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Chapter Four: Fairy Tales
“Those stories of man, that which
is true but he cannot perceive,
become tales of whimsy. But even the most whimsical tale will
always have the smallest grain of truth to it . . .”
—excerpt from the Nihon Shoki
* * * * * *
It was extremely noisy at the Tendo Dojo later that night.
The reason for the noise was the fact that things had been restored to more-or-less normal. Genma, Shampoo, Mousse, Ryouga, and Ranma were all safe and accounted for, and there was no holding back the inevitable.
“A-Akane! Y-you cooked?”
“Yup! Now eat up, Ranma!”
“Ehhh...lissen, Akane, I just came back from the dead. I don’t wanna go back, okay?”
*WHAM*
“Ranmaaa! How dare you speak that way to Akane!”
“Oh? Why’s that, Ryouga-sama?”
“A-A-Akari! I—ah, aheheheh...”
“You are such a jackass sometimes, Ryouga.”
“Stupid crazy Akane, you no hit Ranma that way!”
“Buh-buh-but Shampoo—”
“Keep your hands off my Ranma-darling, you seducer!”
“Excuse me?”
“Silence! Speak not of the fair Akane Tendo in such desecrating terms, little sister! And as for thou, my love, allow me to demonstrate my affections—”
*WHAM*
“Oh my.”
“Must you hit Kunou-baby so hard, Akane?”
“Look, Nabiki, if you want him, he’s all yours!”
“Oh, I don’t want him—just his monetary...assets.”
“You know, Saotome, I’m beginning to think that I have too much hospitality.”
“Indeed, Tendo, indeed. If you aren’t careful, you just might find yourself with a couple of ungrateful freeloaders.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
The dining room was crowded this time. Genma and Soun were seated at the dining room table, with Genma devouring bowl after bowl of soba. Ranma was at the other end of the table, also gobbling up food like there was no tomorrow, with Shampoo and Kodachi on each side of him, and Akane glaring at him from the right side, beside Shampoo. Ukyou sat across from Akane, on the left side. Beside her was Ryouga, who was helping himself to platters of teriyaki—which, thankfully, was of the beef variety—and on his other side was Akari, watching him in fascination, while Katsunishiki dozed beside her. Across the table was Mousse, squatting next to Shampoo, who in turn seemed oblivious to him. Kunou, who had been unable to snag a place next to his beloved Akane, had been relegated to a seat next to Mousse, much to his displeasure. Nabiki sat beside Kunou, immersed in her scheme to extract a substantial amount of yen from him in exchange for a seat next to Akane. Kasumi, was, as usual, busy in the kitchen as she prepared second and third helpings for the guests’ insatiable appetites. Cologne had isolated herself in a corner of the room, absorbed in her own ruminations.
“Hey,” Ranma mumbled between mouthfuls of noodles, “haven’t I seen ya around b’fore?” He gestured at Akari with his chopsticks.
“Yes, it’s me. Akari Unryuu. Nice to see you again, Ranma. Ryouga-sama’s told me so much about you.” Akari smiled sweetly and draped her arms around a flabbergasted Ryouga, who promptly began to cough.
“Oh, really?” Ranma cocked an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Oh, like how you’re a dishonorable, arrogant jerk, and the terrible way you treat Akane all the time and—”
“I think I get the point,” Ranma remarked dryly.
“Well, it’s the truth,” snapped his rival.
Ranma watched Akari inquisitively. “So...you’re good friends with Ryouga now, huh?”
Akari beamed. “Well, actually, we’ve been dating.”
Ryouga nearly choked on a piece of meat. His face was burning as he shot a furtive look at an intently listening Akane.
The pigtailed boy leaned closer to Akari, appraising her from head to toe. “Whoa. You’re aren’t really serious, are you? You sure ya ain’t sick or somethin’?”
Akari shook her head.
Ranma let out a small whistle. “Oh, man. She’s serious.” He grinned mischievously at a thoroughly embarrassed-looking Ryouga. “Nice goin’. Didn’t think you had it in you, pig-boy.”
The bandannaed boy glared at him, eating implements poised in midair. “Don’t call me that, you half-girl hentai!”
Shampoo retaliated for Ranma by glowering at Ryouga. “You no talk like that to Ranma!”
“Yes,” declared Kodachi, “you leave my husband alone!”
Ukyou pinned her with a baleful stare. “Your husband, sugar? I think your brain’s gone off-duty.” She tossed Ranma a bright smile. “You’re my fiance, right, Ranchan?”
Ranma replied with an unintelligible mumble as he dug into the teriyaki platter.
Shampoo objected. “Spatula-girl have brain many times smaller than her head! Ranma Shampoo’s husband!”
“I can’t believe you sometimes, Ranma,” Akane hissed at him. “Honestly, this scene’s really getting old.”
Ranma shrugged. “Lighten up, Akane. I can’t help it if I’m more popular than an uncute tomboy like you now, can I? I mean—*urk*“
He barely managed to scramble away as Akane whipped out a gigantic mallet out of nowhere and brought it down hard on the spot he’d been sitting, birthing a small crater on the bamboo floor.
The entire party jumped to their feet in anticipation of a good Tendo dojo free-for-all. Soun and Genma automatically retreated to the patio.
“So, Tendo,” began Genma, very solemnly, “have you found a good insurance company that’ll accept you yet?”
“I’m searching, Saotome. I’m searching very hard.”
Back inside, the players were getting ready to rumble.
“How dare you try and harm my husband!” shrieked Kodachi, whisking out her gymnastic ribbon. “Akane Tendo, I will no longer permit your presence to foul my Ranma-darling!”
“Wait a minute, Ranma’s my fiance!” yelled Ukyou, unstrapping the assault spatula from her back. “If anyone’s gonna beat him up, it’s me!”
“Aaai-yah!” Shampoo fished out a pair of bonbori from behind her. “None of you no hurt airen, or Shampoo KILL!”
“Worry not, fair goddess, and stand aside,” said Kunou grandly. “For I, the great Tatewaki Kunou, shall defend thee from that wretched infidel Saotome!”
“Oh, no, rich boy,” Ryouga muttered, cracking his knuckles. “I got first dibs.”
“No, I do!” put in Mousse, blades dangling from his sleeves. “This’s for poisoning Shampoo’s mind, you coward!”
“Aw, gimme a break!” Ranma exclaimed as they ganged up on him. “After all I’ve been through today, don’t I deserve some kind of rest or somethin’?”
“No!” Mousse, Kunou, Ryouga, and Akane yelled at him.
“Geez...”
Without warning, Soun and Genma tore through the shoji and tumbled to the floor in a tangled, squirming heap.
“Dad?” Akane burst out.
“Pop?” Ranma seconded.
The two adults turned toward them, and the expressions on their faces were enough to silence the entire room. Then Soun raised a shaking finger to point to the hole they’d inflicted on the shoji.
Outside, starkly outlined in the light of the silver moon, standing steadfast on top of the wall that surrounded the Tendo dojo, was a single figure garbed in the unmistakable armor of the Shoryuu.
For one tense, charged moment, the figure remained motionless as he surveyed the now-silent domicile, watching, waiting.
Then he leaped down from the wall and vanished into the night.
* * * * * *
“I don’t believe this!” Ranma paced back and forth in agitation. “Are you sayin’ that they haven’t given up yet? You mean they’re gonna follow us for as long as we live?”
“Basically, yes,” Cologne responded, seemingly unruffled.
A growl of consternation rose from Ranma’s throat, while Shampoo, Mousse, Ryouga, and Genma looked stricken at the revelation.
“Hold on a minute!” Akane commanded, penetrating through their fog of shock like a knife through butter. “This doesn’t make sense! They let you guys go free—why’d they bother doing that when they were just gonna keep on tracking you down anyway?”
“Ah, mayhaps they retreated at the sight of I, Tatewaki Kunou, the invincible Blue Thunder of Furinkan High!”
They all ignored him.
“That was no retreat, nor was it any accident,” murmured Cologne as she relinquished her cushion at last and shuffled to the middle of the room where she could maintain her audience’s attention. “Surely you saw the way they were charging at us—they had no intention of retreating or disappearing. Whatever happened, I am certain that they were brought back to wherever they came from because they chose so.”
Shampoo trained her startled gaze on the old woman. “You know about all this, great-grandmother?”
Cologne gave her a tired replica of a smile. “Perhaps I do, great-granddaughter. Perhaps I do.”
“Then answer me this, old woman.” Genma adjusted his spectacles. “Why did they come after us?”
“Yeah—what did we ever do to them?” asked Ryouga, crestfallen. He was totally oblivious to the questioning glances that Akane was throwing his way.
Cologne shook her silver-crowned head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She paused. “Except maybe falling into certain cursed springs...”
“But why do they persist on chasing us?” Mousse clamped his fists on his folded knees, straining forward. “I know what our connection is—why we five were taken—but I still don’t understand why that fact is so important to those people—”
“Believe me, boy, that fact is extremely important to them,” hissed Cologne. “I was not even surprised when one of the Shoryuu showed up outside waiting. In fact, I was expecting him to come.” She stared at her hushed audience, her tarsieresque eyes narrowing into slivers. “Did you really expect that the Dynasty would leave you be after going to all that trouble to kidnap you and usurp you all of your individual souls?”
Ranma laid his plate of teriyaki down on the table with an audible clang. He studied the corner of the table like it was suddenly the most interesting object in the room. “How did ya know that?” he said at last, sounding strangled. “How’d ya know that they were after our souls...?”
“Our souls...” Genma repeated, as if in awe.
“It was the only thing I could think of,” retorted Cologne, searching through the pockets of her robes. “After all, I did find your soul’s purported ‘vessel’.”
And with that, she let a tiny object clatter onto the table.
Ranma gawked at it for several minutes, then picked it up with slightly trembling hands.
The thing turned out to be a little box—specifically, a little lacquer box of haunting exquisiteness, adorned with odd unfamiliar-looking stones and tassels of red silk. Around it was an unfastened ivory-colored silken cord.
It was the last thing Ranma had seen saw before he’d felt himself drift away.
“You all might be interested to know that when the Dragon clan vanished, they also took four more like it,” Cologne informed them.
“What is it?” ventured Ukyou softly.
“It is the Tama-Tebako—jewel hand-box.”
Akari spoke suddenly. “It looks like something out of a storybook,” she mused, gently stroking the tips of the tassels with her fingertips. “The Tama-Tebako...the vessel of one’s soul...”
Cologne appraised her, looking pleased. “Very good, child. I assume that you’re referring to the story of Urashima Taro, whose very soul was nestled within a box of this sort.”
“Since when do fairy-tales have to do with anything?” sniffed Kodachi.
“You may call them fairy-tales at first,” boomed the old crone, wagging her stick admonishingly at her, “but if you will bother to inspect them more closely, you will find that these ‘fairy-tales’ are actually ancient chronicles, preserved over time, which are then interpreted into nothing more than little concoctions of our ancestors’ flights of fancy. Fairy-tales indeed. Had Happosai been alive a hundred centuries before, I have no doubt that there would be a ‘fairy-tale’ devoted to him—the Lord Stealer-Of-Women’s-Underthings.” She glared at all of them, jabbing her stick at each one in turn. “You are all dealing with a force here that you cannot possibly begin to comprehend—a force that has been alive long before your ancestors even existed. If they single you out for one reason or the other, then you cannot escape them. Do you understand me? You cannot escape them. If they decide that you belong to them, then there they will follow you anywhere, everywhere, even to the very ends of the earth, until the day you die.”
There was a brief pause as the gravity and despair of the current situation settled on the group.
“Then...isn’t there anything we can do?” Ranma asked miserably.
“You know there is something,” Mousse stated. “I don’t know how you know, but there has to be something we can do.”
“Shampoo no want to live life being stalked,” moaned Shampoo.
“They’ll get us before we even know that we’re being stalked,” said Genma, on the verge of hysteria.
“They’re right,” conceded Ryouga, nervously pulling at his black wrist guards. “There’s no way we can fight them—it’s like they know how to counter our best moves. We can’t even touch them.” He gestured carelessly at a befuddled Ranma. “I mean, even Ranma couldn’t handle them.”
Ranma glowered at him. “Oh, yeah? If they didn’t catch me off-guard—”
Cologne hopped from the table, her countenance even more wrinkled than usual as she immersed herself in thought. “I must leave.”
“—I’d have turned them inta—” Ranma stopped his monologue and gaped, with the rest of the room, at a departing Cologne. “H-hey! Where d’you think you’re goin’, old ghoul?”
The matriarch turned. “To consult with my fellow Amazon elders, son-in-law,” she replied matter-of-factly. “There are some issues that I must clear up first before I can explain to all of you just what exactly went on today. I shall return tomorrow with the answers. Until then, wait for me.”
Shampoo blinked. “Tomorrow, great-grandmother?”
Cologne rewarded her with a fond smile. “Yes, granddaughter. I shall close the Nekohantan for a day. You do not have to deliver anything or wait on anyone tomorrow.”
“But what about me?” Ranma wanted to know. “I got school tomorrow, remember?”
“Then skip it, son-in-law,” said Cologne dismissively.
Genma scrambled up. “Now hold on here! I’m not depriving my son of his meager dose of education just because of this nonsense!”
Cologne shot him a peeved look. “Fine. Would you rather that the clan just kidnap your son again and suck the very soul out of him?”
“Hmmm,” said Genma, mulling over the far-from-unpalatable prospect of not having a smart-mouthed, impudent son around. Ranma felt obliged to smack him.
“The rest of you can assume your everyday activities tomorrow. The clan will be sure to leave you unmolested,” continued the old woman.
She must have seen the skeptical looks on their faces, because she followed it with a serious, “Trust me. They will not go after anyone else other than the Jusenkyo-cursed. Not even if they thought that you would be the only ones who could bring these five willingly to them.”
Then she shifted her gaze toward Ranma, Ryouga, Genma, Mousse, and Shampoo. “As for the five of you, you will all have to be confined here in the meantime. It would be foolish to tempt danger by going your separate ways tonight.”
“Wh-whu-what? Here?” shrieked Soun.
Mousse looked like he wasn’t certain whether to be thankful or not. Shampoo looked like she was in heaven. Ryouga looked dazed. Vastly different thoughts circled around their heads.
“Oh, good!” chirped Kasumi as she caught the last strains of Cologne’s harangue. “Overnight guests!”
“Oh, great.” Ranma rubbed his temples. “As if we didn’t already have a certain pig to shelter in this house.”
Ryouga was restrained by Akari in mid-lunge.
“What about you, great-grandmother?” queried Shampoo in concern, as Cologne slid open the shoji.
“I will be fine,” responded the old woman. “The Dynasty have no need for me.” Before she let herself out, she oscillated one last time to address them. “If you are adamant about going out there tomorrow, then I cannot stop you from going. But expect them to show up. Expect them to fight you.” She set her mouth in a tight, grim line. “And expect them to win.”
“Not this time,” Ranma said softly.
They all gaped at him, astounded.
He grinned. “I have a plan.”
There was a lengthy stillness before Ryouga let out a long breath.
“Well, that’s it,” he announced with grave finality. “We’re dead.”
This time it was Ranma who was restrained by Akane in mid-lunge.
* * * * * *
“Are you sure this plan of yours is gonna work, Ranma?”
Ranma sighed as they trudged together down the corridors that led to their bedrooms. “That’s the two hundred fifty-sixth time you’ve asked me that question, Akane,” he pointed out wearily. “I toldja, it has to work. I mean, there ain’t no way it can go wrong.”
“What if they don’t show up when you want them to?”
Ranma did a double take. “Uhm—ah—”
“What if they kidnap you before you can even talk to them?”
Ranma scratched his head frantically. “I’m thinkin’, Akane...”
“What if they go for one of the others first instead of you?”
He was racking his brain for some sort of comeback. “Not so fast, Akane...I’m thinkin’ here...”
Akane stopped walking and crossed her arms sternly in front of her yellow cotton nightgown. “Oh, honestly, Ranma!” she snorted. “Face it—this whole scheme’s too dangerous. It’s not going to work!”
Ranma stopped as well, his moonlit features contorted in an irritated frown. “Well, would you rather that I not go to school with you at all, Akane? That it?”
Amazement and indignation flooded onto her countenance. “N-no! That’s not it at all...I...” She fixed her gaze on her slipper-clad toes, her fingers bunching the soft canary cotton of her nightgown. “I just...I just don’t want you to disappear on me like that again, Ranma.”
Her last statement was nearly inarticulate and barely comprehensible, but it hit Ranma like a full-force slap on the cheek. Was it possible that she really didn’t hate him then? Not even after that joke of a wedding? He hardly dared to even hope.
For a minute he stood there, in his sleeveless white undershirt and worn yellow blue-lined boxers, unable to formulate some sort of response to her sentence. Then he opted for the casual reply. “I thought we weren’t talkin’ to each other, Akane,” he said nonchalantly.
Akane stared at him, as if attempting to gauge what in hell had made him address that topic, of all things. Then again, she felt obligated to explain to him why they were suddenly conversing again after that mutual unspoken agreement they’d made after that wedding disaster. “Well, this doesn’t count, Ranma. You were nearly killed...” She hesitated for a moment. “And it’s funny, but...after what happened today, it seems silly to be mad about the whole wedding thing, you know?”
“Yeah,” agreed Ranma.
They were quiet again.
Then Ranma spoke. “Akane, this plan is gonna work, you know.”
Akane couldn’t rein in the doubt that washed across her face.
“Come on, Akane. You gotta trust me on this. Pop and the others’re all for it, and Shampoo’s already placed in that Jusenkyo mail-order product for overnight delivery. So if and when those jerks show up at all, I’ll be able to fight them on my terms.”
Her brows knitted together, and her voice hardened. “I still want in, Ranma.”
Ranma gazed at her like she’d grown another head. “We already talked about this, Akane,” he told her, as sensibly as he could. “It’s too dangerous for someone like y—”
“You mean for someone of my skills, right?” Her voice was ominously quiet. Sort of like the gentle hissing of a cobra before the strike.
Ranma gulped. If there was anything Akane didn’t want to be reminded of, it was her fighting skills—or lack thereof. “Uhm—no! No! ’Course not!”
It was to no avail, of course. After all, it was one in the morning, and an Akane deprived of sleep was an Akane he didn’t want to mess with.
“Have it your way, Ranma,” she huffed, then stormed down the hallway ahead of him. A quarter-minute later, he heard her slam the door of her bedroom with a force that initiated a tremor that could have registered a 9.5 on the Richter scale.
Ranma stood there, motionless.
Then Akane poked her head one more time out of her bedroom door. “And one more thing, Ranma Saotome—”
He looked up.
“—I don’t care if I do catch Shampoo on your bed again!”
Now that exit, he was sure, had to be a 10 on the Richter scale.
For some minutes, he remained standing there, still as a statue. Then a tiny smile stole across his mouth. “Man...she’s cute when she’s angry,” he murmured.
With that, he retired to his room for the night.
* * * * * *
Ryouga waited for the aftershocks to pass before reclining back down on his futon. He sighed, recalling Akane’s outraged parting words to Ranma after the first initial quake. Idly he wondered if that was the kind of goodnight that Ranma received every night.
How different it was when Akane had bid him goodnight. She’d graced him with that gentle smile of hers, made sure that he was comfortable on the futon she’d rolled out for him on the floor, made certain that he had an extra blanket, then whispered, “Good night, Ryouga” before departing to her own bed.
Akane had been so attentive toward him, and so hostile toward Ranma. And yet, there was a certain something between her and Ranma that Ryouga could never, ever make out.
Mousse’s snoring at the other side of the room intruded his cogitation for a second, and Ryouga opened his bleary eyes. Mousse was on his side, dead to the world, glasses perched atop his head in an awkward angle, his long raven hair radiating from his head like the spokes of a wheel. Apparently, he’d been too tired to arrange himself in a comfortable position or even conduct his customary checks on his beloved Shampoo, who had taken up residence in the Tendo dojo guest room. Not that Ryouga expected her to actually stay there, of course. She would probably find some way to sneak over to Ranma’s bed.
Ryouga scowled. What did that Chinese Amazon girl see in Ranma, anyway? Well, Saotome had beaten her once or twice, but what kind of girl would fall in love with a guy who defeated her?
A Chinese Amazon, of course. It figured.
Still, Ranma certainly didn’t seem to return her sentiments. Mousse, on the other hand, was crazy about her, and yet she shot down his romantic fantasies in the most blunt and ignominious ways conceivable.
Could that, speculated Ryouga, be some sort of parallel to his predicament with Ranma and Akane?
Damn.
He turned restlessly in the futon and punched the pillow. All thoughts of the Dragon clan and all that had happened tonight were banished from his head. Instead he began mulling over his usual dilemma.
What did Ranma have that he didn’t? Well, for starters, he turned into a girl when he was splashed with cold water. He was the best martial artist in Nerima—for now, anyway, Ryouga vowed to himself..
Also, Ranma had somehow managed to land himself four fiancees: Akane, Kodachi, Shampoo, and Ukyou.
Come to think of it, what did Kodachi ever see in Ranma? Ryouga wrinkled his nose. Never mind. He would rather not know. Shampoo—well, with her it was all about some sort of nutty Amazon tribal law. And Ukyou...what the hell did she see in Ranma, anyway?
Ryouga sat up and pulled off his long-sleeved travelling shirt. For a spring night in Nerima, it was unusually warm.
He collapsed back on the sheets and shut his eyes. He was exhausted from thinking. All he wanted was to drift off to sleep, where he would be free to dream about Akane...
“Ryouga-sama?”
He laid himself flat on his stomach. Damn. He was already beginning to hear things.
“Ryouga. Over here.”
The next second he propped himself up on his elbows, shrinking slightly back as his vision was accosted by a brilliant shaft of moonlight. The glare softened somewhat as his eyes adjusted to the glare, and he was astonished to see the slim silhouette of a young girl outlined in the opened sliding doors that led to the patio.
“A-Akari?”
In response, she closed the shoji, strode past Mousse to where Ryouga was sprawled on his futon, and kneeled beside him. “Hello, Ryouga.”
Ryouga stared up at her, his throat constricting. Akari Unryuu was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever met—and, seeing as how he spent about seventy percent of his life on a global trek meeting countless girls of different nationalities, that was certainly saying something. “Akari...what—what’re you doing here?”
She tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear, a demure gesture. “Grandfather was wondering where you were. I told him, and he insisted that I stay with you, no matter what.”
Ryouga chewed on his bottom lip. He’d long suspected that maybe the old man was resorting to great lengths to fixing him up as his granddaughter’s fiance, and now that suspicion had just been confirmed. “You know...Akari, you really didn’t have to do that—”
“It’s all right, Ryouga,” she interrupted him softly. “I want to stay with you.”
The expression on his face was something between incredulity and gratefulness. When she slipped onto the futon beside him, he didn’t protest. They’d spent more than one night curled up in the same bed for warmth during the winter nights, in the guest room of Grandfather Unryuu’s country house. It was an example of the trust they retained between each other, and oddly enough, the old man didn’t seem to mind. For some reason—who was he kidding; Ryouga knew the reason—he actually encouraged it.
Ryouga shifted his body a little, mildly surprised that he couldn’t even feel his nose heating, even though Akari’s clothes were the only things that separated his skin from hers. He supposed that it was because he was already accustomed to her so close to him.
“Hey, Akari?” His voice was muffled in her hair.
“Yes, Ryouga-sama?”
“You’re not mad at me, are you? Not even after I decided to leave?”
She snuggled closer to him. “No. And neither was Grandfather. He just felt that you needed a little more time to think.”
“Akari,” Ryouga began tentatively, “you already know I still love Akane.”
She nodded, the crown of her head colliding gently against his chin. “I know that, Ryouga-sama. But I’m not going to stand by and give you up without a fight. Not this time.”
He just nodded, not trusting himself to say another word. He tightened his arms around her and fell asleep, too fatigued to care what the other occupants of the house would say if they caught him in this compromising position.
Akari promptly fell asleep as well.
Outside, several figures watched from their hidden crevices, alert and unwavering, never ceasing their vigil on the Tendo dojo.
Inside, their targets slumbered in blissful ignorance.
* * * * * *
Ranma tapped his pencil faster against his desk.
The coil of tension in his stomach was stretched tight, almost to the breaking point, and he was literally aching for something—anything—to happen in order to break the state of monotony that currently dominated.
His morning had gone well enough under the circumstances. He’d woken up with Shampoo curled up beside him on his futon, and Mousse had chosen that exact moment to come barging in screaming, “How dare you defile my beautiful Shampoooo!”
Of course, this had only earned the Chinese boy the reward of getting up close and personal with the bedroom wall, compliments of his indignant would-be ladylove. Ranma was only glad that Akane had overslept, otherwise he was certain that he would be would be getting intimate with the bedroom wall as well.
He’d bathed, dressed himself in a sleeveless white Chinese shirt and dark pants—for the day promised to be a warm one—then headed down for a hurried breakfast. On the way he’d bumped into a sullen Akane, who promptly demonstrated to him in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of speaking to him today.
After nursing his swollen jaw a bit, Ranma had quickly devoured his breakfast and checked the living room to make sure that a certain someone was up and about and hadn’t wandered off in the night trying to locate the bathroom. His sudden entrance, of course, had scared the hell out of a shirtless Ryouga, who’d been cuddling in his futon with a sleepy-looking Akari. His rival had practically flown out of his bed and dived into his shirt with blazing speed, much to Ranma’s amusement. A few rounds of teasing and prodding from Ranma regarding Ryouga’s nocturnal activities had resulted in yet another blow to an already sore jaw.
Ranma had staggered away from the pig-couple after informing the male half that he was ready to depart for school, and was subjected to another round of nursing by Kasumi before setting out with Akane towards Furinkan High.
The trip had gone smoothly, with no sign of any armored samurai figures or whatnot. Predictably enough, Akane ignored him the whole way.
And now, safely in class, Ranma pondered the situation, twirling his pencil over and over in his hands. It’s for her own good, he thought stubbornly. These people’re dangerous. I ain’t lettin’ her get in danger’s way cause of me. I mean, it happened back in Mount Phoenix, and I’ll be damned before I let that happen again...
Ranma heard a snap and quickly glanced down at his hands. Great. He’d broken his pencil in half. A dry chuckle forced its way out of his throat despite himself.
Geez, man, get a grip on yourself! It ain’t like—
“Perhaps you would like to share your thoughts with us, Mr. Saotome?”
The stern, dry-humored voice of Sensei Tanaka was enough to bring Ranma out of his trance-like state. “Uh...what?”
Sensei Tanaka’s haughty gaze drilled at him through strict steel-rimmed spectacles. “You were not paying attention to the lecture, Mr. Saotome.”
In reply, Ranma eased back languidly in his chair, acutely aware of his classmates’ eyes trained on him. “Uh, sorry, ’bout that, Teach. I guess I was thinking ’bout more important things...”
He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, but by the time the thought registered in his mind, it was already too late. “Mr. Saotome,” fumed the sensei, “I have had quite enough of your sarcastic remarks. I see that your reputation indeed serves you well—”
Ranma sighed. The Hinako incident. His attack on the principal with the pineapple fetish. His penchant for entangling himself in countless exhibitions of martial arts violence in and out of the campus. His reputation was notorious indeed.
“RANMA SAOTOME.”
He jerked up, blinking at the deep, authoritative tone. A swift glimpse at his fellow students told him right off that this wasn’t Sensei Tanaka speaking.
“RANMA SAOTOME. SHOW YOURSELF TO US NOW.”
That voice...it wasn’t human. Loud and soft at the same time, close yet distant, smooth yet guttural. It reverberated throughout the history classroom’s walls, sending chills through Ranma’s spine.
Ranma slowly got up from his desk, and the entire class followed.
“DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT YOU COULD ESCAPE US?”
Outside, through the enormous sliding glass windows of the room, Ranma could see them, all thirty of them, clad in their iridescent armor of red, gold, green, and black, gathered in a half-circle. In the middle was a figure garbed in red and gold, whom Ranma pinpointed easily as the leader of the throng: the same one who’d brought Ranma down the first time he’d faced off against them.
“FACE US, SAOTOME!”
Furinkan High stood still and silent, with the entire student body holding their breath as they congregated at the eastern windows.
Hiroshi and Daisuke appeared at Ranma’s side, scanning the regiment below them with rapidly increasing alarm.
“Geez, man, what’d ya get yourself into this time?” muttered Daisuke.
Hiroshi noted the grimness on his friend’s face with growing apprehension. “Ranma,” he began cautiously, “what’re you gonna do now?”
* * * * * *
Shino snorted in derision as he turned away from the building. These upperworlders. All cowards. He would not have even considered the thought of calling out the target for a showdown if Lord Takuma had not insisted upon it. Takuma had been certain that the target would come.
The clan wasn’t even supposed to be here. The emperor and empress had forbidden them from hunting down the last five. But then again, Shino knew better than to question Lord Takuma’s orders.
He was on the verge of commanding the others to disperse, when without warning, a white blur streaked down from a third-story window and came to a rest directly in front of the clan.
Shino stared. In front of him was a boy, about sixteen years old, clad in a white Chinese shirt and dark pants, with thick black hair tied tightly back into a pigtail. His gray-blue eyes burned with iron determination.
The leader of the warrior clan smothered a satisfied grin. “Ranma Saotome, I presume?”
The boy didn’t bat an eye. “Bingo.”
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