Chapter Text
Tokyo, Japan
The Nerima Ward
August
The sun was sweltering overhead. The past few weeks had been an unbearable scorcher.
Akane Tendo, age 23, sat on a bench on the sidewalk, fanning her sweating face with one hand as she stared out at the hot asphalt of the street. Somewhere nearby, a cicada sang loudly.
Behind her, Ucchan’s sat empty. Doors locked, lights off, seats and tables removed.
FOR SALE, the big sign in the window screamed.
Sold, the little sign plastered below it responded meekly.
They were gone. They were really gone. Left, just like so many people she knew had left Nerima.
It had been almost two years since Ranma had vanished.
It hadn’t even been anything climactic or dramatic. He had just walked out. Not even a good evening or a goodbye.
It wasn’t so unusual when he hadn’t come back that night. Ranma would sometimes take trips out of Tokyo, up to the mountains, to train solo. Unusual, but not impossible.
Akane hadn’t particularly cared at the time when he didn’t come back the next day, either. Not one of her prouder moments, in hindsight.
It hadn’t been until the third day, when Genma had finally gotten around to checking his email and his bank account balance, only to see exactly 500 yen staring back at him where there had been a few hundred thousand just the previous week, that the pieces had fallen into place.
Not much could compel Genma Saotome to get off his tuchus and get to work on something, but the vanishing of several years’ worth of hard-scammed money was certainly one of them. The police report he filed eventually turned up Ranma’s picture, taken on the camera of an ATM in Akihabara.
Nabiki put the word out to her contacts around Nerima, looking for information. Her unpleasant discovery of what had happened to her blackmail funds and materials was still several days away, so most still thought she was in charge of Nerima.
One of her contacts mentioned he had seen Ranma going into Ucchan’s.
Another mentioned that they had seen Ranma getting on a train heading into Tokyo, about a half hour before Genma’s funds had been withdrawn.
The trail had died there. Nabiki’s reach, as it was, stopped less than a mile out of Nerima.
Ranma had essentially vanished into the world, with nothing but the clothes on his back.
Akane rose from the bench, stretching, feeling her T-shirt sticking to her back. For what had to be the hundredth time in ten minutes, she leaned close to the window of Ucchan’s, shading her eyes with her hands as she peered it, looking for some hint that this was all a dumb misunderstanding.
Nothing. There was no sign of life inside the restaurant.
Akane glanced around at the quiet backstreet, scanning for any prying eyes, before quickly stepping over in front of the door.
“Se, no-“
She wrenched the doorknob to the left hard, breaking the latch with her massive strength, just as she had the last time she’d left this place. She stopped where she was, waiting for a burglar alarm to go off.
None did. Either the realtor had neglected to set it before leaving, or it never had one at all.
Akane pushed the ruined door open, stepping out of the heat into the blessedly cool darkness. She stopped at the counter, resting one hand on the cool surface.
The place was just as empty as it had looked from outside. No sign of Ukyo or Konatsu.
She leaned over the counter, peering into the kitchen. It was just as deserted. The place was hardly recognizable as the place she had shared so many memories with… people she had once called friends.
No, that was misleading. People who had once called her a friend. The distinction and responsibility were important.
Unbidden, a memory floated to the surface, of
sitting on one of Ukyo’s barstools in front of the counter, chewing idly on a fork as she watch Ranma bungle around on the other side of the counter.
Various other customers talked amongst themselves at the tables or the bar. The delicious smell of frying pork and shrimp hung heavy in the air. Konatsu zipped from table to table, taking orders and clearing empty plates. Outside, rain thundered down, tapping against the windows.
Next to Akane, Shampoo shifted in her seat, chuckling at Ranma’s struggles. Across the bar, Ukyo carefully held a knife in front of him, demonstrating the proper technique to his best friend. Ranma watched, nodding uncertainly.
It was one of those rare days where everyone was getting along halfway decently. The weather had no one in the mood for the typical ambushes or attacks, so several members of the Nerima Wrecking Crew had taken shelter in Ucchan’s establishment.
Ukyo was talking to Ranma. “Look, if you’re gonna gesture when using a knife, you gotta use your other hand. I know, it feels good to point with a knife, but it’s waaaay too dangerous. Like this-“ Ukyo held his hands about a foot apart from each other, moving his empty hand away from the one with a knife. “I caught a fish, thiiiiiis big!” He handed the knife back to Ranma, who mimicked Ukyo with her free hand. “Thiiiiis big.”
Shampoo laughed loudly at Akane’s side, her contagious optimism bringing a smile to Akane’s face. “Airen, we’ll make a chef of you yet!”
Smiling, Akane turned to glance at Ukyo as
She shook her head, returning to the moment, this silent restaurant.
Ranma. Ukyo. Shampoo.
All three were gone now.
There was only her.
Akane tried the door leading up to the apartment above the restaurant, but that door was locked as well.
Don’t bother. You’ve pushed your luck enough, breaking and entering. No point.
She sighed, turning away, before stopping just in front of the counter again, right in front of where she and Shampoo had sat, that rainy day a thousand years ago. Where Akane had stood when she called Ukyo a
(“-little bitch-“)
horrible word, during their last conversation, where she had insulted and misgendered both Ukyo and Konatsu, before storming off and not going near this place ever again.
Until today.
When she had heard that Ucchan’s had closed down, had been closed down for a month now and she hadn’t even known.
Akane hadn’t even heard about them leaving from anyone in particular. It had been mentioned in that morning’s newspaper, about the new restaurant that was moving into the old space.
Had anyone even noticed? It wasn’t like the Amazons were around anymore to speak on it one way or another, but… she, Nabiki, and Kasumi had all been friends with Ukyo, or at least on halfway decent terms.
Weren’t they?
Akane could hardly blame Ukyo and Konatsu for leaving. After Ranma had vanished, it was basically an open secret that they had helped him disappear. She, the Amazons, the Kunos, even Auntie Nodoka had hounded them for months, begging, demanding, threatening them, hoping to get the information on Ranma out of them.
Now they were gone.
Akane hadn’t even realized (or maybe just hadn’t acknowledged) how horrible she’d felt about her last conversation with Ukyo, until today, one the walk over here.
Yet another thing her temper had ruined.
Her eyes kept returning to that spot at the bar. This entire building was a reminder of everything she hated, but that one spot on the counter? It burned almost too much to look at.
Akane felt the familiar anger rise inside her, that acidic gorge in the pit of her stomach, delicious and addictive and horrible, all at the same time.
With an indistinct shout of anger, Akane raised her hand high and slammed her closed fist down on Ukyo’s abandoned countertop, where she and Shampoo had sat. With a loud CRUNCH, the wooden bar splintered in two, the two halves pointing upward in a V-shape. Small fragments of wood pittered to the floor on and around her shoes. The air stank of ozone.
That’ll teach ‘em, the poisonous voice deep inside her snarked bitterly.
The silence wrapped around her once again, coating her, settling into the hollow pit of her stomach.
Akane sighed deeply, before slowly trudging outside, back into the sweltering heat. The air was humid now, dark clouds rumbling in the distance.
December, Two years ago
One week after Ranma left
The train door slid open silently before her.
Akane stood on the other side of the yellow line, staring into the train car.
”This train is bound for: Akihabara Station.” The speaker droned above her.
It would be easy to step aboard. She should. She should go after him. It might take a bit, but she could track Ranma down. She’d done it before. Give him a knock on the head, ask what the hell he was thinking, worrying everyone in Nerima, and drag the perv back home.
She raised one foot to step aboard… and froze, her foot hanging in midair.
No.
She was being stupid. Impulsive.
Ranma would come back. He always did. His whole life was here, in Nerima.
And Akane didn’t want to worry Dad and Nabiki and Kasumi. If she vanished into the ether, they’d panic.
And besides, she had the semester final in Professor Koji’s class tomorrow at the University. She couldn’t just walk away from her courses, not in her final year.
Akane lowered her foot to the ground.
The door slid closed silently.
The train lurched out of the station, heading to Akihabara.
Akane walked home, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach every time Ranma crossed her mind. A November evening slowly fell over Nerima as she walked through the weirdly quiet streets.
Her key clicked in the lock as she slid the front door to the Tendo Home open. She slipped off her shoes as she stepped inside. “I’m ho-“
Her greeting died on her lips at the sounds coming from down the hall.
Frantic, enraged screams. Nabiki’s voice. The sound of various hard objects striking walls and floor.
Dad and Mr. Saotome were still out, probably drinking Dad’s latest town council paycheck away.
Through the living room, she could see Kasumi, sitting on the back porch, stiff as a board, a cup of tea sitting forgotten next to her.
Sparing her eldest sister only a brief glance, Akane quickly strode down the hall toward Nabiki’s room. As she approached, she realized Nabiki’s roars of anger had subsided. Now, there was only the sound of a low, pitchy laugh.
Akane slowly slid Nabiki’s bedroom door open, not sure what to expect. “Nabs? What’s wrong?”
Nabiki’s room was in shambles. It seemed that everything she owned had been thrown in every direction, at every wall. Her clothes lay strewn over books and other assorted odds and ends. Her computer, the only thing untouched, had a jacket thrown over the monitor haphazardly, every pocket inside-out. Her mattress was halfway off the bedframe, the sheets a rat’s nest tangled around it.
Nabiki sat on her knees on the floor, her feet sprawled in each direction. Her hands wrung each other in her lap, her body shaking with laughter. It was the kind of laughter of someone who had had their entire world fall out from under them, and their only options were to Laugh, Cry, or Go Crazy. Akane wasn’t sure which one Nabiki had decided to go with.
Still chuckling, Nabiki pointed to the side. “He took everything. I’m ruined, Akane. I’m ruined.”
At the edge of Nabiki’s room sat a familiar lockbox, the one Nabiki hid behind her bookshelf, that she stored her Blackmail Cash Stash and Blackmail Evidence Binder in.
The lockbox lay on one end, dented and empty. All of the bills were gone. The Evidence Binder lay open, a scant couple of petty blackmail dossiers in it, the kind that Nabiki would be lucky to get lunch money out of. The big earners, the ones that buffed Nabiki’s numbers, were gone.
Nabiki limply held her arm upward toward Akane, a single photograph held loosely between her fingers. Akane took it from her, examining it, mesmerized.
It was a photo of Ranma. Not one of the scantily-clad photoshoot sessions, but a junk photo Nabiki had snapped of him walking away along a wall, useless for any blackmail purposes.
Written on the photo, over Ranma’s shoulder:
BYE.
Akane felt her stomach plummet as what she’d been adamantly denying for the past week finally hit home.
Nabiki continued to laugh deliriously on the floor. “Ruined. I’m done. I’m done. I’m ruined.”
The humidity made Akane sweat all the worse as she walked home. She glared up at the sky with a tired huff. “Geez, Mother Nature, give us a break already.”
She sighed bitterly, forcing her hands to unclench at her sides.
The problem was threefold:
- Angry Felt Good.
- She realized that was bad, and felt bad for enjoying anger so much.
- Feeling bad made her Angry.
Anger had a hold on her. It would course through her like lightning. In the moment, rage felt righteous. Burning bridges was satisfying, and the sharp bite of insults on her tongue was delicious.
Then, once the moment had passed and the anger had faded, the guilt would set in. The realization of the hurt she had just put someone (usually Ranma) through would burrow through her, leaving a hollow pit in her stomach.
Why did she say those things? Why would she do that? What was wrong with her? Can’t you go one day without hurting people?
Inevitably, that guilt would simmer and boil back into a low anger, building pressure higher and higher until the dam burst, and spilled out at someone else once again.
Usually Ranma.
Akane remembered reading a quote once, long ago. She couldn’t remember who by. That resentment was taking a poison, and waiting for the other person to die.
And how’d that plan turn out for you, dummy?
Ranma was gone. Years of ups and downs in their engagement, all down the drain, with no one but Akane to blame for driving him away.
Doctor Tofu left years ago. Just a little while after Ranma came to Nerima. She was still a little embarrassed how long she had carried a flame for the older man- the misguided crushes of hormonal teens. She supposed she was lucky in retrospect he hadn’t reciprocated, but it still stung how unceremoniously he had left. He had taken a sabbatical for two weeks to visit his mother, and stayed away for seven years and counting now.
Yuka and Sayuri hadn’t spoken to her in three years, since a little after high school. They had been her best friends most of her childhood, and now they were gone too. She felt another familiar wave of guilt rise inside of her at the thought. She knew that they were also her fault… remembered that there had been a very vicious argument… but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what the topic of the argument had even been about.
She hoped it was something important.
Ukyo and Konatsu, now gone too. Years of their on-again off-again friendship, of Akane repeatedly misgendering Ukyo after he came out. Of never even bothering to properly use Konatsu’s correct pronouns.
Akane wasn’t proud of herself in the slightest for the outdated views she had only recently begun to discard. Years of the automatic response to same-sex couples being Pervert!, and anything gender-related being the same.
Even after she had begun to privately open her mind to the idea of people changing their genders from the one they had been born to, how uniquely private and terrible and wonderful the experience must be…
…The anger would still spike, and twist her judgement.
A misgendering here. The word Pervert there. Oh, you won’t give me what I want? I won’t use your pronouns right, how do you like them apples?
As it turned out, even Akane hated them apples.
As she turned the corner onto her home street, she paused, turning her head to the line of storefronts where, not so long ago, the Cat Café had been.
She felt a new spike of sadness in her chest as she stared at the front door.
Mousse’s tongue poked out of his mouth as he gingerly moved the spring-loaded mechanism on the table before him backward, holding it open with one finger. His hair had been tied back, his voluminous sleeves rolled up and tied at his elbows. He began to use his other hand to sift through the small container of bolts and screws at his side. “Can you hand me that little screwdriver?”
Sitting in the other side of the booth, Akane slid the screwdriver over to Mousse, watching with fascination as he tinkered with the trap. Finding the piece he was looking for, Mousse slid the small locking gear into the mechanism, tightening it with the screwdriver as he stared intently.
Akane found herself smiling as she watched the Amazon tinkerer work. She liked Mousse. He was a rare friend on the martial arts side of things. Despite their rocky start, the two of them had become surprising friends in the months since the Amazons had arrived in Nerima. Plus, she liked ducks, and his Jusenkyo Duck form was just too cute.
Mousse carefully moved his hands away from the assembled trap, before confidently pushing his coke-bottle-thick glasses up his nose. “And voila! A spring-loaded smoke bomb dispenser, concealable in all sorts of crevices and alcoves.”
Akane clapped politely. “Very nice! I’m always amazed when I see you work on these things. I can’t make heads or tails of any of this stuff.”
Mousse shrugged as he undid the knots holding his robe’s sleeves back. “Engineering isn’t for everyone, but everyone’s got a talent. I’m sure you’ve got something I can’t do.”
Akane scoffed, a snide smile crossing her lips. “Please. I’m pretty sure I’m the only martial artist in Nerima without a super-special-secret technique. I can’t even swim.”
Mousse raised a sympathetic eyebrow. “You’re the heir to the Tendo Dojo, aren’t you? Surely that must have its own techniques?”
“I mean, yeah, but nothing like you hiding a hardware store in your sleeves-slash-wings, or Ryoga’s ki blasts, or Ranma’s Soul of Ice thing. My discipline basically stops at ‘punch’ and ‘kick.’”
From outside, there was the sound of a bicycle bell ringing, followed by the distinct clatter of a rider-less bicycle crashing into the set of trash cans outside.
The front door to the Cat Café opened, and Shampoo bounded in, all smiles. “Back from last delivery of the day!” She turned, catching notice of the two seated in the booth, her smile fading to a tired scowl. The cat-morphing Amazon strode over, crossing her arms as she stared at the two of them. “Duck Boy. Kitchen Destroyer.”
Akane evenly glared right back at her. “Hey there, Shampers.”
Mousse turned a bright red as a dumb smile crossed his face. “Shampoo! You’re back!” He slid down the booth’s bench, making room. “Would you like to sit next to me?”
Shampoo stared deeply into Mousse’s soul, before plopping down next to Akane on the other side, not breaking eye contact.
As Shampoo nestled close to her, Akane felt the same spark of emotion she always felt when she saw the Amazon. She quashed it immediately, cocking an eyebrow. “Little close there, Shampoo.”
“Move me, Kitchen Destroyer.” Shampoo flashed Akane a playful wink, blowing a raspberry.”
Mousse’s trap on the table suddenly snapped loudly as the locking mechanism broke, making all three of them jump, startled.
Mousse slumped, gathering the pieces of the trap. “Dang it! I thought that lock looked flimsy.”
Shampoo sighed. “Mousse, were I given the opportunity to do so legally, I would murder you in your sleep.”
Akane chuckled, patting the table encouragingly. “Don’t give up, Mu Mu. You’ll get it.”
The Cat Café was gone now. The Amazons had left just a few months ago, without a word. A Big Bang Burger occupied the restaurant space now, peddling burgers that tasted like cardboard and left you hungry again an hour after eating them, served by an employee with a hollow smile.
Akane didn’t eat out much anymore.
A familiar red bicycle was parked out front, secured to the rack with a heavy chain and padlock. The back tire was badly bent, curling in at an almost 90 degree angle. No one had bothered to remove the thing.
Akane turned, heading down the street toward home, the sun still beating down on her.
Exactly 91 feet away from the Tendo Home, she glanced at a thin line of paint on the sidewalk, that Dad had painted as the boundary of the restraining order.
Six months after Ranma’s disappearance, Nodoka Saotome had attempted to invoke the Seppuku Pact on her husband. Brothers to the end, Soun had used his leverage as a town councilman to arrange for an annulment between Genma and Nodoka, and a protection order against her on Genma’s behalf.
For the six months that followed, Nodoka could be counted on to be seen standing at the edge of the boundary for at least an hour a day, sandals against the paint line, silently staring daggers at the Tendo Compound.
A year to the day after her son’s disappearance, Nodoka had violated the Protection Order. Katana in her hand and flint in her eyes, she had stormed up the path to the Tendo Home, intent on carving her way to Genma.
She was serving three years in Fuchū Prison now. One year for violating the Protection Order, plus two years for assault with a deadly weapon.
At the trial, Nodoka had remained cold, her head held high. She continued to speak as she always had, with that same stinking Small-Town Politeness, the kind that broadcasted “I have zero respect for you, but I consider manners to be everything.”
Refusing to take any sort of responsibility for Ranma’s disappearance. It was clearly everyone else’s fault, not the woman who had made a toddler sign a suicide pact.
Akane clenched her fists, shoving her anger down inside her, tightly cramming it beneath the surface.
Maybe I should become a monk, she snarked internally. At least that would get me some anger management.
As she walked along the long wall outside the Tendo Compound, she trailed her fingertips along its rough surface.
Her key clicked in the lock as she slid the front door to the Tendo Home open. She slipped off her shoes as she stepped inside. “I’m home,” she called.
From his usual spot in front of the shogi board, Soun offered her a smile. “Welcome home, Akane! How was your walk?”
Akane shrugged as she slipped off her shoes. “Hey, Dad. It was fine, I guess.”
Across the shogi board, Genma, in panda form, took advantage of Soun’s distraction to cheat, swapping pieces around with an expert claw.
Soun nodded. “Good, good. Kasumi says dinner should be ready soon.”
“Is Nabiki joining us tonight?”
Soun shook his head. “No, she’s swamped at work. You know how it is.”
“Sure do,” Akane sighed. Not that you do, she muttered internally. Dad hadn’t taught a class since Mom died, and hadn’t sparred with Akane in almost as long. If it weren’t for his town councilman paycheck, Nabiki would be the only one in the household bringing in money.
Soun turned back to the shogi board, not noticing Genma’s deception. He stroked his moustache, clearly planning his own way to cheat.
You could set your watch by the two of them. This was how it had been, almost every day since Genma had moved in with Ranma, seven years ago. The two old friends would sleep late, park themselves in front of the TV for the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon, then attempt to cheat each other at shogi until dinner.
Even though Ranma was long gone, Genma was still squatting in the Tendo Home, independent as a hog on ice. He spent most of his time in Panda mode. He and Akane barely talked, not that that was any different to their relationship the entire time they’d known each other, when Akane was his future daughter-in-law.
With a quiet sigh, Akane excused herself from the living room, heading up the stairs to the second floor. As she passed the linen closet at the top, she paused outside the door to the Elephant.
The Elephant was what she privately referred to as the guest bedroom Ranma and Genma had shared, before Ranma had left and Genma had moved into the other guest room. The Elephant, as in the big issue staring everyone in the face that no one would acknowledge.
Akane slid the door open, staring inside at the empty room. It was cleared of furniture, completely devoid of anything, except the shoebox in the corner.
On a whim, she walked over and knelt in front of the shoebox, cracking it open to view the pitiful display inside.
In the shoebox was what had to be the world’s smallest Butsudan altar. Unlike the one to Mom in Dad’s bedroom, this one was a bare-minimum display, more out of spiteful obligation than anything.
Grandmaster Happosai’s face stared back at her from a tiny, wallet-sized photo, printed out on Nabiki’s printer. His name was written on an index card in marker, and a single candle nub sat in the bottom of the box. In a Ziploc bag, a teaspoon’s worth of ashes.
Happosai had been found floating facedown in a sewage ditch outside of Nerima, about a year ago. It was a very fitting end for the ancient pervert, human excrement that he was.
Dad and Genma had saved just enough of his ashes for the altar, and hidden the rest in concealed areas, far apart from each other. No one had even wanted to give the monster an altar in the first place, but not acknowledging his death properly had felt like tempting fate. The household had put together this bare minimum of an altar, each taken a turn spitting into it, and left it here to gather dust.
Akane mused that she still had to tell Pantyhose Taro, the next time he showed up. He would likely celebrate Happosai’s passing the happiest and loudest of anyone.
She allowed the shoebox to fall closed, kicking it roughly a few feet away. She lay her back against the wall and slid downward, sitting on the floor.
After Ranma had left, and the initial efforts to find him had ceased, people had just… stopped mentioning him. He’d get brought up occasionally, but for the most part, it was as if he had never existed.
No one was willing to admit the part they had played in driving him away, or even mention his existence.
Somehow, that stung worst of all.
Akane understood full well the responsibility she had in what had happened. Not that she’d say it out loud- saying it to the morons and freaks in this town would be like admitting defeat.
In this town, nothing ever really changed. Genma was still squatting in her house. She was still expected to inherit this Dojo with no students, that taught the most basic martial art in a town full of superpowered weirdos. No matter that Akane had graduated from Tokyo University last year (with a history degree she was very proud of). She was expected to do as she had always been expected to and inherit the Dojo.
Nerima was a plane whose engines had died, but hadn’t crashed yet. It was coasting, still aloft, but getting lower and lower, toward an unknowable, but likely unpleasant fate.
Mousse paused, his hands folded in front of him into the long sleeves of his robe.
“So… Ranma’s really gone then.” His breath puffed in the cold air before him.
Akane nodded, not meeting his eyes.
The last glimmers of sunlight were beginning to vanish, allowing the cold December night to creep in.
Akane clenched her elbow. She had forgotten her jacket, and was standing in the alley behind the Cat Café in a simple shirt over her winter pants. She shook slightly, only a little bit from the cold. That was what stuck in her head when she looked back on this moment later on, her missing jacket, and wasn’t that silly?
Mousse gave her a kind look. “I’m so sorry, Akane.”
Akane shook her head. “It’s fine. He went off on his own all the time anyway, why should this be any different.” She stifled a sniffle, turning her back to Mousse. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Mousse nodded. “I know.” He remained where his was, giving his friend space.
Akane glared down the darkening alley, trying to ignore the sharp cold around her wet eyes. Her fists clenched at her sides. She could feel her fingernails digging into her palms.
Finally, she turned to look at Mousse, cold droplets trickling down her face. Mousse looked back at her, unjudging.
“M-Mousse… I… I…”
She raised her arms to him. Without hesitating, Mousse pulled her into a gentle hug, his baggy sleeves draping around her shoulders. “I know.”
Akane sniffled into Mousse’s soft robe. “He’s gone, Mousse. He’s gone, and I drove him away. It’s my fault.”
There in the dark alley, away from prying, judging eyes, Mousse held his friend close, and let her grieve into his shoulder.
Akane dimly registered that her cold tears might trigger Mousse’s curse. “I-I’m sorry… I shouldn’t be doing this, I don’t want to-“
Mousse hugged her tighter. “Don’t you start. It’s okay, I promise.”
Akane squeezed the fabric of Mousse’s robe. Something metallic clinked behind his shoulder as one of his weapons shifted underneath. Akane couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re a good friend, Mu Mu.”
Akane’s desk chair creaked under her as she leaned forward in it. Her elbow on her desk, she rested her chin in her hand as she browsed blankly around the usual websites.
Dinner had somehow simultaneously taken forever and no time at all. Meals around the table at the Tendo Home were quiet affairs these days. Conversation was polite enough, but it was that same stinking Small-Town Politeness. Too polite to mention that Nabiki was working late yet again. Too polite to mention that the table felt too big for only four people.
Too polite to upset the silence by talking about the obvious.
It was dark outside. The computer clock read 11:54 pm. The rest of the house was asleep by now.
It was hard to fall asleep most days. Too much thinking and thinking and thinking about the same things, over and over. An unquiet mind, she had read once.
The TubeTube video she had idly clicked on ended. It was some recording of some kinda dance routine. One of those alien rock people that had shown up in the past few years, with blue skin, dancing with some redhead. It was too smooth to not be choreographed, planned ahead of time. Neither dancer’s face could be seen, the quality of the video was garbage.
Akane sighed, rubbing her eyes restlessly. Everything reminded her of Ranma these days, and she hated it.
More than anything, Akane hated herself. Hated her anger. Hated how it ate her alive for so long. Maybe she even hated Ranma. She couldn’t tell anymore.
Either way. He hadn’t deserved half the stuff he was put through.
Their relationship, tumultuous as it was, had had so many ups and downs over the years, and it had just… puffed out at the end.
That last conversation she’d ever had with Ranma, where he had simply asked how she was doing, and she immediately went for the throat with that favorite word of hers-
(“-pervert-“)
She could have said something different. She could have done a million things differently.
Instead, she had taken what could have been her own happiness, their happiness, and snuffed it like a candle.
“God, I’m a bad person.” She spoke out loud to no one.
Outside her room, down the stairs, she heard the muffled click of the front door unlocking, the sound of shoes being shucked off, a work bag heavily thumping on the floor.
Nabiki was home.
Akane slid out of her chair to her feet, her bare feet padding gently against the carpet as she opened her bedroom door, into the hallway.
In the entryway, an exhausted-looking Nabiki was sitting on the single stair in the entryway, shoes off, massaging her own feet through her sensible work stockings. Her suit and skirt were wrinkled, an ugly brown stain that looked like coffee down one shoulder. Her frazzled hair stuck out above her tired eyes.
“Long day, Nabs?”
Nabiki turned to look at her sister, standing on the stairs in her bare feet and cream-yellow pajamas. She chuckled tiredly. “Always. Still can’t sleep, ‘Kane?”
Akane shook her head. “Want me to make some tea?”
Nabiki sighed. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”
Minutes later, Akane stood in the kitchen, arms folded, watching the electric kettle steam. Two cups and some teabags sat to the side, waiting for the water to boil.
Some kids dreamed of being superheroes, or firefighters, or authors. From her early teens, Nabiki had dreamed of being a Yakuza boss.
Nabiki’s world was one of numbers and sums. She had prepared for the better part of a decade. She blackmailed her middle school classmates out of their lunch money. She recruited contacts, expanded her web. By the time she was attending Furinkan High School, she almost literally ruled the school. By graduation, she had most of Nerima in the palm of her hand.
Her ultimate goal had been to blackmail her way into a cushy desk job for the Tsuruya Yakuza Clan. She even had the perfect target: the brash young son of the family’s second lieutenant, Sawamura. Nabiki never shared just what juicy info she had on him, but Akane could imagine.
Of course, that particular train derailed the day Ranma left.
As it happened, just a few days prior to Ranma leaving and taking all of Nabiki’s evidence with him, Nabiki had reached out to Sawamura and arranged a meeting, smugly hinting over the phone that she had some dirt on his son.
By the time the day of the meeting came, Ranma was gone, and the evidence along with him.
With no options, her little empire having quickly learned that she had nothing left to blackmail anyone with, Nabiki had been forced to beg Sawamura-sama for forgiveness on hands and knees, her forehead firmly on the floor before him.
Luckily (or perhaps unluckily), Sawamura-sama had a sense of humor.
He had told Nabiki that he admired her boldness to try and blackmail him. Her punishment? He was going to give her exactly what she wanted: a Yakuza desk job.
Which is how Nabiki found herself here: an overworked secretary/go-fer for an incompetent middle manager of a small front company owned by a mid-level Yakuza sub-boss.
It was Nabiki’s worst nightmare.
Every day was an endless nightmare of an ocean of paperwork, or running to get her boss’s coffee or lunch orders.
Every once in a while, Sawamura-sama would pop by to check on her. He’d left strict orders that Nabiki was not to be harassed or harmed, only given work to do.
The once-proud Blackmail Queen of Nerima, reduced to personal assistant for some schmuck. Akane had to admit that she found it funny, if only a little.
The water inside the electric kettle was boiling now. Akane poured the steaming water into the cups, inhaling the scent of the tea.
She supposed she should count herself lucky that Ranma had destroyed Nabiki’s blackmail folder. Akane had always wondered if Nabiki had had any photos of her in there, her own sister, ready to sell for a quick buck.
Akane held the two tea cups lightly between her fingers as she exited the kitchen, into the living room. Lit only by a single lamp, Nabiki had shucked off her work jacket and stockings, and sat at the table, scrolling through her phone with visible disinterest.
Akane sat one tea cup down in front of Nabiki with a muted clunk. She sat down across from her, falling silent.
Nabiki groaned softly. “So. What’s got you up, sis?”
All Akane had to do was flash Nabiki a weary smile.
Nabiki sighed. “Ranma again, huh.”
A shrug from Akane. “I mean, yeah, but not just Ranma. Mousse and Shampoo. Ukyo and Konatsu are gone too.”
Nabiki raised an eyebrow. “No kidding. Dang.” She sighed, taking a swig of her tea. “This effing town.”
Akane nodded. “Yeah.”
Nabiki paused, thinking to herself. “Come to think of it, when was the last time you saw Kuno?”
“HA!” Akane laughed loudly. “Not since like a month after Ranma left. Remember, he was standing outside the house, blasting a love song on that boom box at like, 6 in the morning?”
Pointing at her sister, Nabiki chuckled along with her. “Wasn’t he babbling about how he had finally chosen you, since the Mysterious Pigtailed Girl had finally forsaken him?”
“Yeah. What was it you yelled at him when you opened your window?”
Nabiki grinned at the memory. “That if I ever wanted to kill myself, I’d climb his ego and jump to his IQ. I’m still proud of that one.”
Akane laughed heartily. “Oh, man. That was the best.” She sighed. “I’m pretty sure that he moved on to some other girl after that. Someone younger and weaker than me.”
Nabiki wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Gotta say, I knew the Kunos were nutty, but I wasn’t expecting them to change obsessions that quick.”
“Hmm.” Akane fell silent again, thinking.
Nabiki took a sip of her tea. “Everything went bananas around here the instant Ranma arrived. If you ask me, I’m glad he’s gone.”
“Oh come on, that’s harsh.”
“Am I wrong, though? Before he and the Panda-Man showed up, the weirdest thing we ever had to contend with was Kuno and the Hentai Horde. They show up, and we’ve suddenly got indestructible lost boys and Amazon warriors loose in the streets, an age-shifting teacher who gives assignments in crayon, a principal with a bad case of cultural appropriation that’s also obsessed with haircuts, flying aquatic minotaurs, that one weirdo dressed like a playing card-“
“Okay, I get it.” Akane cut in. “Yeah, Nerima’s weird, but that’s not Ranma’s fault.”
Nabiki gave her a level stare. “My point is, where’s there’s smoke, there’s fire. That’s why Doc Tofu ran off, he saw the crazies coming and ran off before century-old martial artists with the powers of the Great Gazoo started duking it out in the streets.”
Akane squeezed her tea cup, quashing the anger that welled up when Tofu’s name was mentioned. Somewhere nearby was an odd, whispering sound. Like static from a radio someone had left on.
She counted to five in her head, then spoke with as casual a voice as she could muster.
“Y’know, I used to be a contender around here.”
Nabiki rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Oh boy. Here we go. How many tournaments have you won again in the past few years?”
“I’m serious! And twelve, by the way.” Akane’s brain quickly flashed to the collection of medals and trophies she had accumulated from recent tournament wins, all unceremoniously shoved into the closet at the back of the dojo.
Every single tournament had been held in Tokyo proper, far away from Nerima, the whacky martial arts capital of the world.
“Nabiki, you know I’m probably the most professional martial artist in this town?”
Nabiki took a snide sip of her tea. “At the rate things have been going, you’ll be the only martial artist in this town.”
Akane gave her sister a half-hurt glare. “Will you be serious for one minute? I’m trying to make a point here.”
Nabiki waved two dismissive fingers. “Fine, fine, sorry. As you were.”
Akane exhaled through her nose, forcing her irritation down once again. “Forget it. It’s stupid anyway.”
It was true, though. Unlike the vast majority of most martial artists that came through Nerima, Akane actually represented a Dojo. She didn’t blindly ambush targets of petty vengeance, or drag bystanders into her fights. She didn’t pull out magical bullshit Ki techniques that could vaporize people. Akane had no doubt that she was absolutely the only person in Nerima who could qualify to be in an actual, professional tournament and not be disqualified in a heartbeat.
And therein lay the problem. She could (and had) collected as much tournament winnings as she wanted, but she was expected to stay here in Nerima, surrounded by madmen with magical Ki techniques, and marinate in her own wasted potential. A small fish in a small pond.
Either unknowing or uncaring of her sister’s thoughts, Nabiki shrugged, tossing back the last of her tea with a cynical apathy. “Look, sis, you’re the one who gets to represent the Dojo. That’s just how it rolls here in Nerima.”
Akane gave her sister a scathing look. “Excuse me for wanting to better myself, Nabiki.”
Nabiki laughed, loudly and cruelly, as she stood up. “Better yourself? I tried that, sis, and look where it got me. At least I have a day off tomorrow, for once.” Nabiki snorted. “Better yourself… ‘Kane, when you’re from Nerima, there ain’t no such thing.”
Akane glared after her sister as she sauntered for the stairs. “And I wonder why everyone around here thinks like that, with such inspiring examples like you around to give us advice.”
Another dismissive wave from Nabiki as she exited. “Ugh, fine, I’m no different. Go suck a bug.” The stairs could be heard creaking rhythmically under Nabiki’s feet as she ascended.
Akane sat there alone in the living room, glaring at the two tea cups, her fingernails familiarly digging into her palms.
Outside, rain began to drizzle down, pattering softly against the windows.
After several minutes, she gathered the tea cups, drained them into the kitchen sink, and trudged her way back up the stairs to her room.
Kasumi and Nabiki’s bedrooms were dark under their doors as she passed them.
Numb and sweating despite the cool AC of the house, Akane lay down on her bed, clenching her pillow tightly.
She rubbed one sleeve over her eyes, not caring about the redness it would cause.
She stared at the ceiling, feeling more hopeless than she ever had in her life.
Ukyo gave Ranma an encouraging pat on the back, before pointing to the other counter behind them. Akane didn’t catch what he was saying, nor did she really care, truth be told.
The rain continued to roar down outside Ucchan’s, tapping rhythmically against the windows.
As Ukyo and Ranma turned their backs to the two of them, at her side, Shampoo gave her a glance and a smile. “Hey.”
Akane turned to look the purple-haired Amazon in the eye, before feeling a warmth creep over her hand. She looked down quickly, eyes widening.
Shampoo’s hand rested at the edge of Akane’s leg, right next to her hand. One pinkie, the nail an immaculately-painted violet, slowly and deliberately trailed over Akane’s pinkie.
Akane felt her heart suddenly leap into her throat at the unexpected contact. Something fluttered in her stomach. Wait, why was that happening? This was Shampoo we were talking about!
Akane shot a panicked glance at the unsuspecting Ranma and Ukyo, before looking back to Shampoo. “Shampoo- what- what-“
Shampoo gave her a kinder smile than Akane had ever seen from the Amazon. “If you don’t like it, I stop.”
Akane paused, staring down at her hand, Shampoo’s finger crossed over her own. Shouts of Pervert, and thoughts of slung punches died quick deaths within her.
(But, but this can’t be happening. I can’t be enjoying this, we’re both girls! I’m not some kinda pervert!)
And yet, Akane couldn’t muster herself to protest, or question, or anything.
She glanced at Shampoo, who regarded her with a carefully raised eyebrow. “Do you want me stop?”
Akane paused, flushing red, before shaking her head gently, one eye still on Ukyo and Ranma’s backs.
Shampoo smiled again, carefully tracing her palm over the back of Akane’s hand, interlacing their fingers under the bar, out of sight.
“Ranma lucky to have you. Kitchen Destroyer is a lot prettier than she thinks she is.” Shampoo’s smile was oddly sad.
Akane, her brain swimming in touch-starved serotonin, felt her heart flip-flop in her chest, their hands remaining locked together under the bar, long after Ranma and Ukyo had turned back around and continued their cooking lesson.