Chapter Text
“I'm… the pigtailed girl?”
The voice of, apparently, Tatewaki Kuno came out weak and completely free of its usual pompous self-assurance as he swayed on the spot.
It was, of course, worth noting that said voice sounded quite different than usual for reasons completely unrelated to his current state of shock.
Namely, the fact that it was coming out of the mouth of Ranma Saotome’s female form.
And so, as Tatewaki did his best impression of an inverted pendulum made of gelatin, the eyes of Ranma Saotome slowly drooped until shut, followed swiftly by the body of Ranma Saotome falling unceremoniously to the ground like a bag of hammers.
-b-
Tatewaki's eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, hands slapping at various parts of himself to work out what sort of shape he was in.
Well, as far as the broad strokes went — hands: yes. And if he had hands, then logic dictated that they had to be attached to something, and ergo… arms: also yes. As he angled his head down he ran through the body parts he could see.
Everything seemed to be in order: his feet (and, by that measure, the ground) were a sufficient distance away from his vantage point that he was fairly confident that he had returned to his former size. Legs clad in his usual navy blue hakama were attached to his torso, his usual white uwagi loosely covering his chest. A moment’s panicked slapping confirmed that yes, his chest was as flat and muscular as it had always been. Patting his face revealed that his features were once again of the “chiseled and manly” variety.
Breathing a sigh of relief that he had at least returned to his original shape, Tatewaki finally took a look around to see if he had returned to his own room as well.
Alas, the sight that met his eyes was not the wall opposite his bed festooned with life-sized posters of Akane Tendo and the pigtailed girl. It was instead a vista that he had only seen in the split second before he had woken up in the pigtailed girl’s body. Clearly whatever dream or spell or who-knows-what still had him in its embrace.
As he stood there, musing on what to do about this predicament, he jumped as he heard a shocked voice address him by name.
“U-upperclassman Kuno?! What are you doing here?”
Tatewaki spun around on the spot to see two young women staring at him. Or, more accurately, one young woman and one small child, possibly elementary school aged. They shared a strong resemblance, and while the elder of the two was tall and thin the younger girl was short, barely coming up to the other girl’s navel. The older girl (who was, in Tatewaki’s opinion, a vision of such incredible beauty that the Greek goddesses of yore may well have cursed her for the sin of being prettier than they) was dressed in a Furinkan girls’ uniform and had a very beautiful (and very familiar) head of red hair that was done up in a braid while the younger girl was busy wiping… something off of her hand and onto her overalls, her black hair kept out of her face by means of a pair of childish pigtails.
Tatewaki cleared his throat and smiled at the redhead. “Greetings, madam”, he said. “It is most delightful to meet someone so lovely in so strange a place, though I am afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage. You clearly know my name, but I am most unfortunately not privy to yours. Might I ask who you are, fair maiden?”
The girl stared at him for a spell, before finally saying, “My name… my name is Ranko. Ranko Saotome.”
“Saotome?” Tatewaki asked. “Surely not ‘Saotome’ as in…”
Ranko nodded. “Yes, upperclassman Kuno. That Saotome. And this”, she gestured at the child beside her, who waved to Tatewaki happily. “Is my…” She searched for a word, hemming and hawing before eventually settling on, “...cousin, Yoiko.”
“Hi!”, exclaimed Yoiko as she continued waving.
Tatewaki, who did not often find himself addressing children, found himself at a loss for how to respond outside of the most basic of social niceties. And so he curtly nodded his head at the girl and responded with a stiff “Salutations.”
He realized too late that this was evidently not the desired greeting as Yoiko puffed out her cheeks in a pout. “‘Salutations’?” she grumbled, turning towards her cousin. “‘Salutations’?!” Did you hear that, Ranko? After all that nice stuff he said to you?”
Ranko, for her part, began to rub her temple with a certain air of exhaustion while Tatewaki furiously waved his hands in what he hoped was a mollifying manner.
“Yoiko, really now…” Ranko groaned.
Tatewaki found himself taking an involuntary step back as the agitated half-pint advanced towards him and stomped her foot. “What's she got that I haven't got, huh?”
Tatewaki blinked, looking down at the girl who barely made it to his waist, and then to Ranko, who by this point had her face in her hands, red with embarrassment.
“Now, Yoiko, to be entirely fair to our, um… guest, you are quite young”, Ranko said, before adding the utterly baffling qualifier “... currently.”
“I don't have to be!” came the girl’s retort, which Tatewaki did not have the time to process the sheer oddness of before she spun on her heels and everything went straight to hell.
For as she was spinning, Tatewaki watched as her limbs lengthened, her hair unfurled itself from its tightly-braided pigtails as a wave of crimson replaced black, and her body, well… developed. By the time she had completed her revolution she was a young woman barely an inch shorter than her cousin, now clad in a floral sundress and straw hat. She tottered for a couple of seconds, and Tatewaki noticed that she was wearing a pair of heels in addition to the rest of the outfit change.
She caught her balance, and fished a pair of round glasses out of a pocket before striking a victory pose, her tongue stuck out playfully.
“Ta-daaaaah~!” she exclaimed, before giggling at Tatewaki’s expression. “So? What do you think? Is the ‘jilted fiancée’ more to your liking?”
Tatewaki boggled vacantly. He clicked his tongue, tapped his foot, licked his lips, did anything other than attempt to voice a coherent series of syllables. That was because Tatewaki Kuno held himself to a certain standard of eloquence, and if any words were to escape his lips right now, they would invariably be “What in the god damn fucking SHIT was that?!”
The look on his face was apparently enough to get the gist of his thoughts across, as Ranko gave a good-natured chuckle and patted his shoulder reassuringly.
“Yes, they are fond of switching like that”, she said. “You'll get used to it, don't worry.”
“Art thou not concerned”, Tatewaki said, once again finding his voice. “That we just witnessed someone change their shape before our very eyes? ‘Tis a magic the likes of which I've never seen!”
Yoiko (or, the young woman who had been Yoiko?) snorted. “Boy, he really made this one just as dumb as the real deal, huh?”
Ranko stifled a giggle as Tatewaki’s eyes narrowed. “I know not what you are talking about”, he said, graciously ignoring the “dumb” remark. “I can assure you, I am every bit the ‘real deal’, as you put it. For I…”
Grabbing at his hip out of habit, he was delighted to find his bokken in its usual place by his side, ready to be drawn. He did so, the familiar motion serving to soothe him somewhat and instill some small measure of his usual boundless confidence.
“...Am Tatewaki Kuno, age seventeen, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan high school!”
He turned to Ranko and nodded. “You referred to me as ‘upperclasaman Kuno’ earlier. And thou art wearing the girls’ uniform of Furinkan high school. I take it then that you attend as well?”
The tall girl scratched the back of her head awkwardly, while muttering something along the lines of “...on occasion, when he finds himself unable…” Aloud, she said, “Uh, yes, upperclassman Kuno. I do recognize you from school.”
And then, sliding somewhat back towards her earlier muttering, “You know… outside of Ranma's head.”
-b-
Ranma awoke, slowly, almost tentatively, which even in his groggy state struck him as highly uncharacteristic (or at least it would have, if “uncharacteristic” were a word that he used often enough for it to have worn a comfortable groove into his lexicon). He was not the type of person who, upon waking, felt the need to run through a mental checklist of the five “W”s. He knew precisely, in the first moment of consciousness, who he was: Ranma Saotome. As for what? He was a martial artist, nearly unparalleled in skill. When was it? Like as not, it was some ungodly hour before anyone should be up. Where? Sailing through the air, directly towards the koi pond. Why? His absolute bastard of a father had grabbed him by the ankle and chucked him out the window. Again.
On this occasion, however, Ranma found himself disoriented, his sense of self fuzzy and amorphous, like the ink of a marker bleeding past the lines on a page.
He groaned, the headache that he had taken this nap to wait out still searing across the back of his eyeballs, a white-hot iron applied directly to his retinas.
And why the hell was he thinking like this, anyway? If his fath- pops knew he had access to this many ten-dollar words, he'd have raided Ranma's vocabulary for booze money.
“Ranma?”, came a familiar voice, though in tones far more gentle than Ranma was used to hearing, especially when it was being used to say his name.
It was comforting. Grounding. Something to precipitate a solid core of self from the cloying miasma that fogged his brain. He was Ranma Saotome, and woe betide any who would…
“Ooof, the hell's goin' on?”, he muttered, squinting at the figure who was silhouetted against the ceiling lights. For a moment he managed a wan smile, though a fresh stab of pain contorted it into a grimace. “Hey, Akane”, he said. “What're you doin' in my room?”
She smiled back, a fragile-seeming smile that for some reason made Ranma's stomach do a somersault despite an inexplicable surge of panic that was welling up within him. Which was… odd. A persistent headache was annoying, potentially concerning if it went on for long enough. But he definitely shouldn't be panicking.
“You're actually in my room”, Akane said. More quietly, she added, “w-we all thought an actual bed would be a good idea…”
Ranma nearly missed the very potentially concerning second half of her sentence as his heart began to use his sternum as a trampoline and his cheeks began to burn. “A-a good idea?”, he asked weakly, before wiping some gathering sweat from his brow. “Uh, do you have the heat cranked or somethin’?”
“Um, n-no… I-I mean”, she stammered. “I could get you an ice pack if you need one!” She began to search frantically around her room as if one might materialize. When it became clear that a cold compress wouldn’t be magically appearing anytime soon, Akane wrung her hands for a moment and leaned down towards her fiancé. Ranma tensed up for a moment before it became clear that she was moving off to his side and running her fingers through his hair to inspect his scalp. “J-just, um, checking for bumps.”, she offered as explanation.
“Checking for bumps?”, Ranma asked. “What, you think my head hurts because I got hit on the head or somethin’?”
The question had been meant as a joke, a way to lighten the weirdly stressful atmosphere. Which made the way Akane suddenly sucked in a breath through her teeth and tensed up all the more unfortunate.
Ranma immediately sat up, ignoring yet another throb from behind his eyes as he grabbed Akane’s wrist, interrupting her effort to quickly pull her hand away from his head. “Akane, what happened?”, he asked, the panic rising into his throat causing his voice to waver slightly. “What did she DO?!”
“Ranma! It’s okay! Nothing happened, you didn’t—”
She paused, blinking as part of what Ranma said got caught in the gears of her brain like a piece of grit.
“...wait, she?”, she asked, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean, she?”
Ranma broke eye contact, looking sheepish. “Uh, it’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it.”
“Ranma…”, Akane growled.
Some indignation-fueled color managed to return to Ranma’s cheeks. “Is this really the time? It’s just… the last time, when I hit my head, and…”
“Oh!”, Akane said, calming down. “That’s what you meant by ‘she’.”
“I—”, Ranma began, before biting his lip. “Y-yeah, that’s right.”
“Well, as tempting as it is, I'm not sure we can fix this problem with a bump on the head.”
“Gee”, Ranma intoned flatly. “Thanks. So, uh, what's goin' on, anyhow?”
Akane hesitated again, before scrunching up her eyes, taking a deep breath, and spilling out, “So Kuno’s weird little ninja showed up after you went upstairs to nap and he said that Kuno got some kind of wishing sword and apparently he used all of them and is nowhere to be seen so he figures it's something magical and, well…” She gestured broadly at Ranma's currently red hair and generous chest. “...Yeah. And after he finished explaining what happened your father went up to get you and you were, um…”
She paused, both to catch her breath and because she saw that Ranma was leaning away from her, his eyes as wide as saucers.
“...you were acting like Kuno.”
Ranma blanched, color slowly draining from his face as he continued to stare at her. “I… I…”
Akane gave him a solemn nod. “Nabiki asked ‘you’ if you were Kuno. You said yes, she showed you your reflection, and you passed out. That was about ten minutes ago, before you woke up just now.”
Ranma's eyes kept staring, but the panic and fear behind them seemed to drain away, with seemingly nothing coming in to fill the void.
Akane felt the arm that had been grabbing her hand go slack. Giving an experimental tug, she found that Ranma's fingers, while still wrapped around hers, were no longer really holding her there.
“Ranma…?”
She waved a hand in front of his face. If he noticed, he didn't show it.
“Ranma, I swear, i-if this is some kind of joke…”
Stopping herself, she took a deep breath. Calm down, Akane. Ranma's going through a lot right now. He's probably just… processing all this.
“I-I’ll just be downstairs, okay?”, she asked, with forced cheeriness. “You just… come down when you're ready.”
When Ranma continued to fail to respond, Akane sighed and got up, making her way to the door. She turned around to look at her fiancé one last time before leaving. He was still busy using his eyes to bore a hole through her wall.
She sighed. Well, she figured. At least he’s not screaming his head off.
-b-
Tatewaki clutched his head, reeling from both the revelation that he was somehow inside his hated rival’s own head and the fact that said head was currently within the walls of the fair Akane Tendo’s bedroom.
Which meant that, by extension, so was Tatewaki’s head. And the rest of him, for that matter. Though, there was one matter he was still confused about…
And so it was that the two young women watched him, buffeted by so many overwhelming thoughts and sensations, groan, “...shrunken?”
“Told you this would break him, Ranko”, the shorter of the two said.
“You did no such thing, Kaori”, retorted her cousin.
The bespectacled girl shrugged. “Eh, I thought it at you.”
Ranko rolled her eyes, shifting her attention back to the disoriented new arrival.
“Um, upperclassman Kuno?”, she asked, stepping forward tentatively. “I believe you may have misunderstood me when I said we were ‘inside Ranma’s head’.”
Tatewaki paused mid-reel, his back arched and his head thrown back dramatically. In an instant, his gaze snapped towards Ranko, who barely had time to register that she'd gotten his attention before he was suddenly right in front of her, gripping her shoulders.
“You mean to say”, he said with a low intensity which, combined with the unbreaking eye contact, gave off the impression of someone with distressingly few tethers keeping them connected to the world of the sane. “That we all have not been shrunken down to the size of ants and are not currently inhabiting whatever void Saotome has instead of gray matter?” Losing some intensity, he took in his surroundings again. “...Though I must admit, this is far less fleshy than one would imagine the inside of a cranium to be. And quite scenic, as voids go. In fact, I am reminded of some woodcuts I’ve seen of mountain valleys in the Qinghai—”
“Upperclassman Kuno, you're rambling”, Ranko said, cutting Tatewaki off. “And no, we aren’t.”
“Because that’d be insane”, Kaori interjected. “Though, the reality of the situation isn't that much less crazy, come to think of it…”
“Anyway”, Ranko continued, shooting Kaori a glare. “When I say that we are inside Ranma's head, I suppose that what I meant was that we are in his mind.”
“Great, that really narrows it down.” Kaori snarked. “Clears everything right up.”
“Kaori, I am trying to ease him into the full reality of the situation!”, Ranko shot back, her voice raising to a shout. “He is undoubtedly dealing with a lot right now, so if you would just—”
“I think we're past easing him in! He needs to be told what’s going on!”, Kaori shouted, stomping her foot. Though as Tatewaki's eyes shifted back to her in this most recent volley it seemed to him that she was shrinking back down into her prior height as her hair darkened from red back to black. Soon she was once again a child, with a new pair of overalls visible beneath a dress that was now sliding off her tiny shoulders as she continued her outburst.
“You think you’re so much smarter just because you’ve been here longer, but you can be so stupid sometimes! Just tell him what’s going on without dancing around it you big, stupid… stupid!”
Yoiko punctuated the end of her rant with another foot stomp and spent a couple of seconds afterward taking deep, shaky breaths. For a moment Tatewaki could swear he saw tears pooling in the corner of her eyes before she stormed away angrily.
The two teenagers watched her go, waiting until she eventually sat down at the edge of one of the many pools that dominated the landscape, chucking rocks into it with force born of that special impotent rage that children are the undisputed champions of.
“You'll have to forgive her, upperclassman Kuno”, Ranko said with a sigh after she had gone. “She’s likely a bit upset that Ranma developed an alter based on someone he knew and it wasn't Ryoga. She — well, they, really, all of them — have a bit of a fixation on him.”
Tatewaki’s brow furrowed. “Ryoga?” Something niggled at the back of his mind. The name was familiar to him, though he certainly didn't know why. “Who is this ‘Ryoga?’ And why do I feel as though I know him?”
Ranko smiled gently at him. “That's the memories coming through.” She giggled at Tatewaki's vacant reaction. “Go ahead, try thinking about him. Focus on the name.”
He did so, swirling the syllables around his head like he was panning for gold. And, much to his surprise (and somewhat to his horror), little glints of recognition began to glimmer and shine as the brackish water sloughed away. A young boy wearing a school uniform, cursing and shouting about bread. The same boy, older now, lifting his shirt to reveal a truly ridiculous tattoo before sending his hand through a wooden support beam of the Tendo home with a casual gesture. This boy, this Ryoga, tossing a trick belt into the air, where it spun in a great arc until it chopped cleanly through Akane Tendo’s hair…
Tatewaki gasped. He had heard that Akane Tendo’s sudden haircut had been the result of some scuffle that Saotome had been involved in, but he had not been present for the event. But in his mind’s eye, he was not only there, but based on where he seemed to be standing in all those memories, coupled with what that unfamiliar-yet-familiar boy had been shouting…
“...Those were Saotome’s memories, weren’t they?”, he said slowly, turning back to face Ranko. “Why do I have Saotome's memories?”
His companion was beaming. “Ta-daaaah~!”, she trilled, shaking her hands as if she were jumping out to announce a surprise party for him. “It's one of the small joys we have in this system, the memory sharing. I must say you took to it much faster than I did, though I suppose in my case I was not precisely in a position to be concentrating very much after retreating to headspace for the first time. You see, when I formed, I —”
“ENOUGH!”, Tatewaki erupted, causing Ranko to jump up in shock, and even pausing the steady rhythm of splashing rocks from where Yoiko was sulking.
“Madam”, he said in a more measured voice. “I do not wish to intimate that thou art not a most helpful and polite young woman, but your young companion speaks the truth. Thou art treating me as though I were a porcelain doll, wrapping your speech in layers of padding to avoid breaking me by being too blunt. And if there is one thing that I, Tatewaki Kuno, can not abide, it is one who refuses to speak plainly.” He paused, crossing his arms and pretending he did not see Ranko roll her eyes. “So, speak! Tell me precisely what is going on! What on Earth do you mean by ‘system’? And what is this talk of heads and minds? Why do I have memories that aren't mine?”
“U-um, well”, Ranko began nervously. “Y-you see, um, Upperclassman Kuno, a system is when a brain, well, when it um… when the host e-experiences some kind of trauma, usually, o-or… wait.” Frowning, she gently bonked the side of her head with the base of her hand as if trying to dislodge something. “A-apologies, I should start at the beginning…”
“A system can be thought of like a personal computer”, said an altogether new voice, one that was deep and husky and seemed ready to reach down into Tatewaki’s endocrine system and squeeze the oxytocin straight from his pituitary gland. Turning around to see just what sort of woman such a voice could be attached to, Tatewaki saw someone who seemed ready to… well, do much the same thing as her voice had, only using the user-accessible controls.
“I-I-Inko!”, Ranko sputtered, staring at the new arrival in something bordering on panic. “W-what are you doing out here? Ranma usually keeps such a close eye on you!”
In response, Inko grinned and winked at the other girl before slinking her way over to Tatewaki. “It seems our warden has other priorities at the moment. And my, am I glad he does.” She then proceeded to wrap her arms around Tatewaki’s shoulders from behind, causing him to gasp as her long, loose hair tickled his neck. Glancing down, he was subject to the odd experience of seeing red tresses cascading down his chest. And all this was on top of a pair of large distractions that were pressing into his back through Inko’s nightgown.
“Now, where were we?”, she purred, each syllable as thick and rich and sweet as honey. “Ah, yes. Personal computers. Do you own a personal computer, handsome?”
“I-I-I…”, Tatewaki stammered. He was finding it hard to think all of a sudden, and something was bothering him, but he couldn't identify what. It was taking all of his available concentration to just answer the question. “I, er, have used one in the past, yes… A-and my name is Tatewaki Kuno, miss… Inko, was it?”
“Tatewaki…?”, Inko said, slightly uncertainly, before recognition apparently dawned. “Ah, I see. You're someone our dear Ranma knows. Apologies for not recognizing you like I'm sure she did.” She jerked her head lazily, insomuch as such a motion were possible, towards Ranko. “I'm not let out much, you see.”
It was really amazing, Tatewaki thought, just how much emotion could be easily perceived even when being heavily painted over. Inko, for all her honeyed words and amorous overtures, was nearly bubbling over with barely-suppressed fury.
“So, back to our personal computer analogy…”, Inko continued, releasing Tatewaki to draw a large circle in the dirt with a red nail polish-covered finger. “In a system, the body is the hardware — the actual, physical computer. It can turn on and you might be able to mess with the BIOS, but to do anything interesting…”
She proceeded to draw a series of smaller circles within the larger one. “You have, say, the operating system…”, she gestured at one circle. “Then you have your games folder”, she gestured at another. Then, while staring at Ranko as the other girl glared back with her arms crossed, she pointed at a third circle and said, “Temporary file storage…”
“Alright!”, Ranko snapped. “If you’re going to resort to such low blows then I don’t see any reason to listen to you any further.” She grabbed Tatewaki’s arm, lifting him off the ground with surprising strength as Inko cackled.
“Oh yes”, she said, seeming to relish Ranko’s reaction. “Leave me to rot in the recycling bin with you-know-what.”
Ranko didn’t say anything, her only response being to nearly double her speed as she stomped away. Tatewaki, despite his advantage in leg length, had to run to keep up.
After they got out of earshot, Ranko slowed down and took a deep breath. "Upperclassman Kuno... what Inko was saying about 'temporary memory'... You see, my formation was bookended by some... well, rather serious —"
Tatewaki held up a hand. "You do not need to explain, miss Ranko.", he said softly. "I have been participating in competitive sports for long enough that I am familiar enough with the symptoms of a concussion. It is alright."
Ranko smiled. "Thank you. It is mostly only an issue when I am stressed. Remembering things, forming sentences... it becomes difficult."
They walked along for a while, before Tatewaki finally broke the silence.
“So if what Inko says is true, where we are is not precisely… real, merely a landscape constructed by Saotome’s mind? And you are all aspects that exist within?”
Ranko smiled and nodded, relieved that the conversation had moved back to an earlier subject. “Yes, that’s right. And now you are, too.”
Tatewaki gave a noncommittal sort of grunt, still unsure as to exactly why this had happened to him. He assumed it was how that blasted sword had interpreted his last wish, but surely there was a better way of going about it. “Where is Saotome, anyway? I would like to know what hath become of my physical body.”
“Your… physical body?”, Ranko asked, concern creeping into her voice. “Upperclassman Kuno, what do-”
Before she could finish her question, there was a thunderous cracking sound from overhead, as if the very sky had split open. And indeed, if you looked up, you would see the clouds parting in a slowly expanding circle, being blown away by the shockwave trailing behind a small, furious, and raven-haired comet.
“KUNOOOOOOOOOOOO”, Ranma bellowed on his way down, his fist outstretched and pointing directly at Tatewaki. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HEAD?!”
Ranma's fist connected with Tatewaki's forehead, and there was a split second where everything seemed completely still, the bystanders looking on in shock. The moment passed, however, as the shockwave that had been trailing behind Ranma caught up and kicked up a tremendous dust cloud, obscuring the present trio from view.
Yoiko rushed to them, or at least to the edge of the cloud that promised to fill her lungs and eyes with sand. “Ranko?”, she yelled, peering into the settling dust. “Ranma? Tatewaki?”
As the cloud dissipated enough for her to see the figures standing inside, she was at least able to confirm the conditions of two of the people she had called out for. Ranma, panting, was rubbing his knuckles and standing over the body of Tatewaki, who was on his knees, bending over backwards, and whose head had managed to get buried in the ground from the force of Ranma's punch. The overall effect was that of a performer sliding across the stage gone horribly wrong.
Ranko, however, was nowhere to be seen.