Ryoga felt somewhat fortunate; it had been almost an hour and he was still in Nerima. This was very good, because it meant that home was a definite possibility. Sure, he had no guarantee that anyone else in the Hibiki family would be present at his house, but at least he could restock his supplies and get rid of some of the junk cluttering his backpack. He looked around again, hoping to see his house—as bad as his sense of direction was, he was usually able to get to his house once it was within eyesight.
Ryoga didn’t see his house, but he found something else instead. Or rather… someone.
As soon as he recognized his target, Ryoga smirked. “Heh. I guess this really is my lucky day.”
Ranma and Chibi-Usa were some distance from the Tendos’ residence when the pink-haired girl asked, “So, where are we going first?”
“Well, I figure I oughta get that errand for Setsuna outta the way first, an’ then I’ll probably head over ta my Mom’s place—”
“Prepare to die, Saotome!”
Chibi-Usa was so surprised that she nearly tripped over her own two feet from the distraction—which said quite a bit about the suddenness of Ryoga’s appearance, as Chibi-Usa had gotten over the “clumsy” stage of adolescence much faster than her mother had. Ranma, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed at all. “Ya’d better take cover—Ryoga here has an annoyin’ tendency ta cause collateral damage.” Once the pink-haired teenager headed was in a relatively safe place, Ranma then turned to the irate-looking martial artist who had just asserted his person into his busy schedule. “Hey, Ryoga. Been a while since ya showed up. How’re ya doin’?”
“I’m going to destroy you, Saotome!”
“Well, that don’t exactly answer my question, but beggars can’t be choosers.” Figuring that diverting his opponent’s attention before the inevitable fight began would be advantageous, Ranma decided to correct one of Ryoga’s assumptions. “By the way, my name ain’t Saotome anymore. It’s Meioh.”
That was certainly news to Ryoga, whose confusion was great enough that he dropped his stance. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“I got married.”
“When was this?!”
“About a week before our last fight.”
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Cuz I was tryin’ ta hide it from my Pops at the time.”
Ryoga spent several seconds processing this information before he realized he was wasting valuable ass-kicking time. “I don’t care! I’m going to make you pay for the humiliation you put me through, no matter what your name is!”
Ranma just slapped his forehead. “Great. What’d I do to ya this time?”
“You humiliated me in front of my family!”
“Huh?”
“At our last fight!”
Ranma finally gave some signs of recognition. “Oh… I gotcha. Look, it ain’t as though I planned ta be kickin’ yer ass when both yer folks managed ta stumble on ya at the exact same time. Besides, I offered ta let that fight end in a draw so that ya wouldn’t have ta lose face, but ya wouldn’t accept.”
“Because I could have beaten you!”
“Uh, no, ya couldn’t have beaten me, ’cuz you’ve never been able ta beat me, ’cuz unlike you, I’m actually able ta get long-term formal trainin’ in the Art.”
Not surprisingly, this statement didn’t placate Ryoga’s temper. “I don’t believe you! You’d actually make fun of my curse?!”
“I ain’t makin’ fun of ya… I’m just sayin’ that yer curse puts ya at a disadvantage that makes it real hard for ya ta learn anything that ya could actually use in a fight against me.”
“Still, if I’d executed that Shi Shi Hokodan—”
“Yeah, right. Ryoga, ya almost never get the chance ta see both yer parents at the same time. It wouldn’t matter how bad I was beatin’ you, ’cuz there was no way you’d get depressed enough ta pull one off. And besides, I came up with a counter ta that in less than a week.”
“Shut up! This time’s different. This time I know I’m going to win. You’re going down, Ranma!” With this, Ryoga ended his diatribe and started charging towards his rival.
Ranma had to fight hard to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Great. He’s gone and learned another technique that he thinks will single-handedly allow him ta win using the same tactics he’s used for the last six years. It wasn’t that Ranma thought his rival was a bad martial artist—but Ryoga’s lack of extensive formal training resulted in a decided lack of any detailed fighting strategy.
But any detailed analysis of Ryoga Hibiki’s style would have to wait until later—right now, there was a fight to worry about.
Ranma waited until his fanged rival was nearly upon him before ducking below his swing and giving Ryoga a sucker punch to the gut in one of the Saotome School’s standard moves. This would give him a chance to figure out his strategy, as well as distract his opponent, who would then have half of his mind on Ranma’s “dirty tactics” instead of his own. At least, that was the way it was supposed to work—but when the punch connected, Ryoga’s shirt seemed to stiffen in response, and Ranma’s fist stopped abruptly at the fabric, which resulted in all of the punch’s momentum being transferred to his forearm. Ranma’s mood soured rather quickly.
Ryoga smirked as he saw his opponent jump away from the confrontation, wincing in pain and grabbing his hand. Obviously, his technique had worked. “How do you like that, Sao—er, Meioh?”
“I can take it or leave it,” Ranma managed to force out as he checked to see if any bones were broken (none were—his hand still hurt like hell, though). “Lemme guess. Ya managed ta learn a defensive version of that Iron Cloth technique of yers that turns all yer clothing inta armor.” And it was damned effective armor at that—what was supposed to be an easy blow to the abdomen instead felt like punching a titanium-reinforced steel wall, multiplied about three or four times. Ranma was actually pleasantly surprised by this—most of the techniques that Ryoga had tried in the past were offensive in nature, which meant that Ranma was almost always able to exploit the defensive holes in Ryoga’s slower, power-based style. But this technique would not only plug many those holes, which would, in turn, make the lost boy’s style much more effective. Finding a way to neutralize this had the potential to be one of the most difficult physical and mental challenges that Ranma had yet faced.
Ranma had to smile. He loved challenges—they were what allowed him to improve his Art, after all.
Unfortunately, Ryoga saw his opponent’s smile, and he completely misinterpreted it. “You think this is some kind of joke?! I’ll teach you to take me seriously!” The lost boy redoubled his efforts and launched into a series of punches and kicks intended for Ranma’s various internal organs.
Luckily for Ranma, this new technique had absolutely no effect on Ryoga’s speed, which was no match for his quickness and agility. Thus, it was fairly simple for Ranma to dodge most of these attacks, or at least deflect them, while another part of his mind began a deeper analysis of the situation.
Okay, so Ryoga’s usin’ ki ta turn his clothes inta armor, an’ if I ain’t careful, I’m gonna break my fist. Pretty much the only things that ain’t covered right now are his fists an’ his face, and that’ll change real quick once I start goin’ after them thanks ta his endless bandanna supply. Alright—what would Pops do? The answer to that was simple. When conventional approaches (like melée attacks) failed, more unusual ideas were called for. At the moment, however, Ranma could only think of one thing that might end the fight quickly.
“Alright,” he said with as much bravado was he could muster. “Looks like I’ll have ta bring out the big guns early. Moko Takabi… sha?” Instead of sending a ball of ki hurtling towards his opponent, Ranma’s signature move merely resulted in an irregularly shaped blob that traveled about half a meter before falling to the ground with a comically anticlimactic “splat.” The Moko Takabisha was powered by confidence, after all, and Ranma’s confidence that he could actually win this fight had been badly shaken.
Ranma looked up to see Ryoga’s fanged grin beaming wider than ever as the lost boy gleefully cracked his knuckles. “Um… I don’t suppose ya’d be interested in callin’ this one a draw, would you?”
Ryoga responded by cracking the knuckles on his other hand.
“Well, so much for diplomacy.”
The two returned to the pattern of Ryoga attacking and Ranma countering and dodging, but eventually, the former did manage to get a solid punch in, sending the latter flying through the air until he skidded to a stop less than a meter away from a large aquarium in the window of a pet store. Great. Another thing I gotta worry about. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up getting splashed by the water…. Hold on a second… Ranma allowed another grin to escape; if he couldn’t exploit a weakness in Ryoga’s style, then he’d exploit one in Ryoga’s personality—and one that he was in a unique position to take advantage of, at that.
“What are you smiling about?”
“This.” Ranma grabbed his opponent in a bear hug and used his legs to launch both combatants towards the fountain, using the Saotome School’s aerial combat skills to make sure they hit their mark, which the pair did with a large splash (and some chipped concrete from where Ryoga’s ki-enhanced headband had impacted on the fountain’s centerpiece).
Before Ranma’s grapple, Ryoga had been confused, as Ranma was no match for him in that department under normal conditions. Now he was confused and wet. “What was the point of that, Saotome?”
“I told ya, my name’s Meioh now.”
As soon as he heard the soprano voice, Ryoga tilted his head down to where a wet, red-headed girl was clutching him tightly. She looked like she was wearing Ranma’s clothes—in fact, it seemed that her shirt was a few sizes too big, because at this angle Ryoga got an eyeful of her ample clea….
Ranma hopped out of the fountain, carrying her unconscious adversary with her. “Not exactly the way I’d usually wanna end a fight, but I’ll take what I can get.” Ranma much preferred winning by knocking out her opponent to winning because she was a knockout, after all. But then again the next best strategy she’d come up with to win against Ryoga’s Iron Cloth Armor technique (she had no clue if that was its actual name, but it worked for her purposes) was to tire out her opponent—and considering the high level of activity required to properly use the Saotome School of Anything Goes, the chances of something like that working were way too slim for her comfort.
“Yeesh,” Chibi-Usa exhaled as she examined Ryoga. “I was watching you the whole time, and I never even saw the punch you used to break his nose.”
“Huh? Whaddya mean? I never even got close ta hittin’ his face.” It wasn’t from a lack of trying—Ryoga’s face was pretty much the only part of him that hadn’t had some kind of cloth on it, but Ranma hadn’t been able to connect with any of her punches or kicks.
“Well, if you didn’t do that, why is his face all bloody.”
“It ain’t from the fight; it’s ’cuz of these,” Ranma replied, motioning to her bust. “This kinda thing happens whenever Ryoga’s around a pretty girl. He’s gotta be one of the most shy guys I know.
“Why?”
“Eh, I couldn’t say, but I think he doesn’t think any girl would want him once they found out about his curse. Ya see, he’s got a real bad sense of direction—in fact, all the Hibikis do, includin’ folks who marry inta it.”
“Huh. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you thought of him as a friend rather than a rival.”
“Actually, he’s a little of both.”
Chibi-Usa seemed quite intrigued by this. “Can you tell me more about him? How you two met, I mean?”
“Sure thing. Just lemme get his backpack—he keeps all his stuff in there, an’ I wouldn’t wan him ta lose that. He’ll be fine when he wakes up. Probably really pissed off at me, but that’s normal for Ryoga.”
As Chibi-Usa had expected, the story of Ranma’s friendship/rivalry with Ryoga had turned out to be quite interesting indeed, what with the chaotic antics of they school they both attended when they were twelve, Ranma’s unintentional shirking of a duel before he left that section of Nerima for the next leg of his training trip, and the dogged persistence with which Ryoga had been pursuing him for the last six years. There was still one thing that confused her, however.
“All that… over bread?”
“Yup.”
“Must have been really good bread.”
“Eh, not really. It was pretty bland mosta the time, an’ it always had a really inconsistent texture.”
This confused the martial artist’s companion. “But… if it wasn’t that good, why were there fights over it?”
“Cuz that’s the only thing that made it possible ta stomach the meat.”
“Huh?”
“Look, the lunch ladies basically only know how ta make one meat dish—meatloaf. And they made it almost every day. Don’t get me wrong, they tried ta make it seem like they had some variety, but it don’t matter if ya call it Salisbury steak, Swiss steak, pepper steak, or ‘rib’ steak—meatloaf is still meatloaf. And after a week of meatloaf, nobody wanted ta touch the stuff. That’s why the bread was important—it gave ya a break between the bites of meatloaf.”
“But why even eat the meatloaf at all?”
“You kiddin’? School rules. If we didn’t eat our meat, we couldn’t have any pudding.”
“What?!”
“Hey, it was damn good pudding. The market value on the schoolyard was almost 3 pages worth of a school report from one of the class nerds for a single serving of tapioca pudding. And we’re talking ‘A+’ papers here, not yer run-of-the-mill ‘B–’ crud.”
“Market value?” Chibi-Usa was nearly incredulous at this bit of information.
Ranma didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, a guy in my class managed ta make a small fortune trading in pudding futures.”
“Wait, hold up… why would your school have a rule that students had to eat their meat before they had dessert?”
“I dunno… but we usually blamed psychological trauma.”
“Huh?”
“Well, rumor had it that when the principal went home at night his fat and psychopathic wife would beat him to within inches of his life, so a lotta students figured that post-traumatic stress disorder or somethin’ like that led ta the ‘meat before pudding’ rule.”
“Oh.” Chibi-Usa didn’t think that this explanation was particularly adequate, but it wasn’t like she could think of anything better, so she let the subject drop.
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(Posted Sun, 18 Jun 2006 02:45)
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