Ranma woke with a smile. The futon was soft and comfortable, the blankets warm, the room windproof and dry, and she had friends just down the hallway; utter luxury. The light scent of cooking breakfast and the knowledge that an actual sundress in her size resided in the back of her friend’s wardrobe made it even better.
Best of all, the arrhythmic groans and rattles indicated that her father was deeply asleep. The smile morphed into an evil grin, and she rolled quickly out of her bed. Blankets and futon were efficiently and silently rolled and stored, the door propped open, the curtains and window likewise. Preparations made, she took a deep breath and began one of the most difficult techniques of the Saotome School.
“WAKEY WAKEY POPS!”
Genma concealed his grumbles as he followed his son towards the school. He had a lot to grumble about, but it would spoil his status as a Master of the Art to be seen doing so.
He eased his shoulder discretely, trying to soften the ache from Ranma’s perfect execution of the Saotome Sunrise Surprise. He rued the day he had ever taught the boy that technique. It brought back memories of shudder The Master, which were only enhanced when they were living indoors. At least when they were sleeping rough, the boy lacked the strength to give him any real height – not that the boy being weak was a good thing – but when they had an actual roof over their head they almost always slept upstairs. Perhaps Tendo could be persuaded to let them have the other big room downstairs? Worth thinking about.
Breakfast had been horrible. The boy had dropped him in the pond – twice! – and Tendo’s eldest had insisted that there was no hot water. He had spent ages trying all the taps in the house, even trying the furo twice, but sure enough they all gave icy cold water, and the kettles she left on the stove were empty. She had even served some western drink called iced tea instead of spending the time to make a proper beverage for the family. In the mean time, she had served the others, and when he went to sit down she had claimed his fur was dripping on the tatami and had him eat in the garden – and gave him a plate of bamboo!
It wasn’t even fresh bamboo! Pandas eat the freshest of young shoots, not the canes sold at the garden centre!
Finally there was this stupid challenge match of the boy’s. Oh, he accepted that he had fumbled his words that time with the Hibiki boy, but surely waiting for the boy for three days was enough punishment? He didn’t need to oversee every fight his son had.
At least the boy was getting on well enough with his fiancée. The pair walked ahead of him and Tendo, bumping shoulders occasionally as they talked softly. It looked girly, but if that was what it took to seduce Tendo’s daughter, well, the primary tenet of the Musabetsu Kakuto was adaptation. From the way he had carried on when they arrived, he hadn’t thought the boy would be moving things along this fast, but it was all to the good so there was no need to stir things up.
Although he would have something to say about the giggling. Boys Do Not giggle.
Akane wobbled.
She was trying to match Ranma’s pace; the shorter girl haqd suggested some Tai Chi while they waited, and had cheerfully said, “we’ll go slow,” when Akane admitted to having only limited experience of that art.
Disturbingly cheerfully, in retrospect. Ranma moved through the forms with almost micrometer-perfect precision and preternatural smoothness, as did her father, but with an unnerving lack of speed. The basic twenty-four forms would normally take less than five minues to complete – they had, so far, taken ten minutes to get halfway through and showed no sign of accelerating.
Akane comforted herself with the knowledge that her father was no more comfortable with this pace than she was, and sufficiently less flexible that his gi pants bore fresh grass stains at the knee. She had been so intent on her own balance that she hadn’t had the energy to spare for so much as a flicker of the lips as he toppled in the middle of Zuo Xiashi Duli.
“Surely ones of such spirits as thee might perform the Chinese Art at a more expeditious pace?”
Akane found she did have the energy to narrow her eyes at the unwelcome interruption. Ranma didn’t seem to react at all, lost in the serenity of her exercise.
“That is not the point of the exercise,” said Soun, concealing his relief at an acceptable excuse to drop out.
“Indeed? But for what purpose can one so retard the tuition of an ancient art? Particularly when so doing consumes time for the practice of our native arts?”
“Slow practice teaches precision and, most importantly, balance,” replied Soun, assuming the teaching tone he had used to students. “Tai Chi is exceptionally suitable for the exercise, which most Kempo is not, and our school emphasises adaptation and incorporation of outside influences.”
“Curious,” remarked the interloper thoughtfully. “To so actively seek out contamination of the art you teach; surely that is merely reaching for weakness?” He threw aside the point of philosophy like a duck shedding water. “No matter; it is not for even the Blue Thunder to seek to question the tenets of another school, howsoever unsound. How long will their practice continue?”
“At their present pace, I would anticipate they will not complete this set for at least five minutes,” said Soun, with restraint.
“Indeed? I can wait that long,” said the boy. “The more so, for that any opportunity to observe a beautiful maiden is to be sought and treasured.”
“Hmm,” replied Soun noncommittally.
It was considerably more than five minutes later when Ranma’s hands floated through Shoushi and she brought her feet together, signifying the end of the exercise. As demanded by the art, she paused for a long moment, letting the serenity of the practice permeate her body, before resuming normal breathing to say, “I do not see your bokken, Kuno-san.”
The spectators jerked back to attentiveness. Soun noticed that not only was Ranma still facing the cardinal point she had completed the forms in, turned half away from them, but her eyes were closed.
“I have no need of a bokken for my intentions this morn,” intoned the boy beside him.
Ranma opened her eyes fully, and turned her head to face her challenger. Her father also turned, drawing himself up and straightening his gi. “Confident much?” said the redhead.
“Indeed. Confident enough to give you…” began the boy, stepping away from Soun, “…this!”
Ranma reacted to the flashing movement, slipping aside and snapping out a hand to block the thrown projectile.
“I love you,” declared the boy, turning to walk away, his back straight.
“Huh?” said Ranma, looking at the bouquet in her hand.
“Gurk,” said Akane, looking at the bouquet in her friend’s hand.
“Hu?” said Soun, staring at the bouquet in Ranma’s hand.
“Hey! What kind of pervert are you?” demanded Genma, glaring at the departing figure.
The boy’s shoulders stiffened, and he turned slowly. “I, Kuno Tatewaki, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High School, am no pervert, but a Man among Men!”
Genma stiffened. “Then how do you explain throwing bunches of roses around?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his son throwing the flowers on the wet grass and gingerly stamping on them.
“I gave a token of my affections to one deserving of them, poltroon,” said Kuno in tones suggesting that if Genma couldn’t see that without assistance there was, in fact, no help for him. “Who art thou to gainsay me that right?”
“I am Saotome Genma, Master of the Musabetsu…”
“Saotome!” interrupted Kuno urgently. “Are you related, by chance, to the Saotome Ranma who seeks to steal the fair Tendo Akane away from her rightful beloved, my glorious self?”
“He is my son,” growled Genma. “And I agreed the joining of our families with her father long before you were born, boy. It is a matter of family honour.”
“I see,” hissed the boy, straightening. “You are the mastermind behind this ungodly plan to separate my beloved Akane from me, and now you seek to deny my courtship of the flame-haired maiden besides! Know this: your foul plans are as naught, for I shall free the maidens from your cursed grasp with my might and power!”
Genma frowned, trying to understand the boy’s ravings. “Are you suggesting my son is a girl?”
“Bah, Saotome Ranma is a coward and a fool, hiding from my just vengeance, a disgrace to his teachers,” declaimed Kuno. “If that makes him a ‘girl’, as you put it, then indeed: he is a girl. But you, I see before me; and you shall forthwith fall before my strength!”
“Are you suggesting that you wish to fight my friend Genma over the engagement between my daughter and his son?” asked Soun carefully, hoping he had understood the lunatic.
“I accept your challenge,” rumbled Genma, not waiting for the answer.
“Fine, then! Prepare to meet thy doom!”
“Uh, Kuno, won’t you need your sword?” asked Ranma, recovering from the bouquet.
Kuno drew himself up against the skyline, and said,
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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