautiful.

This revelation stirred something terrifyingly deep and primal within Nabiki that she never thought possible. His company became a dangerous, self-destructive addiction — that illicit, agonizing secret from which she had been seeking refuge that day when she let Akane drag her to Otori-Jinja. Over and over, Nabiki’s haunted mind returned with the sadomasochistic obsession of a guilty criminal to that day in the park and the insufferable agony of the beauty he had revealed to her. She could not sleep, and when she did, she would find herself overcome in dreams of those terrible shivers once again shooting down her spine and the air being sucked out of her lungs.

She knew that she had to step back and find a way to put some distance between herself and Ranma for a while. Her sanity depended on it.

Yet, she could not stop meeting him, studying him, teaching him, watching him grow and reveal ever more bits and pieces of the mystery of himself to her. So, she tried to be mean to him, abusing him with harsh beratements, seeking a justification to be disappointed in him. Even she felt bad about how she treated him.

She should have known, however, that he would simply view her verbal abuse as a part of hard, honest training. After all, that was how his father had taught him. Ranma even seemed to delight in the harsh treatment. He invariably rose to each and every single one of her challenges without complaint, often even exceeding her expectations.

Damn him!

# # # # #​


Na-chan….

She found herself lying face down on a soft, cool surface. A rude breeze rushed over her back, a violation that left her confused and shivering in the darkness. Instinctively, she drew her legs up and curled up into a ball to try to protect herself and keep warm. As she felt the cool skin over her knee caps pressing up against her nipples, however, the horrified realization that she was naked set in.

Na-chan….

She bolted upright and frantically tried to take in her surroundings. A large blood-red moon loomed above in a starless night sky. In the dim infernal light, she made out herself sitting in the middle of a vast field of unmoving wraith-like shadows, countless numbers of them in every direction for as far as her eyes could see. They began to move. At first, she thought that maybe she imagined it. Slowly, however, they began to assemble, trapping her in an ominous, menacing circle.

“Mom!” she screamed into the darkness. “Where are you?!”

You’re still far too cynical and rational for your own good….

Goddammit, Mom! It’s not like this is Hamlet or some shit like that! I already said I was sorry! Stop playing around and help me!”

A warm, reassuring breeze suddenly whipped up the air around Nabiki and embraced her. Now, the threatening horde moving in on her was nowhere to be seen. Only the truly bizarre nothingness of a strange Netherworld remained, neither devoid nor filled with anything other than herself and the otherworldly voice in her head.

It’s your dream, not mine. You can wake up any time….

Nabiki gave a derisive snort. “You’ve got to be kidding. If this were really up to me, I definitely wouldn’t show up like this!” she shot back, gesturing angrily at her naked body.

Gentle, amused laughter rang out in reply in the ears of Nabiki’s mind. Her mother had always had a certain infuriatingly tongue-in-cheek way of teaching things. As a child, Nabiki had derived no small amount of entertainment from watching her mother in action, especially since most of those barbs had been directed at one specific sister who happened to be generally more openly defiant and stubborn than the others. Being on the receiving end of that merciless wit, however, really sucked.

Even you like sunny side up eggs and fried chicken when you think no one’s looking…. Oh, canned beers too…?

“DAMMIT, MOM!!!!”

Nabiki woke up in a cold sweat, her pounding heart racing in her ears. She looked down at her body and breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome sight of her familiar blue cotton pajamas. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she also made out the reassuring silhouettes of her desk and chair across from her bed. However, as if to have the last word, a cool breeze swept in, reminding Nabiki that she had forgotten to close the window earlier before drifting off to sleep.

“>What do you want from me?!<” she bit out in English.

It must be wonderful to feel hands like that on your body. Besides, the road to Hell is more colorful and interesting anyway, isn’t it?

Little sinister Heathen you....

No way. No fucking way.

“DAMMIT!” Nabiki screamed as she buried her head under a pillow. “DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT!”
 
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(REVISED 8/4) CHAPTER NINE: A FRACTURED STILETTO
#9
CHAPTER NINE: A FRACTURED STILETTO

I don’t let feelings cloud my judgment, and I don’t have an anger management problem. Most of all, I don’t leave decisions that should’ve been made yesterday sitting around for tomorrow….

Nabiki gave up.

She needed to talk to Ranma.

One afternoon, a few days after Akane left for New York, she went to visit him at the Suginami coffee shop where he worked. As she peered through the window, she smiled despite herself, understanding why he would choose this particular shop. The hardwood floors, small tables, and plush couch all contributed to a warm, intimate ambiance. At the back of the room, the espresso machine sat beside the register atop a bar-style counter lined with stools. The exposed brick walls were adorned with an eclectic mix of art pieces, many of which were actually quite impressive. Presumably, some of the artwork was created by students from the nearby Asagaya College.

With a steadying breath, she reached for the front door. In typical, orderly Nabiki fashion, she had meticulously planned, reasoned, and rehearsed what she would say to Ranma when she saw him. She would try that exceptional latte Akane had raved about and let him know that her sister had arrived safely in America. Then, Nabiki would move in for the kill with her trademark of cool, practiced detachment and objectivity.

She did not have the time for drama or emotional entanglements. Even if she did, there were far too many reasons why anything more than a casual friendship would be a very, very bad idea. He was still her sister’s ex-fiancee. If she was on the road to Hell, well, she would walk it alone, just like she always had. Life would go on.

Her plans, however, unraveled the moment she entered the shop.

Inside, she was ambushed by the overdone saccharine sweetness of a woman’s perfume. It was a bizarre concoction of some sort of citrus crossed with maybe cinnamon or ginger. She could hardly breathe and wanted to vomit. The whole mess had been overapplied to the point of suffocating combustibility.

The only other customer was a girl with silken shoulder-length hair who had perched herself atop one of the bar stools. She laughed as she chatted with whoever was working the espresso maker. Nabiki could not actually see the barista from where she stood. She could not help noticing, however, that the perfume-drenched girl had dressed to be noticed by a man.

A white mini fit and flare sundress hugged the girl’s curves in all the right places. Thin spaghetti straps were draped over her shoulders, revealing just enough skin to tantalize any male onlookers. The girl had one strappy white stiletto heel propped on the footrest and her legs crossed at the knees so that her hem rode up high enough to give a full display of the smooth, sun-kissed skin and toned muscles of her long thighs and shapely calves.

The hiss of steam in the line faded. Ranma appeared from behind the machine to hand the girl a steaming cup on a saucer. He smiled as he did so, clearly charmed by whatever she had just told him. The girl then spoke some annoyingly chipper words of thanks as she happily took the cup and saucer from him. Her fingers lingered far longer than necessary against his during the exchange.

Nabiki felt an irrepressible surge of anger rising in the back of her throat. The room suddenly felt unbearably small and hot. She wanted to break the girl’s face and maybe even fracture one of those stilettos too for good measure. She also thought about hitting Ranma upside the head. He seemed outright clueless about what was happening – or maybe he even liked that cheap sort of attention.

Unable to stand any more of what she was seeing, she announced her presence with a loud, choking paroxysm of coughs. Amidst the stench of the girl’s perfume, the scents of pinewood and cedar mingled with just a hint of coffee emerged. Ranma’s strong hand came to rest on her back, his face twisted with concern as he guided her towards the bar. Petty as Nabiki knew it was, she felt a smug sense of satisfaction over how quickly her action had achieved the desired result.

“The air quality here leaves something to be desired. Someone could sue you guys for this, you know,” she grumbled as Ranma helped her climb atop one of the other stools.

“Yo, Miyuki, can ya get the first aid kit?” Ranma called out worriedly. “We may need the epi-pen in there.”

“Okay!”

The clack of the girl's heels against the wooden floor echoed loudly as she rushed off to fulfill his request.

Nabiki’s eyes widened with panic. “H-hey! Don’t blow this out of proportion! I’ll just… go get some air or something.”

“Have ya seen your face?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!”

“Good. Ya can still shout.”

“SAOTOME!”

“I’m serious, Nabiki,” he replied calmly. “If ya can shout, your airway’s still good. I promise I ain’t trying to be mean or nothing. You’re having some sorta allergic reaction.”

He grabbed her left hand and pressed it against her cheek. The warmth and puffiness she felt under her fingertips were unmistakable. He was correct.

“Fuck! Ranma!”

“Come on,” he said, taking Nabiki’s hand and drawing her to her feet. As an afterthought as he led Nabiki toward the door, he called out some instructions to the leggy girl to cover for him until he returned.

"Understood!" Miyuki replied brightly. "There's that little clinic two blocks down if you want to drop her there. Hurry back!"

The trip itself was a blur.

All Nabiki remembered was the fear that seized her as her throat closed up, leaving her struggling to breathe. She tried to shout Ranma’s name and reach for him, but all she managed was a hoarse, incoherent gasp before slumping helplessly onto his shoulder. Even though she was on top of him, she could no longer even make out his cedar and pine wood scent.

Several sharp pricks suddenly shot through her right arm. Her fading vision filled with Ranma's handsome face looking down at her with worry and concern. His strong, steady hands were still on her, holding on tightly just enough for her to imagine that maybe she mattered as a person.

Just like on Christmas Eve when he carried her broken body from Meguro Station back to Komaba with a bucket of KFC in tow.

And that Spring day by the canal in Naka-Meguro when he saved her from the abyss of madness as the hellacious and hallucinatory incantation of "Sors Immanis" raged in her head.

Or even that time when he broke her fall and carried her to safety after Akane, in a fit of rage, had destroyed the laundry balcony (1).

Nabiki finally grasped, for the first time in her life, that she really could die.

Memories of her parents and sisters flooded her mind, bringing an overwhelming sense of sadness and longing. She regretted many things she had said and done — even to Kasumi and her father. She also had too many things she would never get the chance to say.

In addition, she could not help thinking about all the games she would not have the chance to play with Daigoro, Kumi, Takashi, and William. More than that, there would be so many fights that she would not be around to take on for them and all the other forgotten innocents in the world.

Her mother, in particular, would have been extremely disappointed. Although Nabiki very much doubted the existence of an afterlife, if there were one, she imagined Akiko would spend a good first part of Eternity giving her stupid daughter grief for dying so young and leaving so much unfinished.

Yet, Nabiki also thought that if Ranma's face were the last thing she ever saw and his hands holding hers were the last vestiges of human warmth she ever knew, she could somehow actually be at peace with that fact. She did not understand how or why – only that this was so.

In that moment, all of the bullshit in her head and heart vanished, and she suddenly knew with absolute, spellbinding clarity what she wanted — had wanted all along. Three strange English words suddenly rang out loud and clear in the ears of her mind. All the more, she pitied herself, knowing too that she would never have the chance to tell Ranma. All of her hopes, worries, grievances, and regrets would soon be inconsequential, lost forever in the eternal darkness of Oblivion, from which she would never return.

…. But damn that leggy bimbo and her scented lighter fluid! He could not end up with that girl! He could not!

Sors immanis et inanis…!

# # # # #​

Nabiki groaned.

A heavy, throbbing ache pounded inside her head, while her ears rang with a deafening roar. Her mouth and throat were dry, and an overwhelming thirst consumed her. She tried to sit up, but found herself unable to do so. A wave of nausea smashed into her as she tried to lift her head. Her body felt unbearably heavy, as if she were being crushed by an invisible force of infinite mass.

Eventually, she managed to force her eyes open. She was lying on her back on a bed in a dimly lit room. Her clothes had been exchanged for a gown that tied in the back. A monitor hung above her, displaying numbers and tracings in different colors. An IV had been inserted into her left arm. Something cool was running through the line.

A renewed sense of horror set in as she recalled the coffee shop, the perfume, and the inability to breathe. The final deluge of sad and embarrassed thoughts and feelings that had flashed through her mind just before she passed out also came flooding back. Then, the jarring realization hit that somehow she was still alive. A violent tsunami of emotions crashed down on her as she finally connected all the pieces.

He had saved her.

That stupid, beautiful boy had saved her.

"Ranma…!" she croaked out in the darkness.

She could barely recognize the hoarse and shaky voice that emerged as her own. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. More than anything in the world, she just wanted to see him.

She suddenly felt someone draping a blanket over her shoulders. Strong and steady arms enveloped her, pulling her in close. She immediately recognized the sweet, heady scent of pine and cedar mixed with just a hint of coffee.

It was him.

“Shh, it’s okay, Nabiki,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re safe. Everything’s fine.”

At that moment, a doctor and a nurse rushed in to check on her. One of them gave her some water. A numb daze settled in as she endured the brief examination. Ranma remained beside her, for which she was grateful.

He really had brought her to the clinic just in time. Her airway had been swollen almost completely shut, and her blood pressure had plummeted. That was why she passed out.

The drugs the medics administered had worked pretty quickly. Still, they intubated her briefly as a precaution. Her transfer to a nearby hospital for
further observation became obligatory at that point.

That was yesterday.

Now, it was just past four in the morning. Anything she currently felt was almost certainly from the drugs they pumped her full with — adrenergics, antihistamines, and steroids — rather than the actual anaphylactic reaction that had taken her down. They expected to discharge her later in the day.

Finally, the doctor and nurse left. Nabiki felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Everything was too raw and profound for her to process, and she felt far too vulnerable. In despair, she hugged herself as the storm of her feelings resumed raining down and threatened to drown her anew.

“First time, right? That ya ever really thought that ya could die?”

She nodded brokenly between heaving sobs.

“The first time is the hardest,” he said. “Ya get all sorts of thoughts and feelings about people and things running through your head that ya didn’t ever think you’d have. Ain’t a bad thing or nothin’ to feel bad about.”

He really did understand how she felt. With surprising consideration and sensitivity, he avoided actually asking about her own thoughts or emotions when she thought she was dying. Instead, he began talking about his own experience, which touched her deeply. Certainly, he had been in enough crazy fights and survived enough near-death experiences for the fear of dying to no longer feel alien to him. That feeling never diminished or went away, but it was not supposed to. Still, the horror of his own first time haunted him even now.

He had mentioned part of the story previously on that day by the canal at Naka-Meguro. This was the time when his father first threw him into a pit of feral, starving cats as part of the Neko-ken training.

He recalled how each time he fought to claw his way out of the pit, his father stomped on his hands and kicked him back down into the pit. The blood and tears running down his face became indistinguishable, as bitter and angry as the sense of betrayal that consumed his then-7-year-old heart and mind. Even now, Nabiki could see the scars of anguish in the haunted lines of his handsome face as he spoke.

The thought of a suffering child had always disgusted Nabiki at the visceral level. She had never had any particular fondness for Uncle Genma nor had she ever really understood what value or satisfaction her own father perceived in having such a person as his best friend. The only right thing that Nabiki could think of Ranma’s father ever having done was bringing Ranma himself into their lives. In Nabiki’s eyes, keeping Uncle Gemma’s company had always reflected poorly on her father. Now, however, she outright despised the elder Saotome.

The lines of emotion on Ranma’s face blurred between her own tears, leaving them indistinguishable from those of Daigoro’s, Kumi’s, and every other scared and neglected have-not in the world. She had been so very wrong about him. For all of his incredible gifts and blessings, Ranma Saotome was no “have-all” by any means, but rather the true living embodiment of the survivor that she hoped that all the Daigoros and Kumis could one day grow up to be.

“What… how did you…?” Nabiki eventually managed to ask.

“What kept me going?”

She nodded.

“I eventually figured out the old man cares in his own fucked up way. I’ll tell ya ‘bout that some other time. Mostly, though, my Mom,” he replied. “I kept thinkin’ she’d be so disappointed in me if I died and I never saw her again.”

“I…. I thought of my Mom too,” she admitted. “I can’t say I believe in an afterlife, but if there is one and we meet again, I think she’d spend the first half of eternity giving me shit for dying so young.”

They shared a laugh despite themselves. An awkward silence then fell between them.

“Thank you,” she eventually said. “For saving my life.”

“Sure. I’m sorry about Miyuki by the way.”

He had already exchanged harsh words with his co-worker, a part-timer enrolled as an animation and illustration student at Asagaya. This was not the first time that her fragrances had caused issues for others. An ultimatum from the Boss finally made her stop wearing stuff while at work. However, yesterday was one of her off-days, and she was at the shop as a customer. There was not much anyone could do to reign her in under those circumstances.

Nabiki suddenly remembered why she had gone to visit the coffee shop in the first place.

I don’t let feelings cloud my judgment, and I don’t have an anger management problem. Most of all, I don’t leave decisions that should’ve been made yesterday sitting around for tomorrow….

Then, something else occurred to Nabiki, something about Akane’s own visit to the Suginami coffee shop.

Her sister had been unable to decipher Ranma’s explanation of his new interest in manga illustration — other than his mention that he had been spending time with art students from the college.

Maybe it was just one art student.

Nabiki felt nervous and anxious. Her heart raced now. Still, she knew what she had to do.

“Has she sketched for you?”

“No, but we’ve traded some notes and shared some manga type stuff on our breaks. Why?”

Nabiki groaned to herself, enraged by the possibility that he might even have shared drafts that they created together during their sessions with the flammable bimbo. If he did and this conversation actually went anywhere meaningful, she would definitely dish out retribution later. For now, however, she forced herself to stick to her agenda and kindly spell things out for him.

“Girls do stupid stuff when they like a guy, you know. Like sharing what they create, dousing themselves with fragrances, and dressing like… like that. She does have nice legs.”

Ranma leaned back and pretended to contemplate something on the wall. He seemed to be warring with himself over some sort of decision. Otherwise, the look on his face was inscrutable.

“So?” he eventually drawled out.

“She likes you, Ranma. You know that, right?”

He nodded.

Nabiki felt her heart stop.

“Do you… do you like her?

“I’ve told her a few times now that I’m not available.”

“Oh…?”

Of course, he must have been thinking of Akane still. Nabiki breathed a mental sigh of relief. At the same time, however, she felt a strange sense of sadness and disappointment.

“Akane arrived safely in New York the other day, by the way.”

“I know. She texted me.”

“You must miss her.”

He laughed. “Akane’s still a good friend for sure, but she ain’t the reason I ain’t available for that sorta thing.”

“Oh. So you met someone?” she asked, fighting to maintain her composure and sound casual.

“I… I guess I did.”

Her heart cracked, leaving her feeling dumb. Of course, Ranma technically had been single for quite some time now. Aside from Akane and this Miyuki, there certainly were many other attractive girls around who could easily have caught his attention.

Her inner masochist, however, proved too curious and insistent not to ask about the chosen girl. She had come to Suginami to see him for a reason, one which had nearly cost her sanity, much less gotten her killed. At this point, she would be damned if she did not come away with something.

“What’s she like?”

A brilliant smile alighted across Ranma’s face, one which took Nabiki aback. “Well, she’s really smart, and she’s got a lot of hidden talents. Really nice legs too!”

Nabiki frowned.

“To be fair, yeah, this one’s got some issues. Definitely ain’t a nice type. Cold and rough around the edges when ya first meet her, and she’s got a vicious wit and temper. She’ll slit your throat and gut ya before ya even know it. Also arrogant, kinda a misanthrope, a lot of secrets, and a ton of unconscious biases. Other than that, though, she’s got a good heart if ya dig deep enough, and she is really, really cute.”

What kind of person did he choose?!

“Ranma! She sounds like a bitch!”

He began guffawing uncontrollably. “Well, hey, your word, not mine. But sure, she swears a bunch, no martial arts skills or magical powers, and she’s got this weird thing for canned beers, fried chicken, and sunny side up eggs when she thinks no one’s lookin’….”

Nabiki froze.

“… and talks funny too in her sleep when she’s on drugs. Like name-dropping this boy that she likes and how much she wishes she could hate him but can’t….”

Tears burning with a myriad of emotions — mortification, elation, anger, disbelief — streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks. She could not help herself. This near-death stuff and the drugs were really messing with her head.

“But hey, like ya said, girls can do and say stupid things when they like a guy.”

Sors immanis et inanis…!

Nabiki roared with incoherent rage as she pounced and slammed him down onto the bed. All this time that she had been holding on to the shreds of her dignity and the pieces of her broken heart, even facing Death, he had known why she had come to Suginami! That beautiful Goddamn fucking asshole of a man had known — made her even fucking cry for him— and laughed in her face as she did!

“RANMA SAOTOME! I AM NOT A BITCH – BUT I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!”


# # # # #​

CHAPTER NOTES:
  1. “Nabiki, Ranma’s New Fiancee.” Season 5, Episode 110 of the anime.
 
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#10
Author Note: Re-wrote this chapter because I was not happy with how much of the dialog pacing and plot momentum from previous chapters seemed to be missing. Any feedback or comments are very much welcomed. Thank you for reading.

-- KL

CHAPTER EIGHT: AN EVERLASTING SIGN

Disclaimer: References to “The Things You Are to Me” and “The Secret Garden” are intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from the references. All rights to “The Things You Are to Me” and its lyrics belong to Rolf Loveland and Brendan Graham.

# # # # #​

The thick, obnoxious scent of shrine incense hung in the air.

Akane and Nabiki stood side by side, dressed in traditional formal attire, in the heat of the early August sun. Akane wore a pink silk kimono patterned with purple irises and white sakura complimented by a deep royal blue obi. Nabiki’s kimono was equally striking with its royal blue silk body adorned with soft pink orchids and a vibrant fuschia obi.

In unison, the sisters clapped their hands three times, bowed their heads, and prayed in silence — or at least Akane did. Nabiki, for her part, simply went through the old outward motions their mother had taught them. She was here merely to humor Akane, who had asked for her sister’s company when she went to make her formal offering for good luck.

“Please, Oneechan,” Akane entreatied when she called Nabiki earlier in the week. “I don’t think anyone else would go with me if I asked.”

“Anyone else,” of course, meant Kasumi and their father. After the engagement ended, a fragile truce of resigned civility had eventually been established between the two camps in their family. Akane was probably right though. Asking Kasumi or their father still seemed a little far-fetched.

“I think Mom would be happy if we went together,” Akane added, acknowledging Nabiki’s bitter disdain for the very Providence which had taken their mother from them. Predictably, however, Akane’s clever invocation of their mother’s memory crushed the last remnants of Nabiki’s will to resist.

Now, however, the old adage about no good deed ever going unpunished replayed repeatedly in Nabiki’s head as she stood beside her sister on the temple grounds.

As a concession, Akane proposed going to Ōtori Jinja. She did not mean the famous grand shrine in Asakusa with the same name, but rather the small, humble one in Meguro that happened to be walking distance from Komaba.

However, Akane still insisted on being completely formal about everything. Consequently, Nabiki ended up coerced to desiccate out into her beautified bondage wrap while fighting not to break down in a fit of coughs as she endured inhaling the cloud of potential carcinogens swirling around her.

The way even modern formal kimonos still inherently restricted movement, leaving a girl looking like a helpless flower, grated heavily on her nerves. Even owning a kimono had been a bitter, begrudging concession to the pragmatic realization that there were still occasions when an ambitious girl wanting to advance her own agendas could not escape wearing one, even in 21st century Japan. She rued the day she had made the mistake of casually complaining to Akane about needing to own such a piece of clothing.

“Thank you, Oneechan. It… it means a lot to me that you’re here to believe in me,” Akane said after she finished praying, cutting into Nabiki’s thoughts. Gratefully, Akane wrapped her arms around Nabiki and buried her tear-streaked face in the sleeve of the older girl’s kimono.

Sheepishly, Nabiki felt the balloon of rage within her pop as she saw her sister’s misty eyes. Outwardly, however, she simply gave Akane a curt nod of acknowledgement and, in clipped, restrained staccato tones reiterated her confidence in Akane and that their mother would have been proud. She did not have much more she could say without lying.

Well, maybe she had one other thing.

Everyone in the know understood that Ranma would not come tonight for Akane’s sendoff party or even to Narita tomorrow — nor should he. However, he had given Nabiki one final message to convey to Akane.

“He also wishes you well.”

Akane and Ranma, despite the end of their engagement, remained on surprisingly friendly terms. Akane made no secret of the fact that he remained important to her and that still seeing him around from time to time made her happy. Hearing about the new things he had been up to put her mind at ease.

At the start of Summer, he began teaching martial arts classes at various gyms around Setagaya and in neighboring Suginami ward as well as Meguro. He also took a job at a coffee shop near one of the Suginami gyms, which happened to be in the neighborhood around the Asagaya College of Art and Design. She went to see him there once. He made her a decent latte with some surprisingly good latte art.

He mentioned that he had recently started to explore the art of manga sketching, much to Akane's surprise. She did not quite grasp his explanation for this new hobby, other than his mention that he had been spending time with art students from the college. Nevertheless, he appeared content. Akane asked if she could read one of his manga stories someday, which seemed to make both of them happy.

“Thank you,” Akane told her sister. “For helping Ranma to understand. For being his friend.”

“Of course.” Nabiki replied with a smirk. “Don’t worry. I’ve already added it to your tab.”

Akane chuckled knowingly before turning serious again. “I’ll miss you, Oneechan. Please check up on him every now and then.“

After a brief detour to Komaba to liberate themselves of their kimonos, the sisters rendezvoused with a small group of friends at a karaoke hall located on the outskirts of Nerima and Setagaya. Yuka and Sayuri came as did Daisuke and Hiroshi. A few other recent Furinkan graduates from Akane’s class, but whose names Nabiki never bothered to learn, also came.

For Akane and Nabiki, karaoke invoked a particular sentimentality, being one of the few activities they had regularly done together with Kasumi as kids, at least before Ranma entered their lives. Akane had always been the best among the three sisters. On a stage, she exuded a confident, graceful air that was strikingly antithetical to her usual clumsiness and the notoriously short temper she so routinely flashed to mask her sensitive insecurities. Her singing voice was exceptionally beautiful, and she possessed a surprisingly intuitive sense of how to use lighting to her advantage.

Tonight, however, she was simply and utterly sublime.

Nabiki found herself mesmerized – and almost happy for the first time in a long time. Proudly, she mused to herself that her sister truly deserved a chance to grow and shine in a place like New York. For a moment, Nabiki too felt transported to a different time and place entirely unrelated to the secret mess that her life had become since the day she saw “Im Blau” again in Chiyoda.

That was at least until Akane sang that song. It was a mysterious, sonorous ballad in English that talked about the sky as if it were a painting hung out to dry, an image of such a grand design that it would serve as an everlasting sign of all things that a man meant to a woman in… well, a woman with a head messed up by those types of feelings.

# # # # #​

Do ya believe in love?

Here I am losing beauty sleep on a Sunday morning over buttered toast, sunny side up eggs, and bacon trying to sort out your relationship with your fiancée. What do you think?

I think the truth is that ya like sunny side up eggs too when no one else is lookin’. Just like fried chicken….

Asshole.

By now, Nabiki realized that taking Ranma on as a student had been a mistake. She remained adamant with herself, however, that none of this had anything to do with her secret, long-standing attraction to him. For Nabiki, her ability to keep her head high and avoid the baggage of emotional entanglements had always been a point of pride. She was going places, and her own life was far too busy for that sort of thing — with anyone.

Definitely, she found him pleasing to her eyes. She always had ever since she first saw him standing with his father in their genkan when she was just 17. She even daydreamed more than once about being held in his arms and even how it might feel to have him inside of her.

Nabiki had never felt guilty or ashamed of those desires. Biology was a truth unto itself, and refusing to admit otherwise was simply a waste of time. From the gossip mill around Furinkan, Nabiki was keenly aware that many other girls thought those kinds of things about him too. In her case, she had the advantage of being able to placate her conscience with the knowledge that he was off-limits by definition anyway. That he seemed a little on the dumb side for her tastes had also served as an extra guardrail for quashing the worm trying to work its way into her teenage head.

Now at the age of 20, however, unfamiliar, nameless emotions crept past her defenses and began messing with her mind. These strange new feelings lacked any of the rosy tint of innocent, lustful teenage curiosity and were far more minascious. To make things worse, those guardrails that she had always relied on in the past, having proved utterly illusory, were no longer there. Before she knew, she found herself helplessly transformed into a confused, fucked up girl whom she could no longer recognize.

Of course, she kept this mess to herself, taking excessive pains to preserve an outward illusion of normalcy around everyone — Kozue, her other friends, the children, and especially Ranma and Akane. They would not understand, and the humiliation would have been unbearable. She could not imagine her reputation ever recovering. More than that, she really did not have time to waste on the stupidity of such entanglements.

After that day in Chiyoda, the strange mental malaise that had plagued her after creating the water color based on her hand and Ranma’s touching over her hand mirror disappeared seemingly overnight. Her muse returned, suddenly speaking to her about rich, inspired lines and bold colors about everything, everywhere.

Between classes, studying, and the rest of her life, Nabiki struggled to keep track of her ideas. She quickly found herself starting more projects than she could finish. Even then, she still created things at a breakneck pace, averaging a painting and a handful of sketches every week for quite a while.

Maybe Ranma’s sudden and unexpected desire to learn from her acted as some sort of catalyst for this passionate creative Renaissance, or maybe the two were coincidental and unrelated. She could not tell. Regardless, he began meeting up with her on weekends, usually in Meguro. They would go to coffee shops or pick a spot off the tree-lined walk alongside the canal or at one of the numerous parks in the neighborhood. Sometimes, they also met in Setagaya on afternoons when she went to the Komei School.

Just before Tanabata, she began experimenting with manga-like sketches. Originally, she had been trying to find a way to explain the Star Festival myth to Daigoro, Kumi, Takashi, and William. She casually disclosed the new project to Ranma one day during one of their sessions. He seemed genuinely taken by the idea of telling stories through art. He asked her to teach him this too.

“Pretty neat,” he said, handling her unfinished sketch of Ori-Hime and Hiko-Boshi with care, as if it were a precious item. The drawing depicted the two celestial lovers reaching out to each other with their hands touching.

“Why?” she asked, knitting her brows with suspicious curiosity.

“Why what?”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“In?”

“Manga? Telling stories?”

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair as he studied her. “People around me seem to have stories written on their faces worth tellin’. Like my students at the gym or the customers comin’ in and outta the coffee shop where I started workin’. Especially people at the shop.”

“Hmm,” she smirked. “Didn’t think you noticed or cared about such things.”

“Sure I do. Always have. I already told ya that I just didn’t wanna let on before that I do. How do ya think I always win my fights? Musubetsu Kakutou-Ryu’s built around takin’ anything ya can see and hear and runnin’ with it.”

Cocky ass.

“Ya also see the world that way, right?” he asked, drawing her out of her thoughts. “Having, not having – same basic idea.”

He had a point.

Still, much as she enjoyed having Ranma open up to her lately, people like him still needed to be cut down to size every now and then. He seemed a little too intelligent nowadays. A mischievous inspiration suddenly struck her.

“What kind of story do you see on my face?”

“Lookin’ for a reason to kill me?” he chuckled.

“I’m not my sister.”

“Definitely not. You’re the dangerous one.”

“Good that we remain clear about that.”

They shared a knowing grin as the anticipation of what was to come filled the silence. However, Nabiki's impatience grew as she realized that maybe he was hoping she would forget or change her mind. She would make him pay for that.

“Well?” she prodded sweetly, demurely batting her lashes at him while coyly framing her hair and face with her hands. ”Or are you too scared of a dangerous little girl like me to say what you really think?”

He squirmed and averted his eyes. “Can ya… can ya stop that? If ya don’t think ya can teach me, it’s okay. I ain’t gonna hold it against ya.”

She broke character and laughed, impressed by his little verbal parry. “Not bad, Saotome. I never said I wouldn’t teach you. I just want an equitable transaction. Give me something to take to the bank.”

“I… I thought I just did.”

She frowned and gave him a dismissive wave of her left hand. “Now you’re just being stingy. We can barely make a scene out of that. If you want a story, we need something real to work with.”

“Fine,” he said after mulling something over in his head for a moment. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout that stuff ya said ‘bout light and all the first time we sat down like this.”

She told him that everything a composition made a viewer experience was because of what the light revealed. Colors, lines, shadows, and even Time itself — all of that was defined by when and where the light was. For that reason, he had to first understand the fundamental principles of light before he could create, much less see, anything.

“What about it?”

Of course, she genuinely believed what she told him, and yet something about where he might go with this now suddenly made her feel self-conscious. After all, though she would never admit so to him, she had never seriously tried to teach anything to anyone before other than children. She could not stomach the idea of looking and sounding dumb in front of him of all people.

“Whatcha said’s actually a lot like one of the basic lessons of the Art. Maybe the best way to think of it is one of those final fight scenes in old Kurosawa movies. The black and white ones where the guy who gets the sun behind ‘im gets the kill, and the one facing the sun gets killed.”

She laughed, finally thinking she understood. “You’re trying to decide which one of us is which here?”

The smug, confident grin that appeared on his lips caught her off guard. “Naw. I know which one I am. I think you’re the one wonderin’.”

She frowned. “And?”

“Well, that’s my answer to the question ya asked: the story on your face. But like I said, if ya don’t think yer good enough to teach me – ”

“Fine,” Nabiki grumbled, offhandedly wishing to herself that he could go back to being the old dumb, vacuous Ranma of old.

Of course however, she did not really mean that. Inside, she was beside herself with intrigue over the idea that their arts might share other basic principles, particularly ones related to motion and perspective. Sketching people had made her a rather serious long-time student of human anatomy and biomechanics. She would never be a martial artist, but she was still athletic enough in her own right to appreciate the human body’s potential as a piece of engineering.

Back when she had still been a student at Furinkan, the attention she had paid to Ranma’s fights had been strictly pragmatic and limited only to business. Out of respect for her sister, that had been all Nabiki could allow herself in good conscience. Running betting pools based on his skills became an easy, reliable way to raise money for real agendas like the things she did with the kids in Class 1F.

Now, however, she suddenly found herself unencumbered in her desire to understand more than the difference between who lost or won and the bottom line for her ledger. No frivolous, distracting psychological mind games from hopeless, loud-mouthed opponents. No noisy crowds of spectators. No agendas of profit or narcissistic bravado.

She just wanted to see.

# # # # #​

“Can you show me?” she asked one day.

“Show ya?”

“Yeah. You’ve been watching me do my thing for some time now. I’d like to see you do yours. Can I watch you practice one day?”

He told her to meet him at a small park up the street from the Komei School later that week after her afternoon session with the kids from Class 1F. As Ranma effortlessly danced through kata after kata, he transformed into an incredible precision-crafted machine. Nabiki found herself mesmerized by his sublime concert of passion, power, speed, and steely-eyed purpose. All that she had been so proud of capturing that time over her hand mirror had just been a sad tease of what now inundated her senses.

The chiseled lines of every flawless moving muscle and tendon in his bare hands, arms, shoulders, and torso sent icy, bone-piercing shivers down her spine and took her breath away. Every single part of his body moved in precise harmony with every other part — a surreal living expression of biological engineering perfection. Such things just should not have been possible in flesh and blood, and no human being had a right to look that beautiful.

This revelation stirred something terrifyingly deep and primal within Nabiki that she never thought possible. His company became a dangerous, self-destructive addiction — that illicit, agonizing secret from which she had been seeking refuge that day when she let Akane drag her to Otori-Jinja. Over and over, Nabiki’s haunted mind returned with the sadomasochistic obsession of a guilty criminal to that day in the park and the insufferable agony of the beauty he had revealed to her. She could not sleep, and when she did, she would find herself overcome in dreams of those terrible shivers once again shooting down her spine and the air being sucked out of her lungs.

She knew that she had to step back and find a way to put some distance between herself and Ranma for a while. Her sanity depended on it.

Yet, she could not stop meeting him, studying him, teaching him, watching him grow and reveal ever more bits and pieces of the mystery of himself to her. So, she tried to be mean to him, abusing him with harsh beratements, seeking a justification to be disappointed in him. Even she felt bad about how she treated him.

She should have known, however, that he would simply view her verbal abuse as a part of hard, honest training. After all, that was how his father had taught him. Ranma even seemed to delight in the harsh treatment. He invariably rose to each and every single one of her challenges without complaint, often even exceeding her expectations.

Damn him!

# # # # #​

Na-chan….

She found herself lying face down on a soft, cool surface. A rude breeze rushed over her back, a violation that left her confused and shivering in the darkness. Instinctively, she drew her legs up and curled up into a ball to try to protect herself and keep warm. As she felt the cool skin over her knee caps pressing up against her nipples, however, the horrified realization that she was naked set in.

Na-chan….

She bolted upright and frantically tried to take in her surroundings. A large blood-red moon loomed above in a starless night sky. In the dim infernal light, she made out herself sitting in the middle of a vast field of unmoving wraith-like shadows, countless numbers of them in every direction for as far as her eyes could see. They began to move. At first, she thought that maybe she imagined it. Slowly, however, they began to assemble, trapping her in an ominous, menacing circle.

“Mom!” she screamed into the darkness. “Where are you?!”

You’re still far too cynical and rational for your own good….

“Goddammit, Mom! It’s not like this is Hamlet or some shit like that! I already said I was sorry! Stop playing around and help me!”

A warm, reassuring breeze suddenly whipped up the air around Nabiki and embraced her. The threatening horde moving in on her was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Only the truly bizarre nothingness of a strange Netherworld remained, neither devoid nor filled with anything other than herself and the otherworldly voice in her head.

It’s your dream, not mine. You can wake up any time….

Nabiki gave a derisive snort. “You’ve got to be kidding. If this were really up to me, I definitely wouldn’t show up like this!” she shot back, gesturing angrily at her naked body.

Gentle, amused laughter rang out in reply in the ears of Nabiki’s mind. Her mother had always had a certain infuriating tongue-in-cheek way of delivering teaching points to her daughters. As a child, Nabiki had derived no small amount of entertainment from watching her mother in action, especially since most of those barbs had been directed at one specific sister who happened to be generally more openly defiant and stubborn than the others. Being on the receiving end of that merciless wit, however, really sucked.
Even you like sunny side up eggs and fried chicken when you think no one’s looking…. Oh, and canned beers too…?

“DAMMIT, MOM!!!!”

Nabiki woke up in a cold sweat, her pounding heart racing in her ears. She looked down at her body and breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome sight of her familiar blue cotton pajamas. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she also made out the reassuring silhouettes of her desk and chair across from her bed. However, as if to have the last word, a cool breeze swept in, reminding Nabiki that she had forgotten to close the window earlier before drifting off to sleep.

“>What do you want from me?!<” she bit out in English.

It must be wonderful to feel hands like that on your body. Besides, the road to Hell is more colorful and interesting anyway, isn’t it?

Little sinister Heathen you....

No way. No fucking way.

“DAMMIT!” Nabiki screamed as she buried her head under a pillow. “DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT!”


# # # # #​
 
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CHAPTER TEN: WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE
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CHAPTER TEN: WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE

PRESENT DAY

Vana salus, semper dissolubilis….

Please just wake up.

I love you….

Nabiki fiddled numbly with her wedding band as she stared out the window at the people and city lights blitzing by her car.

The concert at Suntory Hall had ended hours ago, but she had been unable to stomach the thought of going back to her big and empty home. She had asked her assistant to drive her around the city, no particular destination in mind.

Eventually, however, they ran out of places to go. Reluctantly, at around two, she let her driver take her back home to Roppongi. She then gave the girl the next couple of days off for the extra trouble.

Alone again, Nabiki dragged herself up the stairs, slipped the pins out of her hair, undid her earrings, discarded her skirt and leggings, and absently crawled into bed with her blouse rumpled and half unbuttoned. As had become usual for her, however, agitation and anxiety prevented her from falling asleep. The vast expanse of the king-sized bed served as just another reminder of everything that had happened. She found herself perplexed as to why she had even bothered coming upstairs at all.

In despair, she sought solace and refuge in Ranma’s study. Even now, his papers and the room carried the scents of fresh pinewood and cedar. She picked up the stack of storyboards sketches on his desk and carefully laid them out on the floor around her. A few were finished. Most were not. All of them were extraordinarily beautiful.

With no one around to see, she wrapped her arms around herself and began to cry again. At some point, she faded away into a fitful sleep on the floor for about two hours or so. When she awoke, she found her body sore and aching from the unforgiving hardwood. Her head throbbed from more recurring nightmares and painful memories.

Am I the reason…?

All of that blood. Its warm, sticky feel and thick, metallic smell. In her hair, her hands, her clothes — everywhere. It would not come out, could not be washed away.

Promise you’ll be happy, that you’ll take care of him, Oneechan. I love you….

Nabiki glanced guiltily at her ring. She had not been able to keep either of those promises. She was not happy nor had she been a good wife. Nothing epitomised her failings more than the cold, empty silence permeating all of the unused rooms around her.

The great irony, of course, was that she had not even wanted this house in the first place. Contrary to what Nabiki knew most people assumed about her, she did not actually believe in having some big white house with floor-to-ceiling windows and skylights on top of some high hill to showcase her power and influence or Ranma’s success and fame. She considered 420 square meters, a two-story foyer entrance with a chandelier, a chef’s kitchen with stone countertops and a high output gas stove, and five bedrooms excessive. In fact, she would have been more than content with a two-bedroom flat tucked away in some anonymous high-rise building.

While she certainly appreciated clean and orderly aesthetics, her minimalism at this stage of her life was far more pragmatic than philosophical. A home was a place for sleeping, showering, and maybe grabbing a bite on the way out the door. She did not have the time or patience required for any significant domestic upkeep. As long as she had walls to showcase her sketches and paintings, some space for her Noguchi-style coffee table, a sturdy desk with a comfortable chair, and a safe parking spot for her BMW, she would be more than happy.

This house was all Ranma’s idea. He had badgered the shit out of her for it, whiny and annoying in a strangely endearing puppy dog-like way that she had not expected. She honestly had been caught off guard by his persistence.

He insisted on building the house atop a hill oriented along an East-West axis. He had joked about the need to pay proper homage to her old admonition about the primacy of light. Otherwise, he would have to live constantly at risk of being struck down in the prime of his life like the samurai who had made the mistake of incorrectly orienting himself in relation to the sun.

“Stupid ass!” Nabiki remembered screaming at him.

She did not consider herself superstitious by any stretch of the imagination. However, words like that seemed to just be asking for trouble.

He needed a decent studio to do his work, and he loved the idea of having a real kitchen where he could play around while mulling over ideas in his head. To be fair, he had picked up some decent culinary skills over the years, certainly better than hers.

They could have wild, crazy, uninhibited sex at whatever hour they wanted and without having to worry about what the neighbors might hear and say. Truthfully, once Ranma had gotten past his annoying virgin inhibitions, he turned out to have quite an appetite for that.

Nabiki began taking his house idea seriously after. Daydreams of carefree children running around happily through sunlit rooms and hallways had flashed through her head.

However, the thing that ultimately won her over was his desire for a solid ground floor for setting up a dojo.

Sure, Nabiki had no problem forfeiting “Tendou” as her name — had even been glad to do so when she married (1) — and she certainly was no practitioner of the Art. Yet, despite her dry-witted tongue, she had always privately respected the Art’s inherent beauty, its physical forms, and its philosophy. Being Ranma’s wife, coming to truly understand how and why he still practiced the Art despite all the pain and suffering it had brought into his life, made her only appreciate these legacies of their School even more.

Akane would have been pleased.

Am I the reason?

Nabiki could barely breathe anymore. She had to get out of this house before she lost her mind all together. She threw on the first clothes she could get her hands on, a black T-shirt and some jeans, slipped some canvas trainers onto her bare feet, and snatched up her car keys.

It was a few minutes before five when she made it to the hospital. As she embraced her husband, she could make out the first rays of morning sun through his room window just starting to crest over the horizon.

She was back where everything began — a hospital room. Everything had come around full circle.

# # # # #​



RANMA SAOTOME! I AM NOT A BITCH – BUT I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!

She tried to slap him.

He intercepted her hand, of course, with that usual infuriating speed and grace. As he did so, he brought the momentum of her fury and the entirety of her whole world along with it to a violent, screeching halt.

She had let other boys hold her hand before then. Yet, as she felt Ranma’s fingers folded around her own, she realised that she had never wanted any of the others to actually do so. She had expected his touch to be awkward. Either his male brashness would come through, or he would approach her with the shy timidity of PTSD from his previous faux pas with girls.

She was wrong.

His touch was eager but reverent, electric for sure, triggering a shot of euphoria that reverberated straight from her toes to her head, enveloping her body with deep and mysterious new yearnings. The stiff cotton fabric of her hospital gown suddenly felt unbearably hot and heavy. The gravitas of something profound between Fate and Destiny seemed to lurk in the darkness around them. Beating the shit out of him for the fool he had made out of her seemed like a triviality that could wait — at least for a little bit.

She thought of the first time she had really noticed the details of his hands, when she had asked him to model them over her hand mirror. Other far more ambitious and uninhibited recollections exploded in her brain after. The flawless, chiseled lines of living muscle and tendon in his bare hands, arms, shoulders, and torso from that day she watched him practice in the park. Her old, curious teenage fantasies about how it would feel to have him inside of her.

She could feel the hunger burning in his eyes as he studied her in the darkness, mirroring the greedy look she imagined in her own. The air had grown thick and charged with anticipation. Her heart was pounding thunderously in her chest. She was sure they were just seconds from taking leave of their senses entirely and devouring one another whole. She could barely tell the difference between up and down or left and right as her heart and mind became muddled with the torrential deluge of her feelings and questions.

Yet, amidst the fresh, virgin thrill of this sublime ecstasy, a dark, serpentine thought suddenly wormed its way into her heart and mind. He would be angry, she knew, but she had no choice. In a panic, she scanned the room for the nearest source of water she could get her hands on — the tumbler the nurse had set by the bed earlier — and dumped the contents over his head.

“Wha… whatcha do that for?!” Ranma-chan squawked, letting go of Nabiki’s other hand and withdrawing as if touched by fire.

“It’s not what you think,” Nabiki replied hastily. Hurting Ranma was the last thing she wanted, but she had to know. She knew she would probably end up hurt too, but this was the right thing to do.

“Whaddaya think I think?” Ranma-chan was guarded now.

“What I did just now with the water has nothing to do with the Jusenkyo thing or what my feelings are. You already extorted a confession out of me under the influence. I like you.”

“Nabiki, I – “

“But while my confession may have been under the influence, deciding to douse you just now was not.”

“So what is it then?

“We’ve got to talk.”

“Okay….”

“How long have you liked me too?”

“I… A while. I can’t say for sure.”

“Am I… am I the reason…?”

“The reason?”

“The reason why you and Akane didn’t work out? Because if I am — “

Ranma’s eyes lit up with understanding. “You’re worried that maybe Akane and I never had a chance ‘coz ya were the one I always liked.”

“Yes.”

Nabiki thought of their conversation by the canal that day in Naka-Meguro just after the engagement ended.

I do like being with your sister. She’s smart, and she’s got really interesting and different ways of thinking from what I do. We had a lot of fun together since ya helped me get her to open up. She’s pretty cute too.

But…?

I ain’t got no clue if the way I feel is just ‘coz she’s the first girl I ever chose to hang out with like that or if it’s really her.

Certainly, Nabiki and her sister had a long history of cat fights, differences and disagreements between them. They had called each other less than flattering things far more times than either of them could count. The arranged engagement and Ranma’s presence in their lives had served as prisms that brought the differences in their view and values into even sharper relief, making Nabiki more critical than ever of her sister.

Still, the fact remained that Akane, along with Mom, had always been the one Nabiki had loved most. It was precisely because Nabiki did that she had always felt Akane could be better, more confident and accomplished, decisive even in her life choices. For Nabiki, being hard on Akane had been her way of looking out for her Irish twin, just as Akiko had asked. Akane was not just Nabiki’s sister; in many ways, she was all that Nabiki had left of her Mom.

“You’re my sister’s ex-fiancé.”

“Uh, yeah, I am, but – “

“I like you, but I didn’t come here to Suginami looking for a boyfriend. I know it may not always seem this way, but I need to be clear with you about how important Akane is to me. I can’t…. I can’t be with you if I know that I’ve taken something away from my sister like that.”

You do like him, right?

I do… more than I like myself….

Nabiki shuddered. Akane was not over him. Knowing her volcanic propensity for jealousy, Nabiki could not imagine her sister not being wounded with rage at the idea of Ranma being with another girl. That it would be her very own sister, the one who had encouraged to leave the country, would just be asking for something worse than the hellacious fury of a woman scorned.

Akane would see red beyond imagination. No explanation, no matter how candid or rational, would be able to save Ranma, or even Nabiki for that matter, from a Fate worse than death. Even him choosing someone like that Miyuki bitch would have been far more palatable.

“It ain’t what you’re thinkin’.”

“What do you think I’m thinking?”

Ranma-chan turned to stare out the window with a serious, contemplative look on her face, the kind she often wore just before committing to a fight. Nabiki had seen that look many times before, but seeing it directed at her now gave her pause. An air of judgement emerged between them, leaving Nabiki feeling anxious as she waited for Ranma’s answer. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the boy-turned-girl finally started talking.

“That painting in Chiyoda ya talked about that day in Meguro just after Akane and I called it off. The one with the blue, orange, and black fightin’ with its own Nature to orient itself ta ‘some sorta semblance of harmonious meaning’ you said.”

Kandinky’s “Im Blau,” the synthesthetic masterpiece that Nabiki most clearly connected with memories of her mother. She could not help feeling touched.

“Yes?”

“Comin’ ta realize I like ya, all that’s been goin’ on between us all this time, what ya mean ta me now — all of it’s like that painting.”

“How?”

“Ya can’t dispute that the guy’s got solid technical skills and a strong aesthetic philosophy, even if ya don’t like the painting. But that’s the thing. Whether someone loves or hates that painting, what they take away from it — all that’s separate from whatever even Kandinsky took away from his own stuff. How ya feel when ya see that painting ain’t related in any way ta other paintings you’ve seen before or ones ya see in the future. Am I makin’ sense?”

“I… I don’t know. Are you saying you don’t like that Kandinsky?”

Ranma chuckled as she shook her head. “Naw. I like that Kandinsky a lot, just like I like you. I also ain’t got no regrets that I didn’t try my best with Akane. I respect her, and we did have fun gettin’ ta know one another, but the feelin’ just wasn’t there for me in the end.”

“I… see. But — “

“My whole life I ain’t ever met anyone like ya, and I… I just really like ya and who I am when I’m around ya. When I think of ya, when we talk and do things together, I’m happy. Even when ya lash out, act sarcastic, or even try ta beat the shit outta me like ya did just now, I’m happy.”

“You really are a glutton for shit.”

“Cut the tough act, Nabiki. I ain’t gonna hurt ya or let ya down, and ya ain’t guilty of takin’ nothin’ away from Akane or no one. I promise ya. Ya said it yourself; ending the engagement was the right thing to do. I just wish ya could also be happy, that I could give some bit o’ that to ya and have that be the story on your face also, even for just a little while. Please, Nabiki. Can we give ourselves a chance?”

What kind of story do you see on my face?

Maybe the best way to think of it is one of those final fight scenes in old Kurosawa movies. The black and white ones where the guy who gets the sun behind ‘im gets the kill, and the one facing the sun gets killed.

You’re trying to decide which one of us is which here?

Naw. I know which one I am. I think you’re the one wonderin’….

Something cracked within her heart and mind.

Of course he would not hurt her. She believed him, never considered otherwise. With regards to herself, however, she was not sure. She would never mean to, of course, but she could not promise that she never would. She had even been prepared to do so just minutes ago.

Yet, Nabiki had never known any man who she felt had any sincere interest in her happiness or even cared really to understand her. Not even her father. Ranma really was very special, a fundamentally good and decent person, far more so than most people appreciated, Nabiki herself included until recently. She thought of what she had told him her of views on a relationship that morning over sunny side up eggs.

I honestly haven’t ever thought about ending up with anyone. I’m more than fine if I don’t.

That was a lie.

She did not really want to be alone, yearned as much as any girl for a taste of something good and honest that she could call her very own. She just had not been able to believe until now that such things could happen to her. Confronted now with the actual possibility, she could not understand how these feelings, so beautifully raw and honest, could be such a source of sin and moral discord.

Ranma was right. He was not hers or anyone else’s to take away from Akane. He was his own person, and his heart clearly did not belong to her sister — never would. Still, by accepting him, Nabiki would be causing her sister pain — pain which Akane did not need as she tried to work through her issues of identity and purpose. On the other hand, breaking Ranma’s heart was suddenly something Nabiki realised she could no longer morally justify to appease her own conscience.

Not after he had saved her life. Not after she had experienced the warmth of his touch. Listened to his kind and sincere words. Heard that final impassioned plea to have a chance to make her happy. Recollections of her thoughts and feelings for him just as she had thought she was about to die came back to her now too, how for a moment all of the bullshit in her head and heart vanished, and she suddenly knew with absolute, spellbinding clarity what she wanted — had wanted all along.

Goddamn Ranma for trapping her in yet another moral quagmire. She really did want that happiness the boy-turned-girl now offered, to again be someone who truly mattered to another human being the way she once had to her Mom, wanted it so badly it burned. If she walked away now as he bled his heart out like this, she would be no better than all of the shits she hated if she did. Just another enabler of the sick injustices of this fucked up world with its have-alls and have-nots and all the unconscious biases that kept everyone in their separate lanes. The world really was one fucked up shit hole of full of injustices and unfairness.

Ya ain’t guilty of takin’ nothin’ away from Akane or no one. I promise ya. Ya said it yourself too. Ending the engagement was the right thing to do.

Nabiki knew what she had to do. Somehow, she had to find a way to rise to the occasion, devise a way that the three of them could each have their own slice of cake and eat it too. Neither Ranma nor Akane deserved to be left as the samurai staring into the sun. Unfortunately, however, Nabiki had no idea where to begin.

Can we give ourselves a chance?

In resignation, she sighed, huddling for now into the thick, stiff cotton of the hospital-issue blanket as she moved in close and placed her head on Ranma’s small shoulder. She suddenly felt extremely tired. There would be plenty of time to think later.

“Ranma?”

“Uh, yeah….?”

“When were you going to tell me all this? If I hadn’t come here to Suginami, when were you going to tell me?”

“Soon. I was tryin’ to figure out how, but then ya beat me to it. Sorry.”

Nabiki nodded against the smaller girl. Whether for Ranma or herself, she was not sure. Probably both. “For the record, being around you makes me happy too. You can hold me if you like. I… I promise not to try and hit you this time,” she offered shyly. Yet, seconds went by and then maybe a minute or more. Nothing else.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Nabiki eventually prodded, masking her hurt anxiety with feigned irritation as she turned to the smaller girl.

“Uh…. Can I get some hot water first?”


# # # # #​


It'll cost you. Sunny side up eggs after they let me out of here?

For a moment, Nabiki smiled despite herself, cupping her husband’s unmoving hand over her cheek. It was the way she used to make him touch her in private moments when she needed comfort and reassurance. Of course, that solace, however, was nowhere now to be found.

Instead, there was only the stigma of atrophy, which had ravaged the once impeccably beautiful lines of muscle, tendon, and bone. His wedding band had become dangerously loose. She had been forced to take it away for safekeeping weeks ago.

Promise you’ll be happy, that you’ll take care of him, Oneechan. I love you….

All of that blood again. Its warm, sticky feel and thick, metallic smell. In hair, her hands, her clothes — everywhere. It would not come out, could not be washed away.

Help me, Mom. Please….

Just then, Nabiki’s phone started buzzing in her back pocket.

It was Kozue.


# # # # #
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN: CONSEQUENTIALITY AND THE SHADOWS BETWEEN WORLDS
#12
CHAPTER ELEVEN: CONSEQUENTIALITY AND THE SHADOWS BETWEEN WORLDS


AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I need to state upfront that I have absolutely nothing against people who study business or work in that field. My brother is actually among them :)

The views of the business world expressed in this chapter are entirely Nabiki's own and no one else's.

Thanks for reading.


# # # # #

“You look like shit, Kiki.”

Nabiki laughed despite herself. True to form, Kozue was probably the only person in the world brazen enough to say such things to her face. The Kansai girl had always had a habit of saying the most annoying things at the most irritating of times.

Ranma definitely would not have dared.

Even Akane probably would not have either.

“Fine way to greet a girl on a Sunday morning. I thought we were here to talk business.”

“Cut the shit, Kiki. You know better.“

Kozue was right. Nabiki did know better. This was going to be one of those sessions where the crazy Kansai girl wanted to work on her pretty Heathen’s little Anglo-Japanese head. All the more reason Nabiki found herself annoyed that she had picked up Kozue’s call.

Business was the best it had ever been. There was nothing to talk about in that regard. They had just released their best quarterly figures ever to their investors the other day — the day the hospital had called asking her to consider letting Ranma die.

“For the record, I never asked for anything from you for myself, and I’m not going to start now.”

“Damn you, Kiki! Of course not! I guarantee you there’s no charity for you here.”

“I get that. You’re too crude for me to even conceive of equating you with charity.”

Kozue raised her hands, visibly wanting to strangle her friend before seeming to remember herself. Pausing to compose herself with a deep breath, she eventually stepped forward to brush aside a lock of hair that had come over Nabiki’s eyes.

“All kidding aside, Kiki, whether you like it or not, I miss your smirk, and I’m worried about you.”

Nabiki managed a laugh. “I’m smirking at at the shit you’re saying right now.”

Kozue give a dismissive wave, the seriousness of her expression unwavering. “That’s plastic shit, Kiki. We both know it.You haven’t even taken a day for yourself since he went in.”

“I’m fine. Work keeps me grounded.”

“Are you really fine?”

“I — “

“You have the worst case of acrophobia. Yet, there you were on the roof the other night, dangling your feet over the edge like a madwoman.”

“Kozue — ”

“I saw the security footage. Own it, Kiki. You had something in your head.”

Kozue was probably the only person left now who really knew or understood her. Nabiki shook her head as she sank back in her chair and sighed, drained and defeated.

“Don’t worry. Would’ve been too messy. Besides, he still needs me to keep the fucking vultures and parasites away at the hospital. They’re ready to let him die.”

“Kiki….”

Sors immanis et inanis. Dear little Heathen. Am I the reason?

“You don’t deserve this. Loving others is not a crime.”

Nabiki gave her best friend a sad, forlorn chuckle. “Apparently, it is for me.”

All of that blood. Its warm, sticky feel and thick, metallic smell. In her hair, her hands, her clothes — everywhere.

It is for me….

# # # # #​

Nabiki and Kozue had been an inseparable pair since their years at Komaba. No one who knew them found it surprising that they became roommates after moving to Hongo (1).

Truthfully, Nabiki doubted she could have really stood living with anyone else. Kozue was not stupid. She was neat, orderly, and prone to the most bombastically colorful and amusing tirades, especially when angry or stressed. Watching and listening to the Kansai Bomb, as people within their circle came to call Kozue, going off was great fun, as long as you were not the target of course.

Nabiki smiled, unable to forget the first time she introduced Ranma and Kozue to one another.

I have to warn you. She can be a little rough around the edges.”

“Meh. Don’t sound like anything I ain’t seen before,” he said, glancing pointedly at her with that rakish, insufferably cocky grin of his.

“Famous last words, my dear Saotome,” she delighted in telling him. “Famous last words.”

Indeed, Kozue had led off by ignoring his offer of a handshake, instead launching directly without preamble into a rapid-fire game of twenty-one questions. To his credit, Ranma actually comported himself with the coolness befitting of a genuine heir to an ancient school of martial arts. A weaker soul would have shriveled under Ishikawa’s eagle-eyed gaze and the raw weight of her larger-than-life personality.

“Favorite sport.”

“Running.”

“Favorite color.”

“Blue.”

“Favorite food.”

“Sunny side up eggs.”

“And drink.”

“Shitty canned beer from a vending machine.”

“Hey wait a minute! Ranma…!”

“Last book our pretty little Anglo-Japanese Heathen here has read and actually enjoyed.”

“Kawaguchi’s ‘Before the Coffee Gets Cold’.”

“Actually — “

“Butt out, Kiki! This is between me and your lover boy here. Favorite artist and works!”

“Kandinsky, I’m Blau, and Lyrical: Man on a Horse.”

“Favorite philosopher.”

“Nietzche.”

“Favorite foreign author and novel.”

“Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment.”

“Greatest pet peeves.”

“Unconscious biases, apathetic have-alls, and believers in God’s benevolent good will.”

Kozue actually paused to look aside at Nabiki, clearly impressed. “Not bad. You may actually do for my dear, beloved Heathen after all!”

Ranma laughed. “I try. On pain o’ death usually.”

Both Nabiki and Kozue laughed knowingly.

“Ya actually got any hard questions?”

“Well, now…. You’re an artist too, right?”

“Tryin’ ta be.”

Nabiki had stomped impatiently on his foot. False modesty would never suit Ranma. In fact, she found it downright sad to see, like a cheap seersucker suit on a used car salesman.

“Ouch!”

“Own what you fucking are, Saotome! You’re hopeless pretending to be any other way.”

“Fine! Ya, I am, in more ways than one.”

Good! Then maybe you can explain to me why a genius like our dear Heathen here has so willingly put her art aside for the law….”


# # # # #


It came from one of the last pearls her mother gave her about how the world worked, a few weeks before Akiko died. Her mother had always been the greatest fan of Nabiki’s art, the staunchest advocate for her daughter’s creative passions and her uncanny Kandinsky-esque “knack for distilling the world down to the essence of things.” Akiko had also been the first to tell her daughter that the quickest way to kill off artistic those passions would be to try and make a living out of them. Passions should remain as cherished hobbies.

You’re different from everyone else, Na-chan, from your sisters even. Be wise and pragmatic with how you use your gifts. Whatever you do, don’t get trapped living in the shadows between worlds….

Her mother obviously had some regrets, though Akiko never actually talked about what those regrets were. Nabiki had always had her suspicions. Akiko did have her own fair share of creations — beautiful sketches, paintings, writings — but which she never really talked about or showed to anyone other than Nabiki and her sisters. Even then, Akiko was always discerningly selective and sparing about the things she shared with her own children.

Coming from anyone else, Akiko’s words about becoming an artist would have meant nothing to Nabiki.

Coming from Akiko, Nabiki had been crushed.

You don’t think I’m good enough….

Nabiki could still remember the way Akiko had drawn her teary-eyed daughter close, reassuring her that she had misunderstood. She was indisputably gifted, more than most anyone around her. Akiko knew it, could never doubt her own daughter. No slip of the tongue or anything anyone else might ever say or think could change the fact of what she was.

Akiko’s admonition had no relation to being good at things or otherwise or even whether a person should keep or forfeit their passions or any of the secrets in their heart. Nothing to do with any of that. Akiko had been talking about something else entirely.

Consequentiality.

It became a sort of sutra mantra for her after her mother died. The actionable corollary to seeing and hearing things for what they were and not what she was told they were. The torch of reason that would keep her on the narrow, chosen path of Destiny threading through and around the shadows between worlds, including those of the haves and have-nots. The essential root of the Machiavellian pragmatic minimalism that had defined all of her major life choices from that point onward.

The subjects she chose for her art.

The clothes she wore and the clean and simple way she styled her hair.

The surprisingly few personal possessions she actually chose to have, relative to what she generally led people to believe.

Her natural aptitude for harnessing the power of people’s motivations, particularly through their pocketbooks, to advance her agendas.

The part-time job she took as an usher at Suntory Hall just after moving from Komaba to Hongo (2).

Most of all, the major she chose when she arrived at Hongo.

A business degree?

Fuck, she would have shot herself in the face before debasing herself to step into the obscene gilded halls of Have-All Central. The truth was that Nabiki despised business people, regarded them as the most toxic type of fake and fraud, pathetic open books with entirely superficial motivations, and barely human. They were all smooth talkers whose mouths dribbled with bullshit, but never actually had any idea what the fuck they were really selling, so deluded by their own sweet-sounding words and the general stupidity of most people that they actually believed in the illusion of their own greatness. All of them believed they were the next Bezos, Musk, or Jobs. Yet, none of them could be considered worthy of licking the shit off of a puppy’s foot.

This furious disdain had been one of her more closely guarded personal secrets — right up there with fried chicken and canned beers. Out of the sheer depths of her hate for them all, she mockingly masqueraded as someone aspiring to be one of them. A wolf seeking to burn another wolf alive had the best chance of doing so when disguised in sheep’s clothing.

Fundamentally, little distinguished such creatures from the ones who had taken turns laughing at her and pitying her when the trauma of being without a mother and left only with a deluded clown relic of a father had been too much, robbing her of her voice. No one would be allowed to hurt her like that ever again. They would all pay.

As for actual skills and assets, maths — numbers, figures, stochastic calculus even — had always been easy for her; she had native bilingual fluency in Japanese in English; boys and men already had their eyes on her; and she already knew how to be charismatic and eloquent when she wanted to be. She knew full well, however, that a brain, beauty, and charm alone would hardly be sufficient to carry her to the summit of greatness. Whatever the price, she needed to get there in order to have the power to remake the world as it should be, right all of its wrongs and ills.

So she chose to study law, confident that Akiko would have approved. Other than Ranma and Kozue, most everyone else had been surprised, even Akane. Nabiki gleefully delighted in that reaction, taking it as a compliment of just how well she had engineered her own reputation, biding the time since she lost her mother for the opportunity to remake the world as it should be.

Again, she found herself assured by the comforting order and purpose that her mother’s guiding principle had unfailingly brought to her life. To dominate and crush all the uncaring have-alls of the world, rid it of their fucking carcasses, she needed to know and understand the rule book itself that the fuckers used to tip the scales in their favor. Only then could she truly become the wolf in sheep’s clothing she needed to be in order to get close enough to burn them all alive.

By that time, Ranma had a fairly good sense of her misanthropic disdain for people who had things, even if he still had not realized yet how far and deep the wounds at root of these feelings cut. Of all people, she had fretted about whether or not he thought that she was crazy — which she was not.

Ya ain’t nice — but ya ain’t crazy…. (3)

Even to him, she had not yet been able to trust herself to fully reveal the raw extent of her secret rage and fury. Sure it sounded Nietzschean, but so what. Nietzsche had the right general idea about how to make the world a better place, but he was the crazy one, not her. She was not crazy.

Regardless, to be clear, she had absolutely nothing against others brave enough to follow their artistic passions. She was just not one of those people. Not like Ranma or Akane.

In the months after they first got together, he began taking short-term contract jobs doing small adds and other odd things whenever he was not teaching at a gym or working at some coffee shop (she had made him immediately quit the one in Suginami as a condition of their budding relationship). Nabiki had to admit that he actually had an eye for things and a knack for putting stories together, probably better than even her own. Thus, when he decided to enroll in animation and illustration classes at Asagaya, Nabiki enthusiastically supported his choice — provided of course that he had nothing to do with that Miyuki bimbo who had tried to kill her.

As for Nabiki’s fire-breathing Kansai-bred dragon of a best friend, just like Ranma, Kozue intuitively seemed to understand. She herself chose medicine over sculpting and the silver spoon stemming from her father’s position in the fashion world. In many ways, Nabiki felt as if Akiko herself had whispered in the Kansai girl’s ear too.

For the first time since her mother died, Nabiki was happy. Every question in her world really could be answered, every dilemma resolved by devotion to the sutra mantra her mother had given her. Every wise choice, every success.

Everything except the things which ultimately mattered — each of those siloed off in disparate, incompatible realities between which she could see no other plausible way to live except in between shadows.



# # # # #​


“Maybe you should go away for a few days. I’ll check up on him regularly, hold the fort down no problem. ”

Nabiki gave Kozue something between a snort and a laugh. “And do what?”

“Go see your sister. It’s been a while, right? I think talking with her would do you some good.”

“Doctor’s orders?”

Kozue smirked. She usually had good insights, but they both knew she was not a real physician. Maybe she had the title and credentials — which was all that mattered from the perspective of the business — but she had never actually practiced after completing her training. “Tell them what’s been going on, how you feel, what you’re thinking.”

“And then what?”

“You come back with an answer the way you always do, ready to fight like Hell.”


# # # # #​


Soon after, Nabiki found herself shooting Westbound on the Chuo Expressway through Yamanashi. The sky above was clear and blue, and the carriageway was surprisingly empty, even for a Sunday. Tokyo was a little over an hour behind her.

There was no way in Hell that she would ever take the train from Tokyo to Fuji. She simply hated trains, a fact of which she made no secret. Most people assumed it was because she considered riding them beneath her status. This was not true, though continuing to let people think as they were inclined served her purposes.

It was just that every time she thought of trains, she still would invariably see and smell the blood all over again. That warm, sticky feel and the thick, metallic smell. In her hair, her hands, her clothes — everywhere.

She was grateful that she had learned how to drive in the year after Todai that she had spent in New Haven doing her LL.M. Soon, Mt. Fuji and the Fujigoko — the Five Fuji Lakes District — would be coming into view. The G20 BMW’s three-liter in-line six replied with a throaty growl as she buried her foot into the M-styled, rubber-studded, stainless steel accelerator. A ferocious surge of torque slammed her back into her seat as the ZF eight-speed, locked into sport mode, downshifted eagerly from seventh to fourth. Mt. Fuji finally finally emerged over the horizon after another quarter hour or so, beckoning with its snow-capped peak gleaming brilliantly in the sun.

Just then, Ed Sheeran’s latest new song began streaming over the Bimmer’s twelve-speaker Harmon Kardon sound system. He sang about dancing alone in a bar one night with his eyes closed, drowning out his grief over his best friend’s death with alcohol and denial.

A bone-chilled shiver shot down Nabiki’s spine as she listened. She locked the track into a repeat loop, unable to get the words out of her head. He seemed to be commiserating directly with her about the very ghosts that had drawn her out here. If only she had spoken to Akane first, everything would have been different.

Very, very different.

You’re wrong. I don’t hate you for being the one he chose. I hate you for not trusting me enough to tell me….



# # # # #​



CHAPTER NOTES:

  1. Todai is the only University in Japan where undergraduates have two years of a general curriculum before choosing a specialized field of study. The general curriculum is taught at the Komaba Campus. Most students move to the main Hong campus after for their specialized studies.
  2. Cross-reference to the opening section of Chapter 1 in Suntory Hall where the ushers are gossiping about Nabiki sitting in block RB.
  3. Cross-reference to the scene in Chapter 7 by the canal in Naka-Meguro.
 
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