Way of the Ninjitsu.

 

A Fanfiction by Jason Wong.

Inspired by Rumiko Takahashi's Ranma 1/2.

 

 

Chapter 8 The True Ninja.

 

 

 

 

 Day 1.

High above the rugged ridges of the Bayankala Ranges, a golden barred falcon could be seen riding the Spring updrafts as it weaved gracefully between the peaks. To any lucky observer it was an extreme rarity to say the least, for falcons as a rule were not to be found for hundreds of kilometres around these mountains.

The fact that this particular species had also been extinct for a thousand years might have also given one cause to wonder.

Shinkasa Meyah, blinked dazedly as she drank in the pure euphoric freedom that only one born to fly could ever understand. This was what she truly missed the most in her choice to remain a sensei at Yamakaro - for the usage of one's alternate form was strictly forbidden in and around the main house of the Shinkasa.

As such, the Swordmaster had taken every opportunity in the months of her stay with the Amazons to make such outings, cherishing every minute before the inevitable return to Japan and reality.

With the sharpness of vision that would have been the envy of any marksman archer, the Swordmaster noted a familiar elderly man, dressed sombrely in a dark, nearly black gi, holding a single wrist outstretched. Without even thinking, her falcon's mind sought out the beneficial wind-currents, alternately banking and gliding for a gentle decent towards the clearly indicated perching point.

It seemed that playtime was over once more.

Shinkasa Kagora watched with a little envy as his daughter alighted gracefully upon the proffered perch. Sometimes, like these times, he wondered what it would have been like to have fallen into the Spring of a winged animal.

Ah well, the joys of flight were never to be his, and in the meantime..."And how fares the weather today, Master Meyah?"

Of course a proper answer had to be waited upon until after she was in a form better suited to answer the query.

And, as well, he had to await the appropriate time for her to properly attire herself, though for the sake of his interminable patience, she was dressed with practiced ease.

"Very well - I can get very used to the Springtime weather. Indeed if you had arrived but ten minutes earlier, you would have observed Master Kinaro revelling in the same breezes." Meyah's mouth crinkled at the image. Being the musclebound truck lifter that Kinaro was, he was none too keen at being caught in his alternate form.

The gift of the ability of flight was a wondrous fortune to be sure – but...a pigeon was a pigeon, and the Weapons Master considered it a slight on his image to be seen as such.

"Enough on the trivialities." Kagora's more sombre tone cut through her musings. "Ranma needs your counsel."

Instantly attentive, Meyah at once started down the track way at a brisk jog, not even bothering to see if the Ninja Master followed. "Is something amiss?"

"Yes, though my kohai is himself unaware of it." Kagora smiled wryly. "He has been trying to master one of your self-created dance katas, but with no success. Too much fretting and nerves by far."

"Ah, I see, the upcoming trial." She playfully nudged her father. "Getting too old to deal with the heartaches of us 'young 'uns'?"

"Hardly." His offended glare was brief, though. "But I thought you would have liked to be the one to consult with him – after all, you are his mother."

Her expression darkened to match that of her teacher. "Yes, I am."

With no more to be added to that thought, the remainder of the journey was continued in relative calm.

**********

Closer to the hub of settlements, known by its inhabitants as the village of the Joketsuzoku, a slender, chestnut-brown haired girl was avidly watching her life-long friend as he danced.

For it truly was a dance - the unsheathed and very sharp katanas in use might have attested to the lethality of the movements - but for the cat-like grace, and unyielding liquid swiftness of the practitioner, this could only be called a dance.

Ukyou smiled fondly as she noted the pair of mini-spatulas, her mini-spatulas, tucked securely into the front band of Ranma's shoulder sheath. Like the sponge for new fighting techniques that he was, the fighter had quickly seen the benefits of her family's style in substituting the shuriken with their very unorthodox weaponry, and had consequently adopted the throwing spatula over the stars used more commonly by the other Shinkasa ninjas.

Although as a rule, projectiles, and other such weaponry tended to be more the domain of Lano than the pigtailed fighter - given the Weapon Master heir's general disposition towards such.

Throwing that thought aside, the okonomiyaki chef returned her attention to the kata, and the boy who was performing it. Ranma had grown in the past months, as had they all, she imagined. It was a little hard to notice the differences - what when you had seen and lived with these people every day - but the changes were there. He was a little taller, a little broader - and that pigtail which to this day he had some weird obsessive streak over, was a tad longer, reaching all the way down past his shoulder blades.

Unthinkingly, Ukyou reached behind to fondle her own luxuriantly long ponytail, still as ever tied in its simple elastic band, and falling loosely down to her waist. Tied low to the neck – a boy's ponytail.

Hmm. Maybe it was time for a few changes here and there. She hadn't changed her hairstyle since...well since the Saotome's had abandoned her.

No, that wasn't right – Ranchan had never deserted her. She smiled in recollection. Good ol' Ranchan - as loyal as the town dog...err, cat...whatever. He'd never, ever abandon you. The brown-haired girl almost looked about, wondering where that thought had come from.

*Thud!!*

Ukyou blinked, startled back to the present, and staring quizzically at the cutting edge of a certain katana that had materialised a few feet down the bench she was sitting upon - still quivering from where its point was lodged between the wooden slats.

"Kuso." In an uncharacteristic display of frustration, Ranma swore again and, red-faced with embarrassment, stepped over to retrieve his errant blade. "I'm really sorry about that Ucchan."

She smiled a little to show her unconcern. "Actually, that was a pretty fine throw there."

Cheeks darkening further as his chagrin increased, the pigtailed boy gingerly rubbed the back of his head. "I was aiming for the tree stump." He pointed at the proposed target - squatting in the opposite direction.

"Oh." A silly mistake then. In martial arts. From Ranma.

"Hey Ranchan, are you feeling okay?" She looked up in genuine worry.

"Yeah yeah." The fighter waved off her concern, before returning to the aborted kata.

He lasted for another three minutes.

Ukyou winced slightly in sympathy as Ranma stumbled over a complicated balance point turn. That final error seemed to throw off his determination entirely, as the boy disgustedly pulled out of the forms and reluctantly re-sheathed his blades.

"You're heart's just not in it today, eh sugar?"

"So it seems." He sat down heavily beside the brown-haired girl, leaning back to take in the bright blue mountain sky.

But even then, Ukyou could sense his worry in the atmosphere. "Thinking about the final trial?"

There was a long silence, and for a moment she feared he had fallen asleep. But, eventually, he answered, "Yeah, I guess." The reply came more as a released sigh. "Only two days, Ucchan, Two days." He sat up wearily. "And then I find out what new body I get."

The chef mused on that. A new body. Definitely one of the things commonly reserved for fantasy novels and science fiction - not something she had ever expected to deal with personally. Indeed, if it weren't for the fact that Meyah-san had demonstrated this shape-shifting capability herself, she would never have truly believed it.

Apparently, this ability was amongst the most closely guarded Clan secrets in the Shinkasa - indeed the vast majority of its members were totally unaware of its existence at all.

But, the Masters had seen fit to include her within this minute group who did know. She smiled fondly at the boy beside her - that had to be Ranchan's doing. He wanted her to be a part of the audience that would see him rise out of the trainee status into a true ninja, and to see him fight in ritual combat over Jusenkyou.

And for that, she would have to be privy to what would become Ranma's own personal secret to guard - the knowledge of his alternate form. It was touching to say the least, that he had such an open and unquestioning faith in her.

But then again, they were best friends, right?

Turning back to the boy beside her, she noticed that the pigtailed trainee was still fretting over his woes. "Com'on honey, it'll turn out alright. Your Mum and Sensei went through it."

"I'm...I'm just worried what I might end up with. And besides..." he lightly grasped the pommel of the katana, "...it's also a very important day to us ninja trainees."

Playfully, the okonomiyaki chef jabbed her companion in the ribs. "What are you sitting here for then, ya lazy slob? I'll be expecting a good show from you then when the trial begins - and for that, that means more training." Affectionately, she shoved the larger boy back onto the field.

Unable to deny her infectious humour, Ranma beckoned her to follow suit. "So confident are we? How about we have a little sparring to see who's the one that really needs a little practice?"

Smiling, Ukyou reached behind to unhook her ever-present battle spatula, before a quietly firm voice interrupted their banter.

"My apologies at the intrusion, but may I borrow your friend for a moment or two?" Meyah addressed the girl in mock gravity.

"Sure, no problem at all, uh Master Meyah." Caught a little off guard, Ukyou stumbled uncomfortably - even up till now she was never quite sure what to make of the mild teasing that perpetually seemed to emanate from both this woman and her father.

"I'll only be a moment, Ucchan - why don't you go see how Shampoo's doing?" Ranma smiled sheepishly as he made to follow his sensei.

************

"So, what did you want to see me for?" Though his voice was studiously neutral, Meyah could feel the underlying tension there.

"We're going to clear up the final knowledge that you are required to learn before your upcoming trials."

'Trials'. Again that word - the word, which ever since he had donned the Tiger's emblem, signified a passing of...

"Tell me what you know of the battle to come."

In truth there was little to say. There would only be one combat trial to pass within the week – a single contest to prove himself both worthy of the black bandanna, and...well..."I take it you mean the duel over Jusenkyou?"

"Yes indeed."

"Well..." what was there to say? He had known the rules before even embarking on this expedition all those months back. Master and student would meet; Master and student would fight; and student would get his arse kicked into a 'cursed' pool. A passing side thought occurred to him then.

"Master Meyah, what happens if I win the testing tournament?"

The lady swordmaster smiled fondly. "You know I was just waiting for you to mention that." Turning, she led the way towards her own quarters in the village. "Have we reached that stage of skill that we are so confident at besting a Master of the Shinkasa?"

The pigtailed ninja returned the wry humour. "You never know...I am after all the best of the best."

"Well, my very best of the best son, should you manage the rather unlikely event of toppling your opponent before he or she fells you, you will be allowed a very rare honour." She paused for effect. "You will be allowed to choose your alternate form."

Ranma's face jerked up at that. "Choose? As in to pick my own pool to, ah…swim in?"

"Yes indeed. It is extremely rare, but not unheard of."

Her son lingered as he considered this. "Has anyone ever beaten his master since you've been around?"

"Oh yes in fact, by coincidence, someone you would know quite well I'd say." Her eyes mildly twinkled in mischief.

Ranma's quick cat's eyes saw and noted it immediately, his burgeoning suspicions arising further when he detected something upon his mother that one would never have imagined one such as her to carry - a faint blush.

"You?" Following on in an intuitive guess, he continued in revelation. "It was Master Kagora wasn't it? He was your sensei before you came to masterhood." Quickening his pace, Ranma looked to the Swordmaster, trying to imagine a younger Meyah, still a black band ninja, duelling with her own father atop the precarious bamboo peaks of the Jusenkyou Springs.

And winning.

And even at that, Ranma was unable to fully formulate the scenario - in all his time under the tutelage of the old Ninja Master, one of the paramount lessons both practised and drilled into the student was the ultimate importance of caution - that you could trust nothing, and expect nothing of your opponent.

Even the most general of plans rarely ever carry through - and if they do so, that is probably due to the intentions of your enemy. Enter the arena with no expectations, and you will never be disappointed.

It had taken the young Ranma several weeks of continuous nasty surprises during training to figure out what Kagora had meant by those very words.

And now, to hear of the same Master actually falling victim to the same miscalculation - well, how was that even...

"S-so, you chose to become a...a falcon?"

"It was always a childhood dream of mine - the gift of flight." Meyah sighed wistfully in remembrance. "Of course I could never have possibly imagined then, that I would actually be able to experience such fantasies in the real world." Seeing the look of trepidation on the boy's face, she added reassuringly, "Fear not, nobody seriously expects you to defeat your opponent over Jusenkyou. I was seven years your senior in both age and experience before my time came to challenge my Master.” She smiled encouragingly. “I was a lot feistier then as well, with many more techniques and pure field knowledge than you currently possess – and even then my victory was mostly due to luck.”

“Luck?”

“Yes, good fortune is what allows burgeoning trainees to defeat those vastly superior to them in skill and experience – and potentially your worst adversary, should your enemy possess it, and not yourself.” She paused to sidestep a man pulling along a cart of freshly picked vegetables. “In my case, it so happened that Master Kagora in one instant put faith in a bamboo post that was rotten from within. It broke, he stumbled for that instant, and I won.”

“And so you became a falcon.” Her son’s eyes narrowed in consideration. There wasn’t much else one could say to that.

In due course the pair arrived at the home where the Swordmaster was billeted. Entering without fanfare, Meyah gestured for her charge to sit by the communal table. "Wait here, Ranma. I have something...special for you."

Curiosity seriously piqued, the young ninja nonetheless waited patiently outside. It was rare that his mother ever personally gave any material items to her son - most of his possessions being handled through the Clan House organisation. Her return was swift however, and carried in her arms was a vaguely familiar mahogany brown carrying case, complete with shoulder strap and hinged along its length.

Floating over to the table, the Shinkasa Master delicately laid down the narrow case, running her hands down to undo the brass locks. Standing as he was behind his mother, the pigtailed boy could only catch a glimpse of what was revealed as she quietly opened the well worn lid - but soon the contents were revealed as Meyah, turning around, held out the items to her son.

Two katanas.

Shinkasa Meyah's prized, perfect katanas.

At first forgetful of their purpose here, Ranma could only reverently take hold of the blades - weapons which he had not held for more than five years past. Almost hesitantly, he partially pulled one from its sheath, revealing its finely oiled and balefully perfect edge. Drawing the sword fully, displayed here and there, the occasional scratch and discolouration along the flat - evidence of the katana having been actually used rather than serving merely as ornamentation.

And it was around about now, that Ranma fully recalled why they were here, and hastily returned both katanas to their case. "Master Meyah, y-you're not seriously..."

Smiling warmly, the Swordmaster interrupted. "My grandfather presented these as a gift for my upcoming ascension as a Master of the Shinkasa - and now I present them to you, though not as a Shinkasa Master, but as a mother." Seeing signs of further protest, she continued firmly, "Ranma, I am now Swordmaster, and my duties lie in passing on our Art to further generations. My time in the field is past, and thus such fine weapons would go to waste in my hands."

For perhaps the first time since her son's mastery of the Catfist, Meyah observed the boy to be speechless. He knew very well how much his mother valued these swords - her only heirloom from the man who had given her the skills to be the master of these very weapons. And now...and now, she was just...

"Ranma, they are yours, and unless you do not wish for them that is the end of the matter." The warm lilt to her tone contrasted sharply with the firm insistence.

And thus, the pigtailed trainee could only bow formally, and give his thanks. "Master Meyah, I...I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing, and get back to training - I'll expect you to give a good accounting of yourself now that you are fitfully armed as a true ninja."

Nodding once more, the boy seemed ready to depart, but suddenly on impulse moved towards his sensei.

And Shinkasa Meyah, the lady who had shouldered the immense responsibility to be the carer and supporter of the Clan’s finest and potentially most dangerous trainee, found herself engulfed in the warmest of hugs.

“Thank you, mother.”

And in that instant, if she could have ever possibly doubted it before, one thing was once again re-affirmed –

It had been worth every second.

Reaching out and returning the embrace in full, Meyah cherished the feel of the moment, so very rare these days. After...after a certain incident which none cared to remember, Ranma had become so much like her father – mild mannered, and loathe to reveal his emotions – if indeed he had any to expose at all.

After what seemed to be the longest of moments, though not nearly long enough, the Swordmaster released her hold on her son. "Thank you, Ranma. You do us all proud." She smiled her acknowledgment as he, almost reluctantly turned about and swiftly left the room – the weapons case tucked securely under an arm.

Once free of his close presence, the Shinkasa leader returned once more to her musings, absently straightening out her dark grey workman’s shirt. Every day now, that pigtailed ninja was more a man than the boy she had raised from childhood – Ranma’s maturity even more emphasised by his oftime taciturn and solemn nature. She grew worried over that last thought – it appeared to be a mildly disturbing trait carried by both men in her life – both who had survived a Catfist cleansing. Though they had never outwardly revealed it, she was well aware that Kagora and Ranma shared some unspoken understanding on the matter – something that she could neither comprehend nor ever be party to.

And to be an outsider of such a critical part to her son’s life and livelihood vexed her to no end. And added to that the pestering annoyances of all those Amazon girls, and the upcoming combat trial, and Jusenkyou, and…and…

“Ahh…” the lady ninja pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Perhaps I worry too much.” Or perhaps it’s time to take a break at playing ‘mother’ every minute of your life.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Meyah headed for her quarters upstairs. Now she needed to find herself another pair of katanas to use for the while.

*********

Ukyou eventually found her purple haired friend in another area of the village practicing - oh big surprise - at her martial arts. By some coincidence of timing, it happened that the Amazon heiress would be facing her trial of childhood only a few days before Ranma confronted his own - the point where she was no longer a 'child' but a warrior.

Her very first village champion tournament. And as the student and great-great-great...or however many it was...granddaughter of a matriarch of the Joketsuzoku, she was expected to reach amongst the best. Of course Shampoo being Shampoo and, as Ukyou secretly thought, influenced by her constant contact with Ranma - the Amazon had high determinations to be ‘the’ best.

And for that Shampoo had been pushing herself to the limits - furiously mastering the Amaguriken, and several other Amazonian techniques with alarming swiftness. Of course Matriarch Cologne had no complaints in that department - not when her heiress was forcing herself to learn techniques that wouldn't have been expected of someone five or more years her senior.

Ukyou sighed wistfully, and with no small pang of jealousy. It seemed everyone save for a certain okonomiyaki chef was making prodigious advancements in the Arts. Well, that wasn't entirely true - she'd learnt a few tricks from Ranchan - among them how to do that infernally annoying neck tapping trick he so liked to use to knock out opponents.

"BAKUSAI TENKETSU!!" The chef snorted rudely at the comical way Shampoo's baby-doll high pitched voice coped with what was supposed to be an awe inspiring cry. In truth, though significantly aiding her overall ultra-kawaii demeanour, the young Amazon’s natural tone was ill-suited for the tasks of threats and menacing. Indeed, every time she heard that petulant sounding war cry, Ukyou wasn't able to dispel the persistent image of a little girl jumping up and down in a temper tantrum 'cause Momma wouldn't get her that nice red balloon...

Of course, when the rock that Shampoo had devoted her attentions to literally exploded into thousands of razor sharp slivers, forcing Ukyou - even at her distance - to whip out her battle spatula to block with the flat, well, perhaps the 'Bakusai Tenketsu' wasn't so childish after all.

'What Spatula Girl laughing at?" The purple haired martial artist huffed between breaths, still exhausted from her ordeal. Amongst the wide array of Amazon techniques, the Bakusai Tenketsu was perhaps one of the more unpopular ones – and that only made the Amazon warrior even more proud that she had taken to mastering it.

And Ukyou could easily see why others tended to avoid it – she had considered learning it herself, before discovering the rock smashing, face breaking training involved. Looking on as Shampoo sauntered closer, she felt another mild stab of jealousy at the voluptuous girl’s charms, and glaringly obvious femininity – both apparently unaffected by their repeated impact with boulder sized stones.

Leave it to sexily alluring Amazon princesses to also have marathon healing abilities to supplement their...healthy bodies.

The chef blinked back to the present to see the other girl’s deep crimson eyes staring challengingly into her own. “Perhaps Shampoo need remind laughing spectator about who is better warrior here?” She waved a small machete in a vaguely threatening manner.

“Hey hey now, sugar!” Ukyou took an involuntary step backwards, hands held up in supplication. But her good-natured smirk returned once more. “It wouldn’t do for me to kick your ass so close to your championships now would it?”

Shampoo growled in mock fury. “Take moment and let Shampoo make Spatula girl eat words along with spatula.”

“Did I miss something?”

Both girls looked up in the realisation that the new voice belonged to neither of them - Shampoo being the first to notice the pigtailed boy in red. Smiling radiantly with genuine happiness, she sang out her greeting. “Nihao, Ranma!!”

The words were shortly accompanied by a scandalously affectionate hug, one that Ranma stiffly endured with good grace. It had become a sort of tradition for her to welcome him in such a manner – and the fact that he let her and only her do that infuriated the other Amazon girls to no end.

Of course the violet haired girl only saw it as her well deserved right, given that it had taken her nearly two months to work her beloved into putting up with it. “Airen miss me?”

Ranma only sighed wearily. That was the other thing he had, over the many weeks, grown accustomed to – her pet name for him which she took so much delight in using.

Standing a little off to the side, Ukyou could only frown in mild disapproval. She had never favoured the idea that another would have their special name for her Ranchan...after all you could only have one best friend...and...and...

“Leave off it, Shampoo.” The ninja trainee shifted uncomfortably, as the bosomy girl teasingly rubbed herself against him.

Giving a childish pout, the Amazon girl nonetheless obediently, albeit reluctantly, disentangled herself from the taller boy. “Ranma is no fun – no let Shampoo have her fun.”

The not so discreet cough reminded the pair of the presence of the third member to their party. “So, you done with Shinkasa-dono? What did she have to say?”

Inwardly relieved at the convenient change of subject, Ranma brought the wooden case to the fore, opening it briefly for the girls to see. “A sort of ‘good luck’ gift.”

“Wow.” Ukyou had little knowledge about what made a katana a ‘good’ katana, but she could recognise the reverence in his handling. “Think you can learn to use them in time?”

“That’s what I’m going to try to find out soon enough.” His eyes narrowed in thought – it was considered poor practice to discard the weapons one had grown accustomed to, so close to battle. Even if they were superior katanas, he needed time to familiarise himself with their handling and balance.

And yet, Master Meyah had presented the blades with the full knowledge that his trial lay only two days ahead. Still...“Say Ucchan, still up for that little spar?”

*********

"The mighty Shooting Star doth falleth from above!" Kuno Tatewaki hesitated but an instant before sliding into his final and modified technique. "Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!..."

And just as furiously, Saotome Nodoka - mother, matriarch, and now sensei, dodged the blows that she could and rode the others with her bokken. Months of furious practice, and her only student had now shown a remarkable ability...

"...Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!..."

...to maintain his best attack...

"...Strike! Strike! Strike!..."

...for remarkably long periods of time. Indeed, she had soon discovered that unless one were to retaliate, Kuno Tatewaki could keep up this 'striking'  business practically indefinitely. "Enough Kuno!" She finally called - loudly enough to be heard over the racket generated by their clashing wooden blades.

Releasing his in-held chi with an exhaustive breath, the tall, handsome upperclassman respectfully lowered his guard. At last! Weeks upon weeks of unending practice at his glorious kendo, and he had finally fought the vaunted Saotome Nodoka, his sensei, to a complete standstill.

Oh the Gods were smiling on Kuno Tatewaki today!

Breathlessly, Nodoka placed her own bokken to the side, astutely observing her opponent's own weapons. Finally reaching what he saw as a mastery of the kendo usage of a single sword, the teenager had taken on his so called 'true calling of a samurai' - combat with a katana and wakazashi simultaneously.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, depending on whose perspective you took it from, the swordsman had proved extremely able to cope with the entirely new way of dealing with an opponent - long sword for range, short sword for point defence. A true samurai indeed.

"As I have always said Kuno, once you move out of the rigid constraints of your strict kendo forms, you become an unbeatable foe." That was what had taken the Saotome matriarch the better part of three months - to finally convince her oftime stubborn student that there was more to the sword than just what his strict kendo katas and forms taught.

"Remember Tatewaki, flexibility is the key to success - you must adapt to any and all situations - situations that often the 'by-the-book' teachings have no counter against. Katas are for training and focusing your will – but outside the hall your battle must be as formless as possible." Settling her bokken back onto the dojo rack, she continued. “For if your enemy is able to read your form, the outcome stands halfway towards your loss.”

"I hear and obey, my sensei!" The tall boy proclaimed proudly. He looked down at the pair of weapons held in his hands - by the great Musashi Miyamoto's 'Book of Five Rings' he now practiced one of the greatest forms in the history of the blade. His Art was perfect - none could ever hope to surpass the unsurpassable Shooting Star.

That last thought abruptly brought the Kuno heir's gaze towards his sensei – well, almost nobody. And now, he grinned, a smile tinted slightly with the maniacal, now mine own true love awaits - oh tender, sweet Akane, how you must pine in the absence of thy one true love! "But fear not my love, I come once more to welcome you into my open, loving embrace!" He seemed unaware of the open voicing of that last statement.

But Nodoka only smiled approvingly. She had seen the supreme effort her student had placed in his study under her tutelage. One could only pray and hope that he would receive his just rewards for such an endeavour.

************

Shampoo stood a little off to the sidelines, arms folded under her ample bosom in visible disapproval. She was more than a little miffed that her Airen had not even considered her, and instead chosen the spatula girl as his sparring partner. After all wasn’t she, the prospective village champion, a much more suitable candidate to test ones skills with?

And besides, Shampoo just knew she was definitely a good deal nicer to look at in the midst of...err...active sport.

Totally ignorant of her purple haired friend’s displeasure, Ukyou crouched in preparation - battle spatula held in readiness, and trying not to let the nervousness in her mind affect the determination of her spirit.

Fighting Ranchan held mixed emotions for the okonomiyaki chef. On the one hand she delighted that he considered her a proper martial artist, and therefore a worthy opponent. On the other...well...even now his oftime extreme ‘almost but not quite’ killing blows put her on edge and reminded her of memories she’d have sooner forgotten (recollections usually involving the last time she had taken to sparring with the pigtailed boy).

The fact that he was using real katanas did little to aid her composure.

“Ready, Ucchan?”

“Yeah, sugar.” Or as ready as she ever would be.

Without preamble, Ranma settled in to make the first move – a simple double chop meant to test the speed of her defence.

Making full use of the longer reach of her weapon, the Kuonji girl responded accordingly, and adding a vigorous thrust with the razor front of her spatula, forced her attacker to back off to a more respectful range.

Shampoo continued to eye the match with feigned disinterest, mentally noting every flaw she saw in the chef’s technique, and adding each to the ‘why Ranma should have challenged me instead’ list.

Back and forth the exchanges continued, sparks flying as well honed metal clashed in a furious tempo to match that of the fighters. Two minutes into the session – longer than any held before – and Ukyou was already well convinced of one thing. “Stop playing with me, and finish it dammit!”

“I’m not playing with you.” Ranma stated mildly between parries. “These...” *clang*  “...blades are sharp. I hafta...” *whoosh* “...finda proper opening.”

The fact that the usually silent ninja fighter had responded at all only convinced Ukyou of the truth of her words. Nonetheless, she pressed on, drawing on months of observation of her best friend’s fighting styles.

And still, the fight seemed to her more of a case of disturbingly near misses, as she vainly sought to cover the attacks from both his katanas with her single spatula.

The bright, shining sound of razor sharp edges sliding cleanly across each other soon signalled her doom, and imminent decapitation. Ukyou squeaked terrified as she sensed the meeting point of those two balefully deadly katanas close alarmingly fast like a pair of scissors, and towards her exposed throat.

And stopped. Breathlessly, the brown haired girl opened eyes that she hadn’t even been aware were shut, to see her neck cradled ever so gently within the scissors grip of the reverse edge of his swords.

“Spatula girl last only twelve more seconds after talking – and that with Airen taking time.” Shampoo grinned patronizingly. “Now, is time to show her what real battle is like.” And leaving her beloved no time to voice opposition, she pulled a pair of bonbori from nowhere and immediately pressed into the attack.

Experience told the purple haired girl that it wasn’t worth the ‘honourable’ custom to wait for your opponent to prepare himself – at least not with Ranma.

The said ninja trainee had barely enough time to disengage his blades in order to meet the new threat, leaving Ukyou sprawled somewhat bewildered upon the hard dirt. But meet the new attack he did, and with a surge of sheer strength, the ninja trainee managed to throw off the Amazon’s double armed swing.

Before moving for a counter attack, the pigtailed ninja took a moment for an inwardly held sigh. Another day, another duel.

************

Away on another land, another battle was taking place, though of a very different nature. Tendo Akane, sixteen years of age, and sole heir to the School of Anything Goes Martial Arts stood rigidly on one end of the family’s substantial back gardens, facing a straw stuffed training dummy that had been firmly driven into the soil on the opposite end of the terrain.

She continued to stand, no outward sign of movement, other than the light Spring breeze briefly stirring her long hair.

But within, Akane was a seething mass of turbid emotions, only barely held in check by her pure willpower alone. Thoughts raced like arcing currents through her consciousness – angry thoughts – thoughts about the daily encounters outside the school entrance every morning, thoughts about the lecherous challenges, the photos that were distributed like playing cards through the student body.

Thoughts about the one who had started it all.

**********

Tendo Soun – the so-called sensei of the Tendo branch of the Mutsabeto Kakuto Ryu, gently slid aside the screen, hoping to let the Sun’s warm afternoon rays alight his soon to be imminent victory over his friend’s shattered position. Saotome Genma in the meantime continued to muse over the shogi board, wondering if by some act of the Kami his companion would look away long enough for him to errrr...‘correct’ his loss.

The dull crack of a tea cup landing upon hard wooden flooring brought his attention from the mocking game board. “Tendo-kun?” He commented, seeing his old time friend’s slack-jawed expression.

“Saotome. My daughter is glowing.”

It took several long seconds for the long haired man’s words to be properly acquired and translated within the stout martial artist’s mind. And when he did...“Say again?” Without waiting for an answer though, he quickly scrambled to his feet to join his companion by the porch.

Oblivious to both her newfound audience and the crimson burning aura of energy that swirled chaotically around her tough frame, Akane continued her unstinting, unbreakable focus, letting the single, frighteningly powerful emotion course through her blood – fuelling her soul with giddying energy.

Slack-jawed, Genma gaped in shock alongside his old friend. “Tendo-kun, I swear I never taught her this.”

Convinced that she had reached that indefinable point where neither mind nor body could take any more, the youngest Tendo bolstered her spirit, vying for control over the uncontrollable emotion – and steadily compelled the energy to obey her bidding, and move to her open palmed hands. “Ryuujin…”

Soun was forced to squint away weeping tears as the brightness overcame his vision.

“...no Rekka...” even as she commanded the words of focus, Akane felt her breath gasp at the sheer power that threatened to explode from between her cupping hands. But now, now was the time to unleash...

“...HA!!!”

The shockwave blew away the forgotten shogi game -  and half the window screening that protected the Tendo home from the outside elements.

As for the training dummy – well, that and the stone compound wall behind it were most assuredly obliterated, though in the Sun blinding light of her projection, Akane was never to know the full extent of her attack before she passed exhausted into fitful blackness.

Vainly covering burning eyes with one arm, Saotome Genma nonetheless relished in the pleasure of his master student’s success – the memory of her moment seared into his brain just as the light of her technique had seared his vision.

Soun was inevitably more direct. “Oh, my baby girl’s first proper chi technique!” he wailed plaintively, his promise made years ago to stop weeping so much, gone with his fatherly pride. The crying only grew more intense at the discovery that his beloved baby daughter was unconscious – lying face deep in the smoking beginnings of her own destructive trail. “My poor Akane’s dying too!”

“Now, now Tendo,” Genma hurriedly interceded. “Your Akane’s fine...” he hastily rolled her over as proof “...see?”

To reveal her charred bangs, burnt cheeks, and rapidly blistering hands.

“Waaahhhhh!!!!!”

Ignoring the antics of the oftime frustrating duo, Kasumi, upon seeing the state of her younger sister dashed to the telephone – Tofu’s number already dancing in her memory.

*********

The movements of two very different types of weapons served to make for a curious battle scene. The bludgeoning, powerful strokes of the mace answered by the lightning quick and usually feather-light responses from the razor swords.

The okonomiyaki chef remained where she had been deposited after her own encounter, watching the new battle evolve into grander scales that her own duel had never even begun to approach. Partial feelings of envy churned within – envy at the boy she had known so long ago who once more, as then, displayed his obvious combative superiority – and envy at the voluptuous, lavender haired girl who though matching her in age seemed equally unsurpassable.

Watching as the pigtailed trainee managed to trisect one of the incoming bonbori, Ukyou visibly humphed – it didn’t look to her like Ranchan was having any of his supposed difficulty with adjusting to his gifts.

Ranma concentrated furiously. His first time unfamiliarity with the newly acquired katanas, combined with the difficulty of their usage was hampering his ability to fight in the usual Ninjitsu style.

Not to mention the fact that Shampoo fought with a near alarming tenacity, and that she seemed to have a limitless supply of bonbori – pulling them out from God knows where. Hidden Weapons was one thing – this on the other hand reeked of a certain longhaired, blind Amazon boy...

The ninja trainee was abruptly forced to abandon that thought as he urgently dodged Shampoo’s very unorthodox underarm swing. Indeed it was times like these that he was thankful for having been born with long legs.

“Nasty, Shampoo.” Ranma teased conversationally. “What, have you been taking lessons from Mousse?”

“Is why womans make better warrior – they no put all precious eggs in one basket.” Despite the intensity of their duelling, she managed a playful leer – her gaze painting over a very definite area.

The boy had no time for a rejoinder as her taunting was shortly accompanied by a finger stab to the ground near his feet. “Bakusai...”

That was enough to send him into a rapid leap.

“...Tenketsu!”

Impressive as the explosion was – it bore little use in affecting the airborne ninja trainee. The second however, aimed at his probable landing site...

“Bakusai Tenketsu!!”

“Okay.” Ranma paused to wipe the heavy grime and rock fragments marring his face. “That’s it.”

Warned by his words, Shampoo braced herself for the decisive attack – and was all the more surprised when the pigtailed fighter instead sheathed both katanas within his voluminous sleeves. Seeing him then almost unconsciously lower his stance till both hands reached the dirt, she tensed – that stance in its unique unfamiliarity made it all the more familiar when associated with ‘this’ combatant.

And from the sidelines, Ukyou felt herself tensing in concert – for surely this would be the peak of the battle. Even as she avidly watched, her eyes determined to track every point of movement, the chef very nearly missed the moment. Hunkering further, the pigtailed fighter leaned back as far as his balance would allow, and in that instant shot forward like a bullet.

Shampoo saw him coming – so fast it seemed like the boy in red was almost flying. Doing justice to her Amazon Wu Shu heritage, she nonetheless executed a neat sidestep – recoiling along her line of movement in a complex manoeuvre that would have seen the attacking ninja tumble and crash under the force of his own inertia.

Or at least it should have – and yet his arm still managed to lock against her own. Using his momentum, Ranma swung behind the struggling girl, his shifting almost dance-like in its liquid flow. Ethereally aware of her peril, the purple haired Amazon blindly launched a sharp kick to the rear, even as she sensed him leaning over her shoulder. Whispering directly into her ear, in a voice so beautifully deadly it was almost a purr, he uttered a single word.

“Amaguriken.”

Ukyou reflexively screwed her eyes shut, cringing at the near continuous sound of flesh being systematically pounded at disturbingly close range.

Followed by a long moment of pure silence.

Grimacing from her newly acquired position face down in the dirt, Shampoo tentatively lifted herself, her pretty face set in a distinctive pout. “Airen is so mean to Shampoo.” In truth, as she performed a more detailed self-examination, the damage was minimal – thank the Gods for her Breaking Point training – though the shock of such a flurry of punches was certainly disconcerting enough.

Half-unsure of her semi-playful tone, Ranma smiled apologetically, his hand unconsciously reaching to scratch behind his head. “Sorry about that, I tried not to put too much into it.”

Lightly picking herself off the ground the Amazon frowned for an instant in disapproval, before shrugging it off. Even with her extremely limited shiatsu knowledge, she had detected at least three different pressure points which had been disturbed in some way. Riding on that thought, her legs abruptly gave way, sending the buxom girl to the hard dirt once more.

Shampoo sighed resignedly. Make that four.

**********

As was to be expected, Akane awoke to find herself in the semi-comfortable cot that served as the recovery station in Doctor Tofu’s practice. Staring aimlessly up at the spotlessly cleaned white panelled ceiling, she sighed tiredly. Judging from the set of the Sun, she had been lying here for several hours, and yet still felt dreadfully exhausted.

Too much, too soon.

Shifting to her side proved to be a rather painful mistake. Flinching unconsciously, she took a moment for a brief self-examination. Both hands were bandaged with a light gauze – her nose detecting the rather pungent aroma of burn salve from underneath. Lifting her arms revealed a similar cloth binding which made several tight circuits around her waist.

The condition of the youngest Tendo’s hair faired a little better, though both her bangs and the long tails she had so lovingly grown had been singed away at the tips – some strands even fusing together into ugly clumps. Akane grimaced distastefully as she lightly ran her fingers through the thick, tangled mane. Kasumi would have to be called on again for an impromptu haircut.

And just when it was finally longer than oneechan’s as well.

“Oh, you’re awake now.” Tofu announced, obviously pleased as he quietly appeared at the doorway. “And how are we feeling, Akane?”

“Better, Doctor Tofu,” she murmured softly, too wearied to jump at his usual unobtrusive entrance. “Just tired I suppose.” She blushed a little as the young man leaned forward to examine her face closely.

“Hmm.” He peered clinically into her eyes, either unaware or ignoring of her embarrassed discomfort. “You should be fine I’d say – just take it easy.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” She made as if to move off the bed, before he placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. Akane only reddened further and tried to look away.

“Akane, your father told me about what happened.” He paused to consider his words carefully. “I know how important your training is to you, but be careful – playing with chi at this level is extremely dangerous to those around you, but especially yourself.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor Tofu.” She answered brightly. “I’m a big girl – I can take care of myself.”

“Where did you learn the technique? From what I’ve been told, neither Tendo-san nor Saotome-san ever showed you anything like that.”

Mildly annoyed that he’d seemed to casually pass off her reassurances, the youngest Tendo nonetheless answered truthfully. “It was from a technique Ryouga found in a scroll – it was called the ‘Shi Shi Hokodan’.”

“Ah.” The chiropractor’s brow furrowed in recollection. “I think I may have vaguely heard of it before. A...a miner’s technique I believe.”

She shrugged indifferently. “It teaches the user to harness the power of sadness and depression into an attack – only I couldn’t...well get that unhappy enough to use that emotion.”

“So...let me guess.” Tofu smiled knowingly. “Anger and rage, right?”

She blinked, startled. “H-how...?”

“Akane, I’m not going to badger you on this, but be careful with these practices – anger is amongst the most powerful of emotions to evoke – and perhaps the most difficult to augment and control.”

She looked up, held by the unusual seriousness in the Doctor’s demeanour. Gone was the playfully cheerful bantering that he usually carried in his words. Instead, gravely concerned eyes looked into her own, perhaps searching for her understanding and recognition of his gravity.

“Promise me you’ll be very careful about using a technique like that.”

A brief contest of wills ensued at that, before she quickly backed down, eyes lowering in submission. “Okay Doctor Tofu, I promise – but only because it’s you.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Tofu answered brightly, “That’s all I ask, Akane.” Inwardly though he was sighing in abject relief – all too well did he know how so very important martial arts was to the teenage girl. Getting her to tone down such advanced training was by no means a small feat.

“Oh my, Doctor Tofu, is Akane going to be alright?” Kasumi’s concerned voice piped in, as she peered from behind the door.

And it was only Akane’s remarkable speed that preserved her health as she triple flipped up the wall and across the ceiling, out of harm’s way.

“W-why h-h-h-ello K-Kasumi!” For somebody whose glasses were completely impaired by the fog of his own sweat, the good doctor showed remarkable dexterity in manipulating the tangled bed sheets into kanji that vaguely resembled the word ‘Mist’. “Fancy meeting you here of all places.”

The youngest Tendo could only shudder, as she imagined herself in place of the mangled cloth. The eldest however, only laughed pleasantly. “Oh Doctor Tofu, stop being so silly, you work here of course.”

Wilting a little at the ridiculous banter that interchanged between the two, the Anything Goes heir quietly snuck out, unnoticed by either. Heading back towards the Tendo Dojo, she let the ambient sounds of the city drown out the joyfully mad laughter that continued to assault her ears from the clinic.

*************

“So then, sonny boy, how are we feeling tonight?” It was a vague question, and as such deserved a vague answer.

“Well enough, Elder Cologne.” Ranma fixed the shrunken old crone an unreadable look, before returning to his close examination of one of Kagora’s sai.

Unfazed, the matriarch only returned a toothy grin – every day the boy was turning more and more towards the personality of his Master. Even now she could guess what he was thinking at, carefully assessing all of Kagora’s most favoured weapons of choice in combat.

“So you’ve already chosen your opponent in the upcoming trials, eh?”

“Perhaps.”

Inwardly cackling at his subversive cockiness, Cologne refrained from pursuing the matter – the boy already well knew his place in the grander scheme of things.

Despite his concentration however, the pigtailed boy found his attention increasingly drawn not to the withered matriarch perched in her customary chair, but towards the kitchen – where an invitingly wide variety of aromas seemed to tease at his sensitive nose. Taking a deep breath, Ranma sighed contentedly – Ucchan’s special full combination okonomiyaki, Shampoo’s stir fried ramen – it didn’t get much better than this.

And as was to be expected, dinner was a relatively calm, enjoyable affair – aside from a certain Amazon girl’s teasing attempts to hand feed her beloved. Ranma treated the entire business as he had with all such antics – pleasant tolerance.

Looking about at the various subdued faces surrounding the heavy wooden dining table, Ukyou could not help but feel that the air was a little too quiet – what with the beginning of the Amazon championships the next day, and Ranma’s trials of ascension following that. Almost as if none at the table were willing to broach the tension in fear of disturbing the unspoken trepidation.

But of course, there was at least one who had no such reservations.

“So then, what have we all planned for tonight?”

A little startled by the sudden break in silence, it took Ranma a few seconds to realise that the question was mostly directed at himself. "Actually, I was intending on...on..."

"Ranchan, what's wrong?" Ukyou looked on in concern as her friend's eyes half closed in a distracted, semi-detached gaze, head half-cocked to the side.

"Heh, it's raining." Surprised, the ponytailed girl watched as his face drifted into the rarest of expressions – a genuine smile.

Cologne could neither hear nor detect the wet weather that her student had claimed at, but then Ranma's senses had always exceeded hers. Such suspicions were confirmed when the sound of falling water elevated to a dull roar.

Save for a precious few, Ranma's senses exceeded everybody's.

"Interesting, as high up as we are in the mountains, such heavy rains are quite unusual."

Suddenly, the ninja trainee snapped back to the present. "Elder Cologne, may I be excused for now?"

"Of course." She inclined her head in acceptance.

"Thank you very much for dinner." Ranma bowed formally to the ever-wizened matriarch at the head of the table - the same statement and the same bow that he had done for every dinner - and with that promptly wafted out of the room.

"I'll..." Ukyou began uncertainly, "...I'll go and check on him." Concern etching itself onto her features, Ukyou worriedly moved to follow.

And the Matriarch of the Joketsuzoku continued to stare curiously after the figure of the departing girl. And after a moment, "Now that puts a few difficulties in your path, my young Xian Pu."

************

At first, the Kuonji girl thought she had lost her friend - before realising that he had in fact left the house.

In this kind of weather.

Pausing only to pick up a bamboo umbrella, Ukyou stepped out into the pouring rain, errant drops of almost refreshingly icy cold water finding their way under the wide cloth span of her shelter. It didn't take long however to find the pigtailed boy, standing in the middle of the yard with arms held wide, and his face upturned to catch the full force of the downpour.

It was more than a little shocking to see Ranma of all people stand up and start spinning about like a child having fun in the wet. "R-ranchan, what the hell are you doing?"

At her loud call, the boy abruptly blinked, as if waking up to the real world, and returned a sheepishly embarrassed gaze. "Ah heh heh, Ucchan, I didn't notice you there."

Then she remembered, at a time that almost seemed a lifespan away, of a little pigtailed boy and his best friend both playing and frolicking in the rain and mud - the both being sternly admonished by their respective fathers soon after - though for markedly different reasons. Ukyou sighed a little wistfully at the memory. No matter that she had lived with this new Ranma for more than ten months, the okonomiyaki chef could not help but still see this sword fighter, ninja and martial artist all rolled into one as the 'new' Ranma. And those instants, when she caught a glimpse - a subtle hint of the old Ranma, well, these were the moments she loved the most.

But still..."You can be so weird sometimes, Ranchan."

That seem to bring him out of his awkwardness. Eyes burning with a cheeky mischievousness that she had not seen since the last time he'd pilfered a free okonomiyaki from her family yattai, the pigtailed fighter zipped to her side, and promptly snitched her umbrella.

"Ack!! Give that back - I'm getting soaked!" Frantically, she chased after the dancing ninja...

"I just love the rain, don't you?" He mentioned conversationally.

"Not when it's on me, you jackass!" Ukyou responded hotly between grabs. But her smile was angrily playful in the vain realisation that she would never get her umbrella back until her assailant felt like returning it. And besides, given that she was now wet through to the skin there wasn't much point getting it back anyway.

This was the Ranma she knew and remembered.

Abruptly their mock chase ended when her target, in one of those momentum defying manoeuvres, reversed his path of travel and nimbly picked up his friend, and lifted her bodily into the air. Ukyou saw the world from a remarkably rapid perspective as she was spun around like a little girl - his quiet strength easily encapsulating her weak struggles.

He didn't stop, even when her rain drenched chestnut dark hair tangled in his face. But for his companion...

She was suddenly visited by the feeling of his closeness - his tight hold around her waist. Comfortably gentle - yet uncomfortable, for reasons she couldn't comprehend...nice, confusing?

"Bleah." The unexpected comment broke her reverie. "Your hair doesn't taste very nice, Ucchan."

"I've never had anyone taste it before." Her voice was quiet, nervously huskier than usual. Somehow seeming to feel some of her discomfort, Ranma slowly spun to a halt, whilst gradually lowering her to earth once more. In a way that even the still heavy rain could not dispel, the pigtailed boy became almost viscerally aware of his best friend's closeness - the moisture pressing their clothes into an awkwardly thin barrier.

Once free from her burden, the ninja trainee promptly relieved his hold of her slender waist, snapping hands away as if burned.

Both stood mutely, hair matted down messily over their faces, neither able to break the uncomfortable quiet. Though eventually, Ranma murmured uncomfortably, "Umm, I think I'll be heading back now, Ucchan." She gave no indication of hearing – continuing to stare silently as the pigtailed boy quietly stepped away, and in an almost relief-like burst of energy, dashed away at full speed to disappear behind the house.

After a few tentative minutes, Ukyou moved to follow – her demeanour still slightly dazed by the bewildering encounter that had just occurred. Heading back towards the rear entrance of the family abode, her movement was shortly halted by the sight of a familiar purple haired, buxom Amazon warrior.

Leaning casually against the doorframe - arms crossed in front of her in a decidedly challenging way.

The lazy attitude of Shampoo's pose was enough to put Ukyou's senses on alert - the Amazon was almost never lazy - bubbly, hyperactively happy, ultra mad maybe - but never languidly idle. "Anything I can do for you, bonbori girl?" She tried cheerfully, though honestly curious about what the problem was.

The purple-haired girl failed to meet the amicably light-hearted attitude. "Spatula girl and Shampoo may be friends - but does not mean that Shampoo stand back and give way."

Unable to quite figure that out, Ukyou carefully said as much, "I don't quite get you there, sugar."

Turning around in a huff, the Amazon muttered over her shoulder. "Shampoo not stupid - she see funny funny way you look when Airen give you rainy wet hugs."

"I...I..." Ukyou stammered incoherently, unable to believe the absurdity of such a presumption - before realising that her purple-haired friend was no longer present to hear her defence. "Hey wait!" She briskly jogged to catch up.

The pair met once more on the upper floor, just as Shampoo was entering her room. "Hey honey, you've got it all wrong," the chef protested, as if their conversation had never ended. "Ranchan always had a thing for the rain, back when we were little - and we used to pick each other up and toss the other into mud and stuff."

"Shampoo see no mud fight - she see too too innocent boy giving too too tender hugs to devious spatula girl."

"Jeez sugar, talk about hyper-sensitive." Ukyou grumbled. "For the last time, bonbori girl, Ranchan's not like that - com'on, especially after the way all your fellow friends carry on, I doubt he's even interested in that sort of thing with any girl."

The purple-haired girl only growled in annoyance. The other infuriatingly eligible Amazon girls were hardly 'fellows' or 'friends'. And the chef’s comment was only a reminder of her own lack of progress with the stupid Japanese male.

Seeing Shampoo’s fierce glare, and misinterpreting it, Ukyou added hotly, “Look, I’m tired, I’m very wet and dripping cold on this nice wooden floor – and right now I want nothing more than a nice warm bath while Kwai Lien-san still has some hot water left.” With that she stomped off, still managing to look huffed despite her sodden appearance.

Shampoo stood for a moment longer before she too turned to head back to her bedroom – her most important fight was in the morrow, and thus she had little energy to spare on such matters – at least for tonight.

************

Turning over underneath the blankets, Ranma dwelt upon the easily audible argument that had transpired just outside his door. For a brief moment, he considered the possibilities.

A moment later...“Nah”.

Rolling over once more, he settled into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

 

*************

*************

 

 Day 2.

The second day, and a very important day to a select few in the world.

And one of those few was to be found outside her family’s grounds hard at – surprise, surprise – training. Lano stared, openly impressed at the vision of the beautifully exotic lavender haired girl as she danced amongst the metre high training posts. What with the extra skills she had received from the foreign teachers, and her own natural desire to show the limits of her talents before a certain pigtailed ninja – well, the Amazon heir was certainly good enough to make Lano fight with the utmost caution on their occasional spars.

Of course, her fighting prowess wasn’t exactly what he was currently interested in at the moment, but it was still a passing thought.

“She’s really good, you know.”

The Korean turned at the sound of his long time companion, who as usual had managed to unintentionally sneak up to within arm’s reach. Studying Ranma’s unreadable expression, it was hard to tell just what the sentiment was behind that simple statement.

“Coming from the great Saotome Ranma, that’s no small praise.”

Snorting in abject derision, the said boy replied, “Me being better doesn’t make her any worse.”

“But is she good enough to take the Championships in her maiden year?”

“We won’t have long to find out, Lano.”

The weapons fighter was about to offer a more detailed analysis, before realising that he was once again in solitude. Looking down the empty corridor, he sighed in mild exasperation – maybe it was the upcoming trials, but the pigtailed ninja seemed to be getting stranger by the day.

**********

It was a particularly slow and deliberate ritual this morning as Kuno Tatewaki – heir to the Kuno name, rising star of Kendo clubs around the world, Shooting Star of Furinkan High, and master of the sword unto the great Saotome Nodoka – dressed for this, his first battle in many months.

Examining his proud and handsome countenance before the ornate floor to ceiling dressing mirror, the teenage swordsman dwelt upon the possibility of adopting a somewhat more convenient title – it was just so difficult to convey the correct amount of well-deserved glory into a more practical name.

Looking up from his neatly combed, albeit slightly wild hair, down his neatly pressed hakama to his ritually bare feet, Kuno checked for discrepancies.

Of course, there were none.

In a slight change of style, and an indication of his new skills, there was a simple, black silken sash wrapped twice around his waist, into which the upperclassman thrust a sheath for his ever-present bokken, with a wooden wakazashi on his right hip to complement.

“At last, my dearest, sweetest Tendo Akane – the fire that burns to an exquisite luminescence, such that the goddess Amaterasu herself weeps in shame – today is the day that I may claim you to be at my side.” Standing tall, the swordsman withdrew his weapons in a flash of impressive speed. “Armed as thus, I pray you see the great Shooting Star as verily worthy to worship you as only a lover could in these, mine arms of adoration.”

And towards the corner, hidden in the shadows that were his domain and comfort, the family ninja, Sasuke sighed in honest relief. Though he was ever-loyal and ever-willing, it was about time that the Master Kuno finally headed back towards school – it gave the devoted retainer some much needed rest during the daylight hours.

“I pray that my Goddess sees fit to grant audience with her most faithful worshipper, this bright February morn.” Fuelled by both supreme love and confidence, Kuno Tatewaki strode purposefully towards the exit, and his destiny.

**********

The Amazon championship trials were a brutally simplistic affair. On par with the Joketsuzoku mentality there were only two recognised positions; the one champion, and a very large group of losers. No seconds, no thirds - you either were...

...or you were not.

Battles were played out, as they had been for three thousand and more years, over a massive raw-cut wooden log suspended horizontally by an equally stout pine frame - the rope suspension ensuring that the arena would be as much a test of the fighter's balance as of her combat prowess.

Oh yes, Ranma considered dryly, that was another thought. Women only, of course - but in Joketsuzoku such facts went without saying.

Bedecked in her formal combat gear – pure white trousers and a short, equally fair overrobe, Shampoo brushed off a few errant specks of dirt, noting quizzically that her appearance was the exact opposite to that of her darkly clad beloved. Further speculation on the subject was halted though, at the sound of a commanding voice.

“Contenders are ready?” the chosen adjudicator announced in an authoritative voice. At the careful nod of each girl, as they stood, precariously balanced on the testing log, the village maiden swung her open hand down in a decisive chop. “Begin!”

Rather than following general Amazon principles, and leaping into an aggressive attack, Shampoo instead opted to wait out, and let her opponent take the lead. This was her first duel – the first of many, and the knowledge that many of her future rivals were standing amongst the audience, watching her every move, prompted the purple haired fighter to choose which techniques that were to be revealed with utmost caution.

The woman facing her had no such reservations – already having fought and won three battles prior to this. Armed with a hefty bo-sai, she dashed quickly to cover the distance separating them, and stabbed assertively with the three-pronged steel head.

A jab that was caught and neatly deflected on the wide, curving face of a machete – the girl having decided to leave the bonbori for future duels. Without the room to circumvent her opponent on the narrow log, Shampoo was forced to duck under the pole-arm and slash underneath the reach of the bo-sai’s tip.

Standing tensely in the crowds, Kuranami murmured uncomfortably to her fellow Shinkasa Guard. “We’ve seen seven of these duels, and I still cannot get accustomed to how callously these martial artist warriors treat the usage of real weapons.” Her statement was shortly followed by a cringing wince, as Shampoo’s rival took a vicious swipe to the side of her face.

“Makes all our wooden weapon training seem trivial in comparison, ne?” Daikoto shrugged nonchalantly. He didn’t bother mentioning that one of the main reasons that they did so, was that the taught Shinkasa style focused too much on lethal blows to make steel weapon training feasible.

“Still...” Her reply was cut short, as the lavender haired teenager deftly sent her opponent tumbling. Both clapped appreciatively, a honest congratulations for Elder Cologne’s protégé.

Shampoo looked towards the gathered audience, and respectfully gave a bow in acknowledgment of their support – although she was aware that most of it was hardly genuine. It took only a short moment to locate a certain group of teenage fighters, her beloved standing amongst them. Cheerfully, she waved at them, though her eyes were only for a particular pigtailed boy.

“She doesn’t look particularly tired, does she?” Lano mentioned conversationally.

“She shouldn’t be.” Ranma responded neutrally. He smiled thinly at the girl’s playful wink in his direction, though mostly discomforted by the ‘not-so-discreet’ glares that were shot both ways amongst a few of the other unwed members of the rivalling families.

A little disappointed by her beloved’s subdued response, Shampoo nonetheless steeled herself for the next challenge – four battles from now.

**********

“Um, Akane-san, err...” Ryouga wasn’t quite sure how to put this, but as the girl’s grip tightened even further, he gave up tact in favour of quick relief. “Akane-san, you’re holding me really tight.”

“Boys...damn boys...hate boys.” The vehement words were spat with all the distaste of a week rotten oyster.

And thus, unfortunately, the youngest Tendo was in no condition to heed her friend’s hint – though fortunately, she released her grip all the same (two hands to fight were always better than one).

“Akane, date me!!!!!!”

“No, me firs...ERKK!!”

And hence began the morning mayhem.

Standing at her usual window seat post, Nabiki frowned resolutely at the readings – betting to timespans of the morning fights had deteriorated rapidly, since no one was willing to place money on time issues that were measured in seconds.

Added to the fact, there was a certain missing element to the fights these days – that certain something which made the viewing and wagering all the more enjoyable – that...that...

“Heretoforthwith let it be known that the great Shooting Star of Furinkan High School, master of the sword, Kuno Tatewaki doth announce his timely return. I pray that mine loyal admirers do cherish my presence just as they have pined my long sojourn.”

Bingo.

*********

Like a raging tigress whose tail had just been trodden on, Akane slowly raised her smouldering gaze to meet the owner of that proudly polished and refined voice.

Kuno.

Kuno Tatewaki – Shooting whatever of Furinkan High, but more importantly, the instigator behind all that had plagued her for these months. With a few careless words, and being the son of the Principal to back his doctrine, this Kuno had utterly destroyed the peace of her life.

Now, it was well known that most humans possessed what has been loosely termed as a ‘danger sense’ – that indescribable prickly feeling that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and your adrenaline starting the full circuit. Reacting on this, the vast body of students who had previously taken up viewing positions to watch the ensuing fight, suddenly, as if on unspoken agreement opted to find more safe observation posts behind the security of Furinkan High’s stout walls.

It was a right shame that a certain black-haired youth, by some freak of heritage and birth, possessed no such sense.

**********

It had taken Ryouga a minute or so to realise that his hand was no longer in contact with that of sweet Akane’s. Though now there was no one to hear him, the eternally Lost Boy sighed wearily, as if in that simple exhalation of breath he could encompass all of the sorrows that had lately seemed so keen on plaguing his sorrowful life. Finding little satisfaction in it, he despondently tried again.

Sigh*.

It had all been so wonderful, so perfect all those months back. Every morning, the little ritual that only he and dearest Akane shared would occur – she would arrive faithfully to pick him up, and take him to school. There, sticking close by her side, he was ensured of staying on track and on time – his uncountable misdirections all being patiently endured and accounted for by the said youngest Tendo.

And to this day, Ryouga could never see just why a pitiful sod like himself would have ever deserved such kindness. He was not disillusioned about his failings, the lost boy very well knew what an irritating burden it must have been for her to be constantly monitoring his orientations.

And yet, Akane had done so, for more than a year, and with an ever cheery smile in place of the frustrated grimacing he was so used to from everyone else.

Yes, finally a cure to his waywardness, an unbelievably challenging martial artist to hone his skills with, a chance to go to a proper high school for once, a beautiful goddess who truly understood and accepted him...yes Hibiki Ryouga had had it all.

That is, until the unending cheerful happiness that had pervaded Akane’s every action had taken a sudden and stunningly abrupt nosedive. He was certainly no genius, but it wasn’t that difficult to decipher the origins of that change, given that it had occurred a week following the beginning of the morning fights. It pained him, more than Akane would ever know, to see her subjected to such irritations, and yet her martial artist’s pride would not allow his assistance.

It wasn’t as if the Anything Goes heiress really needed help in the combat field – especially when faced with untrained boys in sports gear, but it was the attitude which bothered him the most – that suddenly the cutest, most popular girl in Furinkan was a trophy prize to be fought and won.

The idea of his love being possessed by another...

Passer-by’s around shifted uncomfortably, giving the peculiar teenager boy in yellow and brown a significant wide berth – an understandable action considering he was glowing a very mild sickly green, or perhaps it was the sign post that was being pretzelised in the muscular youth’s bare hands.

Suddenly realising that he was the centre of somewhat guarded attention, the Lost Boy offered a weak, sheepish grin, before noticing something of much greater import.

He was lost.

Hibiki Ryouga was lost.

“KAMI-SAMA...WHERE AM I??!!”

********

“Wilt thou cross swords with me, fairest maiden?” It didn’t matter that Tendo Akane never fought with a weapon, sword or otherwise - any re-wording of the traditional issue of challenge would undoubtedly have lessened its impact.

Letting her casually raised fists answer for her, the youngest Tendo settled into a familiar, easy stance. Perfect timing – just when she needed a real good fight to let off a whole heap of over pressurised steam, and here was the ideal punching bag.

In concert with his opponent’s confidence, Kuno slowly brought his bokken to bear, his eyes never leaving his love. Just as he had been taught, the swordsman relaxed his grip, one hand lying loosely by his side. Then, taking a single step to the side...

*********

This was what Akane loved the most about her family’s style – the sheer variety and flexibility – no rules, no constraints – if it was martial arts then it could be used in Anything Goes. Effortlessly, she floated around the wide arc of her attacker’s bokken, turning in mid-air to land a snap drop kick to the side of his head.

And was shocked to discover her foot connecting not with flesh, but the cutting edge of a wooden short sword.

**********

This was what Kuno loved the most about kendo – the extreme complexity derived from the simplest of principles. The legs were for positioning – to be strong when you made a decisive strike, and to flow like water when you needed to manoeuvre. Attack and defence were concentrated solely to the arms, but the hands which wielded the sword had to be dexterous unto the extreme for the perfect techniques to be executed.

Allowing himself a proud smile, the swordsman revelled in this, his first proper contact in combat with the Tendo Goddess in all the years that they had courted. Truly, Saotome-dono sensei had broadened his skills to their paramount, adding that critical dimension that had been sorely lacking in his previously two dimensional fighting world.

Capitalising on that last thought, the heir to the Kuno name earnestly assumed the role of aggressor.

“The bolt of the Blue Thunder doth striketh from above!”

And just for the sake of variety, he struck from below – Saotome sensei had always instigated the importance of unpredictability.

**********

Tendo Akane, heir to the Mutsabeto Kakuto Ryu, found herself in a particular position, for the first time in all the years that she had blasted this annoying pest...on the defensive. In a fashion she would never have expected the kendo fighter of all people to engage in, Akane fought a retreating battle that was as much in the air as on the ground.

That, more than the shock of actually being hit for once by the upperclassman, was what angered her the most – that her, an Anything Goes practitioner would be challenged in the field of airborne combat.

No! She was the expert here – she was the best. Discarding the flaring pain of the heavy bruise to her foot, the youngest Tendo savagely slammed her fist through the upperclassman’s defence, brushing aside the heavy bokken, and taking the full force of his wakazashi on her forearm.

The reward for the additional trio of bruises was a connected headbutt that slammed his chin up, snapping the skull back even as the rest of the swordsman’s body followed in a graceless arc towards the hard earth.

“Ready for more, Kuno sempai?” the fierce tigress snarled, wiping away both the sweat, and any reservations she might have had at holding back this time.

Allowing for the minimal ten seconds required to reset his jaw, Kuno Tatewaki answered resolutely. “My unending passions are in constant state of preparation to serve mine goddess.”

Wasting no time in trying to decipher his declaration, Akane took a cautious step forwards, her senses alive with the full rush of battle, and the knowledge that this was a true challenge requiring a true display of her full skill. Flowing into the offensive, the Anything Goes fighter offered a complex combination of attacks – never fully finishing a technique before beginning on another one.

And to his credit, Kuno held up wonderfully – blocking or dodging high and low kicks, crescent sweeps, reverse palm strikes...at least for the first twenty seconds or so.

After that...well...

**********

Kuno marvelled at this hidden prowess, kept in secret until the present, where it was now on full display in tribute to his newfound skills.

He was of course referring to sweet Tendo Akane’s Megami-like speed and power – that, as closely as he knew and cherished her, the swordsman would never have even conceived that she...or anyone else, would possess such combative talents.

And, at last, it was now being employed – a divine acknowledgment that his love had seen fit to reveal her true powers to the great Shooting Star.

Still...it was a right shame that her divine acknowledgement hurt so much.

“Why...” *CRACK* “...can’t you...” *crunch* “...just leave Me ALONE!!” She finished the question with a devastating knee to the stomach, catching his face as his body folded with a full-fisted uppercut, that sent the kendoist flying.

To slam head first into Furinkan’s much abused brick wall.

“Verily do I fight on,” Kuno mumbled confidently, visibly annoyed that his body was unable to follow the sentiment.

Her breathing only mildly disturbed, Akane shot a murderously hateful glare at the now unconscious upperclassman, half disappointed that he had fallen so quickly, and before she could’ve delivered out his full punishment.

“Umm...Akane?” Sayuri called out hopefully, as she passed by. Looking towards her longtime friend, the fire in both the Tendo heir’s eyes and mind quickly died – much to the relief of most party present.

“Did you have to beat him up that much, Akane-chan?” added another voice from the side. Offering a sheepish smile towards her other companion, the martial artist’s voice was nonetheless steeled. “He’s the reason why I have had to fight every day.”

“Yeah, I understand that...but his first day back, and already...” Yuka trailed off, the destructive path of the recent conflict still visible even as they entered the building.

“Yuka...” Akane looked at her shorter friend meaningfully. “Every day, for nearly seven school months.” Icily, she murmured, “I think I deserve some credit for even letting him live.”

“I guess so.”

*********

Breathlessly, Shampoo spared a moment to wipe her dampened forehead clear of the sweat that threatened to trickle into her eyes. The last of the ‘cannon fodder’ entrants had long since been cleared away – those who clearly had little chance of making the cut – at least while Elder Cologne’s heir was still in the running.

And now, very much more rapidly that she would have expected, her final challenge was to begin. As wearied as she was, the buxom girl spared a moment for a cheery wave towards her favourite supporter, still pointedly glancing away from the occasional evil stares that the gesture garnered from her rivals.

Eyeing the near visible hostilities that seemed to flit back and forth across the field, the pigtailed boy sighed plaintively. Personally, he couldn’t see the point of it all – it had been well established that Kagora’s heir was definitely and most certainly not on the lookout for a potential mate – and yet they still came.

It was that optimistic ever-eager puppy attitude that annoyed him the most – that none seemed willing to take a hint and, putting it bluntly, boot off. Shampoo at least had seemed to accept his requests for relational solitude – her playfulness appeared to be more of a tease than any true intent.

Still...

Still, she was very distracting, in a way that both puzzled and pleased him – though more of the former than the latter, and at his stage in the Art he had no room to be distracted.

Looking away from the pigtailed ninja trainee, and towards the written roster, Shampoo’s eyes narrowed distastefully – her final challenger was to be one Ba Fu Mei, a daughter of a rival and decidedly hostile family to her own.

“Who’s next for Shampoo, Ranchan?” Ukyou enquired curiously.

Squinting at the still somewhat unfamiliar Chinese characters, Ranma took a minute or so to sort through the writing. “Per...Perfume, I think.”

“Shampoo versus Perfume, eh? Heh, figures.” Lano’s eyes glinted speculatively as he took in the view of the two equally attractive young girls as they readied themselves for battle – Perfume’s dark green, shoulder length hair, and aquiline slenderness a pleasing contrast to Shampoo’s voluptuousness.

But, for the pigtailed fighter, the issue at hand was the recognition that this was the same warrior that had met them on their very first night of arrival, all those months back – one that held no particular liking for any who were associated with Cologne’s family.

And now she was challenging the heir to that very family.

“Contenders are ready?” Well used to that question, the violet haired girl gave her curt nod, the gesture echoed across by her opponent.

Perfume’s chosen tool was a long, slender tai chi combat blade – a veteran of several championship matches, as well as real combat in border skirmishes, she was certainly a warrior to be respected – and one that the purple-haired girl was certainly exceptionally cautious about.

It helped that she was also in fact last year’s champion, and would thus be defending her title in this duel.

“Begin!” The judicator’s hand dropped, signalling the beginning to their battle, and the universally held breath, as the crowd awaited the first move.

At first there was nothing, as each competitor silently appraised the other. Shampoo watched carefully, marking the other girl’s every movement, down to the slight rise and fall of her form at every breath. Then all at once, she was on the retreat, as the warrior exploded into attack – thrusting with savage precision for the stomach.

A quick hop back and then a parsing swing with her right bonbori, and the Amazon managed to hold her ground before running out of room – though the move sorely tested her balance upon the narrow log. Using the round head of her weapon like a fist, she punched forwards, systematically trying to regain lost territory.

“She’s good.” Lano murmured, just as he had done so several times already. “I seem to sense a bit of your style in her development.”

Ranma only returned a non-committal grunt. “There’s no style like Shampoo’s other than Shampoo’s.”

“I’ll say.” Lano answered admiringly – though his good-natured leer at the bosomy girl’s, err...gyrations, was a clear suggestion at where that last comment was aimed at.

Spinning acrobatically, Shampoo flew across the length of the tournament log – high enough to clear both the green haired fighter, and her whistling sword. Though the way it rang eerily close to her feet was disconcerting enough for her to wish for a for a few extra feet of clearance. And then, without warning, Perfume had reached into a hidden pocket in the cuff of her suit, and hurled a devastating spray of tiny flechette-like needles.

Without the room on the log to dodge, the lavender haired warrior could only vainly deflect as many as she could with her bonbori, though in the end there were some half-dozen of the darts in various places about her form.

Poisons and chemicals were strictly forbidden in ritual combat, but she knew by experience, that the minute needles were tipped with complex barbs, and served to irritate sensitive nerves and hamper fighting prowess.

Smiling determinedly, Perfume lunged with her straight edged sword again and again, forcing her opponent to give ground once more. With keen battle eyes, she had already taken note of one of her darts lodging itself in the dratted girl’s ankle, tweaking Shampoo’s muscles at every step she took.

There was absolutely no way she was going to lose to Khu Lon’s upstart heir, no way that such satisfaction would be given to her, and her outsider friends. Carrying through on that thought, the slender warrior cut determinedly through her rival’s defence, sheer combat experience guiding her blade to draw on the weaknesses of Shampoo’s bonbori.

And from without, Cologne silently shook her head – for all of her great-granddaughter’s skills and training attained by regular practice with the Shinkasa visitors, the girl still suffered from an impetuous nature, and a headstrong stubbornness that was undoing her chances at victory in this duel. Ah well, it was only the girl’s first championship – no harm done I expect. Perfume had been last year’s champion, and also had many more year’s familiarity with the nuances of battle. Looking to the other spectators, she could see her hidden sentiments more openly reflected in their expressions.

Save for one...one Saotome Ranma. Why on Earth was he smiling like that?

Without looking, Shampoo could ‘sense’ the amount of space she had left before the end of the tournament log. Feeling the expectations of the crowd like an oppressive weight, and not liking their attitude one bit, she ruthlessly forced all concentration to the task at hand.

Ranma had thoroughly taught her this many times – and it would always be in her memory as her very first lesson from the pigtailed boy – the absolute key of timing...timing...here!

Perfume could see that her enemy was out of room, and her last step backwards would take her off the log, and into the realm of defeat. Turning about, she swung for a massive, double-handed slash that Shampoo, on her precarious perch, had no hope of dodging or blocking.

And watched as the violet haired girl did take that step – right off the log.

“Wha...”, but the accidentally voiced word would never be completed, as Cologne’s heir flung her own weapon aside and seized the flying sword by its flat. Pulling it towards herself, she yanked both blade and its wielder into an uncomfortably close proximity.

Tottering wildly, with her sword now useless against the buxom girl, who had now abandoned both bonbori and was also virtually hugging her, Perfume struggled to break free.

Letting loose a positively evil smile of her own, Shampoo gave an almost affectionately loving squeeze, further confusing her slender opponent, before delicately running two fingers up the side of Perfume’s neck.

“Hey, that’s...” Lano trailed off, watching with detached fascination as the former village champion crumpled like a loose rag, face down into the dirt.

And thus, a new champion of the Joketsuzoku was born. Breathing in the sweet taste of triumph, Shampoo drank in the applause and approval she could see radiating from Great-grandmother and her allies – almost as sweet as the equally grudging looks of acceptance from her rivals.

But Airen’s smile of congratulations, and his twinkling acknowledgement of her usage of his techniques outdid them all.

***********

Standing unnoticed in the dregs of the spectators, the Hidden Weapons Master, Mousse felt his heart swell with devoted love and pride as he sensed, rather than specifically saw his beloved Shampoo conquer her opponent. A feeling that almost alarmingly degenerated into hatred as he detected the purple haired blur coming into close contact with a suspiciously dark blur.

“Saotome Rannnmmmaaa...,” he growled fiercely. It was totally unfair – Mousse had grown up with her, stood by her, for so much longer than this...this outsider.

And she went running to him when times were good. What was so special about this ninja? So what if he was a *cough* better fighter? He was dirty and underhanded – and totally uncaring and thus undeserving of the affections that the Amazon heir heaped on him.

He could almost hate Shampoo herself for the way her very existence tormented and teased him into insanity. Why did the Kami put such an angel on this Earth, in this village, only to send her love towards his greatest enemy?

Almost hate – but he loved her too much. “Saotome Ranma, you will pay for this.”

***********

Coming down from the heady elation of her victory, and the extensive feasting that had followed after, Shampoo looked about the close group of people that were so important to her. As had been expected of a champion, she had spent the greater part of the celebration night amongst the people – holding the seat of honour as the many offered their congratulations and respect – no matter its authenticity. Then there had been the official entry of her name, Xian Pu, daughter of Mei Fai-Lan, daughter of Kong Dishu Na, daughter of...a tracing all the way back to the matriarch of her family.

She smiled at the quirk in her lineage – that all the women linking her directly to her matriarch were deceased. Yes, she was both the youngest and eldest heir to the name – a future matriarch of the Joketsuzoku.

That is, if the current holder of the title were to ever actually give up the position within her lifetime. The violet-haired girl almost laughed at the idea – that she would be like all the mothers before her – passing on the rank as heir, to her daughter, even as the station outlived her.

Given that her own mother had born and died seeing only the Elder Khu Lon as matriarch, suddenly the prospect did not seem so unfeasible. Shampoo sighed, irritated by the sudden pang of sadness on what was to be her day of triumph, but the memory of her lack of memories was a subversive pain – the loss of a great woman whom she had known only through stories and hearsay. The Amazons were not a race of Arts beyond that of combat – so there weren’t even any pictures or portraits to provide an image of this fabled Amazon warrior.

“You seem a little low-spirited tonight.”

Shampoo looked up at the unexpected statement to see Ranma’s Korean friend standing before her, a somewhat bemused smile adorning his face. She looked upon him with a mildly curious stare – Iyarasora Lano was somebody she never knew quite whether to like or not. Sure, like all the Japanese outsiders, he was a friend, but for some reason the way he seemed to positively covet the company of Amazon girls – well, all girls in general – irritated her in some inconceivable way. Maybe because it was a social opposite to the conventions that she had been raised by, where it was the woman’s duty to choose whom she wanted – and the man’s duty to accept her choice.

Seeing that his observation had only seemed to darken her mood, Lano tried a different tack. “Saw Ranma a moment ago in the training halls – he’s gearing himself up for tomorrow.” The subject of one pigtailed boy always seemed to be a reliable topic to cheer her up.

“And you no prepare for tomorrow?”

He shrugged indifferently. I’m going to sleep early, that’s enough preparation.” Stretching his arms out the weapons fighter added, “We’ve been training this entire time for tomorrow – if I’m not prepared by now I never will be.”

“Then what Ranma doing now that you no do?” The Amazon smirked teasingly.

It was perhaps his imagination, but it appeared that lately the purple haired girl always loved to make disparaging comparisons between her beloved and...well, anything else. “He’s off doing whatever it is that dark, Ninja Masters to be do in order to prime themselves for battle.” Again the unconcerned shrug. “I just treat the entire affair differently is all. The trials are a test you have to do – best face them with an open mind and simple determination. Ranma on the other hand...” He paused, an unusually worried frown marring his handsome features. “...Ranma’s devotion damn near borders on obsession.”

There was a poignant silence as both slowly dwelt on that. And then, the Amazon girl stated almost challengingly, “Shampoo going to see Ranma now.” With that, she stood up and purposefully marched towards the village training rooms.

Looking wistfully towards her voluptuously attractive form, Lano sighed contemplatively. “Go then to your one true love, Shampoo of the Joketsuzoku.”

**********

He never would have believed how impossibly hard it was to clear one’s mind of thoughts – just the act of ‘trying’ to empty the consciousness was a thought unto itself.

And so, after an inestimable amount of time, Ranma had pointedly given up, and instead tried for the opposite...

...Focus...

But on what? Well, there was certainly an easy enough choice – a pocket hole in his skills that had plagued his training for all these years – that variant of the Catfist which seemed only possible when the pigtailed fighter was in trance.

Even Cologne had claimed to see it on his very first day with the Joketsuzoku – a moment of his morning training when his bokkens had glinted with the shine of pure Chi – Chi that had allowed the wooden weapons to pass unhindered through rock as easily as it cut air.

Yes, it seemed that everyone, with the sole exception of the practitioner, had witnessed this feat. Up till now the ninja trainee had confronted the item with forced indifference – but now, now when the demands of the morrow would be so great, now when he would need to call on every ounce of skill and talent that could be extracted from years of practice – to have such an invaluable technique just beyond your grasp was infuriating to no end.

Abruptly discarding the errant thoughts, which only served to disrupt the balance and generate useless frustration, Ranma took a single, cleansing breath and settled into his new focus.

Within several very long minutes, unbeknownst to the wielder, his unsheathed blades began to glow.

**********

Ukyou wandered aimlessly, enjoying the refreshingly chilled evening air of the Bayankala Ranges. It was an experience that was easy to take for granted – and she was sure that she would come to miss the mountain environs once they returned to Japan.

Once we return to Japan.

That was a thought that the okonomiyaki chef had avoided dwelling upon – Japan, Kyoto, her father, the Saotome’s, Ranma – the whole mess that she would inevitably have to deal with. Ambiently, she wondered how the old patriarch of the Kuonji Clan was faring, and perhaps if he ever thought of his questing ‘son’ in China.

Nah, probably not.

Kuonji Harakuna had been more than willing to send his only child out to risk death in order to exact retribution in blood – Saotome blood – for crimes that impinged upon Clan honour.

But what about herself? Had it been honour – both her own and her family’s that had been the sole driving force behind the hunt? Here, far from her family, and close to her friend, once enemy, now friend again, she could admit that it had been more than that. In some indescribably profound way, Ukyou the girl had been hurt by her abandonment – hurt enough to become Kuonji Ukyou the boy.

But that was all in the past – though on very rare occasions of cold, sleepless nights, the hurt still ached like a pall in her heart - her only fear now was that the same honour, Kuonji honour, might once again break apart long lost companions.

And speaking of which...“Heya, Ranchan.”

The pigtailed trainee was just visible through the half-open doorway of one of the smaller public training halls to be found dotting the village. Sitting still as he was, cross-legged in the complete darkness, she would have very nearly missed him, had it not been for the gleam of moonlight reflected off the cold metal that lay upon his lap.

Acutely aware of how good his hearing was, the brown-haired girl was surprised when he showed no awareness of her presence. Inquisitively, she tried again. “Ranchan?”

When after several seconds there was still no reaction, she tentatively approached the motionless figure. Even when asleep, the ninja fighter was perennially easy to disturb – a result he had often claimed was due to being sneaked on as part of training back in Japan.

And yet...

Undaunted, Ukyou gently lay a hand on his shoulder.

**********

The light pressure on his right shoulder all but disrupted his concentration. Shocked to his core by the alarmingly close violation of airspace, the pigtailed ninja whirled about, his unsheathed katana seeming to melt into his hand as he moved to swiftly dispatch the invader. Guided by reflexes honed by continuous years of practice and revision, his hands and body unthinkingly moved their intricate pattern – sword and bared fingers manipulating the target before them into a readying killing position.

Ukyou gasped, as age old senses warned vainly of impending danger – the flash of a razor sword edge blinding her eyes to the precise hand movements that snapped her head back, exposing her open throat to the blade’s touch. Drifting backwards, feeling an almost surreal sensation of hovering in mid air, she cringed at the icy cold kiss of the metal as it seemed to drag across her skin for the longest of ages. Recognising in that moment, that dreadful hopeless knowledge that her life was soon to end, she offered but one final, mindless whimper, “Please...”

And cutting sharper than the katana in his grasp ever could, Ranma felt the voice, like a pealing clarion in his groggy mind, a voice in counterpart from within screaming for him to stop...stop it all...stop...

Forcing conscious awareness back to golden eyes that saw but did not see, the ninja became vividly sensate to the image before him – a slender girl with long chestnut hair, staring fixated at him with wide, soulfully terrified brown eyes, pleading wordlessly for mercy.

And then he saw the sword, marking a tiny, near invisible sliver of blood that trickled slowly down the edge of the katana.

It mattered not that the wound was barely a nick, that she was alive and still breathing from an intact throat – all he could see was that thick, richly crimson flow marring the baleful perfection of the blade and staining the collar of her shirt.

“Oh God...” The weapon fell gracelessly from weakened fingers, even as the hand around her neck loosened in sequence. “Oh God I’m sorry...so sorry...”

Staring aghast, his features contorted with the horrified realisation of what had come to pass, Ranma took a shaky step backwards, then another, and yet more – all in retreat from the appalling impression of what might have been but an instant later.

“I’m sorry...”

Frightened, t