Ranma stressed the Great Will – and reconsidered. His first impulse, of turning his ‘cute fiancee’ into the boy his younger self had thought she was all those years ago, just…
Well, it felt wrong, somehow. He couldn’t explain why, and he suspected this wasn’t a question he could answer merely by asking the Great Will. But, the important thing was he couldn’t just change her gender like that.
A little reflection – only a little, since he didn’t have time with the Great Will to waste…
PING [2:38:00]
…brought the revelation that Ukyo, of all the girls (at least the ones who stuck around), had had her life screwed up by his Pops. Akane (and her sisters) had her father to deal with, Shampoo had three thousand years of Amazon history stuffed down her, and Kodachi had her entire family to live down to; but none of them had to deal with the effects of Saotome Genma on their upbringing until – well, until Ranma and his father passed their respective homes. Ukyo had ten years of vengeance quest because Pops ran off with the family yattai.
How did that happen, again? He leaned on the Great Will.
“Hmmm. A marriage between your daughter and my son, eh?” The less portly, but already bald, younger Genma thought briefly. “I’m sorry to say Ranma’s already been promised.”“I see,” replied the bearded man on the other crate. “How unfortunate. I was going to offer my yattai as the dowry.”
Behind his glasses, Genma’s eyes gleamed avariciously. “But aren’t promises meant to be broken?”
It was no surprise to learn that Ukyo’s father was, if anything, even more of a fool than Ranma’s, and obviously much more trusting. Having offered the material bait, why was he ever surprised that it got taken?
What he needed to do was something like…
“Hmmm. A marriage between your daughter and my son, eh?” The less portly, but already bald, younger Genma thought briefly. “I’m sorry to say Ranma’s already been promised.”“I see,” replied the bearded man on the other crate. “How unfortunate. Ah, well. There is plenty of time to worry about a match for Ukyo.”
Genma nodded sagely.
A wave of sensation passed over Ranma. He closed his eyes as his legs sagged, and briefly slipped into visibility lying on the paving in front of some big pagoda. His sight blurred a bit, the left side turning fuzzy. A light exercise of the Great Will strengthened him and fixed his vision, and he faded out again in just a couple of seconds.
Of course, at [FASTER FORWARDS], that left the ill-looking double-sized smilodon recuperating on the plaza for over an hour. His last yawn went on live television news in twenty-four countries.
‘I wonder what that was all about?’ thought Ranma to himself. ‘Maybe it’s got something to do with not being near the person I’m changing? Or maybe Kuonji-san died since then… Haveta go check, I guess.’
Genma rummaged around the room for a few minutes, perusing his wife’s – presumably his wife’s – possessions.
He turned up his nose at the neatly racked swords and maces, particularly the matched pair of pink bonbori, and the clip of throwing knives. She wouldn’t need them any more; with him around to fight she could concentrate on the housework. Unfortunately, they weren’t particularly old, nor were they decorated particularly, so they weren’t worth much even though they were reasonably well made.
He was equally dismissive of some brass trinkets. He recognised them as the hair ornaments she had worn earlier. They were obviously worthless, but women were odd about decorating themselves; it was easier to just let them get away with it, on the whole. At least she wasn’t wasting money on expensive jewellery.
The girl rolled over, and he glanced back at the bed. She was still asleep, now hugging the pillow. Another child – hopefully another boy. If it wasn’t, he could always try again. He should probably go back to Japan and try again with Nodoka, too, although there was always the risk of another Ranma.
The portly martial artist sighed at the thought of the years of work – years of wasted work – on his eldest son. Ranma had seemed so promising as a toddler, but he just hadn’t developed that promise on the training trip. Oh, he had been all right the first few months, up until they met that travelling okonomiyaki cook – what was his name, Kino? Konju? Not that it mattered – but then he had lagged, wilted even, under the conditions on the road. He had obviously been trying, especially sparring over the food at meal times, but he was always weak and lethargic, and there were all those times the boy would just sit there, limply, instead of practicing.
Actually, thinking about it, the rot started setting in after they left the okonomiyaki cook and his daughter. Up until then, Ranma had had the energy to learn and play-fight with the girl. Afterward he struggled just walking between campsites. Oh, the training he had needed, but always fell short of; perhaps his failure at the Neko-ken had been the most disappointing. Letting the cats scratch his eye like that had been stupid – Genma had been forced to teach him how to deal with the uneven sight, and the iffy depth perception, and the extra vigilance needed to stop people sneaking up on him on the left side, all when he should have been learning more fundamental techniques and skills.
Genma pulled on his gi and sloped out of the door. Dismissing the other rooms upstairs for the moment, he descended the stairs with a view to checking out the escape routes. Yes, on the whole, it was a good thing to have a second heir on the way. It would be better if he had two or three options to choose from, so at a suitable time he would return to Nodoka – need to finesse that meeting somewhat, but he could manage his wife – and get a fully Japanese second choice. On top of that, he needed to get Ranma to Tendo’s daughters; a grandchild would make good third choice.
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(Posted Sat, 28 Jun 2008 21:04)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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