Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: On the Beaten Path

OOOOOOO

Ranma's spirits were about as high as his ankles. Not only was he late, but he'd also had an awful time the night before trying to study and heat up his brain for today's exam. He hadn't managed to get much studying done at all, since his heart wasn’t really in getting the best grades he could. Mostly, he worried about his mother’s wrath. But that was it. There was no way he would have been able to memorize so much in such a short time anyway. In his defense, he had tried. What made matters worse, his back was slowly killing him from having fallen asleep over his desk in the early hours in a very awkward position. The whole thing felt like wasted effort.

Even this early in the morning, he'd already had better days.

Damn chemistry exam he didn’t even need. Stupid thing didn’t have the slightest thing to do with martial arts anyway.

Still, he kept on running to meet his fate at the hands of an ugly test.

It was good that this year was his final one, with graduation just around the corner. For a long time, Ranma had known what he wanted to do with his life. His old man obviously approved. Ranma already knew he wanted to carry on his father's legacy and teach martial arts, so his mother had advised him that if he wanted to do that in this day and age, he’d better go to college or something, and get a physical education degree. Hence his half-hearted concern with studying.

Only one more month to go.

With this thought in mind, he ran the last two blocks and entered the Furinkan High School grounds with a minute to spare. Most of the students were running toward the school building, but Ranma stopped to watch the regular confusion that occurred at this time of day. He could outrun them all anyway and would still be on time for his exam.

Finally, finally... He got a bit melancholic as he started to slowly walk toward the main building, his book bag slung over his shoulder and one hand in his pocket.

Would he miss it? He looked over the school grounds with a smile on his lips, forgetting he was supposed to run to be on time. He hadn't actually been here all that long, except when he was a small kid, before his old man took him training. But it was more "home" than any other place he'd ever been. Some of his classmates had lived in the area all their lives. Ranma only had memories from recent years.

A significant part of his life was coming to an end, and he knew it wasn’t going to get easier once he moved on to... wherever was next. College, like his mom wanted? He knew he was still immature, even if his mother sometimes told him he seemed older than he really was—at least for some things. “The things that mattered,” she'd said. For everything else, not so much. Not that he knew what "mattered" really was. She said he had a sense of honor no one his age had, and that he was relatively wiser than most 18-year-olds. He figured it was just because he didn’t bother worrying about things that weren’t worth the trouble.

He didn’t really see that as wisdom. He’d always been like that. Or maybe the training trip had shaped him, forcing him to live with only the essentials. Life had had a tendency to sort itself out in those days. You’d think it would have been difficult, but somehow, it made things easier. Of course, his dad had sheltered him a bit—especially at the beginning.

But now…

There was one thing he did worry about: disappointing his parents. Carrying on the Saotome legacy meant a lot to him. He took his training seriously. That kind of effort didn’t even feel like effort. Studying, though... that was another story. Maybe if it had come up earlier, he would’ve found a way to make it part of the whole package. But by now, it was a lost cause. Almost.

So his mom thought he was mature. But then again, mothers always thought their kids were exceptional, didn’t they? That didn’t really count.

Caught in his thoughts, he didn’t notice a couple of girls intently staring at him. But he did hear them giggling as he passed and tried to ignore them, as always.

Moments later, he entered his classroom.

OOOOOOO

Akane was sitting with her usual group under a tree, waiting for classes to start. It was a warm, sunny day, and worth the effort to leave home a little earlier than usual. She didn’t know why, but she felt unusually refreshed. The yearbook was almost done, and the homework load was easing up—mostly because finals were approaching. Still, it felt lighter, and that was always a nice feeling.

“So, Akane. How’s it shaping up?”

Akane blinked. “What is... what?”

“The yearbook,” Yuka said. “I’ve wondered, since you haven’t brought it up like you usually do—”

“Until our ears bleed,” Sayuri cut in.

Akane glared at her, but Sayuri ignored it.

“—so we figured the committee must be planning something special. Secret, maybe,” Yuka finished.

“Mmm,” Akane murmured, slightly stung. The yearbook was a big responsibility, and she took it seriously. But her friend was right—she hadn’t been as excited this time. Just stressed. “It’s going to be the same as last year. What made you think it wouldn’t be?”

“I just heard something was going to be different for this year’s seniors.”

“Oh! That!” Akane smiled—and then shut her mouth.

Sayuri’s eyebrows shot up. “Go on.”

“That’s not about the yearbook. The seniors made some proposals for new activities before they graduate, and the junior class is supposed to organize everything. It’s like a farewell week, sort of.”

“You mean we have to do all the work?” Sayuri groaned.

“Yup,” Akane nodded. “But I think it’ll be fun. We could’ve been left out altogether. Besides, if it works, I’m definitely pushing to make it a tradition.”

“Ooh. That’d be amazing!” Yuka said just as the bell rang, and they all rushed toward the classroom before Akane could explain anything else.

She took her seat by the window. Out of habit, her eyes drifted toward the school gates—and caught on a boy standing alone in the yard. She didn’t remember seeing him before. He’d probably get himself grounded if he didn’t hurry...

Her attention shifted as the teacher began speaking.

“There’s going to be a full week of special events open to the entire school,” the teacher announced, already partway through the explanation. “The seniors have suggested they want revenge on some of the underclassmen—or so they’ve phrased it. So, among other things, there’ll be a ‘Senior Vengeance Day.’”

“A what?”

“A ‘Senior Vengeance Day.’ They’ll publish a blacklist of people to be ‘taken care of.’”

A wave of laughter and gasps passed through the room.

Akane couldn’t tell whether the teacher approved or not. It was authorized—but regulated—bullying, after all. She’d heard that some of the teachers had been reluctant to agree to this part of the plan. The carnival, the competitions, the general games—those were fine. But this?

“All students will run the risk of getting soaked, floured, splashed with vinegar, or have eggs thrown at them...”

“Are they allowed to do that?!” someone squealed.

“This year, yes,” the teacher said. “And if everything turns out okay, you’ll have the same chance next year.”

A general murmur spread across the room.

Akane stayed quiet. She already knew all about it. There’d be a yearbook article covering the end-of-year events. And she would probably be asked to help organize at least some of them. She always was.

She raised her hand.

“Miss Tendo?”

“Well... it’s supposed to be fun. Kind of like a little war inside the school. Nothing too serious. ‘Senior Vengeance Day’ sounds okay to me...” She added, grinning, “Plus, no classes that day.”

That got more positive murmurs. Maybe she was right—it could be fun, like a giant game of hide and seek.

“Okay, quiet! I’m not done yet,” the teacher said. “Let me explain better. The list will be split by gender: girls go after girls, boys go after boys. We don’t want any misunderstandings.”

Now the murmur was tinged with disappointment.

“Also, as I said—flour and water is as bad as it gets. Principal Kuno will soon announce who in this class is on the carnival committee.”

Akane wasn’t surprised when the PA system clicked on and the principal mentioned her name.

OOOOOOO

Ranma unwrapped his bento slowly while Daisuke and Hiroshi buzzed about the announcement.

“Yeah! We finally get to mess around a little before we’re outta here,” Daisuke said, grinning.

“Watch out, Gosenkugi. I owe that guy a couple of pranks,” Hiroshi added, cracking his knuckles.

Ranma kept eating quietly.

“You think we’ll get to prank girls too?” Daisuke asked.

“Nah. Probably not. The principal’ll keep it separated,” Ranma said.

“Too bad,” Hiroshi sighed. “Still, could be fun anyway.”

“So, Saotome,” Daisuke leaned forward. “You writing anyone down?”

“Huh? For the list?”

“Yeah! You gotta have someone in mind.”

“Honestly? Haven’t thought about it.” Ranma shrugged.

“Come on, man! You’re the most talked-about guy in school,” Daisuke said, mock-offended. “You’re gonna break hearts by skipping this.”

“Yeah! Represent!” Hiroshi chimed in, laughing.

Ranma scratched the back of his head. “It’s not what you think. Most of the girls just kind of... giggle and avoid actually talking to me.”

“Oh no,” Hiroshi said dramatically. “Poor Ranma. So popular it hurts.”

“I’m serious,” Ranma muttered. “It’s like... they’re not really interested in me. Just the idea of me.”

“That’s deep,” Daisuke said, then smirked. “Still sounds like a decent problem to have.”

Ranma let out a breath. “I dunno. It gets old. Sometimes I wish people saw more than just the martial arts guy.”

“Oh man, next thing you’ll say you want someone to talk about feelings with,” Hiroshi teased.

Ranma smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Daisuke blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s new.”

“See? Even you guys are weirded out by it,” Ranma said, dry.

“Nah, it’s cool,” Daisuke replied. “It’s just—unexpected.”

“Yeah,” Hiroshi agreed. “You’re growing up or something. Stop that.”

“Hey, don’t make me put you on the list,” Ranma warned, mock-scowling.

They all laughed, and Hiroshi threw a half-hearted punch at Ranma’s arm.

“Fine, fine,” Hiroshi said. “We’ll back off... for now.”

But the teasing had lightened a little.

Ranma returned to his food, grateful for the pause.

OOOOOOO

“Yeah, Akane! Since you’re organizing this, you better team us up with some of the cute guys,” Sayuri giggled.

“Is she even allowed to do that?” Yuka asked with a grin.

Akane didn’t answer. Her mind had wandered far from their table.

She would be busy until the carnival was over, but it didn’t worry her much. There were plenty of other students involved, and even a few seniors had volunteered to help. Usually, she ended up leading any committee she joined, but this time—with seniors in the mix—someone else might take that role.

It would be a relief. She knew she had a tendency to take over, especially when people around her seemed distracted or careless. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust others—it just frustrated her when things weren’t done properly. She always figured she could handle it better, and even though she hated how that made her feel, she couldn’t help it.

Still, she pushed the thought aside. She needed to think of fun carnival ideas. The first planning meeting was after school. Maybe a dunk tank? Goldfish-catching booth? Definitely some team competitions. Eating contests were always fun. Something active would help break the ice too.

They didn’t have a lot of time. That meant extra work hours, especially if they wanted things to run smoothly. But thankfully, the seniors would likely take on the bigger responsibilities.

Her eyes drifted across the schoolyard, scanning for familiar faces. Some of the seniors were chatting and laughing in small groups. They looked so relaxed. So confident. Akane had always admired that about older students. Even as a kid, she’d watched them pass by and wondered when she would start to feel that way herself.

Now that she was their age, she still didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel quite like an adult yet.

Her gaze settled on a trio of boys laughing over lunch. Two of them were cracking up, but the third—wearing a red shirt—looked detached, like he wasn’t fully there. She tilted her head. He stood out. Not just because he wasn’t wearing a uniform, but because something about him felt... out of place.

Red shirt? Wait, she’d seen him earlier—running into school at the last minute. She should’ve noticed his outfit then. Or at least how striking he looked. And yet, she hadn’t.

Now, under the sun, with his dark hair tied back and his sleeves rolled up, she realized he was... really handsome.

He chewed slowly, barely engaging with the wild gestures of the boys beside him. One of them was slumped over the table in hysterics. The other looked like he was delivering a dramatic monologue. Akane could only guess they were talking about something dumb—and probably about girls.

Still, the red shirt guy didn’t join in. He just sat there, answering once in a while, but clearly not all that into it. Something in his posture looked... tired. Like he wasn’t finding it as funny as the others did.

“...misplaced,” Akane whispered, almost surprised by her own voice.

Yuka turned. “Hmm? What was that?”

But before Akane could answer, the boy turned. Blue eyes—very blue—met hers, and she startled slightly.

She looked down, flustered, but after a beat, she looked up again.

He hadn’t looked away.

Something strange flickered in her chest.

“Hey, Akane! Are you even listening?” Sayuri said, halfway between annoyed and amused.

Akane jumped. “Huh? Oh... sorry.”

But her eyes drifted back.

He was still watching her. Not smirking. Not posturing. Just... curious.

It didn’t take a second for Yuka and Sayuri to trace her line of sight.

“Ooooh,” Yuka giggled. “You caught his attention.”

“Oh, Akane,” Sayuri said, hands clasped together. “Is this a thing now? A secret crush?”

Akane’s cheeks went warm. She looked at her feet, brushing her fingers through her hair.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for Saotome-kun,” Yuka added.

“Who?” Akane blinked.

“Ranma Saotome,” Sayuri said, matter-of-factly. “The cute guy you’ve been ogling.”

Akane glanced back. Ranma. Saotome.

He wasn’t looking anymore.

She felt both relieved... and oddly disappointed.

“It’s about time you noticed someone,” Sayuri teased. “Or has it been a secret this whole time? You’re not fooling us.”

“Do you know if he’s dating anyone?” Yuka asked.

“I heard he used to date around. Even upperclassmen,” Sayuri said.

“But not lately,” Yuka added.

They kept talking, but Akane barely registered their words. She was still trying to make sense of the strange little twist in her stomach.

And the way it hadn’t gone away.

TBC...

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: To Acknowledge

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

The day was over, and Ranma pitied those stuck at the first carnival meeting—probably hours of debating stalls and logistics. Still, it might be fun if they added a martial arts exhibition. Maybe he’d sign up to help with the setup.

In the meantime, he had a lot on his mind. First, that chemistry test—he couldn’t afford a bad grade on his report card. Second, deciding what to do next year. Most of his classmates had already applied to colleges. He wasn’t even sure if that was what he wanted. And even if he did, he’d need a sponsor or a scholarship. His grades were decent, but not enough to stand out.

Maybe a martial arts academy instead? Ideally, one that wouldn’t make him move out. His mom thought he’d want freedom, independence. But really, he was comfortable at home. He’d never had the kind of problems other teens had with their parents. He liked being with his family. He liked the quiet rhythm of home life, something he hadn’t known growing up. That was what he’d missed—coming home from school, being nagged about dinner, playing with a little sister, being tucked in. All the stuff he barely remembered before training trips took over. Now it felt like he was finally living the part of life he’d skipped.

Still, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try a college in a new city—if he got accepted anywhere.

Third… was personal.

His thoughts drifted to that look—those hazel eyes watching him so seriously. It hadn’t been flirtatious, not even curious exactly. It was just intense. Like she was trying to figure him out. And he liked it. She wasn’t smiling. Just staring. Like he was something under a microscope. It should’ve creeped him out. Instead, he’d found it weirdly… intriguing.

He could’ve handled just her, maybe tried to meet her gaze a bit longer, but then her friends had noticed. That’s when the giggles and teasing began, and his confidence had vanished. Maybe he really was the shy type. He wondered how long they could’ve held that stare.

It was lucky Hiroshi and Daisuke hadn’t caught him. He remembered the girl blushing and smiled. Then he froze.

“Ranko!”

He bolted toward Furinkan Day Care.

“Niichan!” a little redhead cried as he approached.

Ranko, with a paper flower stuck in her hair and her backpack hanging off one shoulder, came sprinting toward him. Her eyes were red from crying. He knelt as she crashed into him, sobbing anew.

“I waited and waited, and then everyone was gone and I thought you forgot me!”

“I’m sorry, Ko-chan,” he whispered. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Really promise?”

“Have I ever broken one?”

She sniffled and thought about it. “No... but you almost did.”

He smiled. “So... you’ll let me make it up to you?”

“Hmm.” Ranko tapped a finger to her lips, eyes narrowed like a detective in a cartoon. “Depends what you’re offering.”

“Ice cream?”

“Do you have money?”

“Only for half a cone. They don’t sell those.”

She sighed like a small CEO managing a very difficult intern. “Then we should go to the park.”

“Okay,” he said, trying not to laugh. She beamed.

“And you’ll play with me too.”

“Only ‘cause I was late.”

“And a piggyback ride. But not the short kind. The long, bouncy kind.”

He couldn’t say no to those watery blue eyes. “Okay, Ko-chan.”

Ranko was demanding, sure, but also incredibly sweet. He didn’t mind her having him wrapped around her finger. It felt right.

He thought of his parents—his mother so clever, his father… well, Genma did his best. Maybe he wasn’t the sharpest, but he worked hard. Ranma respected him for that, even if he couldn’t understand how he’d ended up with someone as smart as his mom.

His thoughts wandered. Martial arts probably wouldn’t make him rich. But he didn’t care. He just wanted enough to live and keep a family close. That was the picture in his head. Maybe that’s why his mom saw him as more grown-up than his friends—he wasn’t dreaming of freedom, he was dreaming of staying. Not out of fear, but because it felt right. Familiar. Earned. He’d lived most of his life on the move. For once, it felt like he was arriving.

He wasn’t like his friends, always talking about girls or games. He wanted something more. He wasn’t imagining big cities or distant campuses. Just... continuity. Stability. Something he’d missed.

He wondered about that girl again. Was there such a thing as a perfect match? Maybe he was just picky.

He snorted. Eighteen. He should focus on getting into any school first. Still, the thought of a new life somewhere, with new people… that girl came to mind again.

He didn’t even know her name.

“Niichan! It’s the other way!”

Ranko’s voice pulled him back. He turned and changed course.

Better forget her. She wasn’t in his class. He was graduating. It was pointless.

At the park, Ranko ran around while Ranma sat on a bench, distracted. Then:

“Come... play... hide and seek... with me...”

He let her drag him to a tree.

“You count, I’ll hide.”

“Okay.”

She crossed her arms. “No protest? You’re not even pretending to be annoyed?”

“Too tired,” he said with a smile.

“Niichan?”

“What?”

“You’re actin’ weird.”

“I just have stuff on my mind.”

She nodded slowly, watching him like a tiny therapist, then scampered off. He counted, found her easily, repeated the game a few times, but his mind drifted again. Those eyes.

“Niichan!” Ranko stood, arms crossed. “You’re no fun. Something’s wrong.”

“Really?”

“You’re just standing there with a dumb look.”

He knelt. “Maybe you’re tired of hiding. Let me hide.”

“No! I don’t like counting.”

“Then I’ll tickle you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will.”

She ran. He chased. She giggled.

Ranma’s mood lifted. She’d had this—a real home. He hadn’t. Their mom wouldn’t be thrilled about their dirty clothes, but he didn’t care.

“Okay, imouto-chan, that’s enough.”

She stood, dusted herself off. “One more time!”

“Only if you count.”

“I never find you!”

“Then catch me. If you do, I’ll count.”

“No.”

“You just can’t do it.”

“I can!”

“Then try.”

She growled. He grinned. She was so much like him.

“Catch me!”

“I will!” she shouted.

He ran. And forgot why he’d been moody. Just the wind and the sun and the run. Then—those eyes again.

His heart pounded. What was it about that girl?

“Niichaaaan!”

Right. He snapped back, feeling like a jerk.

“I don’t... like this... I wanna... hide...”

“C’mon, Ko-chan!”

He climbed a tree and waited. Thank goodness for training. He’d annoy her a little longer.

“You’re supposed to hide better!” she huffed, crawling over him.

“Guess I’m getting slow,” he said, brushing a leaf from her hair.

She rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him. "Are you gonna move away?"

Ranma blinked. "What?"

"For school. Mama says maybe."

He didn’t know what to say. "I haven’t decided."

“Oh.” She picked at a thread on his shirt. "You should stay. I like when you’re home."

His throat tightened. "Yeah. I like it too."

They lay there for a few moments in silence until Ranko rolled off him and sprang to her feet.

“Okay, now you count again. But really count this time. No cheating.”

He got up, dusted himself off, and nodded. “All right. No cheating.”

Ranko gave him a long look, then bolted behind the nearest tree. He turned and began counting out loud, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

OOOOOO

"If no one has anything else to contribute, I'd say this meeting is over today."

Silence followed. After a few quiet farewells, the students who had stayed behind for the Carnival Committee scattered quickly—except Akane, who trudged toward home.

She wasn’t happy. She’d been given the supervisory role after all, which meant she had to know everything that was going on. She both loved and hated it. Loved it because she was good at it—there was a reason she kept getting these roles. Hated it because it brought out the worst in her, or so she felt. The kind of controlling, stressed-out version of herself she didn’t like to see.

And only three seniors had volunteered. Three! She’d hoped more would sign up, and maybe someone would step up to lead. No such luck. None of them wanted the responsibility, so it would fall to her anyway. And since no one could force seniors to do anything, the underclassmen would be stuck with most of the work.

She groaned, knocking her forehead lightly with the heel of her hand. “Oooh, I can't believe how stupid I can get...”

She missed Nabiki. Her older sister would've had this wrapped in twenty minutes, tops. Nabiki could get people to do things. She made it look easy.

Akane sighed again and checked the time. Way too late to still be at school. The halls were quiet, the streets nearly empty, and not a breath of wind stirred. The whole scene felt hollow, like the day had overstayed its welcome.

“Day’s oooooverrrr,” she muttered, stretching her arms toward the sky. It had been a very long day.

Sayuri hadn’t let up all afternoon about Ranma. Her dramatic reenactment of Akane’s so-called “goldfish impression” at lunch had been humiliating and, unfortunately, accurate. Akane snorted. She had been staring. For way too long. And he’d looked back. Not just glanced—really looked.

She’d seen him earlier that morning, too. Just standing in the school yard. Something about his stillness had caught her eye. That, and his unusual clothes. How had she never noticed him before?

And at lunch—ugh. The memory still made her heart flutter. She’d zoned out completely, just staring. And then he’d looked up and stared right back.

She stopped walking, blinking. Her face felt hot again. What was wrong with her?

It was ridiculous. She didn’t even know his name, and yet he kept popping into her mind. She didn’t usually do this. She wasn’t this girl.

Akane picked up her pace, trying to walk the nonsense out of her system. She focused on the sidewalk, stepping on every crack or imperfection like it was a game. It was something she’d always done, and it usually calmed her down.

By the time she looked up again, she was nearly home. She passed by the local park—a surprisingly large green space for a residential area. An old maple tree caught her eye, its shade stretching over an empty bench. She walked over and sat down, setting her bag beside her.

Tilting her face toward the sky, she closed her eyes and let the breeze cool her flushed skin. She pulled her hair off her neck to feel the air better.

Tough days were worth it when they ended like this.

She didn’t expect the peace to last. A sudden shout jolted her upright.

“C’mon, Ko-chan! It’s your turn now!”

Akane yelped. Her heart thudded as she looked around, half-thinking something was wrong, half-hoping no one had noticed.

And then—there he was.

Ranma.

Her breath caught. Her heart, already racing, kicked into another gear.

He was running through the park, grinning wide, and being chased by a little redhead—his sister, maybe? They had matching pigtails. The girl looked determined. Ranma dodged around trees and benches effortlessly, his movements far too fluid to be untrained.

Akane’s eyes locked on him. He was completely in his element, relaxed, laughing. She couldn’t stop watching.

Then he vaulted into a tree, vanishing into the branches. The girl caught up, shouting.

“Niiiichaaaaan! Come down!”

Akane smiled before she could stop herself.

He leapt down, landed lightly, and bargained for one more turn before going home. His sister demanded a piggyback ride in return. He sighed with theatrical patience.

Akane felt like she was watching something private, something soft and unguarded. She hadn’t meant to intrude. But it was hard to look away.

He crouched behind a nearby statue to hide—just meters from where she sat. And then… he turned his head.

Their eyes met.

Akane froze. Her heart thudded in her ears.

He was looking right at her.

And he didn’t look away.

Neither did she.

Her breath hitched. Her mind spun uselessly for a reaction, but none came. She was too caught in his gaze. And he didn’t look smug or amused—just surprised. And maybe a little like he didn’t know what to do either.

She could see the exact second he realized how close they were. His posture shifted slightly, not away, not toward, just... stilled. Like he didn’t want to break whatever was happening.

Akane felt like a deer in headlights. Her heart pounded. Her palms felt hot. Her face, she was sure, was on fire.

What should she do? Say something? Pretend she hadn’t seen him? Was he going to—?

“GOTCHA!”

The shout made her jump. A redhead—his sister—had snuck up behind him. Ranma jerked back with a start.

Akane pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm her pulse. She suddenly found her shoes extremely interesting. Her face was still burning.

She stood, grabbed her bag, and turned—right as a familiar voice called her name.

“Akane-chan! Wait up!”

She spun around, heart in her throat. But it wasn’t Ranma. It was—

“Kasumi-oneechan!”

Relief hit her like a wave. She ran toward her sister, threw her arms around her, and held on tight. Maybe too tight. Kasumi stiffened under the weight of the bags she was carrying.

“Akane?” she asked, surprised.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Akane mumbled.

Kasumi raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

“Everything all right?”

“Of course!” Akane said much too quickly.

Kasumi glanced behind her. “Because that boy is definitely still staring at you.”

Akane turned bright red. “Is he?”

Kasumi nodded, her smile gentle but knowing.

“Are you headed home now?”

“Yes. Let’s go,” Akane said, grabbing one of the grocery bags and hurrying off without waiting for a reply.

Behind her, she could hear Ranma again.

“Ko-chan, wait up! Come back here!”

She didn’t look back. She just walked faster.

OOOOOO

Ranma crouched a moment longer behind the statue, trying to collect himself. His heart was still racing.

That had been… something.

Akane…

He barely registered Ranko's triumphant grin as she tagged him. Her victory shout jolted him out of his daze, and by the time he looked up again, Akane was hugging another girl—a sister or a cousin maybe? Then she was gone, walking fast.

He stood slowly.

“Ko-chan?”

His sister looked up at him, flower in hand, eyes bright. “She was really pretty.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, still watching the space she had just left.

“What’s her name?” Ranko asked.

“Akane.”

Ranko nodded, like that explained everything. Then she turned, skipped over to where Akane had been, and picked up a white flower near the bench.

“Ko-chan, what are you—?”

But she was already moving. Marching toward the street, where Akane and her sister were still in view.

“Ko-chan, wait up! Come back here!”

He jogged after her, catching up just as Ranko reached Akane.

Akane blinked in surprise as the little redhead stood before her, hands behind her back.

“Konnichiwa, Akane-san!” Ranko said brightly, and bowed.

Akane crouched down, startled. “Hello, Ranko-chan. Is there something I can do for you?”

Ranko produced the flower and held it out. “It’s for you.”

Akane glanced past her to Ranma, who stood a little behind, watching uncertainly.

She smiled and accepted the flower with quiet grace. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Ranko-chan.”

Ranko beamed, bowed again, and trotted back to her brother.

Akane turned to grab her bag and rejoin Kasumi, careful not to meet Ranma’s eyes.

“Shall we go now?” she asked, already moving.

Kasumi followed, smiling to herself.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma watched them go.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured.

“I wanted to,” Ranko said with a little shrug. “She looked like she needed it.”

Ranma exhaled slowly.

“C’mon,” Ranko said, tugging at his sleeve. “Piggyback time.”

He crouched, and she climbed on.

As they headed home, Ranma glanced back one more time. Just in case.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Of Boys and Girls

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Akane walked silently beside her older sister. She could almost feel the smile Kasumi was holding back—eyes squinting in quiet amusement. Thankfully, Kasumi knew when to stay silent. Akane appreciated that more than she could say.

She felt stupid. Really stupid.

Fingering the flower Ranko had handed her, she wondered what on earth had possessed her to act like that. Was she really that self-conscious? Probably.

The absurd idea that Ranma might have sent the flower flashed through her mind, and for a moment her heart fluttered. Just as well, since she knew the interrogation would begin the moment they got home.

They passed through the dojo gates without a word. Once inside, Akane darted upstairs, leaving Kasumi behind.

Okay, worse things could happen.

After changing into house clothes, she padded back downstairs and collapsed onto the porch, pretending she had no homework waiting. The sun was warm on her skin, the air soft against her limbs. It wasn't just physical tiredness. Everything felt heavier these days. She took everything to heart—every task, every obligation. She didn't think of herself as a perfectionist. That sounded too flattering. No, it was more that if she didn’t give her all, she felt like a failure.

She hated that others didn’t seem to care as much. Especially boys. Especially classmates. So immature.

She'd known for a while that she was different. It wasn't just that she took things seriously—everything was a challenge others didn't even notice. Cleaning, planning, schoolwork. Always striving. Always pushing. But why?

She couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this.

"So, Akane-chan," Kasumi's voice broke the quiet as she stepped onto the porch, carrying two glasses of watermelon juice, "who was that guy?"

Akane nearly choked.

"Wh—what??"

Kasumi laughed, in a way that felt unfamiliar and mischievous. "I mean, you looked like you knew him."

"Oneesan...” Akane muttered, cheeks warming. Kasumi was enjoying this far too much.

"So you don't know him?"

"I don't. Not really."

Kasumi set the tray down and knelt beside her. "But you want to, huh?"

Akane hesitated. "I have no idea... just some boy from school. I'd never seen him before today. Apparently, he's popular."

Kasumi raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You of all people missed the popular guy?"

Akane smiled faintly. "I guess I was busy."

"You looked really thrown earlier. That wasn't nothing."

Akane sighed. "It’s weird... I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Since this morning. It’s never happened before."

Kasumi listened patiently as Akane explained the strange pull she felt toward a boy she hadn’t even spoken to. How she’d never noticed him before, how Yuka and Sayuri had known all about him, but she’d somehow missed him until today.

"Almost like he just appeared in front of me," Akane said.

"You really don’t know anything about him, then?"

"Almost... his name's Ranma—"

"Saotome Ranma," Kasumi said slowly, touching her lips, eyes widening.

Akane blinked. "You know him?"

"I... don't know. The name just popped into my head."

That unsettled Akane more than she wanted to admit. How could Kasumi know him? Did she? Was Akane just imagining things? A sudden flicker of jealousy pinched at her chest. She pushed it aside.

"Maybe if I stop trying to think about it, it'll come to me," Kasumi offered as she stood and carried the tray back inside.

Akane was left alone with her thoughts. Again.

Would it matter if Kasumi knew him? Probably not. Ranma hadn’t seemed to recognize her either. That thought calmed her somehow.

And then it didn’t. Because maybe they were connected. And that idea... warmed her, impossibly.

She eventually moved back inside, sitting down at her desk with a notepad. Food stalls, banners, contests... What if they made building the stalls part of the contests? It would be fun and useful.

In no time, her page was full. She smiled to herself. This carnival was hers now. Her little war.

Outside, the breeze fluttered her curtains. Light spilled across her papers in shifting patterns. She stared at it until her vision blurred, her mind drifting.

Before she realized it, she was lying on the floor, arms spread, soaking in the glow of the setting sun.

She should train more. She used to be good. Very good. Her father had trained her since before she could walk, and she'd loved it. Martial arts had been her world.

Until her mother died.

Then her father shut down. And everything else fell apart.

The dojo had once been theirs — hers and her father’s. Now it was just a memory. Her training had withered in the silence.

But maybe it didn’t have to stay that way.

She would go out. Tonight. Jog around the neighborhood. Start again.

And maybe... maybe someday she could be as good as Ranma. Or better.

She closed her eyes, letting memories flood her: lunch, the park, the feeling in her chest when she saw him.

She remembered Kuno too. Her first and only real boyfriend. That hadn’t ended well. He never really saw her—not her. Just the version he imagined. It had taken a toll.

And further back, a boy from early childhood. They’d been "engaged" in some silly pretend game. She didn’t remember much. Just arguing. He was bossy. She was stubborn. Always fighting. Not a good relationship, even for a five-year-old.

Akane chuckled. She’d always been a tomboy. Always pushing back.

She sat up. The breeze had stopped. The heat pressed in. The sun painted her room in orange and red.

Grabbing her notepad and heading to her bed, she reached for the phone.

She had something to tell Sayuri.

OOOOOOO

"Do you think it'll work?"

"Sure!" Sayuri sounded upbeat on the other end of the line. "If you get the whole school split into different teams, it’s bound to be interesting."

"That’s the hope…" Akane's voice was tired.

"Hey, it’s a great idea. The committee’s going to love it. Easier to pull off, too. When’s the next meeting?"

"Tomorrow," Akane groaned.

Sayuri chuckled. "Try to sound a little more excited."

"I just wish I weren’t involved at all."

"Stress finally catching up with you? You could always quit. I mean, they’d manage."

"Maybe."

"Vacation's around the corner anyway. We should do something. Go somewhere."

"Thank god for that."

A pause.

"Don’t play dumb with me, Akane. Something else is going on. You’ve been spaced out all day—even with that genius idea for the festival. What’s up?"

Akane felt a spark of warmth at her friend's words.

"I know—"

"It’s Ranma, isn’t it?"

"Oh, come on! I was just about to pour my heart out."

Sayuri laughed.

"Sorry! But I figured he was the one running loops in your head."

"I have, actually... I’ve—"

"Aaaaahhh!"

"—been thinking about him almost all afternoon."

"I knew it."

"You don’t know the half of it. I… kind of ran into him again on the way home."

"WHAT? Akane, what happened?! Spill!"

Akane sighed. "It’s not just that. I’ve been... in my head too much today. Rethinking everything. It hit me how much time I’ve wasted worrying about the wrong stuff."

"That sounds like you. But also kind of healthy?"

"You know how I used to love martial arts, right?"

"Used to? I thought your dad just made you train."

"That’s the thing. I loved it. I really did. But I barely train now. I let it go, and the worst part? My closest friends don’t even know that part of me anymore. You’re one of them, Sayuri."

"Aw..."

"School kind of took over. Like I replaced my passion with grades."

"But you quit cram school."

"Only because we couldn’t afford it. Not really. Plus—I’m smarter than you."

"Hey!"

Akane laughed.

"Seriously, though. If I know what the problem is, then maybe I’m not too late to fix it. We’re only seventeen. I can get that part of myself back."

"So... resolution time?"

"Starting today. I’m training again. For real. Gotta get my legendary form back."

Sayuri burst out laughing. "Just don’t show off too much, okay?"

Akane glanced at the window. The light was fading fast.

"Actually, I think I’ll head out now."

"Fine, ditch me. I see how it is."

"I knew you’d understand."

"Just promise you’ll tell if anything dramatic happens."

"Promise. See you tomorrow."

"Later."

Akane hung up, changed into a jogging outfit, slung a towel around her neck, and slipped out the front door.

She began to run, feet hitting the pavement with steady rhythm, the summer air heavy around her.

She felt free.

OOOOOOO

Ranma lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He'd been like that for the better part of an hour.

He wasn’t even sure why he was still in his room. The floor felt more solid than the bed—more familiar. Probably a leftover habit from all those years on the road with his old man. Beds still felt kind of optional.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice whispered that he was off his game. No training. No focus. And worse, he didn’t even feel like fixing it.

The knock on his door barely registered.

Then came another.

And another, louder this time.

Ranma sighed. So much for being left alone.

"Come in," he called.

His mom’s head poked into the room, eyes sharp despite her calm expression. "Ranma."

"Yeah?"

"You’re sulking."

"I’m not sulking."

"Then get off the floor."

Ranma stayed put.

She stepped into the room, her kimono rustling softly. "Ranko says you’re no fun today."

"She’s the one who embarrassed me. Handed a flower to that girl like it was some kind of setup."

"Ranma," she said flatly. "You do not blame a child for your awkwardness. Especially not your sister."

He winced. The katana on her back didn’t move, but it didn’t have to. Nodoka Saotome never raised her voice. She didn’t need to.

"Sorry," he muttered.

She crossed the room, knelt next to him, and folded her hands neatly in her lap. It wasn’t a casual visit. Ranma could tell.

"You want to explain why you’ve been moping all afternoon?"

"No."

"Then I’ll wait until you do."

Ranma groaned. "Fine. There’s this girl. Her name’s Akane. That’s all I know."

Nodoka nodded slowly. "And?"

"And nothing. Ranko gave her a flower. I looked like a complete idiot."

"You’re upset because you looked human?"

"Because I looked stupid."

"Hmm. There’s a difference."

Ranma looked away. "She probably thinks I’m just some weirdo playing in the park."

"You were being kind to your sister. That counts."

"I shouldn’t even care. I don’t know her. But now I can’t stop thinking about her."

"So talk to her."

"I can’t. I’m graduating soon. I’ll be gone in a few weeks."

Nodoka gave him a look. "Is that your excuse for giving up before you’ve started?"

Ranma sighed.

"If it matters to you, try. If it doesn’t, let it go. But stop sulking about it."

"I wasn’t sulking."

She raised one eyebrow.

Ranma rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe a little."

"Go see your friends. Work it out. And be back before your father gets home."

"Yeah, okay."

He stood, stretched, and opened the door. The sky was orange and low, shadows lengthening across the street.

Akane’s face flickered in his mind—eyes, expression, the flower.

He exhaled sharply.

He definitely needed the air.

OOOOOOO

The sky was burnt orange and the humidity had settled into a sticky, heavy blanket. Akane jogged down the sidewalk, her breath even, steps rhythmic. Her body ached already, unused to this kind of exertion. But it felt good. Really good.

She hadn't realized how much she missed it until now. The rush of motion, the way her mind quieted when her body was moving. Even the discomfort felt earned.

She moved through the neighborhood like it was hers again. Not just something she passed through on her way to school or errands. Something she used.

When she reached the park, she paused to stretch. The place was almost empty. Just a few stragglers heading home, and the sound of cicadas rising with the darkening sky.

Akane stepped into a wide stance, inhaled, and began her kata.

She was rusty. She could feel it in her timing, her balance. But her energy was there. Old muscle memory kicked in, and soon she was moving in clean arcs and sharp pivots. Focused. Alive.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma turned the corner.

He stopped mid-step. That ki. He could feel it before he saw her.

It wasn’t powerful in the way he was used to. But it was intense. Steady. Honest.

He stepped closer and spotted her in the middle of the park. Legs braced, fists raised, hair slicked with sweat. She hadn’t seen him.

He took one step back.

Then another.

Then ducked behind the corner and leaned against the wall, heart pounding.

Of course it was her.

He peeked.

Akane moved through the kata with surprising strength. Her form was rough, but real. She hadn’t just dabbled—this was someone who’d trained. Maybe not recently, but seriously.

And her outfit—Ranma felt heat creep up his neck. Not helping. He shut his eyes and tried breathing through his nose.

Normal. Totally normal.

He peeked again.

She was closer now, entirely unaware of his presence. Her concentration was absolute. The kind of stillness that came from being deep inside your own rhythm.

And he couldn’t look away.

When she stopped, it was sudden. Her back to him. Then she turned.

Ranma ducked.

His heart was in his throat.

Okay. Bad idea. Very bad idea. He crouched down, arms folded. Maybe if he just waited, she’d leave first. He wasn’t going to risk looking like some creep watching her train.

But minutes passed.

He could feel her energy fading as she cooled down. Then silence.

He stood slowly, brushed himself off, and turned the corner—

—and ran straight into her.

OOOOOOOO

It was getting too dark for her to be out here alone—especially dressed like this. The thin tank top clung to her back, damp with sweat, and the worn shorts had definitely seen better days. But it wasn’t like she had many options; she hadn’t trained in so long, her old gi didn’t even fit anymore. Still, she couldn’t quite believe she’d let it slide for this long. Had she really forgotten how much she loved it?

There was something about the rhythm of movement, the crisp sound of her strikes slicing the air, that made everything else fade. It made her feel light again. Like she was strong. Capable. Not just someone going through the motions at school or at home, but someone real.

Her heart was still racing from a final series of low-punch-high-kick combos. She was out of breath, her arms tingling, her legs heavy—but it felt good. The ache grounded her.

Then she paused.

Something felt... off.

She hadn’t heard anything, exactly, but a flicker of awareness crawled up her spine. Someone was watching.

It was dumb, she told herself. This was a public park; of course there’d be people around. And she'd been shouting through half her forms. What did she expect?

Still, the prickling under her skin wouldn’t go away.

She turned slowly, every motion deliberate, like shifting too fast might make the moment collapse. In the fading light, all she saw were a few silhouettes—neighbors heading home, the glow of a bike light bobbing past the far path. Nothing unusual.

Exhaling, she stretched her arms overhead, trying to shake off the tension in her shoulders. Her shirt stuck to her skin as she moved. God, she was soaked. She padded over to the bench where she’d dropped her towel and water bottle, wiped her face and neck, and took a long drink.

The cold water hit her like a reset.

Time to head home, she thought, letting her shoulders relax at last. Her stomach gave a soft growl. Maybe there were leftovers. She rounded the curve in the path, half-lost in the thought—

—and nearly collided with someone.

She stopped dead. Her pulse spiked.

Of course. Of all people.

Ranma stood a few steps away, caught mid-motion like he’d just turned the corner, too. Her brain stuttered as she took him in—too surprised to move, too embarrassed to say anything. She was a mess. Damp hair sticking to her face, clothes clinging in all the wrong places—she probably looked like something scraped off the dojo floor. Her pulse was hammering again, though she was sure it was probably just from all the exercise and being so out of shape.

She stared at him. He was looking at her.

There was something strange in his eyes—unreadable, like he was caught off guard too. The moment stretched thin.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"...Hi, Akane."

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Impressions

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

"Hi, Akane."

He was just standing there.

Akane’s mind scrambled to make sense of it. Why would he be standing there like that? Not moving, not fidgeting, just... still. And staring.

She took a quick scan of his posture—feet evenly planted, arms relaxed, expression unreadable. Her father had taught her to read people by the way they carried themselves: were they in a hurry, searching, waiting, lost? Most people gave off signs, even if they didn’t realize it.

Ranma wasn’t giving off anything. He was just there. Looking at her.

It threw her.

And her heart—still elevated from the workout—refused to settle.

A second passed. Then another. Neither of them moved.

When she finally looked up and met his eyes, she caught something flicker there—surprise, maybe. Or was it anticipation? Her thoughts were too jumbled to be sure. Her body, already pushed to its limits, chose that moment to rebel completely: weak knees, dry throat, and a frantic brain that couldn’t manage a simple hello.

"Mm... Hi—"

"Ranma," he cut in gently, stepping slightly forward. "Saotome Ranma. Nice to meet you."

Right. As if she didn’t already know.

She wanted to laugh, or maybe cry. The whole situation felt absurd. But something was bothering her—nagging at the edge of her awareness, lost beneath the somersaults in her stomach.

Was she trembling? God, she hoped not.

"Hi, Ranma," she managed, her voice embarrassingly soft. She took a breath, tried to reset.

"I’m Akane," she said, eyes dropping to her feet for just a second, buying time. Then she looked up again with a shaky smile. "Tendo Akane."

He gave a goofy little nod. "Yeah..."

Another pause stretched between them—tense, awkward.

Ranma felt like an idiot. He should’ve just kept walking. A quick sorry, didn’t see you there, and he could’ve been gone. But now he was stuck, completely unprepared.

He opened his mouth, ready to comment on the weather—then immediately closed it. No. That would be worse. His friends would never let him live it down.

Akane, meanwhile, noticed something shift. He was as thrown off as she was. That realization... weirdly helped.

She spoke without thinking: "How’s Ranko-chan? Forgot to bring her with you?"

Her tone sounded more like herself again. She grabbed the towel draped around her neck and casually wiped her brow. Moving helped. Movement grounded her.

Ranma snapped out of his daze. "Ko-chan’s fine. I left her home hours ago. I was coming back from a friend’s place."

Akane remembered the boys from lunch, that whole scene.

And then, her mind flashed to him sitting there in the dirt, blushing.

She didn’t realize she was smiling.

"Didn’t think anyone else would be training this late," Ranma said, nodding toward her workout clothes. Immediately, he regretted it—stupid comment. People trained at all hours.

"Yeah..." she said, self-conscious again as her gaze drifted sideways. Her clothes were damp and clingy, and now she couldn’t stop thinking about how she must look.

"You’re really good."

Akane felt heat rise to her cheeks. She didn’t know if it was from exertion or embarrassment.

"I’m kind of out of shape. I haven’t trained in a while."

"Still," he said, looking genuinely impressed. "You’re strong. I could feel it."

She blinked. "You could feel it?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "I mean, your ki. It’s kind of hard to miss."

Akane stared. Then laughed softly. "So you can sense people? Like some kind of martial artist radar?"

Ranma shrugged. "Sort of. Doesn’t work with everyone. Just... people who know what they’re doing."

"Huh." She paused. "So you came here to train too?"

"Nah. I was just... walking. Trying to clear my head. Long day."

"Yeah. I get that."

Silence stretched again. This time, less tense. Still awkward.

Ranma, eyes momentarily dropping, felt the heat rise in his face. He forced his gaze up again, cleared his throat.

She was shy. She was strong. She was both. It caught him off guard.

"Same here, actually. Just needed to work some tension out," she added, brushing her hair behind her ear with a small smile.

"School stuff?"

"Yeah. I get... too into things sometimes. I’m on the carnival committee."

Ranma raised his eyebrows, arms crossing with exaggerated casualness. "So you’re kind of the boss."

She looked up at the sky, then down again, hips swaying gently as if her body wanted to keep moving. "Sort of," she said with a grin.

Ranma’s eyes were definitely not where they should’ve been. He quickly corrected himself.

The word ‘boss’ echoed in her mind. Coming from him, it felt... good, and not so much a burden. She met his eyes again.

He was smiling. Not cocky, just warm.

And he was taller than she remembered. She noticed the structure of his face now—sharp lines, soft eyes, the kind of stubble that probably never made it past morning. Her gaze drifted lower—shoulders, chest, and further down to one visible hand, large and rough.

Her fingertips itched.

She blinked. The air felt heavier. Her mind was floating somewhere entirely inappropriate.

Ranma’s voice snapped her out of it.

"You guys better do a good job, then. I want a decent farewell."

The tone was playful, but cocky. Her dreamy haze evaporated.

"We’ll try."

Then her thoughts dried up again and her confidence wavered.

"You disappeared on me back there," Ranma said, his voice almost quiet. It made her heart pound horrendously loud suddenly.

Akane blinked, thrown. "Huh?"

"Earlier. At lunch. You disappeared before I could say anything."

She swallowed. "Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude."

"You weren’t. I just..."

He trailed off.

She waited. But he didn’t continue.

The cicadas were louder now. Somewhere in the distance, a bike bell rang.

Akane glanced up at the darkening sky. "It’s getting late. I should head back."

"Yeah. Me too."

They both hesitated. Then, at the same time:

"Maybe—"

They stopped, surprised.

Ranma scratched his head. "You go first."

Akane shook her head. "It’s nothing. Just... see you around?"

"Sure thing."

OOOOOOO

Kasumi stood in the kitchen, knife in hand, methodically slicing vegetables. Chop. Chop. Chop. The repetition helped keep her thoughts from spiraling.

She wasn’t usually the anxious type. But today had stirred something in her.

It was good to see Akane so animated. Excited, even. But it also made Kasumi nervous. Akane didn’t do things halfway. And if she was opening up now—if she was letting herself feel something—it meant she could also get hurt.

That boy. Ranma. Why did his name feel so familiar?

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Kasumi frowned. Her fingers hesitated on the knife.

"Saotome..." she whispered.

She stood there a moment longer, staring blankly ahead.

It meant something. She was sure of it. But the memory wouldn’t come.

OOOOOOO

After just a few blocks, Akane spotted the dojo gates. She tried to erase that stupid grin off her face.

She felt good. Of course. Sports were a good thing, and she always felt better after a nice jogging session. But she was also happy with herself. As far as things were going, the day could still be full of surprises, even if the sun had already set a while back.

It had gone down as she'd been talking to Ranma, she thought.

Or sort of talking.

As she stopped to open the gate and catch her breath, Akane closed her eyes. She sighed happily.

She remembered Ranma's face looking at her.

Akane never thought she'd be the kind of girl to play it cool, being around her crush and all.

Crush...

But that had certainly been the case. And so, she was utterly surprised at herself.

The gate gave way to the push of her arms, and she walked in.

The first thing she noticed about home was the quietness. Akane was hastily reminded of the situation at home. Typical depressed environment. She wondered how Kasumi dealt with it.

Akane saw her father sitting on the porch, facing an old shoji board. She sighed unhappily this time.

It was rare to see him outside of his room. At least he sometimes did things. Occasionally, some acquaintance or neighbor would drop by on weekends, or late at night after work, to share a game of shoji. But hardly any words.

Acquaintances.

Not friends anymore. Just people he'd known over the years.

In a sense, she was just like her father, she realized, if not worse.

Soun Tendo continued to stare at the board.

A hopeful thought. If she could realize she'd been losing momentum, maybe her father could too. Maybe her home could also be lively again. It could be that warm, happy welcome it had once been.

And then, a bigger revelation. She was part of the household, too. She'd been blaming her father for the general sense of sadness she imagined was attached to her home now, but the truth was, she chose to let things get to her, didn't she? She too could try to make the home a better place. The way Kasumi did, unfalteringly.

Lifting her head again, she greeted her father cheerfully and proceeded to the bath, thinking how nice the water would feel on her body. Maybe she could make it all the way into the bath unnoticed.

No such luck.

Kasumi’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “You’re back.”

Akane froze mid-step. “Yeah,” she called back. “Just went for a run.”

A soft pause. Then: “You’ve been gone a while.”

“I stopped at the park,” Akane offered, trying to keep her voice casual. “Did some kata.”

Another beat of silence. Then the sound of running water and a pot clinking onto the stove.

“I’m glad,” Kasumi said. “You used to love training.”

Akane lingered at the bottom of the stairs, torn between escape and... whatever this was. Kasumi didn’t usually comment on things unless she meant to.

“I think I forgot how much,” she said softly. “Until today.”

A gentle smile from the kitchen. “Then it was a good day.”

Akane nodded, even though her sister couldn’t see her. “Yeah. It was.”

She climbed the stairs two at a time, barely holding in the energy buzzing beneath her skin. It wasn’t just the exercise. And it wasn’t just Ranma. It was the strange, glowing sense that something had started to shift. In her. Around her.

And she wasn’t sure yet if it was thrilling or terrifying.

In her room, she stood by the window for a long moment, looking out at the night. The breeze had picked up. Somewhere out there, he was walking home too.

She didn’t know why that mattered.

But it did.

He'd watched her train. She wasn't sure when he'd arrived, but she'd definitely felt someone nearby before turning around. It was a little weird—maybe even a bit intrusive—but somehow it didn’t feel threatening. Martial artists tended to size each other up. She’d done the same thing earlier, watching him move with his sister. Maybe it was just instinct.

She should have been embarrassed. She was embarrassed. But mostly, she was still trying to understand why the sight of him left her chest so tight.

There was something about the way he looked at her. Not like most guys. There was no smirk. No smugness. He’d looked... serious. Interested. Like he actually saw her.

Her face warmed again at the memory. She groaned and rolled over, pressing her cheek into the pillow.

"I don’t even know him."

She didn’t. But she wanted to.

It was ridiculous. She wasn’t the kind of girl who got caught up in boys. She had school. Responsibilities. Plans.

And yet...

She closed her eyes, trying to will her brain to stop.

It didn’t.

Instead, it circled back to Ranma.

To the way his eyes had softened. The way he’d actually listened.

Akane sat up abruptly. "I am not doing this," she muttered.

But she didn’t mean it.

And she knew it.

She laughed.

OOOOOOO

Ranma walked the long way home.

The streets were mostly empty now, the night deepening with every step. It felt quieter than usual—not just outside, but inside him, too. Less noise. Less static.

He kicked a stray pebble along the sidewalk, hands in his pockets.

He’d meant to say more. Something that made sense. Something that explained why she’d been running laps in his brain all day like an unsolvable equation.

But instead, he’d stood there like an idiot. Said a bunch of half-things. Missed every opening.

Still, she hadn’t walked away angry. She’d smiled. Laughed, even.

That had to count for something, right?

He stopped at the edge of a streetlamp’s glow, looked up at the sky.

“Akane,” he said aloud, just to see how it felt. Her name hung there a second, barely above a whisper, before dissolving into the night air.

He didn’t know what this was. He barely knew her.

But he knew how he’d felt watching her train. How serious she looked. How real.

It made him want to train harder. Show up better. Be someone she could actually talk to without tripping over his own brain.

He sighed, turned the final corner toward his house.

Yeah. He was definitely off his game.

OOOOOOO

The house was dim when he let himself in. No lights on, but the scent of miso and steamed rice still lingered faintly in the air. He toed off his shoes, careful not to make noise. Nodoka hated it when he woke Ranko.

He passed the living room and paused at the shoji screen leading to the backyard. It was slightly open. He pushed it with one finger and stepped out.

The night air wrapped around him like a second skin. Somewhere past the neighbors’ fence, a wind chime tinkled.

He took a deep breath, exhaled slow.

There wasn’t much to see—just shadows of the garden and a pale sliver of moon—but it felt better out here. More honest. Fewer things to pretend.

He sank down onto the wooden engawa and leaned back on his hands.

Akane had looked at him like he wasn’t a complete idiot. She’d listened. Talked. Not just out of politeness. She’d met him halfway.

He closed his eyes.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed that—being seen. Not just noticed. Seen.

OOOOOOO

Akane sat cross-legged on her bed, notebook in her lap. A pen twirled idly between her fingers.

The pages were mostly blank. Her homework untouched.

She was supposed to be outlining committee tasks, jotting down logistics for the carnival booths. But her mind had wandered off hours ago, and it had no intention of returning.

She chewed lightly on the cap of the pen and stared at nothing in particular.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then flopped onto her back with a groan.

This was ridiculous.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t talked to boys before. But none of them had ever made her forget how to breathe. Or made her want to say something clever and then completely fail to.

And definitely none of them had made her feel... seen.

That was the word, wasn’t it?

She sat back up, tossed the pen aside, and closed the notebook. There was no way she was getting anything done tonight.

Through her window, the breeze pushed gently against the curtain, lifting it just enough to let moonlight fall across the floor.

She stood up, crossed the room, and pushed it open a bit more.

Somewhere in Nerima, he was probably getting home, just like her.

OOOOOOO

This was definitely not his day. Or maybe it was, he couldn't tell.

Ranma was absently walking the path back home, hands in his pockets. He knew he was dragging his feet, and that it probably looked like he was all hunched over, but he didn't really care. The already dark sky was making Ranma feel a bit isolated from the rest of the world.

He raised his head toward the few little stars that had already appeared above him.

He hadn't quite managed to say what he wanted, or make the kind of impression he'd hoped for. Maybe he'd overestimated his presence. Maybe she'd just thrown him off.

Whatever the reason, it stung more than he liked to admit. Not that he'd ever tell anyone—especially not Hiroshi or Daisuke. They'd tease him into oblivion.

He used to think he had a handle on things. That he knew how he came off. But Akane hadn’t reacted like the others. She hadn’t flinched or swooned or giggled. Just... looked at him. Like a regular guy.

And that was the part he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Last month of high school...

Maybe that's just how it went. You got to the top of something, and then boom—you were back at the bottom of the next thing. High school, college, job, whatever. Always starting over.

He guessed grown-ups were so respected because they'd had to eat humble pie more times than he could count. That, or they just learned to fake it.

He scratched his head. Seemed exhausting, honestly.

Back at home, everything seemed very quiet.

In the dim light, he could see his father through the window. He was sipping sake by the TV.

He guessed his mother was in the kitchen, and Ranko was probably in there too, "helping" with dinner tasks. She loved to help.

At the thought of Ranko, he smiled. She was their family's light. The little angel. She'd been sent to help his fragmented family get together and work as a whole again.

No wonder she'd thought nothing of that flower she'd given to Akane. Why would she? It was only just a flower, after all. Ranma found himself wondering, what could Akane have done with it? She'd said her nightstand. In a little jar? Perhaps inside a book? Maybe as a bookmark, sticking out from between the pages she was currently reading. And this book, it would rest on her nightstand, all night, next to her while she slept...

Oh, great... he was suddenly a bit jealous of a nightstand and a book. Never mind they were imaginary.

He got a bit stuck there, lingering in the yard, wondering whether or not to walk in and greet his family, while thinking about Akane's nightstand. Because if she had one, she probably had a western-type bed, like he did, instead of a futon. Nightstands generally had a lamp on them, didn't they? And a phone set, maybe, and a framed picture of her boyfrie—

Ranma tightened his jaw at the sudden assault his own musings had brought upon him, his stomach twisting in weird ways. Sigh. He knocked his head a couple of times.

"Hello?" he whispered into the empty yard, talking to himself while softly knocking on his temple. There really was no point in thoughts like that.

He felt a bit lost, suddenly. He wanted to know things about this Akane Tendo. He wanted to know if she had a lamp on her nightstand at all. And it would certainly help to know if she had a boyfriend or not.

All he knew about her was that she was a beautiful, spirited girl. Smart, or so he thought. Nicely fit, too. He knew she puzzled him. He knew she was perfectly capable of inducing him into shutting his brain down.

He knew he liked her. A lot. And that he wanted to know her. He desperately wanted to know if all the things he sensed and imagined about her were true. He somehow believed he wouldn't be disappointed.

Finally making a sort of decision, Ranma walked around the house and onto the backyard. For a place in Tokyo, he thought they were blessed to have a detached house. It left enough space for a generous backyard.

But none of that really mattered at the moment. All he cared about was getting to know Akane. He wanted to know what made her smile that beautiful smile of hers, so he could coax her to smile up at him.

He wanted to be able to make her laugh. To make her blush. He wanted to know.

Well... things were getting pretty clear then, he thought with a deep, cleansing breath. He started a light warm-up workout. He'd just have to get to know her before she finished school. And that was that.

He stretched his arms above his head, only to let them fall heavily by his sides a few seconds later. Another thought invaded him.

But if there wasn't enough time? He closed his eyes and sighed, frustrated.

He started a basic kata.

And what would be the point anyway? He was going off to college whether he liked it or not. Even if he stayed in Tokyo, he assumed he'd be so busy with everything. And she would be too, in her senior year. He hardly thought they'd have any time to share after the end of the year.

Was it really worth it, the effort? Was it worth it to look and feel like a complete meathead every time he was near her?

He wished he could be near her again.

He thought of her kicking up into the air. Man, she was strong. That kind of sharp, focused energy—you didn’t fake that.

He punched the air a little harder. Not bad. He still had it.

Then he thought of her blush, that flick of hair escaping the ponytail, those long legs—

Okay, yeah. He liked her. A lot. Maybe too much.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore. But if she ever gave him the chance to hang out or talk or whatever, he’d take it. No need to overthink it.

“Just play it cool,” he muttered.

Then punched again. It felt good. Better than all that thinking.

OOOOOOOO

As Akane poked at her food in a distracted way, she thought everything was just as quiet as ever. Good thing Nabiki would be coming back from college for the summer. Maybe things would lighten up a bit then.

Akane raised her eyes from the bowl of rice, only to find Kasumi's eyes fixed on hers. Her older sister looked strangely amused. Her eyes sparkled, which, if not out of character, was still unusual these days.

Akane returned her sister's stare with a questioning glance, silently raising her eyebrow. Was Kasumi up to something? She couldn’t tell. Kasumi just kept eating, until she suddenly widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows.

What? Was there something on her face? Akane shook her head, confused, and gave a slight shrug.

Kasumi only opened her eyes a little wider.

Akane was starting to feel frustrated—and amused. She put down her bowl and tried to shoot her sister an intimidating look. "What?" she mouthed. Then she wondered why they'd stopped talking during meals. And why they weren’t talking now, when there was apparently something worth talking about?

Soun Tendo ate listlessly, as unimpressed as ever.

Kasumi looked away, pretending to ignore Akane. A few minutes later, Akane spotted her sister trying to hide a grin behind her rice bowl. The grin began to spread.

"What?" Akane asked aloud, amusement now clear in her voice.

Soun looked up.

Kasumi just kept smiling.

Soun's eyes moved between his daughters, then returned to his food.

Kasumi sighed theatrically and put her bowl down with a little too much force. She was clearly performing.

"I know," she mouthed.

"Huh?" Akane leaned forward.

Kasumi mouthed again. "Ran-ma."

Akane's brain finally caught up. But instead of asking questions, her thoughts spiraled. Did Kasumi really know him? Akane blushed.

Kasumi grinned like she couldn’t help it.

"Is this for real?" Akane finally asked. "Do you really know him?"

Kasumi nodded.

Soun looked up again.

"Really, really?"

Another nod.

"You're not just teasing me?"

A shake of the head.

"What?" Soun asked, confused.

Both girls turned to him and blinked.

Then they started laughing, softly but genuinely. It had been a long time.

Soun just stared, confused.

OOOOOOOO

Training had definitely helped. Ranma felt more like himself again. He even had enough energy to joke around with Ranko over dinner. Though he could feel his mother’s gaze on him.

What was it with women and their sixth sense? He didn’t care. He was eating, and that was what mattered. His mom’s cooking could make him forget anything—for a little while.

He cleared his plate in record time and stared at it, willing more food to appear.

Nodoka watched him with a sharp, knowing look. "Ranma, chew your food properly. No one here is trying to steal it."

Ranma scratched the back of his head, grinning. "Mmm... sorry."

Nodoka turned to Genma. The warmth vanished.

"Genma."

Genma froze mid-bite, guilt written all over his face.

And he blushed.

Ranko started giggling. It was contagious. Ranma couldn’t help but laugh too, even if he felt a little sorry for the old man.

"Cheez, old man," Ranma said, clapping his father on the back.

Genma sighed. Nodoka kept her eyes on him, unreadable.

Ranko kept giggling.

Eventually, dinner ended.

OOOOOOOO

Akane was in her pajamas when she heard a knock. Probably Kasumi, who hadn’t said a word after dinner, just disappeared into the kitchen.

"Come in."

Kasumi entered and smiled. Akane patted the bed beside her, and Kasumi sat down, closing the door behind her.

The room was softly lit, the yellow glow from the lamp making everything feel secretive.

"What took you so long?"

"This is nice," Kasumi said, pulling her robe tighter. "I wanted to enjoy it. Don’t you think it’s exciting?"

Akane giggled. She had a pretty good idea what Kasumi meant. "You're right, oneesan. But you're killing me!"

She sighed. A change was long overdue.

"Did you see Dad's face?"

Kasumi nodded. "That's what I want to last."

"Fine, but come on. Out with it!"

"Okay..."

"And...?"

Kasumi laughed. "You're so impatient, Akane-chan!"

"You're being mean."

"Alright. Ranma used to be our neighbor."

"Neighbor?"

"Yes. He and his parents lived across the street. More than ten years ago."

Akane frowned, trying to remember.

"I think it's destiny you met again. You really missed him when he left. For about a week."

Akane's eyes widened.

"You used to play husband and wife all the time. You even said you were engaged."

"Ran-ran," Akane whispered, finally remembering.

"I’m glad I remembered. Maybe you should ask him about it."

Akane stared at her toes. Would it be weird to ask?

"I'm going to bed. Good night."

"Night," Akane replied.

Kasumi paused at the door.

"And thank you," Akane added.

Kasumi nodded and left.

Akane fell back on her bed, grinning. That little brat. Who would've guessed?

She reached for the lamp switch but spotted the small white flower in a glass. She turned to look at it and sighed.

She brushed her fingers over the petals, then let her arm fall.

She remembered.

Tucking herself in, she clicked off the light. The streetlamps cast faint light through the window. Akane stared at the night sky.

So many things she wanted to do. The more she thought about Ranma, the more energized she felt. It thrilled her, the effect she'd had on him. A little sense of victory. It felt good to know she could get to him—like he used to get to her.

Maybe this was payback.

She replayed their conversation.

"Hi, Akane..."

She'd frozen.

"Mm... Hi—"

"Ranma. Saotome Ranma. Nice to meet you."

Even his voice was nice. Steady. Just thinking about it made her heart flutter.

"Hi, Akane..."

Her eyes snapped open. She sat up.

"Hi, Akane..."

He knew her name. Before she said anything.

"Oh Gods," she whispered.

The warmth rushed through her. Silly or not, she didn’t care. She wanted to see him again.

She lay back down and giggled, wrapping herself in the sheets.

She stared at the ceiling, slowly settling down.

This was going to be fun. Ne, Ran-ran?

She drifted off, more content than she’d been in a long time.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma lay in bed, lights off.

He kept thinking about his parents. It amazed him they were still together. Especially after Genma had taken him away for so long.

When they returned, his parents barely spoke. That much he remembered.

But then Ranko had been born. And things changed. Love was complicated, he guessed. But they were a family again.

He hoped he’d have something like that one day. Even if he ended up old, fat, and bald. He wanted someone who would love him anyway.

It was far too early for all that, but the idea comforted him.

He sighed, rolling onto his side. Maybe it was all about finding the right person.

He closed his eyes.

Then opened them again.

Akane.

Would he get to know her? Would they get along?

Ranma yawned and turned onto his back.

Damn. His brain just wouldn’t shut up.

Eventually, he gave up. He wasn't getting much sleep tonight.

But if Akane was going to be the reason, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

TBC...

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: The Challenge of Each Other

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Akane wandered through Furinkan's near-empty hallways, dragging her feet. A few students were still cleaning their classrooms, but otherwise the place was deserted. She found it oddly comforting that everyone she passed looked just as exhausted as she felt.

The summer heat didn’t help. Tokyo in August turned everything into a slow blur, making the most basic tasks feel like a marathon.

Her thoughts were sluggish. The combination of heat and fatigue made it hard to concentrate, so her attention drifted toward mundane details: the drone of cicadas, the harsh sunlight streaming through the windows, the way the white hallways seemed blindingly bright.

Was it really only Monday? She felt like she’d been through an entire week already. Her limbs were heavy, like she'd spent the day soaking in a hot spring. Even the floor beneath her probably radiated warmth. The idea of curling up for a quick nap in the hallway was deeply tempting.

Instead, she shuffled over to a window and opened it, hoping for a breeze she knew wouldn’t come. The air outside was just as heavy.

"So lazy..."

She rested her upper body on the windowsill and sighed. Maybe a short nap would help. She cracked one eye open, gazing at the courtyard. The trees near the lunch area looked inviting. Maybe she'd lie down in the shade for a bit before heading home.

She made her way slowly toward the stairwell, barely able to summon the energy to move.

The carnival was wearing her out. She was proud of what they’d accomplished, but the endless meetings and planning were starting to grind her down. She gripped the stair railing to steady herself—and then she heard it.

Footsteps. Fast ones.

She turned, confused. Who would be running in this heat?

Her eyes widened. Her pulse jumped.

Ranma.

He was sprinting toward her, smiling.

As he reached the stairs, he leaned in just enough to speak near her ear, still in motion.

"Yo, Akane. What’s with the goofy look?"

Then he leapt the entire flight of steps, landing lightly. Show-off.

He glanced back at her with a grin. "Better get that nap in. You might fall asleep on your way home."

And he was gone again, dashing down the stairs.

"I'm gonna be late!" he called, voice fading.

Akane stood frozen. Her heart was racing, her cheeks warm.

She kept seeing him in motion—so fluid, so alive. Like that time she watched him playing with Ranko. There was something captivating about the way he moved. Beautiful, even.

He was energy in human form, like his body was always poised to react. She’d never seen him winded, never seen him falter. It was contagious. A moment ago she’d been ready to collapse. Now she felt like running.

Alive. That’s what he was. Unapologetically, undeniably alive. And when he was nearby, she felt more alive too.

She was more aware these days. Aware of him. It was like she had her own internal radar, always pinging when he was nearby. She even spent more time getting ready in the mornings, though she'd never admit it.

Still, he always surprised her. Like now.

That’s how it had been lately—two weeks of close calls and awkward near-encounters.

Once, she'd barreled into him so hard at lunch that he caught her and her bento in one smooth motion. He didn’t let go of her arm right away. They’d just stared at each other until Yuka cleared her throat.

"Okay," Yuka had teased. "She’s safe now. You can let go."

Ranma had smiled sheepishly, muttered a soft "Gomen," and walked off.

Sayuri and Yuka hadn’t let it go since.

Akane pretended to be annoyed, but she wasn’t. Not really. The teasing made things feel more real. More tangible. It meant there was something there.

Still lingering at the top of the stairs, she shook herself. Enough daydreaming. She wasn’t tired anymore. She was wired.

She wandered until she passed the locker room and paused.

I could get some training in.

The locker room was empty. Its silence echoed. The day was already late.

"I'm gonna be late," he’d said.

Late for what?

Maybe he was trying to get her attention with these little stunts. Or maybe she was reading too much into things.

Still... it made her want to try.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma had cleaning duty that day. Half an hour after his last class, he stood alone in the classroom, idly wiping surfaces. The kenpo club wouldn’t meet for another hour.

He stepped into the hallway and headed for the courtyard, planning to nap.

As he passed a noisy room, he smirked.

The carnival committee. Again.

Of course Akane was in there.

People said she was the best student at Furinkan, and Ranma believed it. Leadership just came naturally to her.

He was tempted to peek inside. Maybe pull a prank. But not yet.

He’d picked up on her schedule. She stayed for two hours after class almost every day. Then she went home.

That was when he tried to catch her. Not that he had a plan. The trying was enough.

He headed to the trees behind the lunch area and dropped onto the grass.

It was cooler in the shade, and the breeze stirred the leaves just enough to lull him. He fell asleep.

Not for long.

When he woke, the sun was burning his face. He scrambled up, annoyed. He’d overslept. Maybe she was gone.

He bolted for the school building.

At the top of the stairs, the hallway was quiet. The committee room was empty.

Damn.

He turned the corner—and spotted her.

Akane. Walking slowly, heading for the stairs.

His heart surged. He ran.

Halfway there, panic hit. What would he say?

"Hey, Akane, I’m in a hurry to see you because… of reasons."

Brilliant.

Still, he couldn’t stop. Seeing her made everything worth it. Hell, maybe he’d even join the carnival committee, just to be near her.

She turned around. Clearly tired. Still beautiful.

He grinned.

Perfect.

He swooped in, just enough to tease, then leapt away.

He loved impressing her. He’d never admit it out loud, but moments like these made school such a nice place to be.

He dashed to the locker room, changed quickly, and headed to the gym in a hurry.

He was late. Again.

"Nice of you to show up, Saotome."

He mumbled an apology. The sensei just smirked and waved him toward the warm-ups.

Ranma liked this role. Assisting, teaching. He was good at it, and it gave him a way to practice without showing off.

His mind drifted as he corrected a student’s form. Akane had been on his mind constantly. He’d been a mess when he first met her—confused, angry, overwhelmed. But now?

Now he felt focused. Restless, yes. But in a good way.

The sensei clapped.

"Okay! Pair off and start the defense-offense kata from last week!"

"Hai!"

Ranma was about to spar when the gym doors creaked open.

Everyone turned.

Akane stood in the doorway, wearing a yellow gi.

Ranma’s heart dropped into his stomach.

She looked nervous. Her eyes met his.

"Sorry, sensei. I didn’t know you’d be using the gym. I can come back later..."

"You’re welcome to join us, Tendo. Just don’t get yourself hurt," the sensei replied.

The boys laughed. Ranma winced. She was smiling, but he saw her jaw tighten.

"Hai," she said.

The room buzzed with noise again, but Ranma barely noticed. He was watching her stretch.

Focus, idiot.

He turned back to his partner and began a light spar.

"Saotome!"

He turned. The sensei gestured.

"Pair up with Tendo. You can control your hits better than the rest of us. She’ll be safer with you."

Ranma opened his mouth to respond, but Akane beat him to it.

"But, sir! I'm perfectly capable of—"

"I know that, Tendo. But I also know you haven't trained in a while, and I'd rather not take any chances with my students' safety."

"Hai," she muttered, bowing slightly, eyes downcast.

Ranma felt a twinge of disappointment. Her reaction wasn’t what he expected. Still, the pressure inside him built. He needed to make a good impression.

He glanced at her. She wasn’t meeting his gaze, so he opted for the direct route.

"Hey, cheer up," he said lightly. It sounded friendly enough, he thought. At least it caught her attention. She looked up at him.

"Don't mind him so much," he added, waving a hand dismissively. "He just doesn't know what he's talking about."

It was disrespectful, sure, but it was also true. Ranma had no doubt Akane could hold her own against anyone in the group.

She sighed. "Thanks, Ranma," she said with a smile. The tension in her shoulders eased a little.

"Plus," Ranma added, aiming for casual, "if you're looking for a decent challenge, I'm still the best around."

He wasn’t sure he meant it, but Akane was smiling again, so he pushed a little more.

"And there's no way I'd let a girl beat me."

He grinned, meaning it as a playful challenge. Instead, it came out more like a dumb joke.

Akane chuckled, and Ranma’s stomach flipped.

"Okay," she said, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. "I'll take your word for it. So you better be good—or you might regret it."

"W-what?" Ranma stammered.

She smirked.

"Fine!" he snapped, voice rising in mock outrage. "Prepare yourself to suffer."

Without another word, Akane dropped into a fighting stance, her mood shifting in an instant.

Ranma blinked. The sudden shift in her presence floored him. She had either a temper like dynamite or laser-focused control—he wasn’t sure which.

Now here he was, standing on the dojo mats, across from Akane. This was supposed to be a friendly spar. He remembered how she looked training in the park and knew he’d be a fool to waste this chance.

His palms were cold and clammy.

Friendly spar, friendly spar, friendly spar...

Yeah. He was anxious as hell.

Akane struck first.

OOOOOOO

What am I doing? Akane's mind raced.

This was not the plan. She should've gone home. She knew Ranma was good, and though she'd never admit it aloud, she was intimidated.

Not afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of losing. Her pride didn’t take hits well.

Still... maybe she didn’t have to lose. Maybe she could surprise him.

Ranma stood a few feet away, looking way too serious. She didn’t mind it. He looked good when he was focused.

Oh god. Her eyes drifted to the opening of his gi and the lines of his chest.

Akane groaned inwardly. What the hell was happening to her? She wasn’t the type to stare. She wasn't supposed to notice things like that.

But maybe... maybe this was who she had always been. Maybe she’d just never had a reason to explore it.

She exhaled. No more overthinking.

Two weeks had passed. He still hadn’t brought up their shared childhood. Maybe he hadn’t realized it. Or maybe he had, and didn’t care.

Well, she was done worrying. She was going to fight like she meant it.

She leapt into action, throwing a classic attack. A smile tugged at her lips.

Ranma was caught off guard. Her grin nearly got her a solid hit.

But he recovered quickly. She couldn’t touch him. He dodged her punches easily, stepping back with that frustratingly graceful bounce.

Akane's frustration grew. Why wouldn’t he attack? Her fists sliced through empty air. Her anger fueled her punches, driving her to increase speed and power.

Without thinking, she mixed in high kicks.

Ranma was impressed. She was fast. If he wasn’t careful, she could land a serious blow.

He leapt to avoid a kick aimed at his thigh. Her spin flowed into a high roundhouse.

He ducked, barely missing it.

The match stretched on. Akane’s shouts grew louder. Ranma started enjoying the challenge. Her ki was flaring. Her face was fierce.

Her anger didn’t slow her down—it focused her. He was caught up in her energy, her fire.

She suddenly retreated into a defensive stance.

Ranma mirrored her. She was breathing hard, skin glistening with sweat. He swallowed. His heart was racing. She looked incredible.

Oh hell. He was completely distracted.

Akane, meanwhile, was spiraling. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat. And now he was just... staring. Mocking her?

"Stop fooling around!"

Ranma blinked. Her tone rattled him. He noticed the crowd that had gathered. Pressure built.

She wanted him to fight back? He didn’t want to hurt her.

"What's your problem, anyway?" she snapped.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The whole class was watching.

Ranma squared his jaw. "Oh! I'm sorry," he said with mock sweetness. "It's just that I don't hit girls." It was true, actually, he’d been taught that way. Though staring at Akane now, and knowing his mother, he wondered if it was an excuse his dad had come up with to try to get out of facing the consequences of his actions rather than actual nobility. Probably the former.

The fire lit in her eyes.

She seethed. She would show him.

Drawing in a breath, she mirrored his smug grin.

"Right... just keep dancing around. Maybe you're scared to lose to a girl."

"Ooooooh!" the crowd howled.

Ranma’s smile dropped. "You have no idea what you're getting into..."

He charged.

She barely tracked his leap. He flipped behind her and swept low.

She sprang up and back, arms overhead, landing neatly. But Ranma was already in front of her.

A flash of movement—his open palm struck her midsection, gently but firmly.

She staggered.

He hadn’t even punched. That pissed her off more than pain would have.

Still gasping, she reset her stance. His eyes locked onto hers.

Oh no.

He was closing in again.

He pulled his arm back. She knew she couldn’t block in time. And she wouldn’t let herself fall flat.

An idea.

Akane dropped her guard entirely.

Ranma panicked. Her face was blank, utterly exposed.

He jerked back mid-strike, trying to stop himself. He lost balance.

In that instant, Akane moved. Her arm shot forward. Ranma's momentum carried him right into her counter.

He stumbled.

She kicked behind his knees and dropped to one, driving him backward.

He hit the mat hard. Her palm rested on his chest, holding him down.

He blinked, stunned. She was smiling.

She’d tricked him. And won.

Applause broke out. Cheers from the boys.

"Way to go, Tendo!"

Ranma didn’t hear them. Neither did Akane.

"I should be mad," he wheezed.

She blushed, pulling her hand back. "Yeah, well... you had it coming."

"Yeah..."

She extended her hand.

"Come on, Ran-ran. No point lying around all day."

He took her hand, mind foggy. That name...

As she pulled him up, it clicked.

His eyes narrowed. "You—"

She stuck out her tongue and jogged off to join the group.

He followed, dazed. No wonder. How had he missed it?

"Yo, Akane... wait up."

"Shut up, twit," she gasped. "I’m listening to the sensei."

"Yeah, right." He leaned in, voice low. "We really should talk. This is kind of a surprise."

She glanced at him, grinning.

"Maybe I should walk you home. Wouldn’t want you getting mugged. Someone's gotta protect a weakling like you."

She laughed softly.

He swatted the back of her head.

"Ouch," she muttered, rubbing the spot.

He stared ahead, expression blank.

"You had that coming."

"Yeah, I know," she said, smiling.

He looked at her. Just for a second.

Warmth bloomed in his chest.

This felt right. Like he’d always known her.

He couldn’t wait for class to be over.

TBC...

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Intensities (Part I)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Ranma hit the showers fast, the fastest he ever had, bolting out of the locker room under a wave of envy from the other kenpo guys.

"Akane Tendo, man. She's the hottest girl on campus."

"No kidding."

Yeah, Ranma thought with a crooked smile. No argument there.

He still couldn’t believe they had history. That she used to be the girl from those scattered memories. Now she was real—right here, part of his daily life—and she was throwing him completely off balance.

And he kind of liked it.

He still couldn’t figure out what it was about her—the way she moved, her stubborn streak, that spark when she got serious. Whatever it was, it kept pulling him in. Made his chest tighten and his steps speed up.

But just as he neared the school gates, he slowed down.

Was he coming off too eager?

He adjusted his backpack, threw one hand into his pocket, and stared up at the sky like he had nowhere better to be.

Yeah, he was posing. Trying to look like he wasn’t waiting. But he couldn’t relax, not around her. So if he was going to fidget, he might as well make it count.

Desperate? Maybe. He didn’t care.

He only wished he actually felt like the smooth guy his friends thought he was.

He shifted his weight, trying not to look like he was scanning for her.

And then—

"So... are you coming?"

He turned, startled. Akane was outside the gates, her hair still damp from her shower.

His brain stalled for half a beat—shower, Akane, uniform—and then kicked back into gear. He nodded. She smiled, already turning to leave.

He snapped out of it and jogged to catch up.

She was swinging her backpack like it was nothing, arms loose and casual.

"So, where’d you go all those years ago?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"I thought your family just moved or something."

"Oh. Yeah. Something like that."

She glanced at him—he was watching the ground, voice relaxed, but something in his expression was off.

"My dad took me on a training trip when I was five. I was away for years. We went around Japan. Even to China, for a little while."

"Sounds fun... and a long time to be away, too."

"Yeah, it was just the two of us."

She frowned. "Your mom didn’t go?"

He shook his head. "No. She stayed behind. I guess... I don’t really know the details. I was a kid. Didn’t question it much."

Akane paused, watching his face. His tone was calm, but he didn’t seem eager to explain.

"I think I remember her," she said, before she could stop herself. "Sort of. I think she had a sword. And... I think she used to talk to my mom sometimes."

"Huh. Could be."

"But after you left, we never saw her again."

Ranma shrugged. "I think she moved out of the neighborhood. Smaller place, maybe. Too much house for one person. Who knows."

Akane nodded. "Still. I don’t know how anyone could let their kid go off like that. For that long."

"It was my old man’s idea. She didn’t like it, but he didn’t really give her much say. I think she was mad for a long time. But I was too young to get it."

He gave a quiet laugh. "Honestly, I didn’t even realize she wasn’t coming until we’d already been gone a while. I was too caught up in the training."

"That’s kind of sad."

Ranma wasn’t sure what part she meant, and it stung either way. But he let it go.

"They patched things up eventually. A couple years after we got back, Ranko was born."

"Oh. That explains the gap."

"Yeah. Mom seems... proud now. Says she got a strong, disciplined son out of the deal. She brags about it when she thinks I’m not listening. It’s embarrassing."

Akane smiled.

"She always had this idea about raising a ‘man among men.’ Her words, not mine. I’m surprised she hasn’t enrolled Ranko in flower arranging or something by now."

Akane’s backpack had stopped swinging.

"Five years of training... No wonder you’re that good."

As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. Too honest.

Ranma rubbed the back of his neck, pretending not to notice.

"Nah..."

He glanced sideways. She was fiddling with her hair, nearly dry now, the sun catching the ends.

He wondered what it would feel like to touch.

They walked in silence for a while, and strangely, it felt okay.

"You're pretty good too, you know," he said.

Akane blinked. "Yeah, right."

"No, really."

She smiled faintly. "Thanks. I’m not fishing for compliments. It’s just... besides Dad, and sometimes Kasumi, no one really says that. I started training with him just a little while before—"

She stopped.

"Before what?"

"Before my mom died. Ten years ago."

Ranma winced. "Sorry."

"It’s okay." She forced a small smile. "It’s been a long time. I just miss her."

They walked quietly again.

"So you’ve been training ever since?"

"Yeah. We kept it up for a while. Hard. Then he stopped. But I didn’t."

Ranma smirked. "You always were tough. Good thing you had martial arts to pour that energy into."

"Hey!"

"Better than just picking fights with guys. I’d know."

"You're impossible."

He stuck his tongue out. "Bleeh—"

She swatted his arm.

"Jerk."

"Tomboy."

"Quit it."

"What? I remember you throwing punches better than half the boys I knew."

Before she could answer, her schoolbag came flying at his head. He dodged it, landing cleanly on the fence.

She glared up at him. He grinned.

She wasn’t sure whether to be mad or impressed.

"Get down here!"

"And risk a concussion? No thanks."

"Coward."

He crouched lower, still smiling.

Akane paused. He looked ridiculous up there—knees bent, tongue out—but somehow also... not. The way his arms balanced him, his shoulders flexed—it caught her off guard.

Her eyes lingered on the angle of his jaw, then up to meet his gaze.

He was looking straight at her.

She blushed. Again.

And then he winked.

Mortified, she turned away and kept walking. Anything to reset her brain.

He landed beside her, unbothered.

She didn’t know what to say.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What?"

She elbowed him.

"Oof. There it is again."

She smiled despite herself.

Ranma felt like he’d just scored a win. Her reaction—blushing, flustered, teasing him back—it was everything.

"You really are good, you know," he said. "You could take on anyone."

"Including you?"

"You already have."

She grinned. "Maybe."

They walked the rest of the way in easy silence.

At the gate, Akane kept walking. Ranma felt a sudden letdown.

Then she turned.

"See you tomorrow."

He nodded.

She smiled and walked on.

OOOOOOO

They’d fallen into a rhythm. Lunch together—sometimes just them, sometimes with friends and chaos. After school, she trained with the kenpo club. Then came the walk home. Sometimes with Ranko. Sometimes not.

It was during those walks that things felt easy. Real. Like she didn’t have to put on a face.

Akane liked that. She liked him—his restlessness, his boldness, the way he could make her laugh or get under her skin in two seconds flat.

He knew her. In a way no one else did. And not because of their childhood memories—those were blurry at best—but because of how he saw her now.

And somehow, seeing herself through his eyes made things shift. She started noticing her own strength. Her own stubbornness. Even a little beauty, maybe.

She wasn’t changing into someone new. She was starting to see who she already was. And that mattered.

Ranma had helped her get there.

How could she not like him?

Ranma saw these things about her—at least, Akane thought so. And when they were together, she felt free to be whoever she wanted. Rough, shy, bold, awkward. All of it.

They just clicked.

She wasn’t used to feeling this... connected. And honestly, it scared her a little. Things between them felt natural. Too natural. Like two mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow fit. But she'd be an idiot to pretend it didn’t matter. Even if Ranma wasn’t sure he’d still be around next year.

Their friendship didn’t follow logic. It didn’t care about timing or planning. Her stomach flipped around him, her smile betrayed her too often, and it was all so far from being thought through. It was instinct.

And after every walk home, she floated through the rest of the evening, distracted and warm and far too aware of how much time she’d spent thinking about him.

Last night had been worse than usual. He’d told her he’d be helping with the weekend prep, which meant—hours. Together. That had the potential of danger.

The last time they’d spent any significant amount of quality time together…yeah. That has happened.

She still couldn’t believe she’d actually gone through with it. She cut her hair. Because of something Ranma said.

She ran a hand through the now-short strands and sighed.

Damn him for getting under her skin so easily.

They’d been training in the dojo. Ranma had practically begged to use it—had been pestering her for days. At first, she’d been reluctant. She’d only known him for a couple of weeks, and Nabiki was home for break, which meant teasing was inevitable.

Still, she’d caved. Snuck him in through the side entrance. Kasumi, of course, had intercepted them with tea and snacks. And afterward, Akane had pretty much shoved him out the door.

Nabiki had shown up midway through the sparring, leaned on the frame like she owned the place, and made comments that made Akane’s ears burn. It wasn’t just the teasing—it was how confident Nabiki was. How adult. And how fast Akane had suddenly felt like she’d never catch up. Nevermind she was only a couple of years her elder.

She hated that she’d felt jealous. Hated that Nabiki’s attitude worked.

It had rattled her, and she’d taken out her frustrations on Ranma. He could take it. She’d lashed out. Hard. Her hair came loose in the middle of the fight. It had gotten in the way,

“You know, with hair that long, it’s no wonder it keeps getting in your way... I mean—unless you're trying to prove you're not a tomboy or something...”

He’d been teasing. She knew that, obviously. But the words stuck. And her lose hair sort of proved his point. Maybe.

And later, once he was gone, she’d marched straight to Kasumi. Scissors. Determination.

Kasumi had hesitated. Nabiki hadn’t.

“She needs the change,” she’d said, breezing into the bathroom with a yawn. “You know it. I know it. Dad probably knows it. Akane wants it. Her hot boyfriend wants it—”

“Hey!”

“—he said so, right? What’s the big deal? It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

Kasumi had murmured something about Akane always wanting to grow it out when she was little.

“Exactly,” Nabiki said. “She’s not little anymore.”

So Kasumi cut it.

The look on Ranma’s face the next day had been... worth it. He’d almost done a double take. Like he wasn’t sure it was really her.

He’d liked it. That much was obvious. Whether it was guilt or something else, he’d gone quiet, shy. Polite, even.

Akane smiled at the memory. She still wasn’t used to the style—but it was growing on her.

She headed toward the lunch area. Carnival prep was in full swing. More and more people had joined in over the week, and Akane was finally feeling a little less like she’d been doing a big deal of heavy lifting.

She spotted Sayuri, Hiroshi, and Daisuke arguing about who knew what. Yuka rolled her eyes. Akane waved.

Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since she first saw Ranma again.

And in that short time, everything had shifted.

She still didn’t know where she was going. But for the first time in ages, the not-knowing felt... okay. Even safe.

With purpose, she moved toward her friends.

OOOOOOO

Ranma was up early. Not that he’d slept much.

He’d spent half the night thinking about today. Wondering. Anticipating.

Sure, they talked a lot now. Trained together. Teased each other. But they’d never actually done something together. Like a real plan. Real time.

Today they’d be painting banners. Helping out with the carnival.

Who knew what might happen?

He chuckled quietly in the kitchen as he grabbed breakfast.

Last time they spent real time together, she’d ended up chopping off her hair. And damn, had he liked it.

He hadn’t thought Akane could get any prettier. But the new cut—it suited her. Made her look sharper. Confident. It showed off her neck, the angles of her face. It wasn’t just cute. It was... striking.

Of course, he also felt guilty. He’d made some dumb joke, and she’d acted on it. That wasn’t the plan.

But she was full of surprises. And he didn’t want to stop discovering them.

He was still smiling when a small voice piped up behind him.

“Nii-chan? Where are you going?”

He turned. Ranko, half-asleep, stood in the doorway clutching her worn-out teddy bear.

“To school, Ko-chan,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s up? You’re up early.”

She yawned, wandered in, and plopped into a chair.

“I heard you. You were loud.” She rubbed her eyes. “I wanted to see you. You’ve been weird lately.”

Ranma poured her a glass of soymilk, chuckling.

He sat across from her. She sipped her drink, feet swinging.

“You think?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him over the glass. “First you got mad at me all the time. Then... you stopped.”

She wasn’t wrong.

When he’d first re-met Akane, everything had been off. He’d been irritable. Restless. And home life had taken the brunt of it.

But something about Akane made him pay more attention. To her. To people. Even to Ranko.

He’d always thought he was impatient. Turns out, he had a knack for patience—when it mattered.

“I like you better now,” Ranko said solemnly.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re nicer when you’re in looooove.”

Ranma blinked.

“Ko-chan!”

She grinned. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Uh. No. Just a friend.”

“But you want her to be your girlfriend.”

He laughed nervously. “Maybe.”

“Good,” Ranko said. “She’s nice. And she likes you. And you’re nicer to me when you’re in love.”

Ranma was torn between being flustered and amused.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

He groaned. “I don’t know, Ko-chan.”

She drained her glass.

“You should ask her. She’ll say yes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“I know,” Ranko said, already hopping down from her chair. “Ask her.”

He sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not!”

“I told you—I don’t know!”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something about how grownups were weird as she vanished down the hall.

Ranma stood there, hands in his pockets, grinning at the empty doorway.

Girls.

TBC.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Intensities (Part II)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Ranma walked to school with his head down, hands buried in his pockets, his steps quick and tense. Ranko’s words lingered, her childish clarity doing what adult logic couldn’t—forcing him to question everything.

What if it really was that simple? Just walking up to Akane and telling her he liked her. Wanted to date her, maybe. The thought alone made his stomach knot.

He wasn’t used to this—being in his head so much. Usually, he let his body do the thinking. But lately, with Akane, the still moments carried too much weight. Doubt crept in. Was he imagining things? Did she really like him back? What if he misread it all?

He scowled at the sidewalk. Why couldn’t he just be who people thought he was—smooth, confident, easy? He knew he had the looks. Girls noticed him. But Akane hadn’t, not in the way they did. And it threw him.

But she was beautiful—beyond that. And strong. And smart. And something about her made him want to be seen, really seen, not just noticed. And that terrified him.

As Furinkan came into view, he let out a breath and tried to shake it off. He didn’t want to think anymore. He wanted to move, act. Stop being afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being vulnerable.

He saw her right away in the courtyard—organizing, commanding, entirely in her element. His heart gave a traitorous thump. The sun caught the back of her neck, newly exposed by her short haircut. He flushed and looked away, only to find himself looking again.

Yesterday’s visit to her home still clung to him. The dojo, her sisters, the strange undercurrent of tension. Kasumi had overwhelmed him with kindness; Nabiki had disarmed him with sharp wit and cold amusement. But it was Akane who had surprised him most.

She hadn’t wanted him in the house. Led him straight to the back. Kept her distance. He’d chalked it up to embarrassment until Nabiki’s sudden appearance during their sparring session.

"Nice," she’d said, voice purring. "Very nice catch, sis. Well done. Do let me know when you're done?"

Ranma remembered the way Akane froze, how small she looked in that moment. Nabiki had vanished, but her words stuck. Akane had attacked him with sudden fury. He hadn’t known what had triggered it—until her hair came loose.

And then, like an idiot, he’d made a comment. Something about her looking like a tomboy regardless of her hair. Maybe to dissipate the tension. It had definitely not worked. She’d thrown him out.

Later, when she’d cut her hair, it had rattled him. Not because she looked different—she looked amazing—but because she’d done it. Just like that. Like she’d snapped some invisible thread.

Today, she looked stunning. Strong and composed, but there was something else, too. Something unguarded. Her confidence made her radiant, and the short hair only made her more herself. It drove him crazy.

And then she waved him over.

He snapped out of it and headed toward her, smiling despite himself.

"About damned time he showed up," Daisuke muttered.

"Grow up," Sayuri said, smacking a nail into place.

Akane walked over to help Daisuke with a paint can, just as Ranma arrived.

"Where do you want me?" he asked, tugging off his overshirt.

Akane stared. Sayuri definitely stared. Her brain, momentarily short-circuited, recovered enough to point toward a stack of boards.

"We need those painted before lunch. Can you bring them over? There’s no space to work where they are."

Ranma nodded and got to it. The line he’d thrown—"Where do you want me?"—still echoed in her ears, sending her imagination spinning. She turned away quickly, pretending to search for a paintbrush she could clearly see.

He worked quietly, carrying the boards one by one, not showing off but not holding back either. Akane did her best not to look. At his arms. Or his shoulders. Or the way he crouched.

Too many boards. Too much crouching.

By the time the last board hit the ground, he spoke up. "This is going to be a lot of work."

"Totally," Sayuri agreed, plopping down.

"Will it be done by tomorrow?" Hiroshi asked.

"It has to be," Akane said, picking up a paint can.

Ranma stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. "Don’t. Let me."

Their fingers brushed. He held her gaze just long enough. She turned away too fast.

They painted in silence. The tension quiet but electric.

Lunchtime came. They sat together, unwrapping sandwiches and brushing dust from their clothes.

"You really think this’ll all be done by tomorrow?" Hiroshi asked again.

Yuka rolled her eyes. "Look around. People are actually helping. And we get points. That means not cleaning up the carnival mess. Trust me—they’ll work."

"Yeah," Sayuri added, "Akane had everything planned. We just follow it."

Akane smiled. "And if we win, we skip the cleanup day. Motivation matters."

"Wait, so when’s SVD?" Ranma asked.

"Thursday," Akane said. "Friday’s for the carnival awards."

"Oh." Ranma looked surprised. "I thought SVD was Friday. Huh."

"You really were paying attention," Akane teased.

"Of course I was! You never shut up about it."

Hiroshi snorted. "Who cares about awards or lessons? We’re barely doing anything this week anyway."

Akane’s smile dimmed slightly. "Not everyone's so lucky. Some of us still have classes after this."

"And who’s going to clean that mess up?" Yuka asked.

"Losing class," Akane replied. "And you two slackers would skip it either way."

Daisuke grinned. "That’s right. Graduation perks."

Sayuri and Yuka groaned in unison.

They stood again, dusted themselves off, and returned to work. But something between Akane and Ranma had shifted. Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to. There was a new layer now—quiet, unspoken, but unmistakably present. Like a thread pulled taut, waiting for the next tug. 

Akane was thinking of red threads and physical efforts, believing herself to be completely under control, when Sayuri whispered in her ear: "If you two get any more obvious, we're all gonna be needing sunscreen soon."

OOOOOOOO

It was late—almost evening—when they finally finished. As had quietly become routine, Ranma walked Akane home. They didn’t speak much. The silence between them had a weight to it, the kind that made every step feel just a bit too careful.

Blame the flirting. All afternoon, it had crept in—through the teasing, the playful nudges, even the way they painted. Akane had nearly laughed at how stereotypical it all was. Ranma had tickled her. Tickled. And she hadn’t even been mad. So why did everything suddenly feel so uncertain now?

Ranma was thinking about the same thing, though with far less clarity. Mostly, he just felt how close she was, how warm the air seemed between them. He wanted to reach for her hand or bump her shoulder again, but there was nothing now to deflect the tension—no paintbrush, no ladder, no excuse. Just her. And that was a lot.

The Tendo gate came into view, and with it, a rush of regret. Ranma had had the perfect chance to ask her out. A date. He could have even made a joke out of it, or grabbed her hand and played dumb. The way they’d been around each other today, he was almost certain she felt something too. But now the moment was slipping away.

They stopped in front of her door. Akane looked tired, streaked with paint and flushed from the afternoon, but she smiled. It was small and warm, and something in Ranma relaxed at the sight of it.

"Ranma, I—"

She didn’t finish. Before either of them realized, Ranma reached up, brushing his thumb gently across a smudge above her eyebrow. His fingers grazed the side of her face, lingering in her hair. Akane froze. The touch was soft, tentative, and far too intimate.

Ranma tensed. His hand dropped as if burned, and he stepped back with a forced grin.

"Uh, so... see ya, Akane!"

He waved, then shoved his hands into his pockets and turned, walking off much too quickly.

Akane blinked. Then breathed. Then decided.

"Ranma, wait!"

He stopped and turned, blinking. She stood with her hands pressed to her chest, nervous but steady.

"Thank you for your help today," she said, then stepped up and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Before he could react, she darted back to the door, gave him one last look, and slipped inside.

Ranma stood there, stunned, one hand rising to touch his cheek. It burned. In the best possible way.

Inside, Akane leaned against the door, heart racing, a grin breaking across her face.

OOOOOOO

Thursday morning. Akane hadn’t been sleeping much, and skipping school seemed like a solid option. The SVD madness meant classes might be cancelled anyway, and she was tired—emotionally more than anything.

The carnival had gone well. The seniors dominated most events, the freshmen cleaned up, and Akane was just glad it wasn’t her turn to mop up the chaos. Between that and what was coming next, she didn’t have much energy left to spare.

Since Saturday night’s incident—the kiss, however small—she hadn’t really seen Ranma until Monday. And even then, they’d mostly stayed busy, orbiting each other without colliding. It was awkward, it was charged, and she wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. She hadn’t realized how easily he’d slipped into her everyday rhythm. Now, his absence made everything feel off.

"Oh, who am I kidding," she muttered, kicking off the sheet. She was dying for a another chance to see him. Like every morning. She just hoped her stomach butterflies would behave.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had tried to stay cool. Sort of. He was having fun, mostly. Their class was winning. But he missed Akane. They’d caught glimpses of each other, exchanged awkward smiles, but the tension never let up. Whatever this thing was between them, it was close to breaking.

SVD was in full swing now, and Ranma walked into the yard to find chaos in motion. His classmates were setting traps, organizing capture squads, plotting ambushes. The underclassmen were already scrambling to their classrooms, desperate to avoid the inevitable.

He was dropping off a load of flour bags when he spotted Akane darting into the building. He smiled.

The bell rang. The hunt had begun.

OOOOOOO

Things got out of hand fast.

Excitement buzzed through the air, but it was edging into barely controlled mayhem. By second period, teachers had started disappearing—some to help the seniors, others just to escape. With too few adults to manage the chaos, Akane and her classmates got shoved into an already packed classroom.

She, Sayuri, and Yuka ended up near the front, sitting on the desk closest to the door, legs swinging. The room buzzed with nervous energy. From the windows, students watched the battlefield outside: water bombs, ambushes, defenses built out of chairs and umbrellas.

The seniors had made it clear: if you didn’t leave the classroom, you were mostly safe. But if you wandered? You were fair game. Some had already been taken as hostages. Even girls. Apparently, chivalry was optional.

Then the door slammed open.

Akane jerked upright. The room hushed. And there he was.

Ranma.

He filled the doorway, breathing hard, shirt damp, white tank top clinging to him. His hair was tousled, his skin gleaming in patches where water had hit. His grin was sharp, eyes scanning—until they locked on her.

Akane forgot how to breathe. It happened so often, nowadays…

Her fingers twitched with the urge to reach for him. Her whole body tensed with heat and wanting. This was becoming a pattern, apparently.

He stepped in.

"Anyone want to come next? A little flour, a little vinegar... nothing terrible."

He smiled crookedly. Then looked straight at her.

"Always safer if the victim comes willingly."

Whispers broke out. Eyes flicked between them. Everyone knew. Something was going on between those two.

Akane knew it too. And she knew there was nowhere to hide.

Akane couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Only two feet away, and all she could see was how thin and worn Ranma’s tank top looked, clinging to his chest. Her brain had short-circuited. He looked carefree. Effortlessly gorgeous. And she wanted him.

Oh gods. She really wanted him.

And it wasn’t about his looks or even the flutter in her chest when they talked. It wasn’t about how he sometimes seemed to like her back. It was simpler than that. Physical. Instinctive. Her body refused to stay neutral.

She was breathless, so focused on the subtle play of muscle beneath his shirt that she barely registered his hand reaching out.

Until Yuka shoved her.

Akane stumbled forward, barely catching herself on the desk. Traitor. Cheers erupted around her.

“What!” she yelped. It was her turn now, the seniors waiting to drench her in vinegar and egg.

“Yuka! Come on!”

She turned away from Ranma, arms flailing, trying to grab onto something—anything. But his arm had already looped around her waist. Akane grabbed for Sayuri, for the desk, but it was pointless. The more she resisted, the tighter he pulled.

And despite herself, she loved it. She told herself it was about avoiding humiliation, not about the heat spreading through her chest.

Ranma tugged harder, and her fingers finally slipped from the desk. She latched onto Sayuri, but even Sayuri started prying her off. Akane wanted to laugh and scream at the same time.

Then Ranma leaned in, whispering near her ear, “C’mon, woman. No sense resisting.”

He tickled her. Cheap move.

She collapsed against him in laughter while her classmates hollered. He hoisted her slightly off the ground and pulled her backwards towards the hallway.

The classroom door snapped shut behind them the second they were outside. Sayuri’s wicked grin was the last thing Akane saw.

Suddenly, it was just the two of them in the hallway. Ranma’s arms still around her. A couple of seniors dashed past, but Akane barely noticed. Her heart pounded so loud it almost hurt. She stared blankly at the door, brain overloaded.

Ranma was warm behind her. Too warm. Her body felt like melting. Her limbs were jelly.

She swallowed. Her arms drifted upward, unsure what to do, before settling over his. Her breath caught when he leaned in and rested his forehead on the nape of her neck.

She shivered. But didn’t pull away.

She closed her eyes and leaned back into him instead. Her breathing sped up.

He dropped his cheek lower, letting it brush against her skin. Her breath was loud in his ear. He trembled slightly.

Then he did it—barely a kiss, more like a breath against her neck.

Akane tensed. She hadn’t expected that. A soft sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.

Ranma froze.

She was hyper-aware of every place their bodies touched. Too many. Too close.

But then, like a switch flipping, chaos exploded in the hallway again. People ran, doors slammed. The spell was suddenly broken. Ranma pulled her backwards, across the hallway and towards the staircase, his arms tightening around her torso.

“Come on, ’Kane. Your turn now.”

She clung to a nearby door handle. The noise around them grew. Ranma tried to keep moving. She didn't know why she continued to resist. Maybe she shouldn't. She wanted... she didn't know what she wanted.

So she let go of her struggles. Only to be let go by Ranma as well. That was not expected. And then—he crouched in front of her.

She blinked.

What was he doing?

Before she could process, he swept her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder.

“Ranma!”

She wailed, kicked, pounded his back. He just laughed, walking toward the stairs.

“Let me go! You big nitwit!”

But he was enjoying himself. Too much.

Fine. Two could play.

She went limp. “It’s not fun anymore...” she mumbled, pitifully.

It worked. He stopped. "Ok", he said, in that soft, serious voice she'd only ever heard when it was the two of them together.

For a second, he didn’t move. Then slowly, carefully, he bent to set her down, like she was made of something delicate. Her body slid along his, every inch of contact sending sparks through her skin.

She leaned into him, breathing hard. He didn’t move back. Didn’t let go. His hands found her waist, then her back. Her fingers were still curled around his shirt from the ride.

She looked up.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow.

It was as if every moment of holding back had been waiting for this crack in the dam.

Her eyes widened. Then fluttered shut.

She kissed him back.

Everything blurred.

His arms closed around her, possessive and shaky. Her hands slid up his neck and buried in his hair. It was too much, and not enough.

Her body pressed close, her breath caught, and when his mouth parted against hers, she followed the invitation instinctively.

They kissed again. Then again. And again. Messier, hungrier, reckless. Her heart was racing. His body was trembling.

Somewhere in the haze, she laughed into his mouth. He pulled her tighter.

Then abruptly, they broke apart.

They stared at each other. Blinking. Flushed. Breathless.

“Ranma, I—”

He leaned forward again, touching his forehead to hers.

"Akane..." he sighed, then buried his face against her neck like he was trying to disappear into her. His arms locked around her with a kind of desperation that made her breath hitch. She felt him tremble with every inhale. It wasn’t just heat—it was need, barely held back.

Her heart was thudding in her throat. She wanted to say something—anything—but her mind had gone white with sensation.

"Ranma, I—"

He clutched her tighter, and something in her chest cracked wide open. She let out a soft laugh—half nerves, half disbelief—and ran her fingers through his hair, anchoring herself to something solid.

He breathed her name again. Quiet. Raw.

Then came the splash.

A deluge of ice-cold water, merciless and theatrical, as if the gods of adolescent timing had declared: "Too much, too fast."

Ranma turned, soaked to the bone, steam practically rising from his indignation.

Before them stood Daisuke and Hiroshi—wide-eyed, bucket in hand, expressions caught between horror and awe, like they’d just watched a nature documentary and accidentally poked the apex predators.

"Uh," Daisuke managed. "Maybe... not a great idea."

"Abort," Hiroshi whispered. "Abort mission."

They dropped the bucket and ran—full sprint, flailing, like two cartoon spies who had just blown their own cover.

Akane looked at Ranma. Water dripping. Lips still parted.

He looked like he wanted to chase them down.

Then his expression cracked. A twitch. A smile.

She burst out laughing.

And just like that, it was okay.

He pulled her into a damp, ridiculous hug.

“C’mon. Let’s go somewhere else.”

She nodded, eyes bright. He offered his hand.

She took it. Intertwined fingers.

And off they went, walking down the hallway like nothing and everything had changed.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Summer Heat (Part I)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

The cold water had been a shock to the system. Probably the only reason Ranma could still function after what had just happened with Akane.

He wasn’t thinking straight. Thank goodness they’d had to focus on running. Running, he could handle. Dodging more water bombs, weaving past classmates shouting accusations and teasing insults, and making it to Furinkan High's gates unscathed gave him something to focus on. He was soaked through, and Akane had to be as well—but he didn’t dare look. He'd already pushed his luck far enough.

His hand still held hers. Cold and clammy, possibly from the water or nerves—maybe both. He wondered if he was gripping too hard, if maybe he should let go. But every time their hands started to slip, Akane squeezed tighter.

Then, somewhere amid the chaos, she started laughing. Loud, carefree, joyful. Ranma nearly tripped at the sound. They were being chased by classmates yelling, “Traitor!” and “Dead man walking!” and she was laughing. And then he was laughing too.

They ran past the gates, breathless and elated. Akane gasped, tugging at his hand.

"Come on, Ranma… j-just stop for a bit! I can't run anymore!"

They skidded to a halt a few blocks away. Ranma tilted his face to the sky, catching his breath, the sun blazing down on their wet clothes. Akane bent double, panting hard, still clutching his hand like a lifeline. When she finally looked up, her smile disarmed him.

Without thinking, he pulled her into a kiss.

She gasped into his mouth, surprised, then softened against him. Wet clothes, humid air, the faint scent of flour and vinegar still clinging to her skin—it was too much. One of his hands slid to her waist, the other cradled her cheek. She moaned softly and leaned into him, her fingers threading into his hair. His hand trailed down her jaw to her neck, tracing the lingering droplets of water on her skin.

He broke the kiss, forehead pressed to hers, both of them breathless.

"Akane, I—"

"There they are!!"

Hiroshi's yell jolted them back to reality.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Akane muttered, more amused than annoyed.

Ranma laughed, grabbed her hand again, and ran. "Come on, I’ve got you!"

They ducked around a corner, and Ranma, surprising even himself, scooped her up bridal-style. Akane yelped, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. With a running start, he vaulted a fence, leapt onto a rooftop, and continued bounding across rooftops until they reached the far edge of their neighborhood park.

He set her down. Akane stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, then glanced around. She tried to speak, hand at her neck.

"I never realized you were that good."

Ranma's stomach twisted. Had he overdone it?

"Nah," he shrugged. "Just a spur of the moment thing."

She rolled her eyes. "Don’t give me that, Saotome. If you can do that, you've been holding out on me."

He opened his mouth to deflect, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"You have to teach me."

He blinked. "Please?"

Her finger brushed his lips. He nodded slowly, exhaling. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, grazing her finger. Akane stilled.

She whimpered, withdrawing her hand. Ranma caught it, pressing it to his chest. Their pulses overlapped—her fingers twitching slightly.

She smiled, nervous. He smiled back.

Ranma gestured to a shaded area beneath a tree. "Come on, let’s sit. My legs are shaking."

Akane burst out laughing.

Ranma looked mock-offended, but her laughter broke the tension. He laced their fingers together again, leading her toward the shade.

Akane couldn’t sleep. 2:15 a.m. Her room was stifling.

It had been the most intense day of her life. She hadn’t realized everything was building toward this. She couldn’t stop replaying it: his eyes, his mouth, the feel of his skin and the smell of his hair. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there.

They’d spent hours in the park, sharing shy words and kisses. Ranma had asked her to go with him to pick up Ranko, and Akane had agreed without thinking. She liked the girl. Ranko had helped soften things between them.

Even as they walked home, people stared. Ranko had immediately commented on how they smelled. Akane smiled at the memory.

She rolled over, kicking off her pajama bottoms and walking to the window. The breeze was useless, but she leaned against the frame anyway, letting the sweat on her neck cool slightly.

Ranma’s last kiss burned in her memory. She remembered pressing her hands against his chest, slipping around his waist and tracing back up his back. She’d liked the way he held her by the neck—not rough, but firm, like he wasn’t letting her go.

Her fingers ghosted over her throat. Then down. Her breath hitched.

It was new, and sudden, but not hard to give into. Her body was unaccustomed, but eager. She let herself drift, guided by memory and sensation. When release came, it was his name that slipped from her lips in a breathless whisper.

Sleep found her at last.

Nodoka watched Ranma from the kitchen window. He was training again, focused. But something had changed. He moved with lightness. With joy.

She turned to Ranko. "So, how was your brother today?"

"Aniki's always nice," Ranko replied, eyes fixated on her spoon.

"Today was extra fun. Akane-neesan came too. She's funny. And she can kick aniki's butt if she wants. She's cool."

Nodoka raised a brow. "She trains too?"

"Mhm! She even tried to walk a fence like him! Fell, though."

Tendo, Nodoka thought. Could it really be?

"Ranko, do you know Akane's last name?"

"Tendo! That’s it!"

Nodoka’s heart skipped a beat. She excused herself and found Genma.

"Dear, there’s something we need to talk about."

Ranma lay in bed, hopelessly restless.

He wanted to talk to her again. Now. The phone felt alien. He hadn’t even asked for her number.

On impulse, he got up, scribbled a note, tucked it in his pocket, and slipped out into the night.

He picked a flower on the way, then scaled the wall of the Tendo dojo. One lit window. Not hers. He tried another. Akane lay sleeping, barely covered by sheets.

He froze. It was wrong. He shouldn’t be here.

He placed the note on her desk, flower on top. Just as he turned to leave, Akane stirred.

"Ran-ma…?"

He panicked.

"A-Akane?"

She smiled, eyes half-lidded. "Mmm. I knew it."

"You’re not… mad?"

"As long as it’s you… Ran-ma..."

She drifted back to sleep.

Ranma backed away, climbed to the roof, and lay down, staring at the sky.

He grinned.

Eventually, the tension faded, and he decided to go home. He had a few things to take care of.

OOOOOOO

Akane woke early, jittery with nerves. The moment her eyes opened, her thoughts leapt straight to Ranma—and to the day ahead.

As she moved through her routine, she noticed a few things. First, her backpack was missing. Second, the much-dreaded Furinkan SVD day had actually gone well. She should’ve trusted herself more. And third—

Her breath caught.

By the open window, atop her desk, lay a small flower—nearly identical to the one Ranko had given her—resting gently on a folded piece of paper.

"Ohhh," she whispered, heart stammering.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the flower. How? she wondered. Oh my god, this is so romantic. Then, immediately: This borders on stalking. It's creepy. But her mind spun around a single wild hope—please let it be Ranma. Please don’t let it be anyone else.

If he’d been here…

A half-formed memory surfaced—blue eyes at her window. Her mouth dropped open.

"Oh my God," she gasped.

She snatched up the note.

If she’d been even the slightest bit aware, she would have—she would've—

Whacked him unconscious, obviously. The pervert. Who sneaks up to a girl’s window like that?

But then again…

Had he seen anything? Heard anything? Oh god, what if she was muttering in her sleep—or worse?

"Oooh, crap."

She tried to push the thought aside, but the truth was, if she were honest with herself… she kind of wished she’d been awake.

With shaking hands, she unfolded the note.

Miss you. Can’t wait till morning. Ranma. Please don’t be mad at me?

She swayed slightly, eyes fluttering closed.

Swooooooon.

How could she possibly be mad? It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

OOOOOOO

Ranma paced outside the dojo gates. Back and forth. Back and forth. He was sure he’d worn a groove into the pavement.

He hadn’t slept a wink. That stupid stunt he'd pulled—what had he been thinking? And yet, the images it left him with... totally worth it.

He couldn’t just go to school and wait. He had to know what she thought.

The dojo doors creaked open.

He spun. Akane stepped out, back first, tugging the doors closed. She turned—and froze.

Ranma caught the way her skirt kept swaying. She stared at him with an unreadable expression.

Crap.

"I—"

"I—"

They both stopped.

Akane tried again, but her voice caught. Ranma beat her to it.

"Hi."

A small smile tugged at her lips.

"Good morning," she said shyly, lingering in the doorway, hands hidden behind her back. "It’s... very early."

"Yeah," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "I just—I wanted—"

"You just couldn't wait, could you?" she said, glancing down with a wry smile, trying to sound casual even as a faint blush crept up her neck.

"Something like that."

"Okay."

Silence again.

"Um… walk to school, then?"

"Oh. Yeah."

She stepped forward. He just stood there.

She turned. "You coming?"

"Un."

They started walking. Ranma followed a step behind, frustrated with himself. She wasn’t mad. That was good. So why couldn’t he say anything?

Akane, for her part, felt just as awkward. She wanted him beside her, not trailing behind like some confused puppy. Yesterday had been amazing. No use being weird now.

Power through.

"So," she said, voice light, "you missed me, huh?"

Ranma paused. Her teasing tone threw him. He felt ridiculous, but all he really wanted was to touch her. Whisper something to make her giggle. Maybe… maybe he should.

He stepped closer, towering slightly above her. She looked up, eyes wide.

"What do you think?" he asked, voice low.

Akane swallowed. His hand brushed hers, a soft, deliberate caress. She’d wanted a confession. Instead, he was turning the tables, quietly claiming her attention in a way that left her breathless.

He leaned in. His breath stirred her hair.

"Did you miss me?"

She inhaled sharply. His hand trailed up her arm, and she couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

"I—"

Then his lips brushed her jaw.

She closed her eyes.

"I did," she whispered.

His hand slid up to her neck, his fingers gentle on her jaw.

"I'm glad," he said. "I missed you, too."

Then he kissed her—properly.

Akane melted.

This. This was exactly what she’d wanted since the moment she saw him that morning.

She sighed, reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders. Everything about him made her dizzy—his scent, his height, the warmth of him. She had to stand on tiptoe just to hold him properly. And she didn’t care. Not one bit.

His hand cradled her head, fingers threading through her hair. Their bodies fit perfectly.

They pulled apart, breathless.

Her hands settled on his chest. He stroked her lip with his thumb.

"So," he murmured, "you’re not mad, then?"

She almost grinned. "I don’t know, exactly."

"Sorry if I freaked you out. I just... I had to see you. Or—well—"

"What?"

"You’ve never given me your phone number."

She blinked. Then laughed.

"It’s true! I never realized until last night!"

"Oh, Ranma," she giggled, eyes sparkling. "I’m not laughing at you."

He smiled, watching her mouth, wanting to kiss her again.

"You’re right, though," she admitted.

"So... you’ll give it to me? So I won’t have to sneak up to your room again?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I don’t know. I kind of liked the sneaking."

His brain stuttered at the implications. He kissed her again.

The rest of the walk was easy. They chatted about the carnival, the school week, whatever came to mind. They walked hand in hand, stopping every few minutes to kiss.

Akane complained about his stubble.

He argued he barely needed to shave.

She said maybe she’d just have to get used to it—and kissed him again.

A couple blocks from school, she asked:

"So... what do we do about this?"

"This?"

She gestured vaguely at their joined hands.

"Do we hide it? Sneak around?"

"I wasn’t aware we had to do anything."

Her heart dropped a little.

He saw her expression shift.

"I mean—hanging out, holding hands, that sort of thing?"

She felt silly. Of course he wouldn’t care.

"I thought it might be fun to keep it secret for a while," she said, almost shy. "Just ours."

"It’s not exactly a secret, though," Ranma said. "People saw us yesterday."

She grimaced. "Yeah. It’s not that I want to deny anything. I just… I want to figure it out."

"So it might go on for a while?"

That surprised her. Was he teasing?

He saw her face, and softened. "I’d like that," he said, kissing her cheek. Then her ear. "I’d like it to go on for a while."

She shivered. Her ears were… apparently very sensitive.

"You do like teasing me."

He pulled her into a hug. "And you like lecturing me. I’m okay with that."

She laughed into his shoulder.

They shared a few more kisses, then walked the last blocks together. At the gates, they split up, blending into the crowd. Ranma jogged ahead, disappearing into the throng.

Akane watched him go, a distant memory surfacing—watching him from the classroom window. Her chest tightened.

This was his last day of high school.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Summer Heat (Part II)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Furinkan High was a mess. Everything and everyone was in an uproar. It was still early, but the grounds were already full of students bustling to set up for the competitions ahead. Akane had never seen the school so alive. She made her way behind the main building, where Carnival staff were finishing the stage area and bleachers.

A whistle pierced the morning air. Behind some trees, Yuka and Sayuri waved at her with excited grins. She walked over and dropped into the grass beside them.

Yuka chucked Akane's backpack at her with surprising force. She caught it with a grunt.

"Hey! What’s with the attack?"

"We don’t get the kind of drama you do, and I’m jealous!" Sayuri laughed as Akane’s face flushed instantly. "So? Seen him yet today?"

Akane had barely made it home the night before when Kasumi had intercepted her—only to be saved by Sayuri and Yuka’s repeated phone calls. She’d used them as an excuse to escape her sister’s curiosity, and for once, she hadn’t minded.

She wasn’t used to girly chats, but it had felt... nice. Safe. Though she hadn’t gone into detail, or let herself gush, as if saying too much might make it all vanish.

As it turned out, some juniors had staged a mass breakout attempt after Akane and Ranma had left the day before. Inspired, apparently, by Ranma’s friends, who had helped Yuka and Sayuri escape the chaos—with mixed success.

"But hey," Yuka had said, "I saved your bag!"

Now, under her friends’ gazes, Akane closed her eyes, still shy.

"Yeah... I saw him."

"Awwww! I want a boyfriend!" Sayuri sighed dramatically. "Was he waiting to walk you to school? ‘Cause it’s so early, I thought—Aww, that’s so romantic!"

"It’s—we’re not—he’s not my boyfriend."

"Keep telling yourself that," Sayuri snorted.

"I mean—he hasn’t said anything about... that."

"Well—" Yuka started, rummaging in her pocket. "Judging by your lips—here." She tossed a small tube at her. "Lip balm. You’ll need it."

Akane, startled, missed the catch. Both hands had flown to her mouth.

Sayuri burst into laughter.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma flopped onto his desk, staring out the classroom window. A few classmates gave him odd looks, but he didn’t care. Below, juniors were finishing the stage setup. A delivery truck unloaded risers. It was chaos—but purposeful. And all because of Akane.

She was terrifyingly efficient. Psychotically so. He smiled faintly.

Without her around, his thoughts drifted. He rested his head on folded arms. Sleep tugged at him.

He could still feel her—her lips, soft against his, like a memory stored in his skin. Like when he held newborn kittens once and his palms tingled for hours after.

A hard shake on his shoulder yanked him back.

"Oi, Saotome! Don’t pass out on us now," Daisuke said, grinning.

Hiroshi leaned on the desk beside them, arms crossed. "Didn’t sleep much? You look like you got run over by a smile."

Ranma groaned. "Go bother someone else..."

"Come on," Hiroshi said. "You're glowing, man. It’s suspicious."

"So?" Ranma muttered, sitting up. "Maybe I had a good night. Ever think of that?"

Daisuke smirked. "We did. That’s why we’re here. Concerned citizens."

Ranma turned to glare at them, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Seriously though," Hiroshi added, tone softening, "she’s great. And you’re... calmer. It suits you."

"You two done psychoanalyzing me yet?"

"Never," Daisuke said cheerfully. "But we’ll pause until after the carnival."

The loudspeaker crackled to life, cutting off their banter as the day’s events were announced.

OOOOOOOO

Later, Ranma walked a fence, hands in pockets, drained and happy.

The day had been more than he expected. Color-coded class alliances, ridiculous competitions, and all-out chaos. Somehow, it worked.

His senior class—Black Alliance—had claimed victory, just edging out the juniors. Akane had been everywhere: bossing people around, fixing last-minute disasters, holding the whole thing together.

He’d joined five events, including a singing race, a speed-dressing challenge (complete with five pairs of pants and a bra), an eating contest, a drawing battle, and the legendary Mr. Legs competition. Thankfully anonymous.

He’d been disappointed Akane hadn’t competed. Too busy. Too focused. Still, during lunch, they’d snuck away under the trees. Their fingers brushed. Their eyes spoke volumes.

The day ended with a live concert. Freshmen, the losing team, cleaned up. Teachers handed out beer—only to the eighteen-year-olds.

Akane was still working, chasing down a missing guitarist. Ranma intercepted her, kissed her. She was stiff at first, but melted slowly under his hands.

"It’s all gone perfectly, Akane. You can stop now," he whispered, holding her up when she sagged into him.

A slow song played. They swayed quietly, half-hidden by wires and crates. The kiss that followed stretched for moments they couldn’t count. Eventually, she returned to work—at a slower pace.

By ten, the concert wrapped up. Akane took his hand and silently led him out the gate.

They walked in quiet companionship until Akane broke the stillness.

"Tell me something, Ranma."

"Mmm?"

"Does it feel special? School being over, I mean."

He looked at the sky, walking the fence like a tightrope. "I expected it to. Like some huge switch would flip. But... it didn’t."

Akane’s eyes followed him, half in awe, half in worry.

He dropped beside her and took her hand.

"I guess everyone feels it differently," she said. "What’s next for you?"

"Besides being lazy?"

She giggled. "And spending time with me?"

Ranma blushed. "There’s that. I dunno... Mom thinks I should go for a P.E. degree. Martial arts school, teaching, that sort of thing."

"What do you think?"

"Makes sense. I actually feel excited about learning something I might be good at. For once."

He knocked his own head. Hollow thump. She frowned.

"You’re not stupid. You just don’t act like grades matter."

He shrugged. "Guess I could use your help. With, like, applications and stuff."

Akane stopped, looked at him seriously. "I’ll help. But you’ll owe me."

"Owe you what?"

"Finals. I’ve got a month and a half left. I might need you to distract me."

She dropped her gaze to his mouth, voice soft, trying to sound sultry—though she clearly had no idea how.

Ranma smirked. "I bet you’re already anxious."

"I am! So you’d better start helping right now—"

Ranma didn’t need to be told twice.

OOOOOO

Time could really crawl sometimes—and then fly, ambushing you when you least expected it, Akane thought, rubbing her eyes and the bridge of her nose with one hand.

Her other hand finally unclenched its grip on her pen. She stared outside at the sun, now low in the sky, pressing close to the horizon.

Exams were nearly over.

Studying the way she used to—with focus, with drive—had been much harder than she’d anticipated. Her thoughts, her emotions, her everything had been tangled up in Ranma. Which, she supposed, wasn’t the worst thing in the world... but the guilt hit hard when she couldn’t concentrate the way she used to. She tried to hold on to her sense of responsibility, to squeeze productivity from any free moment. Still, she worried. Constantly. Over things she used to be on top of without trying.

She'd always been the type to prepare well in advance, to treat finals as a formality. But this time, they’d crept up on her.

Between carnival prep and the chaos that was falling in love—and acting on it—everything else had slipped into the background.

Scratch that. Only Ranma had mattered these past two months.

But these were her finals. The kind of thing that was supposed to shape her future. And Akane was not the kind of person to let that slide.

Doing well, getting into a good university—these were more than expectations. They were part of how she saw herself. She'd even thought about leaving Tokyo altogether. The idea had been tempting.

Still, reality lingered. Her father was a shell of the man he used to be, lost since her mother passed. Kasumi had taken over more than anyone should ever have to. It was hard to imagine just picking up and leaving them behind.

She often wondered about Kasumi. Was she happy? Or had she just... settled? Grown into her role because someone had to?

After their mother died, Kasumi became the house’s center—a mother in all but name. Nabiki kept them afloat financially. Their father, lost in grief, had become more of a dependent than a caretaker.

And Akane? Where did that leave her?

The dojo was their legacy. But she couldn't see herself in her father’s place, or in Kasumi's. It felt wrong to let it all end—but worse to trap herself in a life that wasn’t hers.

So she studied. To build a way out. Maybe then, if she found her own path, she could come back and help in a way that mattered.

She’d always been like that, even as a child. First to do her homework, last to join the neighborhood games. Her parents had raised them to be responsible, and she took it seriously. Her klutziness meant she often had to work twice as hard just to match others, but she did it.

Years after their mother's death, her sense of purpose had sharpened. That drive had gotten her this far. But lately, something had shifted. She'd started living again. Started training again.

Her father had taught her that martial arts weren’t just about analysis and discipline. They were about presence—about pouring everything into one moment. One motion. One breath.

And maybe, just maybe, Ranma had reminded her of that.

He lived in the moment. In ways she couldn't. She admired that in him. She also feared it.

Because sometimes he seemed directionless. No long-term plan. No deep ambition. And as much as she loved the way he helped her stay present, she wasn’t sure she wanted to live like that.

Kasumi was like that too. Peaceful, grounded. But Akane’s energy pushed outward. She needed a goal. A horizon.

Still, maybe there was a balance somewhere—between looking ahead and keeping your feet on the ground.

Only, she didn’t know how to find it.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

She’d been at her desk for hours, pretending to study for her Japanese history exam. Her last one. The sky had darkened without her noticing. Her thoughts looped: Ranma, college, Ranma, college.

She still couldn’t believe how late he’d left everything. Applying for college had never even crossed his mind until recently. That had shocked her.

To her, college was obvious. The next step. But for Ranma, life seemed to unfold moment by moment.

She could never be that free. She had expectations, obligations. She planned, prepared, analyzed.

They were so different.

Outside, the sky shifted to deep orange and purple. The streets were quiet. No moon, no breeze. Nerima felt still and heavy, wrapped in summer heat.

A strange ache settled in her chest. She missed him.

They’d been spending afternoons together lately. He’d been filling out school forms, grumbling about the process, and lazing around while she studied. Sometimes he trained. Sometimes he just watched her. Sometimes he tried to distract her.

And other times...

It had been barely two months, but—oh.

Why hadn’t he come today?

Was she really that used to him showing up? Had he become part of her routine?

She was exhausted. She shut her eyes, leaned back in her chair. Her room had grown too dim to read, but she hadn’t bothered turning on the lights.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed.

Then—a sound from outside.

She stilled.

Ranma had been watching Akane for weeks now. Every afternoon after school, he’d walk her home. He’d discovered he could be very observant—so long as the thing he was observing mattered. And Akane mattered.

Akane studied all the time. It was almost comical. Ranma had never paid much attention to schoolwork, and yet somehow, he’d made it through high school just fine. He knew he should probably be preparing for the national exams, but part of him figured what he’d done so far would be enough.

But Akane? Akane knew everything.

He’d quizzed her on things he barely remembered learning, and she never missed a beat. He couldn’t wrap his head around why she studied so hard when she already seemed to have everything down.

When he pointed this out, she’d scowl at him.

He wasn’t clueless—he knew the usual ways of applying to university, and it wasn’t like he saw himself going the standard route. Still, because Akane had pushed, and because he saw how it calmed her when he took things seriously, he’d looked into it. He’d even pulled together forms and researched some programs. His mom had nudged him toward physical education, but what really caught his interest were traditional martial arts schools in Tokyo. They emphasized physical tests over academics, blending martial arts with disciplines like sports medicine or teaching methods. His dad had known of them—said they were well-respected, and both his parents had lit up when they heard about his interest.

He loved that the schools were in Tokyo.

If he’d ever thought about moving to another city, that thought had vanished in the past month. Staying close to Akane felt like the obvious choice now.

Even with her constant studying, he loved being around her. Sometimes, when she got really quiet, he’d distract himself—until he got bored and distracted her instead. That usually ended in a makeout session, which, frankly, he didn’t mind at all.

It amazed him how natural it felt, being with her. Once, when she was studying outside, he’d fallen asleep in the yard. Another time, he’d dozed off on her floor while she was reviewing notes.

That second time had been tricky. He was always kind of aroused around her. It was both amazing and awful. He’d be reminded of those awkward puberty years when anything could set him off. It wasn’t just hormones—it was being in her room, near her, watching her, thinking about her.

And it gave him ideas.

All the time.

He was lucky she never noticed how many times he’d had to sneak off to the bathroom to sort himself out. No one really knew how often he was in her room—her family only ever saw him on the porch or in the yard. Once, Kasumi served them dinner inside, but otherwise, they were discreet. He’d usually sneak up to her window. Akane liked having him there, said so more than once, and the secrecy made it feel a little illicit, a little exciting. He found that he liked that, too.

She didn’t put up much resistance when he kissed her or held her. And that was dangerous.

Akane was so responsive it undid him. The way she sighed, moved against him, got curious—it was almost too much.

He had to be careful. Very careful.

None of this came up with his friends. Hiroshi and Daisuke joked around, but they never pried. He’d always stayed vague about Akane in their group talks, not because he didn’t want to share, but because it all felt too personal, too real. And the deeper it got, the less he wanted to risk it with anyone else.

Was he in love?

Maybe. He knew he was falling—hard, fast—and that didn’t scare him. What did scare him was how easily he imagined a future with her. A home. A little girl running around—

Oh, hell.

He’d always been good with kids. He liked them. But still—this? Wasn’t that too much?

These thoughts snuck in uninvited. Sometimes they came while he was with her, sometimes while lying in his own bed. And they came with images. All kinds. Some that couldn’t be said out loud.

He’d have to trust her with that part of himself someday. The idea made him ache.

She’d told him once how great it was that he could live in the moment. He didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe he was too relaxed about things. But lately, he felt happier than he’d ever been.

Watching her study made him admire her. She reached for things. Planned. He didn’t think that way—everything he needed felt close. He’d take over the dojo in a heartbeat, keep teaching, keep learning. That kind of life felt rich to him. So why did it always seem like Akane was trying to get somewhere else?

Maybe that’s why she liked him. Because he stayed still when everything else moved.

Tonight, he hadn’t walked her home. He hadn’t even shown up at the dojo yet. He had a surprise for her.

Her last exam was tomorrow, and he figured she needed a break. He’d packed a bag, let her get her studying done, and now, the sun was setting. Time to move.

He took his usual route, arriving quietly on the roof just above her window. The slope was shallow here, and with the high perimeter walls and surrounding trees, it felt private.

He loved being up here. Alone. Listening to the city, seeing the first stars.

He peeked down. Akane was at her desk, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Hey,” he said.

She jumped, then relaxed. “Ranma…”

“Scared you, huh?”

A moment later, he’d dropped into her room. She stood there in the lamplight, wearing shorts and a flimsy shirt. Comfortable clothes, too comfortable.

“I missed you,” she said with a soft smile.

He stepped into her and wrapped his arms around her. Her head rested against his chest. She sighed.

He kissed her forehead, her temple, her skin warm under his lips. When she looked up, he smiled.

“Hello,” he whispered.

Akane rose on tiptoe to kiss him, slow and sweet. Her body pressed into his. He kissed her back, savoring the way she clung to him like she couldn’t help it.

Then his hand slid a little lower.

Akane gasped.

Ranma’s eyes snapped open in panic—but she kissed him harder, pushing into him until he had to step back, nearly tripping. She laughed against his lips.

“I missed you,” she said again, breathless.

He grinned. “So you said.”

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Wanted to give you time to study,” he said. “But I brought something.”

“A surprise?”

“Don’t get too excited.”

He led her to the window. “We’re going up.”

Akane blinked. “To the roof?”

“Trust me.”

She did.

They scrambled up together, clumsy but laughing, and settled onto a thick blanket he’d laid out. She tested the warmth of the tiles under it and smiled.

“This is nice.”

“You needed a break,” he said simply.

“Thank you.”

They watched the sky together. No moon tonight. Stars scattered thinly above the city haze.

Ranma chuckled.

“What?” Akane asked.

“At myself.”

“Why?”

He smiled, shook his head. “Secret. Maybe later.”

“Unfair,” she pouted, lips full and pink.

His gaze dropped. She noticed.

Akane leaned in, whispering against his skin. “Are you sure you won’t tell me?”

Her breath sent a shiver down his spine. He kissed her. They shifted, tangled, held.

She murmured, “I thought I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I wouldn’t have left the books if you hadn’t shown up. But I was just staring at the words.”

He handed her a bottle of water. Then a paper bag.

“Hungry?”

“A little,” she admitted.

He fed her a grape. She smiled.

“I love these.”

They ate quietly. Then Ranma lay back, one arm behind his head, the other reaching for her hand.

“I found the school,” he said.

“You did?”

“Yeah. I applied today.”

“Martial arts?”

He nodded. “They’ll teach me more. Not just moves—how to teach, how to improve the technique. It’s in Tokyo.”

Akane’s face lit up.

“But wouldn’t you want to go off on your own?”

“I like it here.”

“You’ve always traveled…”

“Yeah. But I’m happy now.”

She looked away. “I envy that. You’re so comfortable in your skin.”

He grinned. “You look great in your skin too.”

She smacked him lightly. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

They fell quiet again. Then he sat up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

She groaned as he started to massage her back.

“What are we going to do now?” she murmured.

“We’ve got all summer,” he said.

And for the moment, that was enough.

The skin on her shoulders was soft under his hands, a stark contrast to the tension still coiled beneath. The thin straps of her top let him touch her directly, feel her gradually relaxing. Ranma was thankful for the warm, windless night that made sitting like this possible.

Eventually, she lifted her head.

"You can start training me, you know."

"Oh," he muttered, surprised. "I’d forgotten about that."

"Well, I haven’t. I could definitely use the help. There’s only so much I can do on my own. Plus, then you’d officially be a sensei."

Ranma laughed softly. "Naaah, I’m not old enough to be a sensei. But I’ll help you if you want."

"I want," Akane said.

Ranma smiled. He sighed at her words, thinking of a different kind of wanting altogether. His hands shifted, caressing now rather than massaging. He suddenly felt too far away. He uncrossed his legs and stretched them out slightly on either side of her, knees bent for balance, moving closer.

Akane tensed for a moment, then slowly leaned back against him, exhaling as his arms enveloped her and the insides of his legs pressed gently against her sides. She drew her legs toward her chest.

"Is this okay?" Ranma asked, voice low against her ear, feeling strangely exposed and exhilarated.

Akane sighed and rested her head against his shoulder, her face angled toward his neck. He felt her nod. Her arms lay across her stomach, hands lightly tracing his forearms.

They sat like that in silence.

Ranma could feel her breath on his neck, warm on the exhale, cooler on the inhale. It tickled. It made him want things.

The closeness was dizzying. He could barely handle his racing pulse. Surely, she could feel it too, thudding against her back. He couldn’t stay still. He unwound his arms from around her to gently stroke her arms—safe territory, he hoped. His hands moved from her shoulders to her hands, then back up again. Sometimes they lingered.

Time passed. Akane didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into him. Ranma was slowly unraveling inside. He wanted to touch her more, say things, pull her even closer.

Then her lips grazed his neck.

He froze.

Her mouth opened slightly, pressing a kiss to his skin. Her tongue followed, slow and warm.

Ranma inhaled sharply between his teeth, stunned by the surge of arousal. He couldn’t stop his body from reacting, and she was close enough to feel everything.

"Oh… Akane…" he murmured, one arm tightening around her. With the other, he gently cupped her head, guiding her back so he could look at her. It was too much—too good—and he was aching with the need to move.

Her eyes met his, wide and vulnerable. His voice dropped to a low growl. "You do this stuff, and I—I can’t help—" His gaze flicked to her lips. "You make me—Oh, gods—" He leaned in, heart hammering. He traced her mouth with his thumb but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he shut his eyes and tucked his face into the crook of her neck, lips near her ear, his voice trembling. "I—I think I’m in love with you."

He heard her breath hitch. He didn’t open his eyes, too scared to see her reaction. His cheeks burned.

She shifted, turning slightly in his arms to press her head to his. Her lips brushed his ear.

"Ranma…" she whispered, her mouth ghosting over his skin.

He looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes soft. She looked incredible.

Still cupping her head, his fingers trailed along her jaw, thumb resting on her warm cheek.

They stared at each other.

Ranma dipped his head and kissed her. Gently at first. He tasted grapes on her tongue and exhaled in relief that she wasn’t pulling away.

The kiss deepened, tongues meeting, her back pressing against his chest again. Her face tilted to keep kissing him. Ranma didn’t mind. He would’ve done anything she asked.

Akane moved to his jaw, his neck, sighing against him. He had to force himself to stay still. His lids dropped, overwhelmed by the feeling of her lips. He moaned.

Ranma closed his eyes, breath heavy through his nose, arms tense around her. Minutes passed like this.

Then Akane stretched, her back arching, neck exposed. Her chest rose with a deep inhale.

Safe, his ass.

Ranma dipped his head and kissed the place where her shoulder met her neck, the skin hot and damp.

Akane gasped.

He exhaled heavily, teeth grazing her skin. "Akane…"

She groaned, then moved against him again. He braced himself for backlash, some sign he’d crossed a line.

Instead, her arms straightened beside them, pushing her body tighter against his.

Ranma’s mind blanked. Their breathing was loud in his ears—hers fast and high, his low and harsh. He watched her chest rise and fall and gripped her arms tighter, desperate to rein himself in.

She crossed her arms over her stomach, reaching for his hands. Fingers laced with his. He squeezed back.

She guided his hands across her stomach. Ranma let go, wrapping his arms beneath her chest. He licked and kissed her neck, her ear, her shoulder. Her ribs expanded under his grip. She moved with every breath.

Her hands found his again, dragging one upward, the other lower.

His fingertips brushed bare skin above her waistband. Her top had ridden up. She whimpered. Her hand pressed his flat against her belly.

She moved his other hand higher.

Ranma cupped her breast through her bra.

Akane sighed his name. Her head dropped back. Her hands moved to his thighs.

Ranma groaned, the hand on her stomach widening its contact. He brushed the underside of her breast with his thumb, the waistband of her shorts with his pinkie. His other hand squeezed her breast, then moved to the other.

The fabric frustrated him.

Her hands kneaded his thighs. He shifted to give her more space. Not that there was any.

She turned to face him, pushing him back until he was lying flat, her body half on top of his.

They were both gasping.

She smiled shyly, fingers in his hair, one hand trailing his chest. "Ranma… I—I want…"

His arms were spread out, palms flat on the blanket, aching to touch her.

"I want to touch you…"

He nodded, breathless. She kissed him, then moved beside him, her fingers tracing his chest and stomach.

Then she bit him through his shirt.

Ranma jolted, her hand inching lower.

His own hand found her back, gripping her neck gently, holding on as she explored.

Akane’s heart pounded. This didn’t feel like her. But with Ranma, who was being so careful, so good to her, she felt this surge of happiness she didn’t know how to contain. She felt beautiful. Wanted. Bold.

She thrust her hips lightly against him. Her bra felt too tight. Her nipples ached. She moaned at the feel of his thigh against her.

She buried her nose in the soft hair on his stomach.

Ranma’s moan rumbled through his chest. It vibrated against her body.

She felt powerful. She ached with curiosity and longing. She wanted to be touched everywhere.

She placed her hand over his erection.

Ranma bucked, face contorted.

"Ak—Akane…"

She rubbed him slowly, marveling at the heat and hardness. Her hips moved with her hand. Ranma thrust his thigh up against her, making her gasp.

She closed her hand around him as much as the fabric allowed.

"Oh gods, Akane, wait—"

She froze.

Ranma pulled her up, turned them onto their sides, face to face. One arm pillowed her head. The other wrapped around her waist.

"I need to touch you, too," he whispered. "You’re too much. I can’t—I don’t want—please, let me."

His eyes were shut.

She nodded. Her hand slid under his shirt. They kissed, rough and hot.

His hand found her breast again, pulling at her bra, thumb brushing her nipple.

"Oh Christ—" she gasped. "Ranma… I—want to feel—"

"Yeah… You have to show me… I don’t—"

"Okay," she said, guiding his hand.

He pulled her bra aside and ran his thumb over bare skin.

She shook with need. Their hands struggled with her shorts.

Finally, together, they reached inside. She started to touch herself.

Ranma watched, breathing hard. "Here… like this…"

He tried to mimic her touch. His fingers were soft, unsure, but thrilling. She gasped, wrapping a leg around him for better access. Her shorts got in the way.

Their kisses were frantic.

She slipped her hand inside his pants and boxers, wrapping around him.

They both stilled for a moment.

She explored him, slow and soft. He touched her, sometimes missing, sometimes just right.

They found rhythm.

Things quickened. Their touches, their breathing, everything.

They clung to each other, gasping, kissing, moaning.

Ranma’s fingers grew more confident. Akane trembled.

The end came fast. Her body seized with pleasure, muscles locking, breath stolen. She tightened around him.

He groaned, muffling his cries in her neck, thrusting into her hand.

Then, stillness.

Akane ached everywhere. Her side hurt. His arm must be numb. Her leg was sore. Her wrist hurt.

It was perfect.

They held each other, shaking, quiet.

She looked at him, flushed and damp.

"I think… I might be in love with you, too."

He opened his eyes, sleepy and soft. He reached up to stroke her hair.

He didn’t say anything. She was glad.

They kissed gently.

Ranma mumbled.

"What?"

"I think my arm’s asleep…"

She blinked, then laughed. She tried to free her hand from his pants.

"We’re such a mess."

He smiled. "I just want to point out this isn’t why I brought you up here."

"It wasn’t?"

"Nope. But I’m not complaining."

"Mmm. Yeah."

It took them a while, but they got dressed again. They lingered, touching, talking, pointing at stars. Something invisible between them had shifted.

When Akane yawned, Ranma packed up. He helped her down to her room, kissed her goodnight, and leapt out the window with his pack.

Akane felt light and calm and utterly warm.

She barely made it through her nighttime routine before crawling into bed. Her clothes felt too much. She put on the lightest pajama top she could find and fell asleep instantly, Ranma’s scent still in her hair.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Summer Heat (Part III)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Ranma had never appreciated summer break more than he did this year. Summer meant vacation, and vacation meant freedom—time to do whatever he wanted, or absolutely nothing, at least after helping his mother around the house. He'd never truly grasped the luxury of leisure before. It was something meant for people too busy to slow down. People like Akane.

In previous years, he would have floated through break, lazing around, maybe seeing his friends in the afternoons. He was good at doing nothing. But this time, he had something better to do. Someone. It made the whole season feel different.

He kind of wished Akane were more like him. Even with school out, she still found ways to stay busy, still ran on tension. It had eased, sure, but never really vanished. If she could just slow down, they could be together more—spending the whole day having fun instead of filling out dojo applications.

At first, he thought it was kind of funny. He’d expected the stress to disappear once finals ended. But Akane wasn’t wired that way. She always had to be managing something, handling something. And whatever she did, she did right. That was Akane.

He'd made it his personal mission to teach her how to relax. Pushing her buttons just enough to distract her, nudging her into unwinding. Sometimes she caught on, and that ruined everything. The trick was to be subtle. Which wasn’t easy, especially since she’d gone all-in on this dojo application mess. Because he hadn’t been methodical about it, she had taken over completely—asking questions, comparing options, scrutinizing everything. Maybe she was bored.

What drove her crazy was that he only had two, maybe three schools he was considering. All reputable. All tough. That gave her endless ammunition. He was confident he’d get into at least one, especially since he’d already applied for the entrance exam. But Akane thought that was reckless. She wanted him to have a plan B. And a C. Maybe a D too. Just in case.

It was easy to tease her about it, to poke her into long-winded explanations while he quietly laughed. It always made her mad. Then she'd lash out, then double down, back to being serious and focused. He didn’t know how she summoned the energy to stay that intense.

He’d rediscovered something: an angry Akane was still a violent Akane. She’d been like that as a kid, and he’d been great at setting her off. Back then he was just being mean. Now there was purpose.

They'd been training almost daily. He often wondered how she managed to funnel all that temper into martial arts. It was contradictory, but when she got really mad, that’s when their sparring got interesting. She had real potential. If she could channel that energy into more than raw strength and stubbornness, she could be a fantastic opponent.

In a way, it worked to his advantage. Angry Akane was stronger and faster, but imprecise. That made their sessions dynamic, intense, and exhausting. And afterward, when the adrenaline burned off, her brain would finally quiet down. She'd stop planning. Blessed silence.

But lately, he’d discovered something else. Something about the rhythm of it all. Fighting with Akane—the tension, the energy, the push and pull—turned him on. There was something about their controlled strength, the heat of a good match, the closeness. It was complicated.

Especially right after they finished. When Akane let go and got playful. That’s when he really wanted to be alone with her, somewhere private. Not that he minded being around others, but by that point he wasn’t exactly in the best mindset for being gentlemanly. Even though he knew he should be.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Ranma reached the Tendo residence. It was late. He knew that. But he hadn’t seen her all day, and as he got ready for bed, he realized he missed her. So he snuck out, slipping past his parents talking quietly in the dining room.

He wasn’t keen on facing his mom. She’d been acting weird lately. Too aware of Akane. He hadn’t exactly been secretive, but his mother wanted explanations. Gossip, maybe. Hopefully nothing more.

Ranma sighed. Whatever it was, it was his business. His mother might want to pry, but that didn’t mean he had to spill his guts every time. Maybe she thought, since he didn’t talk to his dad much anymore, it was her job to give him "the talk."

He grimaced.

"Fat chance," he muttered.

OOOOOOOO

Akane had been staring out the window for what felt like forever.

She should have been in bed. Normally, she would be. But lately, she’d been tapping into some strange new energy. Doing things because she wanted to. With actual enthusiasm. It felt good. No forcing, no pushing through. Just doing.

Still, she felt off. Like there was a buzz under her skin she couldn’t get rid of. An itch she couldn’t scratch, because she didn’t know where it was. Like there was something she was supposed to know but couldn’t remember.

And of course, every time her mind wandered, it wandered to Ranma.

Her eyes flicked to the phone. Again.

Then back to the window.

Suddenly, she stood. Lights off. Movement sharp. She started pacing, then stopped.

"Crazy, is what you aaare..." she sang to herself in the dark.

More staring.

A sigh.

She hated being disappointed.

But maybe...

She leaned over her desk, pressing her hands into the wood, trying to catch a glimpse of the garden. Moonlight danced on the pond. No wind. Stillness.

She swallowed.

"...Ranma..." she whispered, barely audible. But to her, it felt loud.

She strained to listen. Crickets. The ticking of her watch.

Tick. Tack. Tick. Tack.

"How did you know I was here?" came the voice, sudden and close.

She jumped, adrenaline spiking. Her heart lurched into her throat. She stumbled backward and fell, landing with a thud.

Laughter.

"You’re such a klutz!"

A knock at the door.

"Akane-chan? Are you alright?"

Sprawled on the floor, Akane braced herself with one hand, clutching her chest with the other, trying to breathe.

"I’m alright, onee-san! Just tripped on my dumbbells. Sorry!" Her face burned.

"I would have thought you’d learned to be a bit more..." Kasumi's voice trailed off. "Well, good night, Akane-chan. Are you sure you don’t need anything?"

Akane exhaled.

"No, I’m all set. Thank you."

"Oh, well then. Good night."

"Night."

She opened her eyes. Ranma’s upside-down head was dangling in from the window, grinning.

She wanted to yell at him.

"Ranma, you jerk!" she hissed, loud as she dared. It was not satisfying. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

His smirk widened. Looked stupid upside-down.

"Oh, get over it already," he said cheerfully. "Come up here. I’m lonely."

Her indignation dissolved in an instant.

She smiled.

OOOOOOOO

It was almost too early. But it felt good. Waking up this early had become routine, and somehow, it wasn’t hard at all. Of course, it helped that Ranma had promised an early training session before spending the afternoon with his friends. His mother also wanted him home in the morning to babysit Ranko. Akane wondered if he'd be on time.

She shook her head and took a deep breath. She was supposed to be meditating.

In some ways, early or late training sessions were best. It meant Nabiki wouldn’t be around. Akane dreaded her commentary. So far, her middle sister had kept her distance, especially after one of her remarks led to Akane chopping off her own hair. That kind of self-imposed exile couldn’t last forever, but Akane was enjoying the peace while it lasted.

Kasumi was different. Akane suspected she knew everything. Not just the general idea, like Nabiki, but the details. Kasumi, being Kasumi, probably knew every single time Ranma had entered the house—when they'd studied together in the garden, trained in the dojo. Yet officially, Ranma had never set foot inside. Kasumi never said anything directly. But her silent routines—passing by the dojo, knocking on Akane’s door, lingering near the hallway—were all gentle warnings. She was the quiet drip of water that wore down stone more effectively than any storm. Akane found she didn’t mind. In fact, she appreciated it. Kasumi was allowing them space, and probably keeping Nabiki in check.

After eating a piece of fruit, Akane dressed in her training gear and headed to the dojo. She was terrible at meditation. Her father had always insisted it was as vital to martial arts as physical strength, and while she understood that intellectually, it never came naturally to her. The more she tried to focus, the more her thoughts scattered.

But today was different. Sitting on the dojo floor, eyes closed, with the sun barely over the horizon, the air still cool and clean—she inhaled.

Fresh air. Fresh earth. The scent reminded her of sandalwood.

It was from childhood. She smiled.

Maybe an early start would help sharpen her focus. Maybe then Ranma would stop pulling his punches. It drove her crazy. He danced around her like she was made of glass. She didn’t expect to beat him—not fairly—but how could she improve if he never gave it his all?

Today she would push him. She’d make him stop going easy on her.

Akane sighed. He wasn’t even here yet and she was already frustrated.

Start with the breathing. Let the breathing guide you.

She reset her posture and drew in a deep, even breath. First the stomach, then the ribs, then the chest. She exhaled slowly.

Sandalwood. Again.

She smiled. Maybe she should light some herself. Then she froze.

She wasn’t imagining it. She could smell it in the air. Her heart skipped a beat.

Opening her eyes carefully, she kept her face composed. She wanted to dance. Or cry.

Her father was sitting across from her, mirroring her position. Incense burned at the shrine.

Akane breathed in deeply, silently. Soun opened his eyes just long enough for her to catch the distant, vacant stare she’d grown used to. Her heart clenched.

But then she began the breathing exercises he’d taught her, and he joined in without hesitation. When she began the mantra, he followed in sync.

Time slipped by. She was calm. Centered. Peaceful.

Then another presence. Ranma.

She sensed him before opening her eyes. He stood at the dojo’s open threshold, wearing a gi, looking more like a proper student than usual. She panicked. Would her father accept the intrusion? Would he say something?

She looked at Ranma. He didn’t move, clearly unsure.

Her father opened his eyes slightly. Expression unchanged, he glanced at Ranma, then gestured slowly for him to join.

Akane swallowed.

Ranma walked in, lit a stick of incense, bowed, and sat beside them. Calm. Confident. He winked.

Akane blushed. Never a dull moment.

They breathed together. Chanted. The moment was whole.

Eventually, her father rose, bowed, and stepped aside to watch.

Ranma rose. Akane followed. He asked to run through an intermediate kata. They bowed. Began.

Ranma was sharp. Precise. He corrected her, pushed her. Not too hard—but enough. It was demanding. Real. She was sweating by the end. He wasn’t. Damn him.

They bowed again. He smiled. Then kissed her.

Akane went rigid. Her father—

She turned to him, about to scold Ranma, but stopped.

Her father was gone.

She exhaled.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, I’m not that big an idiot, Akane.”

She flushed. “That’s not— I mean—Sorry. I trust you. It’s just—Sorry.”

“An apology? So many surprises today.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He laughed.

“You didn’t notice him leave?”

She shook her head.

“You were good,” he said.

She tried not to smile.

“When did he go?”

“Few minutes after we started.”

Then that grin. “Do you know what this means, Akane? Your father likes me. He actually trusts me. At least in the dojo.”

Akane blinked. She wasn’t sure how to feel.

“Break?” he asked.

She was dazed. He nudged her shoulder and strolled out. She followed.

He patted the floor. She sat beside him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Dunno.”

After a pause, he said, “I’d never actually seen him before.”

“Yeah. He keeps to his room. Sometimes joins for dinner.”

She didn’t know how to feel. Her father’s presence had thrilled her, but letting a stranger into his dojo? Strange. Maybe Ranma had earned it.

“You don’t train together anymore?”

She shook her head.

“This is the first time I’ve seen him in the dojo in years. Maybe he’s been training in secret. We stopped trying to get a reaction out of him ages ago. Maybe we should’ve paid more attention.”

Ranma was silent.

“He’s been like this since mom died. Maybe he’s just getting better. That’s all.”

Ranma placed a hand over hers. She smiled. Her unease faded.

She turned her hand, fingers intertwining with his. He blinked. Smiled. Squeezed her hand.

OOOOOO

Ranma walked home slowly.

Akane had been distracted. He hadn’t known how to help. That bothered him.

This morning had changed something. Two auras instead of one had made him anxious. The second had been calm, but unfamiliar. Unexpected. He’d been shocked to find it was her father.

Akane barely spoke of him. He’d assumed the man wasn’t involved. But the moment he entered the dojo, he saw why this man had once been its master. Even out of shape, Soun Tendo’s presence was undeniable. Akane shared that energy—her father’s control, her own fire.

Ranma doubted Akane had ever learned to read auras. Her training had stopped too early. But her essence, her resilience, had formed anyway. From absence.

He clenched his fists. Her father had given up. Left them all behind. She’d grown strong because she had no other choice.

Ranma wanted to punch something.

But Akane was peaceful today. He didn’t want to break that.

Her father had felt him, no doubt. Just as he’d sensed the man. Their ki spoke for them. Her father had allowed it. That meant something.

Still, he was certain now—Soun had always known when he’d been in the house. Creepy.

Akane hadn’t expected the meeting either.

Weirdly, he was a little disappointed. It would’ve meant something if she had planned it.

Getting a girlfriend’s father’s approval was a milestone. And there it was—“girlfriend.” He’d never thought of her that way in words, only in actions.

But now he did.

He liked it. It meant something. Something real.

At home, Ranko sat sleepily at the table. His dad’s breakfast was still warm. His mom bustled around, getting ready to leave.

“Ranma-kun!” she said, excited. She disappeared and returned with an envelope.

“This came just ten minutes ago.”

Mail. For him. Rare.

He opened it.

Tenjin Shinyo.

They wanted him for entrance exams. One of the schools he’d applied to. A chance.

His mother watched him, eager.

He grinned.

“They want me to take the exam.”

OOOOOOOO

They were having one heck of a make-out session.

Something had happened that Akane didn’t know about. She hadn’t seen much of Ranma over the past few days. That evening, he’d shown up quite late. Akane had already been in bed, flipping through a silly magazine she’d picked up on a whim because of a quiz promising to reveal whether you and your partner were truly destined for each other.

It was a stupid quiz. Truly, incredibly stupid. The answers were so obvious that she could rig the results however she wanted. Still, she reminded herself, she had bought it. Out of curiosity. And boredom. She always missed Ranma when he wasn’t around.

Just as she’d been contemplating tossing the magazine aside, she heard a sound outside. Looking up, she found Ranma already halfway through her window.

She stood to clear space on her cluttered desk, but of course, Ranma didn’t need her help. He barely touched down before landing smoothly on the floor.

When she turned to him, he looked so vibrant, it took her breath away. Slightly out of breath, eyes bright, and smiling—until he saw her expression. Then, suddenly, he was on her, arms wrapping tightly around her waist, lifting her up. She felt his urgency. It was infectious. Dizzying. She wrapped her arms around him and let herself get swept up.

They ended up sprawled on her bed, on top of the covers. Ranma was kissing her neck, making her laugh.

"You’re laughing. Am I doing it wrong?" he asked, amused.

She touched his jaw, liking the stubble there. "Hadn’t seen you in a while..."

They’d spoken on the phone in the evenings, and Ranma had mentioned that his parents had been keeping him busy. She hadn’t pressed for details. He always told her the big stuff. That was enough. Mostly.

His lips were back on her neck. His rough hand found the curve of her waist under her pajamas, and Akane let out a soft moan.

"Ran... Ranma," she tried, half-laughing, half-protesting. "I was thinking—"

"No. No thinking," he mumbled from the crook of her neck.

She giggled again. He kept kissing. She tried to sit up.

"Ranma!"

"What?" he asked, looking up, eyes wide and innocent.

She propped herself up on her elbows. His hands were still at her waist. He looked so genuine, it was unfair.

"I’m glad you’re here."

"Me too," he said, brushing a kiss to her nose before nuzzling behind her ear.

She sighed and lay back down, arms around him.

"I missed you," she murmured.

"Yeah. I’ve been training."

"Training?" That caught her off guard. She’d thought that was their thing.

"I got a letter from Tenjin Shinyo."

Her face lit up. "That’s great news!"

"Practical’s next week. Pops has actually been helping."

She sat up straighter. "You should have told me! This is huge!"

He yanked her back down. "Be quiet," he whispered against her ear.

"I wanted to tell you in person," he continued, just inches from her face. "Then stuff happened. I got caught up."

She didn’t get how he stayed so coherent. She pulled him down to kiss him again.

"Got two offers. Kukishin wrote back, too."

"Already? That’s fast."

"Is it? Dunno. Yoshinkan hasn’t replied yet."

"You waiting it out?"

"Maybe."

They quieted. He held her; she caressed the back of his neck.

"Akane?"

"Mmm?"

"I want to take you out."

"You can."

"No, like a real date. Come to the house, greet your family, all that. Since you’re my girlfriend."

That made her freeze.

Her brain stumbled. Ranma sat up slightly, searching her face.

"Cause you’re my girlfriend. Right, Akane?"

She met his gaze. Intense. Serious. She nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat.

"That’d make you my boyfriend then," she whispered, flushing.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"So... that’s settled."

He relaxed, snuggled against her. She stroked his neck, tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

She reached over to turn off the lamp. The streetlight through the open window gave the room a soft glow.

"A-ka-ne," he mumbled.

"Yeah..."

"I’m tired."

"First time I’ve ever heard you say that."

He chuckled. She kept stroking his neck.

"You smell amazing, ’Kane."

She wanted to say it was him she smelled, not herself, but she just hummed.

His breathing slowed.

Her last thought was that she didn’t know whether he snored.

They didn’t wake until morning.

OOOOOOOO

Akane sat on the porch.

She was happy. Her martial arts were improving. Training with Ranma gave her purpose, maybe even a glimpse of her future. Maybe her father's legacy didn’t have to feel like a burden. Maybe it was a choice. But she didn’t know what her own desires were yet.

And yet... she was uneasy.

Ranma had said he wanted a real date. One where he knocked on the front door like a normal guy. That meant family.

Kasumi would open the door. Nabiki would make comments. Her father would be... her father. What would she say? “This is Ranma. You remember him? He’s my boyfriend now.”

The thought made her squirm. Sayuri had teased her about this once and she’d found it thrilling. Now, she just wanted to keep it private. Hers. Not public.

But that wasn’t fair. They shouldn’t sneak around forever.

She liked having him to herself. With him, she felt free.

Then the bell rang. He actually rang the bell.

Kasumi opened the gate. Ranma bowed politely. Akane let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She watched from behind the door as Nabiki strolled in.

"And who might that be?" Nabiki asked, loud and… well, Nabiki.

Her father appeared, mumbling about tea.

Akane sat down quickly. The silence when Ranma entered was unbearable. He looked at her. Nabiki stared at him. Her father blinked.

"Hi, Ranma," Akane said. Too cheerfully.

"Hey, Akane."

She turned to the room.

"Everyone remembers Ranma, right?"

Kasumi smiled. Nabiki leered.

"Good afternoon," Ranma said, bowing. "I’m Ranma Saotome. It’s nice to meet you."

"Akane-chan! You didn’t tell us your boyfriend was coming over!" Nabiki gushed.

Their father choked on his tea.

"Way to go, sis. He’s cute. Better than Kuno. You should definitely keep this one."

Kasumi tried to smooth things over. "Will you be joining us for tea?"

"Actually," Akane cut in, "we’re on our way to the movies. Right, Ranma?"

"Right."

"Oh! A date!" Nabiki clarified.

"Perhaps you’d like to join us for dinner later?" Kasumi asked, all politeness.

"Yes, Akane. We should get to know your boyfriend," Nabiki added.

"Dinner sounds good, thank you," Ranma said.

"We’ll be going now. Bye!"

Akane dragged him out.

OOOOOOOO

They strolled through Yoyogi Park after the movie. Boats were all taken. Instead, they sat under a tree, watching people.

Akane wanted to skip dinner. Less awkward that way. Ranma understood. At least he’d done the right thing, meeting her family.

Walking home was slow. Ranma balanced on a fence, watching Akane in her white sundress. She looked... womanly. He wanted to show her off.

She’d been quiet. Thinking.

"Ranma?"

"Mmm?"

"What if you don’t pass the exams?"

"I will."

"But how can you be sure?"

"Because."

"That’s not an answer."

He smiled. She fumed.

"Yoshinkan trains martial artists and teachers. Medical stuff, too. Brings masters from abroad. It’s tough to get in."

"Exactly! And they haven’t replied."

"They will. I’m good, Akane. I could run my own school now."

"Maybe you should."

"But I want to make it better."

She huffed. "You should still apply elsewhere."

"Oh no. No more forms. Not how I’m spending our summer."

"But—"

"No." He wagged a finger in her face.

She glared.

"It’s only a month till school starts again. I want to spend time with you. Not fill out paperwork."

She stopped walking.

"I won’t have time to sneak into your room and distract you from your work," he added, kissing her shoulder.

She shivered.

"I hate it when you’re right."

Ranma laughed.

"I’m serious!"

"I know. You’re funny."

"And I’m not a nutcase."

"Just a little."

She smirked. He touched her cheek, thumb brushing her lips.

"I like you like that."

She rested her hands on his chest.

"I think about it too. I don’t want to lose time with you."

He pulled her closer.

"I want you all to myself," she whispered. "Like the other day. Waking up and you were there..."

His heart surged.

She looked at him, serious. "Let’s get away. Camping. A weekend. Whatever. Just us. No sneaking."

He smiled. "Like I had to share you today, you mean?"

She blushed.

"I’d like that," he said. "Then I get you all to myself."

She smiled, leaned into his touch. She opened her mouth slightly, grazing his thumb with her teeth.

"Akane..."

"Kiss me, Ran-ma..."

He lifted her slightly, feeling the press of her body against his.

Her arms wrapped around his neck. She let go, trusted him to hold her. He always did.

When their lips met, it was soft and silky, urgent and slow. Never enough. Always too much.

They kissed like they had all the time in the world.

OOOOO

Akane was planning. In her head, she'd been planning from the moment she blurted it out. The one time her mouth moved without her brain catching up first. But as soon as the words left her lips, she realized how badly she wanted it.

It was unusual, sure. She shouldn't have even considered it. But the idea of having Ranma all to herself for a few days... It just felt right. She thought they'd finally be able to relax. She wanted to know what he was like in a slower rhythm, in daily things. Everything felt better when they were together. So the idea of them away from everything—just the two of them. God, it was such a good idea.

So that's what they call it nowadays, huh? "Idea."

And so Akane planned. Hiking. Camping. Fishing. Stargazing. Roasted chestnuts. Some training, of course. There was always training. She wondered if Ranma would ease up on it now that he'd passed all his exams.

She'd mentioned the trip in passing to her sisters. To her father, she'd said she was going on a short vacation with friends. Basically, she'd informed them. She hadn't asked. And no one had stopped her. That absurd little fact made her proud.

She was digging through the storage room for her backpack when Nabiki showed up.

"Whatcha looking for, sis?" Nabiki asked, poking her head in.

Akane felt a flicker of exasperation. Nabiki had been a particular nuisance lately, especially when it came to teasing her about Ranma. Still, she kept her tone even.

"My backpack and sleeping bag. Haven't used them in ages. Can't find them."

"Mmm. No tent?"

"What? No. Don't think we need one."

"Oh, I think you might want to take one."

"It's warm up there this time of year, and—"

"But you'll so need a tent. For privacy. Obviously."

"Privacy? I don't see how—"

"Don't tell me you won't need it. Because you will."

"It's not like that, Nabiki!"

"Your loss. If I were you, I'd definitely take the tent."

Wouldn't she just drop it? Akane tried to ignore her, pretending it didn't bother her, though it absolutely did.

"It's in my room."

"What?"

"Your backpack. I used it last spring break. Didn't have my own."

And then Nabiki disappeared.

Oh. She'd actually been trying to help. Wonders never ceased.

A few minutes later, Akane was in Nabiki's room, retrieving her backpack. Nabiki lay on her bed reading a magazine.

As Akane turned to leave, Nabiki spoke up.

"I'm so jealous."

"Sorry... what?"

"You heard me."

Akane stared. Nabiki sat up and tucked her magazine away.

"You're so happy it's disturbing. I wish I could feel like that. Sorry for being annoying. I don't know how to deal."

Akane had no idea what to say.

Nabiki had always seemed so confident. Always in control. Akane had often envied her clarity, her drive. She always seemed to know what she wanted, how to get it.

"You have a place here," Nabiki said. "The dojo, your path. You seem happy. I don't have anything like that. I want to get back to school already..."

Akane frowned.

"Nabiki-oneechan, taking care of the dojo... I'm not sure I want that. That was Father's dream. If I find something else... sometimes it's worse knowing your path has already been chosen. I wish I were more like you."

Nabiki smiled gently. "You love the dojo, silly girl."

Akane wanted to argue. It wasn't that simple.

"Maybe. But I could love so many other things too. I want to get away."

"You can. And then come back. You could study economics, management, marketing. All of that could help if you do return. Some people thrive in the unknown. I know I do. I need challenges, to prove myself. There's no challenge here. Maybe I'm just bored."

Akane paused. "If you want to get away... why don't you? You've done it before."

"This is home, even if it doesn’t feel right lately. Maybe once the dojo's running again and Dad's more himself..."

They both smiled.

"He's getting there," Akane said.

"Yes. That's good."

Akane took the cue to leave, but Nabiki called out, "Akane-chan?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd take the tent. Ranma-kun is way hot. You're missing out on quality time."

Akane blushed. "I'll think about it."

"Good girl."

Akane closed the door before any more comments could follow.

OOOOOOOO

After dinner, Akane helped Kasumi with the dishes, nerves bubbling under her lighthearted mood. Tomorrow they'd leave for their trip.

They'd take a train to the nearest national park, then hike to Mount Mitake. One day of walking, then camping for a few more. Akane couldn’t wait.

So she was surprised when Kasumi suddenly said, "I trust you realize how unusual this is, Akane-chan."

Akane froze. Her back to her sister, she tried to play dumb. "What's unusual, oneesan?"

Kasumi came closer. "You know what I'm talking about."

Akane turned. Kasumi looked serious. Tired, even. Her shoulders drooped.

"Oneesan... you really shouldn't worry."

Akane was touched, even if a little annoyed. It wasn’t as if she and Ranma hadn’t had plenty of opportunities already. It wasn’t about that. She just wanted to get away. Maybe she should tell Kasumi that. Or maybe Kasumi already knew.

Kasumi sighed. "You're responsible. I trust you. But things can be... exciting."

"Well..."

"I just want you to be very aware. How do I put this... You know how they say it takes two to tango? Not true. When it comes to this, the woman always holds the cards. If you lose it, it’s lost. Because men can't help themselves."

Akane nodded slowly. She assumed they were talking about sex. Sort of. Maybe. Not exactly. She wasn't sure anymore. Kasumi was blushing furiously.

"Oneesan... I’ll be careful. I promise."

Kasumi still looked unsure.

"You might not like it if people find out how close you two really are."

Akane blinked. "I thought you were warning me not to get pregnant."

"Well, yes," Kasumi said quickly, cheeks pink. "But also... people might expect things. You know. Reputation."

Huh. Akane had never realized Kasumi was this old-fashioned. Sweet, gentle, yes—but this? Still, she appreciated the concern. She’d expected some version of this talk eventually. Just not... this version.

And this was why she'd wanted to keep her relationship with Ranma private. No scrutiny. No expectations. But it was too late for that now. She'd manage.

OOOOOOOO

"I don't think you get me. Not really."

Ranma blinked. He was lying on his side, one arm under him, the other lazily rubbing Akane's stomach. Her breathing. Her heartbeat. Her rumbling tummy. He loved listening.

He'd been trying to sync his breathing to hers. Or get her to sync to his. It felt weirdly intimate. It calmed him. He thought it probably did the same for her. She liked clinging to him, and he liked being the one she clung to. He wanted to protect her. And to do that, he had to pay attention. Really pay attention.

He liked watching her, pausing to read her moods. It felt like training. And he was good at training. He was becoming an expert on Akane.

So her words caught him off guard.

He sat up, cross-legged, eyes drawn to her in the campfire glow. The fire wasn’t for warmth. Just comfort. He’d always liked that about campfires—it meant a pause. A break. A breath.

She wouldn’t let go of the frown on her face.

"You keep saying I need to relax—"

"Course you do," he cut in.

She sat up and whacked him. Not hard. He made a fuss anyway, because she liked it when he did.

"Geez, Akane. Easy on the tender care."

"This just proves you don't get me. I don't need to relax."

"Really."

"I’ve barely started. A few months ago, I was completely stuck. I don’t want to slow down. Not now."

He knew this speech. He'd heard versions of it before. Still, he didn’t interrupt. She looked ready to bite.

He reached for her hand. She sighed.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. Moving forward. But I was on autopilot. It was empty."

"Like a dead-end job? Done 'cause you have to, not 'cause you want to?"

She nodded. "Exactly. But then... you showed up. And everything kind of shifted."

Ranma tilted his head. "You always knew where you were going. College, right? Still is."

"It’s the intent, Ranma. Before it was just inertia. Now there’s a reason. A feeling. I don’t know what I want yet. But now I know I want something. That’s already different."

They sat in silence. The fire crackled. Cicadas droned. Their hands stayed joined.

"I know what I want," he said softly, surprising even himself.

Akane didn’t catch the panic in his eyes.

"Yeah, I know you do. I’m jealous of that. I wish I were more like you."

"What? Why? I could be bluffing. Maybe you hit your head hiking."

She barely heard him.

"You’re so at ease. Confident. You must know what you want."

"I don’t think you get me," Ranma echoed her words.

"Huh?"

"You have no idea what I want."

"I don't?"

He shook his head. "'Cause what I want... it's simple."

"Things are never that simple."

"Silly Akane." He looked at their hands, smiled faintly. "I just want you."

She gasped.

"Oh Ranma! That’s why I’m jealous! You make it all feel so simple! You bring this out in me—"

Ranma's heart sank a little. She still didn’t get it. She was analyzing everything. Missing the point. He looked at her.

She met his gaze, startled by the raw honesty on his face.

"You’re too much," she whispered, touching his cheek. "Too good. I’m being selfish."

Ranma closed his eyes at her touch, his heart lifting.

Then she launched herself into his arms, knocking him onto his back.

He caught her, held her. Protected her.

She giggled, nuzzled into his chest. He trailed his fingers through her hair.

"I like your heartbeat," she mumbled. "It makes me feel safe."

Ranma smiled.

"See? Relaxing. Together. Told you I get you."

OOOOOOOO

They’d been quiet on the way back. On the train, Akane had dropped everything and fallen asleep against him. Ranma had held her, content. There was a bittersweet edge to it, though. School was starting soon, and things would change. He tried not to dwell on that, focusing instead on how peaceful it felt just then.

He wasn’t sure what was going through Akane’s mind. Usually, he had a pretty good idea. That was how he knew how to distract her. Maybe she was just enjoying the quiet, content in his company the way he was in hers. Maybe she, too, was quietly mourning the end of their trip and the return to everyday life.

They’d said long goodbyes at her front door. After she’d gone in, he’d wandered toward the nearby park. He thought of Ranko—how little time he’d spent with her lately. And yet, it was her silly flower that had nudged him toward everything. He owed her.

He sat down on a bench. It was late. The city was quiet, not quite asleep. He leaned forward, arms on his knees, fingers laced loosely. After a while, he realized he’d been staring at the ground, unmoving. A deep breath, then a slow exhale. The peace had drained away. He dreaded the start of classes.

He leaned back awkwardly, his backpack in the way, and stared at the starless sky.

"Don’t wanna go home yet," he mumbled.

Saying it aloud made his chest ache. Gods, was this what being in love felt like? A force you couldn’t control? He missed her already—her presence, their shared spring, even their dumb little fights. The way they coexisted, both absorbed in their own worlds but always close.

“Fuck it.”

He stood and took off running back to the Tendo house.

Akane was in her room, sitting on the bed, staring at her hands. When she looked up, her face lit up with a relieved smile.

"Oh thank god…" she whispered, and rushed into his arms.

Yeah. Peaceful.

The next morning, he had to sneak out and make up a story for his mom about why he hadn’t come home. She gave him a strange look over breakfast, but didn’t push.

There was good news, at least. A letter from Yoshinkan had arrived. They wanted him to come in for a practical evaluation—the following day. Close call.

He dropped his things, cleaned up, changed, and headed to the kitchen. He ate fast. His mother sat beside him.

"Where are you going?"

"Dojo, Mom."

She sighed.

"What?" he asked, setting his bowl down.

"I hardly see you anymore. I know you’re training, and that’s important. I’m proud of you. I just forget sometimes that you’re not a boy anymore. You have your own life now. One we’re not part of in the same way. You’ve grown so fast."

"Mom, I—"

"It’s alright, dear," she said gently. "I just miss you sometimes."

Ranma felt awkward. "Sorry."

She waved it off. "It’s the way of life. It’ll happen to you one day, too. Just… be home this afternoon, alright? I can’t take your sister with me, and she’ll get bored."

"Sure, Mom."

He asked Akane to come over and help with Ranko. His sister liked Akane, which was lucky. She was always better behaved around her.

If someone had asked him then what he wanted out of life, Ranma would have said he didn’t need anything he didn’t already have. He didn’t crave glory or career ambitions. Even with this new path dropped on him, he wasn’t fazed. It just felt right. He figured that made him a pretty simple guy.

Akane had teased him—"Ego much?"—but yeah. He was good at what he did. He had a right to feel confident. Maybe it was simple-minded. He’d never overthought things. He lived. But now, with high school ending and a real future looming… a guy had to think, at least once in a while.

He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, scratching his stomach, the house quiet around him. He should be worried. Maybe he was, deep down. That’s why he couldn’t sleep.

When the ambush came, he wasn’t ready, even though he’d sensed something brewing. His parents had been circling around it for weeks. The excuse was a dinner, celebrating his acceptance. He’d start in two weeks, just as school began. He was excited. If not martial arts, what else would he even do? It made sense. He felt sure.

The table was full of food. Fancy stuff. Not normal. Ranko, overexcited, stuffed herself and was soon out cold. His mom ushered her to bed with promises of dessert.

Then it was just the adults.

Talk turned to the future—his training, his duties, his potential as heir. His father urged humility, hard work. His mother praised the academic side. All normal.

Then it turned.

"So, Ranma-kun… how’s your girlfriend?"

Ranma froze. He didn’t remember ever discussing Akane with his father. Ever. Ranko had probably spilled things.

Flustered. “Mm. Fine.”

“Oh, Ranma!” his mother beamed. "It’s so sweet when you blush!"

His dad laughed. Of course.

Ranma stared at his plate.

They started reminiscing. About old dojo days. About how the families had once been close. Cooking classes. Sparring partners. Old promises.

And then: the marriage pact.

They’d agreed, when he was still unborn, that their son would marry a Tendō daughter. First Nabiki. Then maybe Kasumi. Finally, Akane—closer in age, and already in training.

Ranma blinked. The logic landed slowly. This wasn’t a joke. They were serious.

His heart raced. He didn’t mind the idea of being with Akane. But the idea that they’d planned it all without asking?

He raised his voice. "So I’m supposed to—what—get married?!"

His father roared, silencing him. His mother spoke gently. They only asked that he think about it. That he consider it, not from duty alone, but from love.

Ranma swallowed hard. “Just don’t mention this to anyone. If I ever… If I ever consider it, I’ll talk to Akane first. It has to be our choice. Or not at all.”

They nodded. His mother smiled. His father was serious again.

He excused himself and went to bed, drained.

He couldn’t sleep.

The worst part wasn’t the arranged-marriage angle. It was the idea of his parents shaping his life without asking. What disturbed him most… was that he didn’t hate the idea. Not really.

He loved her. He already lived at the dojo, more or less. They worked well together. Marriage didn’t feel like a loss of freedom. It felt like a continuation.

Of course, Akane had plans. Big ones. She’d want school, independence, control. Would marriage get in her way?

He’d have to ask. One day.

Gods, was he already considering asking?

He lay still, thoughts churning.

He could see it happening.

He might even want it.

TBC…

Chapter Text

"The Chance of Change"

A Ranma ½ fanfiction by Pia-san

Chapter Eight: Suspended Souls (Part I)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Akane was fuming and pouting. Ranma had started school this week. His school had started earlier. A whole week earlier. Freakin' exclusive Yoshinkan, just had to start earlier than all other regular schools. Why? One more week of studying wouldn’t make that much of a difference anyway.

Akane still had a whole Ranma-less week before her own summer break officially ended. Since yesterday, she’d been helping Kasumi move boxes in and out of the storage room. Her older sister didn’t really need the help, but Akane had offered out of pure boredom. And anxiety. A little of that was mixed in as well.

He’d been supposed to have some free time yesterday afternoon.

He said he’d probably be able to meet her then.

"Probably," he’d said.

Instead, Akane had received a call from Ranma’s mother—of all people—kindly informing her that her son would be held at school until the weekend and that he’d asked her to pass on the message. Apparently, these people did everything differently. They started on different dates, asked for different entry requirements, and didn’t even let students have any free time. Never mind the weirdness of talking to Ranma’s mom. Although she was sweet, it was still kind of strange.

Akane was upset. She wanted to blame it on Ranma’s new school, even if she knew it was a big deal that he’d gotten in. There was a reason it was so sought-after. Part of it had to do with how they did things differently. The other part was how they mixed the old with the new. Apparently, students learned much more than just their particular school of martial arts. Akane just didn’t see how staying overnight for a whole week would make that much of a difference. It wasn’t supposed to be a boarding school, for crying out loud. And most students, she guessed, were probably way past the age when they’d be getting into trouble outside of school.

It sucked.

Akane fervently hoped it wouldn’t be like this the whole time he was there.

She sighed as she carefully carried a surprisingly light but very large box into the sitting room. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t like she could see much anyway. It would just be so perfect, and completely in sync with her day, if she had some sort of accident now—like missing a step, falling down the stairs, and breaking her neck. Killed by box.

She needed to hit something.

Why couldn’t they just let Ranma go on Wednesday night like they’d said they would? Akane still had a whole week of relative freedom before things got more difficult.

"Twice as difficult..." she grumbled, her face settling into a scowl that was starting to feel permanent.

It was likely that Ranma would be even busier than she would be. Maybe he wouldn’t even have time to see her, even if he did get out occasionally. Wow. It was starting to sound a lot like jail.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a tiny voice told her to let it go. It was just the way things were. But she couldn’t. Or didn’t want to. She didn’t know.

Crap.

It had only been four days since she’d seen him. Not that she was counting or anything. Gods, she needed to get a life.

With a heavy sigh, Akane dropped the box she was carrying. It clattered noisily to the ground.

"Akane-chan!" Kasumi’s voice rang through the hall.

"Sorry, oneesan!" Akane yelled back, her voice flat and without remorse.

She plopped down next to the box, her dress fluttering around her. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the label: “Blankets.” Surprising. She didn’t know blankets could make so much noise. Still, the word caught her eye. Warm, cozy blankets.

Gods, she wished summer wasn’t over yet.

She had liked herself this summer. She’d been happy with herself. Or maybe it was just Ranma. Now that school was starting again, she’d be back to her books and being plain old Akane. She realized she didn’t like herself very much, generally.

Akane shook her head, trying to banish her thoughts. It wasn’t like her to be so negative. True, she often overanalyzed things, but usually in a practical way. Today, though...

She wanted to poke a bunny in the eye. Or squeeze something cute and fluffy until it couldn’t breathe.

She heard her sister humming in the distance.

She couldn’t shake the anxiety. Things felt like they were about to get harder, and she desperately wanted her summer back. It had been the best time of her life. So far. Perhaps it could get better.

That thought gave her pause. There would be more, right? Her pout softened. She knew she was worrying over nothing. She was a sucker for punishment. If life was too easy, she’d find something to ruin it. That was just how she was. And now she was spiraling. She tried to ignore the tight clench in her stomach. It was only anxiety. The more she focused on it, the worse it got. She wanted to pout about her free time—but Ranma wasn’t there to enjoy it with her.

A nasty thought crept in. Because of Ranma, she’d thought she was changing. But had she really? All day, she’d felt like one of those girls who desperately needed to be with someone. The ones who pined for boyfriends or exes, or chased after crushes. She used to think that was silly. Weren’t there bigger things in life than boys?

Oh gods. Maybe she was one of those girls. Maybe she just hadn’t seen it before. But—this wasn’t just a boyfriend she missed. It was Ranma. He was special, and she...

She missed him like crazy. But she didn’t want to. It upset her when she did. Because maybe it meant...

The phone rang, mercifully pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts.

Kasumi answered quickly.

A moment later, her sister called for her.

Akane’s heart pounded as she raced up the stairs and into her room.

She picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Akane?"

A woman’s voice. Akane swallowed the lump in her throat and braced for disappointment.

"This is she," she said flatly.

"Ohh! Akane, glad to hear you’re happy I’m calling!"

Sayuri. Akane blinked, needing a second to catch up.

"Hey. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you. It’s been a weird day. I’m a bit out of it..."

"I’ll say. Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Just moving boxes. Kasumi’s pulling out the autumn stuff already."

"Great minds think alike!"

Akane smiled. "You have an idea?"

Sayuri giggled.

"Yuka says she’s short on cozy winter wear."

"Winter wear?"

"Mmhmm. She wants to—"

"But it’s not even autumn yet... not for another week."

Sayuri sighed. Akane knew her tone: getting exasperated.

"So? We just want to go shopping! I don’t need a watertight excuse. Anyway, I think Yuka just wants a new outfit to get a guy’s attention."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She met him in English class. He’s the assistant tutor. I think he’s Irish. That’s all I know."

"Assistant? Really? Ohhh! Do you think she’ll let us in on the details?"

Sayuri giggled more.

"I think that’s the point of the shopping trip."

"Figures. When?"

"Now! Got anything else to do?"

Akane sighed.

"Not really, although—"

"Excellent!" Sayuri cut in. "Shibuya Station. An hour. Burgers after."

"I—"

"Then you can tell me why you’re moping. Though I can probably guess it in one."

Akane snorted. "Yeah, alright."

So Akane found herself on the train to the shopping district, already feeling less depressed. She realized she hadn’t done this kind of outing all summer. It felt good to meet her friends.

They chatted a lot, as usual. Akane was quieter, but not shy. Yuka was more reserved, though she followed Sayuri’s chatter better than Akane did.

Akane had expected it to be a typical hangout. She was glad to be wrong. After shopping—her only purchase being a deep red scarf she loved on sight—they headed to their favorite burger joint. They reviewed their buys, complained about their week (boring for Sayuri and Akane, less so for Yuka), and eventually turned to Yuka’s new crush.

Recent conversations had revolved around their futures: cram school, universities, whether they’d stay in Tokyo.

But often, it had been about Ranma. Before they started dating, it had been about progress. Afterward, it was about how far things had gone. Sayuri was bold with those topics, which sometimes made Akane uncomfortable. But since she and Ranma had grown closer, Akane found she didn’t mind as much. It was good to get outside perspectives. And thrilling, in a way she couldn’t explain. Sometimes she felt guilty. Her friends knew so much about Ranma through her, and he had no idea.

It was like he was with her, even when he wasn’t. She hadn’t wanted to talk about him today—she missed him too much. But after a while with her friends, she relaxed. She stopped overthinking.

Now the conversation was about Yuka’s interesting stranger, who paid her more attention than anyone else in class. Yuka said it might just be because her English was bad.

Sayuri, naturally, was making a lot of noise.

“Oh, Yuka! I can’t believe you’re going after a musician! And an older man at that! You’re so adventurous,” Sayuri said with a grin before taking a bite of her burger.

Yuka blushed. “He’s not that old, really…”

“How old is he?” Akane asked, privately wondering if the situation edged into legally questionable territory—but she didn’t want to ruin the mood.

“He’s nineteen.”

“Oh, okay,” Sayuri said after swallowing. “That’s not very old at all… I was hoping for some forbidden love story, though.”

She inhaled theatrically, abandoned her burger, and placed both hands on her chest like a newscaster about to deliver breaking news. “Reckless student falls for brooding English teacher—scandal ensues!”

“I’m not ‘going after’ him!” Yuka said, laughing.

“You totally are." Sayuri deadpanned going back to her burger.

Akane laughed.

“Yeah… maybe I am,” Yuka admitted shyly. Then, all of a sudden: “What about the weekend? I thought maybe we could—”

“Weekend?” Akane interrupted, surprised.

Yuka blinked, then smiled. “You busy on the weekend?”

Akane blushed slightly. Hopefully, she’d see Ranma. Still, she was surprised to feel a smile spreading across her face.

“Kinda…”

“Oh, Akane, but I need backup!”

“What for?”

“You didn’t let me finish. The thing is… well, Andoryuu invited the whole class to see his band perform…”

Akane saw Sayuri’s eyes go wide. She laughed.

“We get to come too?” Sayuri asked, grinning. Akane laughed again.

Yuka nodded.

“Do you think he has any cute friends?” Sayuri added casually.

Yuka looked like she might hyperventilate. “I—”

“At the rate the two of you are going, I’m going to be the only single one left,” Sayuri said, mock-dramatic.

OOOOO

Ranma stood in one of the courtyards, watching Arata—his new roommate—go through a kata in a style he didn’t recognize, while Botan-sensei corrected each movement.

They’d been training all day. It was already dark. The day before had been the same. Ranma had already had his turn, and his thighs were burning. Sensei had a rough way of pointing out their weaknesses. The old, frail-looking man rarely spoke, but he had a staff—and very bony fingers.

Frail, my ass, Ranma thought, grimacing. He was sore all over. He hadn’t expected the intensity to ramp up so quickly. Truth was, he could barely stand. His feet were killing him.

Fortunately, Arata was the last one left. Once he finished, they’d be dismissed to clean up, grab some dinner, and finally get some sleep. The day started early, and a full night’s rest was encouraged.

Ranma watched Arata’s foot give out at the end of a movement. Probably muscle exhaustion. The boy dropped his posture entirely to avoid twisting his ankle, nearly sprawling to the ground.

Botan-sensei didn’t say a word. He looked toward his assistant instead. The Chinese woman—Ling-Ling—was striking, probably about Ranma’s age. She had an ageless face and a warm smile. Ranma had been fooled by that smile. Big mistake. The woman was merciless. At least he hadn’t been the only one.

Ling-Ling glanced at Botan-sensei and nodded.

“Well done,” she said in her soft voice—another reason students let their guard down. “Go take your baths now. Supper should be ready in the hall in an hour.” She bowed.

Ranma and the other nine students bowed back—or tried to. As Ling-Ling and the old man exchanged quiet words, the students groaned and slowly dragged themselves toward their rooms.

The school grounds were enormous. Ranma had noticed it during his entrance exam, but he hadn’t realized just how massive it really was. It felt like a city within the city, spanning several blocks. There was even a small forest and a shrine at the far end of the compound.

The area he stood in held the main training halls, the dining areas, and the baths. Other wings housed older students, classrooms, and a library. Ranma didn’t know if all the tutors lived on campus, but he suspected many did. He’d heard there was a medical wing, though he hadn’t seen it yet.

His own room was far away—because he was still a first-year.

It reminded him of the start of high school. Back to square one. Despite being admitted for his skills, he’d thought this time might be different. Less intimidating. But Sensei had explained that learning to learn came first—that frustration was part of the process—and that they had to accept they’d never learn everything. As students began moving, Ranma turned to look at Arata, still struggling to get up.

“Yo. Hagayushi. Supper!”

Arata finally stood, snorting. “Yeah, yeah. In a minute.” He hobbled over to the porch where Ranma stood.

Ranma was glad this guy was his roommate. He seemed easygoing. One out of two wasn’t bad. The other guy, Kato, was a bit of a jerk.

Arata sat and crossed his legs with effort, staring at the yard with a far-off look. Ranma sat beside him.

“I was really looking forward to going home for a good night’s rest, you know?” Arata said, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

Ranma silently agreed. It had been a blow when they’d learned they had to stay the full week.

“I just don’t get why they need to test us so much. We passed the entrance exams. They know what we can do.”

Ranma didn’t respond. He sort of understood why the instructors insisted on isolating them from outside distractions—it helped focus—but understanding didn’t mean liking it. He could empathize with Arata’s frustration.

“It’s Friday already, man,” Ranma offered.

“Yeah… best day of the week.”

They had only a few classes Saturday morning before heading home.

Ranma was looking forward to it. Mostly, he wanted to see Akane. He hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone outside the school—except his mom—for the entire week. He stared out across the courtyard. It was quiet. He’d almost forgotten he was still in Tokyo. The setting reminded him of Akane’s yard—just much, much bigger.

He thought of her again. Whenever he wasn’t training, she was on his mind. These past few days, thoughts of her kept bleeding into thoughts of the engagement. Should he bring it up? Should he wait? Sometimes he didn’t mind thinking about it. Other times, it freaked him out. He’d been so busy, though, he hadn’t had time to dwell on anything. In a way, that was a relief.

His stomach growled loudly.

Arata laughed. “Supper?”

“Hell, yeah.”

They got up and started toward their room. Most of the students from their group were already on the way to the baths. There were nearly fifty newcomers this year. They’d been randomly divided into groups of ten and rotated through activities.

Ranma suspected that at least half of them would quit before the term was over. The older years were smaller—at least from what he’d seen.

He groaned inwardly. That meant he could expect to be nearly killed on a regular basis until the numbers thinned. And maybe even after that.

Still, he wasn’t scared of the challenge. He knew he could handle it. He just wished the schedule didn’t eat up so much of his time. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy it. On the contrary—this past week had been so intense, he’d had to give it everything. And he loved it. Quietly, he was ridiculously proud of himself for being here.

He was impatient. He wanted to get better. He knew he was good—but this week, watching the advanced students, the instructors, and feeling how hard they pushed—he understood: potential was everything. It meant you could always improve.

Of course, he’d known that. But now, he felt it.

The problem was time. The early mornings, the long days, the lack of distractions. He wondered how they’d find time for each other—between this and Akane’s obsessive study habits.

Ranma sighed. At least the weekend was almost here. And she’d make everything better.

OOOOOOOO

It was the last Saturday before her senior year started. Akane lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her expression blank. She felt like she should get up, but couldn’t find a good reason to. The warmth under the covers was becoming uncomfortable, though her feet were cold and clammy, sticking slightly to the sheets.

She’d slept in a little. She’d gone to support Yuka the night before and returned later than Kasumi would have liked. For a little while, it had made her feel grown-up. The tension from the past few days had eased—but only for a moment.

This final week before the new term had been hard. Each day felt like a task to get through. The loneliness that had crept in earlier was growing worse. Being with her friends had helped, but back home, she acutely felt Ranma’s absence—and other absences too.

She missed Nabiki. Her sister had gone back to college not long after her camping trip. Given the hints Nabiki had dropped a few weeks earlier, Akane wasn’t surprised by the early departure. What surprised her was how much she’d come to rely on having her around.

After Nabiki left, the house returned to its usual quiet rhythm: three residents, plus Ranma—though no one officially knew that, since he still snuck in through her window most of the time. She and Kasumi shared bits of the daily routine, while their father remained aloof and withdrawn. Then Ranma had gone off to school, and she was left entirely to herself again.

It hadn’t always felt this lonely. For years it was just her and Kasumi, barely talking, and their father somewhere in the background like a ghost. Had she been tougher then? Or had she simply grown so used to the silence that she stopped noticing it? Either way, things were different now.

She remembered the time right after Ranma received his acceptance letters, when he went into full training mode with his father. She hadn’t seen him for three days. At the time, it felt like forever. Even though they spoke on the phone each night, it hadn’t been enough. Now, looking back, three days wasn’t long at all. Not compared to how much she missed him now.

That sense of missing him had been sharpest the night they returned from their trip. She’d greeted her family, dropped her clothes in the laundry basket, and gone to her room to get ready for bed.

It hit her all at once. One minute she was exhausted and ready to sleep, and the next she was frozen, unsure of what to do with herself. They’d spent days together, morning to night. Waking up beside him, falling asleep beside him. She’d loved it. It had felt so natural, so easy. Like he was part of her. She didn’t have to filter her thoughts or worry about how she sounded. She could think out loud. He’d become embedded in her routine, in her mind.

That night, alone in her room, she realized how much of her inner world he occupied. It was unsettling. For the first time, she felt a sharp anxiety—an awareness that maybe she needed him too much just to feel like herself. Was that normal? Healthy? It didn’t seem like it. She resented the depth of her own feelings, just for a moment. Wondered if this had crossed over into obsession. If just his absence could unravel her so easily.

Then, like some answered prayer, he’d appeared at her window. And all those doubts vanished. She didn’t think about them again—not until this week, when she was alone again for more than just a couple of days.

When they said goodbye the Sunday before he left for his new school, she’d felt composed, confident. That hadn’t lasted. The week had dragged. She’d been driving herself mad. Thank goodness for her friends. Still, she missed him. Missed talking to him. Missed his smile. Even missed his teasing. Just hearing his voice would probably ease the ache.

But Yoshinkan had strict initiation rules: no outside contact during the first week. Some kind of bonding ritual. No one had thought to mention that to incoming students, which Akane found ridiculous. According to Ranma, he was supposed to be "released" around midday today.

Like prison, she thought. Hopefully not quite that bad.

He’d told his mom he’d be stopping by. First, he'd check in at home, then come over to the dojo. He hadn’t been sure about the time.

She looked at her alarm clock. 10:00 AM.

Groaning, she sat up. She needed something to do or she’d be an emotional wreck by the time Ranma arrived.

Her room looked the same as it always had: the desk under the window, her bed against the wall. This had been her space her whole life.

Finally, a project.

Akane got up, showered, dressed, and began rearranging her room. She dug things out from under the bed, from her closet. It took hours. The desk stayed put under the window, its white curtains fluttering now and then. Everything else moved.

Kasumi poked her head in a few times, asking if she needed help. Akane refused each time. Eventually, Kasumi called her down for lunch. She ate quickly and returned to her self-appointed task. The room was a disaster. She hoped Ranma wouldn’t show up too early; she wanted to finish.

She sorted through the clutter. Threw a bunch of things out, boxed up others, labeled and set them aside to move to storage. Her backpack was one of the last items.

She debated whether to store it or shove it under the bed. She didn’t use it often. Storage, then.

She rifled through the pockets to make sure it was empty. Good thing, too—she found something tucked into a side pocket.

A letter. Thick. Unopened.

Her name was written on it.

The handwriting was familiar.

She blinked. Who...?

She sat on her bed, flipping the envelope in her hands. It wasn’t just paper inside—something small and metallic shifted as she handled it.

She stared at it a moment longer. Then the realization hit her.

There weren’t many people who could have left her a letter in her bag without her noticing.

She tore it open.

A piece of paper fell into her lap.

Several small, metallic squares slid onto the bed.

She stared at them, heart thudding.

Then she unfolded the letter and began to read.

Akane-chan,

If no one’s saying it, then I will.

If you’re careful, you can have all the fun. If I were in your shoes, I’d be all about the fun, and I’d be careful! And because you’re so way over your head, it falls onto us the smarter and wiser to impart a bit of knowledge. Remember! It never hurts to be prepared, even if you’re not expecting anything. Hey, you never know what you might be missing.

At least you’re taking the tent. Silly girl.

I hope there’re enough. My regards to Mount Mitake. Enjoy the views. I’m sure they will be very satisfying. I’ll be waiting for all the saucy details when you get back.

Ta-tah!

Nabiki.

Huh. Her sister had hidden a letter in her backpack before she’d left on her camping trip with Ranma. All code. Of course, she wasn’t so daft as to not know what Nabiki was talking about, but...

"I hope there’s enough of what?" Akane mumbled, picking up one of the silvery packages that had fallen out when she took out the letter. Some sort of ring-shaped thing inside, slippery to the touch. Oil-covered? Surely, it wasn’t what she thought it was... Then she flipped it over.

Her face flared red.

Condoms.

Nabiki had given her condoms. A dozen of them. Wow.

Akane choked, surprised and embarrassed. Then she wanted to laugh, but couldn’t quite manage it, which only made her choke harder. Of course, she imagined Ranma showing up right at that moment. She looked sharply at the window. No Ranma. Thank goodness.

She stuffed everything back into the envelope and shoved it deep into the bottom drawer of her nightstand.

Had she found them during the trip... would anything have been different? Maybe. But maybe not. They hadn’t exactly been able to keep their hands off each other, but it had felt... natural. Familiar. Not pressured. Not looming. She smiled. If anything, she had been the one to lose control more often than not.

Maybe she was just old-fashioned. Maybe she wanted to wait. For what, she wasn’t sure. Not marriage, necessarily. Just... until she was ready.

Nabiki’s advice didn’t seem so ridiculous now. Being prepared might not be the worst idea. Keep them, forget about them. Just in case.

A knock at the door.

"Akane-chan," Kasumi’s voice called.

"Come in!" Akane turned to tidy her bed quickly. The door opened.

"You have a visitor," Kasumi said gently.

Akane turned, backpack in hand, and froze.

Ranma stood beside her sister, smiling with his hands behind his back.

Kasumi looked around the room. "Oh, good job, Akane! It looks much nicer this way. Don’t you think so, Ranma-kun?"

Ranma blinked, caught off guard. "Oh? Yeah. Looks roomier."

Kasumi’s smile widened, her eyes subtly narrowed. Akane panicked. Right. This was the first time Ranma had seen her room. At least, as far as the family was concerned.

Ranma, oblivious, looked around. "When did you move all your stuff around? It looks so different..."

Akane flushed. Kasumi kept smiling. Akane suddenly felt very seen. "Something wrong, Akane?" Ranma asked, concerned.

"No, nothing’s wrong," she muttered, avoiding Kasumi’s eyes.

"Well!" Kasumi clapped her hands. Ranma flinched at the sound. "I’ll leave you two alone. Akane-chan, should I take that for you?"

Akane handed over the backpack, and Kasumi exited with a suspiciously pleased smile.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Ranma looked confused. Akane still felt flustered.

"Mmm..." Ranma mumbled.

Akane looked up, caught the adorably confused look on his face, and burst out laughing. She crossed the room and threw her arms around him. "Oh, Ranma!"

"Oi! Akane! Not so tight, please..."

She pulled back. He was grimacing.

"What’s wrong?"

"Here." He brought his hands forward and revealed a bouquet of flowers.

Akane blinked.

Yellow flowers. Simple. Sweet. She breathed them in and melted.

"You like 'em?"

She nodded. "They’re beautiful. Thank you."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Don’t laugh, okay? I didn’t know what to get you, but... those reminded me of you."

"Oh?"

He looked sheepish. "They’re the same color as your favorite pajamas."

She smiled, heart gooey.

"And I... I really like them. I mean, when you wear them. They're... homey. Made me think of you."

Akane pressed the flowers to her chest and reached up, cupping his cheek. She kissed him, slow and soft.

"Arigato, Ran-ran," she whispered.

His hands slid to her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles. He sighed into the kiss, pulling her in.

She felt giddy. Wrapped her arms around him and hugged tight—

"Oww! Akane!"

She pulled back, startled. He winced.

"Seriously. What’s wrong?"

He looked pained. Breathing deeper, as if bracing through something. He cracked one eye open.

"Ooookay," Akane said. "Not asking how your first week went."

Ranma gave a half-grunt. She sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her.

He started to sit—no, crouch. Slowly. Grunting. He stretched out on the floor with a sigh, hand landing lightly near her ankle.

"Ohhh, just kill me. Kill me now."

His tone was teasing, but Akane frowned. This wasn’t like him. He never complained about pain.

She slid down to kneel beside him. His arm looped around her lap, hand settling at her hip. Eyes closed.

She studied his face.

"Do you want me to get you some salve?"

"Sounds good."

His eyes stayed shut. She stayed close.

Akane rushed back from the bathroom with the anti-inflammatory cream—the one that always smelled weird and never seemed to run out—and dropped to her knees beside him.

Ranma was still sprawled on the floor, clearly in no shape to move.

"So tell me," she said.

"They're just tough," he offered, attempting a shrug that ended halfway. Probably hurt too much. "I'm okay, really. I mean, I'm doing a bit better than I should be at this point... but some of the other guys..."

Akane raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you didn't come through the window?"

Ranma nodded. "I wanted to. But I figured if I came in the usual way, we'd end up stuck having tea with everyone downstairs."

Akane smirked. "Yeah, I'd have thought the same. I just wonder why Kasumi didn't..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "Okay. Where does it hurt?"

Ranma let out a quiet laugh. "Everywhere," he admitted, looking up at her. "Ribs mostly. Shoulders and neck are locked up. I think something’s contractured. My left leg, too. Pretty much the whole thing's bruised. And my feet. Big toes especially."

Akane blinked, her concern deepening.

He caught her expression and squeezed her hand gently. "I'm fine, Akane. Honest. I expected it. It'll get better."

"Then why were you limping?"

He didn’t answer, staring at the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Fine," she said, exhaling. "Let me put this where it's worst."

"Okay," Ranma said with a lazy grin. "But kiss me first. And don’t touch anything."

Akane chuckled despite herself.

"I’m serious!" he whined when she didn’t budge. "C’mon. I missed you. A lot."

She kneeled closer, leaning over his face. Their eyes locked. He was pouting.

They held the stare until he started tapping his fingers on the floor. Akane fought the grin that wanted to break through.

"You’re not helping," he muttered flatly. "You’re supposed to make it better."

She caught the twitch of a smile starting on his lips. She tucked her hair behind one ear, trying not to let it fall into his face as she leaned a little closer.

"Oi. I get bored, y'know."

"I missed you too, baka," she said softly.

She lowered her face toward his, and when she hesitated, he pulled her the rest of the way by the back of her neck.

The kiss was warm but cautious. It was weird like this, Akane thought—weird and funny. Every time she touched him, he flinched. That only made her giggle more.

"How am I supposed to rub this stuff on you if I can't touch anything?"

"I’ll take it like a man," he said, trying to sound brave.

He really did try.

Akane knew sore muscles and bruises—it came with training. But even she was a bit stunned by the sheer volume of bruises Ranma had collected. They weren’t deep, just... everywhere.

Some unfamiliar instinct swelled inside her. All she wanted was to take care of him.

Most of the time, anyway.

Because Ranma could be a complete baby.

"Oh! Geez, Akane, maybe dig in a little harder next time!"

She rolled her eyes.

"Didn’t know you had such heavy hands!"

She twitched slightly but didn’t respond. He was exaggerating on purpose—probably to make her laugh, or maybe just to break the tension. She could tell when he was actually hurting. Those times, he stayed quiet.

"They should be taking better care of you."

"They do. Mostly." He launched into a rambling account of his sensei, the teachers, and his roommates—and how, apparently, getting beat up every day was somehow a sign of progress.

"It’ll get better. I just need to adjust. Won’t hurt as much soon."

"Great. Unless they scramble your brain in the process. Maybe that’s why Kasumi totally played you and you still haven’t figured it out."

"Hey! Not fair! I knew something was off."

Akane smiled slyly as she finished re-buttoning his shirt. "So? What happened then?"

Ranma looked up, eyes darting side to side.

"Uhh... I got played by your sister?"

Akane let out a long sigh. She was a little annoyed, honestly.

"She made you admit you've been in my room before. She's probably always known. It was a little embarrassing."

Ranma's eyes widened with each word.

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

"But then..." He made a half-hearted attempt to sit up before giving up. "So she’s okay with it? Otherwise she wouldn’t have let me up here, right?"

"Maybe not entirely okay," Akane said thoughtfully. "But it's her way of telling us to be careful."

"Pfft. Like I need to watch it. I can barely move."

"Aww, you poor baby," she said in a mock-sweet tone, just for the fun of it.

She moved to sit on the bed, stretching her legs in front of her, and patted her lap.

Ranma obeyed, rolling onto his side and pressing his face against her chest. Her heart jumped. She cradled him instinctively, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair. If she leaned down just a little, she could kiss the top of his head. So she did. Then she ran her fingers gently through his hair.

"Want me to do your back now?" she whispered.

"In a minute," he murmured. He burrowed in closer.

Her arms wrapped around him.

They stayed like that for a long while, whispering. Akane eventually lost feeling in her backside, but she didn’t complain.

After Ranma left, she placed the flowers in a vase. Only then did she notice a detail that made her heart ache a little.

The flowers he brought were the same type Ranko had given her five months ago.

She was sure he hadn’t known.

Which somehow made the gesture even sweeter.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma limped home on aching feet, every step a reminder of the brutal week behind him. Training had never hurt like this. Even his big toes throbbed, a dull pain that reminded him how essential they were to balance—a fact Sensei kept drilling into them. But this week had been more than physical. He hadn't had time to think about anything, least of all his engagement. Which was convenient.

He trudged along, trying not to wince. He hoped Ranko would be up when he got back; dinner with the whole family would be easier with her there as a buffer. "Family dinner, my ass," he muttered. The words came without heat, just fatigue.

He hadn't brought it up with Akane. The engagement. He'd promised to talk about it, but what good would it do? They had time. Years, maybe. Akane wouldn't budge until after college anyway. Why rush it? Why make it real before they even figured out what they wanted?

He stopped walking. The weight of it all pressed in. Then, like Sensei said: focus on what you're doing. Not the rest. Nothing mattered. Eventually, it all ended the same.

He inhaled and looked at the fence. For a moment, he just stared, body sore but settling. The thought of jumping made him wince, but then he remembered Akane's hands, her salve, her soft touch. The way she'd let him rest, doze even, head against her chest. Her scent, their shared warmth. It had dulled the ache, made everything softer.

He smiled. Maybe this pain was a good thing. A reminder of what he could handle. Of what he was training for. Of what he wanted to become.

With a breath, he jumped. Landed neatly on the fence. And kept walking.

OOOOO

Akane tried to focus on the board, but the numbers blurred together. Her eyes drifted toward the window, where the school gates shimmered in the pale winter light.

Ranma had stood there once. Looking lost. It felt like forever ago, but it hadn't even been a year.

She hadn't seen him in nearly two weeks. Again. He had a talent for getting grounded. Impressive, considering how little free time they had to begin with. The last time, it'd been four full weeks, and she’d been in a terrible mood the whole time.

Still, seeing him again after so long had been... jarring. His growth startled her every time. It wasn't just his body—more grounded, more contained—but something deeper. A calmness. Focus. Power, yes, but harnessed. Controlled.

She’d caught herself staring. Again. He didn’t move the same. Didn’t speak the same. She felt it in her chest, like static under her skin. A different kind of ache.

Thank god for her friends. Yuka and Sayuri had shown up just when she needed grounding. They’d pulled her back, made her talk, laugh, even gossip. Akane had been reluctant at first, especially about Ranma, but little by little, it became easier. Talking made things real. It was embarrassing, but it helped.

They talked about boys. About Yuka's cute English tutor. And Ranma, of course.

Akane smiled faintly, eyes still on the yard.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed her friends. They’d let her be part of their world again, no questions asked. And Akane let herself enjoy it.

Tomorrow they’d visit her. She was nervous Ranma might show up too, but they'd probably leave before it got too late. She hoped. Still, it was a good kind of nervous. Not like exams.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought of Nabiki’s note. And what she’d hidden in the nightstand.

Focus. Exams. Future.

Akane shook herself back to the present. College. Dojo. Legacy. She wanted it all, and she wanted to earn it. For herself. For her father. For the future.

Stop thinking about Ranma.

"Tendo!!"

She jumped. "Hai!"

"Third time I’ve asked you to answer the question!"

"Hai!"

"So?"

"Eeh..."

"Miss Tendo?"

"Hai?"

"Go stand in the hall."

"Hai..."

She sighed as she stood. Definitely needed to get her act together.

OOOOO

They’d fallen into a pattern. Saturday nights if he wasn’t dead from training. Sunday afternoons, if she wasn’t busy with chores. It wasn’t ideal. But it was something.

Contact during the week was impossible. At first, that frustrated him. But the more disconnected he became from the outside world, the easier it was to focus.

Ranma didn’t talk about Akane. Not at school. Not with Arata. Not with anyone. He listened when the other guy talked about his fiancée. Let it be a one-sided conversation. Better that way.

Then came the pressure point talk. The infamous 'Chikubi no ma ni' discussion. Ranma had laughed along, but when Arata got serious and opened up about his engagement, Ranma had said little. Just enough.

Which turned out to be smart. Because the next morning, Sensei laid into them about distractions. About discipline. About how a martial artist's wife should be silent and supportive. Ranma nearly gagged.

As punishment, they lost their Friday freedoms. No more weekend passes until Saturday night. That restriction stuck for weeks.

So Ranma stayed quiet. Private. Safe.

He’d only seen Akane four times in two months. Three times he’d been grounded for missed homework. Once he’d barely made it out. The weekends disappeared under family obligations, studying, and exhaustion. It hurt. At first.

Now he was almost used to it. Almost.

Then, finally, the announcement: the schedule would return to normal. Three nights at school, four at home. He laughed out loud. He hadn’t realized how much he missed being free.

He packed quickly and walked home, the air biting at his skin, joy blooming in his chest.

Home was quiet.

Voices drew him to the back yard.

There she was. Ranko. In a gi, sparring with their dad. Shouting with effort.

He watched, a little amused, a little uneasy. She was so young. Too young to choose this path.

Nodoka spotted him first. "Ranma!"

She stood, smiling brightly, tea tray forgotten.

Ranko launched herself at him.

"Oniichan!"

Genma groaned. "You should bow and excuse yourself first!"

Ranma smirked. No way the old man would ever control her.

"Enough for today," Genma sighed. "Go change, daughter."

"Can I show Niichan first?"

"If you must..."

Ranma saw the smile twitch at the corner of his father's mouth. He turned to Ranko, who was bouncing on her heels.

He smiled.

"Okay, show me."

OOOOO

Ranma had the decency to look sheepish. Of course he’d wanted to run back out the moment he walked in. Not because he disliked being home, but because he really wanted to see Akane. She wouldn't be expecting him. He liked that. Maybe he'd catch her off guard, just a little. He also knew she’d be studying. He was pretty sure he’d find her at home.

Instead, he turned to Ranko, who was already crouched into a starting stance, her face set in deep concentration.

"Help me out!" she called.

Ranma blinked. For someone her age—and someone still a total beginner—Ranko was good. She had the spark. Watching her filled him with a quiet, ridiculous pride. He only hoped she enjoyed it.

Then a flicker of unease crossed his face. Hopefully their parents weren’t already imagining a future marriage into some other dojo family. He shoved the thought away.

"Alright, Ko-chan. Let’s see what you’ve got."

She moved carefully, slowly. But her lines were clean. Too clean. It looked strange on a child.

"How long have you been practicing this?"

Ranko paused mid-motion, finger on chin, glancing at the cloudy sky.

"Mmm... after you left last time. Then I asked Dad."

Two weeks, Ranma realized. Definitely a family thing.

He started to drift, thinking about Genma dragging her off on some training trip. No way. He’d train her himself, or take her on weekends if he had to. But he wasn’t letting that happen.

A finger jabbed his forehead.

"Ni-chan! I’m talking to you!"

He blinked.

"Huh?"

"Are you even listening?"

He nodded. Then shook his head.

"Moo! You're worse than Dad!"

"Oh no. You didn’t just say that."

"But you are!"

"Ranko, please. I’m much better looking, for one." He pointed at his head. "See? Also—I have hair."

She burst out laughing. "You’re mean!"

He grinned, then ruffled her hair. "Okay, show me a bit more. I’ll help out when I can. That cool?"

"Yeah! But don’t yell at me..."

Ranma felt something twist in his chest.

"Promise."

He wasn’t sure where the patience came from. Or the words. But he liked this. Liked helping. Liked knowing how. Like with Akane, that time.

Every now and then, he glanced toward his mom. She was watching them too closely. He was probably overthinking it.

An hour passed. His mom stood.

"Enough. It’s freezing."

He turned to Ranko. "Time to head in. I need to go."

"Do you have to? But you just got here..."

"Well..."

"Are you going to see Akane-san?"

He scratched the back of his head. Of course it still embarrassed him. "Yeah..."

Ranko sighed. "Will you teach me more tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Bye bye."

He watched them go. His mom gestured for him to follow.

"Wear something warm. And don’t stay too late."

"I’ll try."

He grabbed a coat and headed to the Tendos.

He stood outside their gate, debating the usual question: front door, or roof?

He smirked. Roof it was.

The tiles were slick from frost, but he moved easily. It felt good, natural. Way easier than it had at the start of term, when he’d been bruised and limping. Now he landed above her window like it was nothing.

Akane had never once yelled at him for sneaking in. Even when they hadn’t made plans. He supposed it was just something she accepted. Or maybe trusted him with.

He crouched low, peering down.

She had company.

One of her friends. Sayuri maybe. The other girl had her back turned.

Akane was pointing at something on the floor, laughing.

He pulled back fast, startled by the surge of disappointment. He sighed, watching his breath cloud in the cold air.

He crossed his legs and settled in to wait. Five minutes passed. Then:

"—not necessary!"

"It’s alright, I’ll close it right away!"

Akane. He tensed.

"We need fresh air anyway," she added. Her tone was strange. Then, conspiratorially: "It’s been getting too hot in here..."

Laughter.

"Akane! If you weren’t such a loose woman it wouldn’t be so hot!"

Ranma’s eyebrows shot up.

"Ohh, you make it sound so bad! I’m never telling you anything again!"

"Come on, Akane-chan! You shouldn’t be so mean to your friends!"

"Maybe you should visit more often, or, you know," her voice darkened, "right after we’ve had some..."

Explosive laughter.

Then her voice softened. "Of course, there’s more to it."

"No wonder you’re worrying—"

Snap. Window closed.

Ranma blinked. What... had he just heard?

Loose woman. Right after we’ve had some— what?

He nearly slipped trying to lean in. Damn it.

He crossed his arms. His brain was spinning.

Had they been talking about... him? About them? Did she really tell her friends stuff like that?

It made him feel weirdly possessive. A little betrayed. Their relationship wasn’t public fodder.

Then again, he hadn’t said anything either. Not to anyone.

He lay back on the roof, looking up at the dull gray sky.

Akane was worried about something. That much was clear. Maybe about them. Maybe not. But the fact that she talked about it at all meant it mattered to her.

He closed his eyes.

Eventually the window creaked open again. More muffled laughter.

He stayed where he was, pretending not to care.

Ranma drifted into a light doze, the rooftop cold pressing in. He wished they’d leave so he could go in. He missed her. He hadn’t actually seen her in weeks.

He peeked again.

Still talking.

He smiled.

Gods, he missed her.

He rubbed his hands for warmth and made up his mind to head back home.

OOOOOOOO

Akane waved goodbye as her friends disappeared down the street. Her sides hurt from laughing. It had been too long since she felt that kind of ease. So much of her life lately had been pressure, deadlines, silence. This felt... necessary.

As she wandered back through the gates, she replayed moments of their talk. Sayuri had been blunt, as usual. "Call it what it is. You can't just say 'it' forever. He won't know what you mean!"

Akane hadn’t realized just how much space those thoughts had taken up in her mind. Sex. There. She could say it in her head. Her friends had made it sound normal. Healthy, even. That was comforting. Maybe they were right.

Maybe she really could just decide. Be responsible. Make the choice herself.

And after that?

Maybe then she’d stop feeling so... tense all the time. Like she was always walking a wire.

She toyed with the idea of seeing a doctor. Just to ask. Just to be sure.

Then, absurdly, she wondered what it would be like to talk to Ranma about it.

She blushed instantly.

Gods, no. She couldn’t imagine ever bringing it up so plainly. With them, things just happened. There was no blueprint. No script. She couldn't just say it like it was the weather.

Could she?

What would he say?

She sighed. He hadn’t shown up today.

She'd expected her friends to leave earlier. Had hoped to be alone, just in case he came. But she missed her friends too. And she’d needed this.

Was she more disappointed he hadn’t come, or guilty that she hadn’t been ready?

She smiled faintly. At one point she’d even thought she saw him outside her window. So silly. He would’ve still been at school.

But she’d opened the window anyway. Just in case.

She missed him. Talking about him made her miss him more.

She was already back in her room. Funny how quickly the walk passed.

She flopped onto her bed.

Tomorrow. They’d see each other tomorrow.

And he needed time with his family. That was fair.

It was only 8 p.m. He was probably already back.

She shook her head. No moping.

To shake it off, she changed into her gi and headed to the dojo.

Big mistake.

Everything in that space reminded her of him. Every board, every echo. Training with him had been one of the best parts of her summer. And now?

Now it was just her.

Technically, the dojo was hers. The school’s future rested on her. And honestly, if she didn’t like martial arts, it would already be gone.

Her dad hadn’t been capable of running it in years. Not really.

She stared at the worn floorboards.

Could this really be her future? Did it matter that she liked it? Was that enough?

Maybe Nabiki was right.

But could this be enough?

Why was she even thinking about this now? She needed to study.

By nine, she was showered and ready for bed. She didn’t care. Let it be tomorrow already.

As she lay back, eyes on the ceiling, she wondered what Ranma thought of the empty dojo. He’d never said. But she’d rambled about it enough. Surely he had an opinion.

He would at least say something to make her feel less alone.

She just wished someone would.

Akane's fingers hovered over the phone before she could second-guess herself. She didn’t like the idea of talking to anyone else, but she needed to hear him.

Before she could think better of it, she picked up the receiver and dialed. Her heart thudded as she listened to the ring.

Please let him answer.

“Hello?” a young girl’s voice answered.

“Um… hi. This is Akane Tendo,” she said, her throat tight. Why was this so hard? “Sorry to call so late… Is Ranma there?”

“Mmm… What do you need Niichan for?”

Akane blinked. That wasn’t very friendly. Wasn’t Ranko supposed to like her?

“Huh? Ranko-chan? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Is your brother around? I’d like to speak with him for a minute.”

“But he’s been with you all day! No fair! Now he’s helping Kaasan!”

Akane frowned. That made no sense. “But I haven’t seen him for… weeks.”

The phone dug into her hand. She could feel tears threatening. She didn’t understand what Ranko was saying—only that she couldn’t talk to Ranma. And now that she’d finally let herself reach out, she felt stupid.

This is a five-year-old, she reminded herself. Just explain. Calmly—

She heard footsteps, Ranko’s muffled voice protesting, then—

“Hello?”

Her breath caught. “Ranma…”

“Ah! Akane!” he said, his voice lighting up.

“Yeah…” she breathed.

“You okay? You sound kinda—”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just wanted to say hi and—why did Ranko say you’ve been with me all day?”

“Oh! Uh…” he hesitated. “They let me out early today, and I said I’d go see you.”

“But I haven’t—”

“You had company,” he cut in. “I just waited around a bit.”

“Oh?” Her voice softened. Maybe… maybe he really had been there when she thought she’d seen him.

“Didn’t want to interrupt you and your friends…”

“Oh, Ranma…” She let out a small laugh. “You could’ve just come in.”

“Maybe I should’ve told you before I went…”

“No, it’s alright. I just wish I hadn’t missed you.”

“Same.”

A pause.

“So, you were out early?”

“Yeah… only three nights a week now.”

Akane lit up. “That’s great!”

He chuckled. “Yeah. How are you? Your friends gone?”

She sniffed a bit without meaning to.

“A-Akane?”

“Yeah…”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I… I’ve missed you.” Her voice was tiny. Vulnerable.

“Yeah… I’ve missed you too. I—couldn’t wait to see you today.”

“Do you think maybe—”

“If you’re not—”

They stopped.

“Ran-ran?”

“Can I come over?” he blurted.

Akane closed her eyes. “Please.”

He sighed, audible even through the phone. “Alright. Half an hour.”

“Okay.”

“Oh—Akane?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you be… very eager?” he teased.

“What?”

“You know… since it’s been a while…”

Realization hit. He’d been there. He must’ve seen—

“Ranma!” she warned, half laughing.

“So… will it still be hot in your room?”

Akane burst out laughing.

“Maybe. It’s been a long day.”

“Oh, too bad…”

“Just get over here already.”

“Ooh, bossy.”

“Ranma?” she said more softly.

“Yeah?”

“Hurry.”

“Yeah, alright. See you soon.”

She hung up. Giddy. Floating.

How did he do that? She’d felt like breaking down minutes ago. And now—

She curled up on her bed, arms around her knees, smiling. But underneath the joy was something else: unease. That call had grounded her. Re-centered her. Because of him. Was that healthy? Could she really afford to be that dependent on anyone?

She'd managed on her own for so long. Why did this feel like losing something instead of gaining it?

Still, her heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Only ten minutes had passed.

She rolled back and forth, watching the seconds blink on the clock.

One, two. One, two.

Then—

A knock on the window.

She jumped up, threw it open, and let the cold in.

Ranma climbed through, shutting it behind him.

Before he could turn around, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. He was cold, but she didn’t care.

“A-kane?” he murmured, catching one of her wrists.

She shook her head, holding him tighter. He relaxed.

Eventually, he turned to face her, arms wrapping around her in return.

He buried his face in her neck. “Cold,” she murmured.

He nodded, chuckled.

“Sorry I wasn’t free when you came earlier…”

“You’re free now, aren’t you?”

He smiled.

“You sleepy?”

Akane shook her head.

“Let’s go out. Not that late.”

“What do you—”

“Just walk. Dinner maybe. I’ve been locked up for weeks.”

“I know…”

They shared a look. Then she smiled.

He squinted at her. “You’re thinking.”

She shook her head, smiling more.

“What is it?”

She didn’t answer.

He leaned in, whispered in her ear, “Do I have to make you tell me?”

She shivered.

“I’m glad you’re smiling,” he said. “You had me worried.”

He kissed her cheek.

“Go get warm clothes,” he said, starting to pull away.

Her grip tightened.

“Ran-ran…” she said sweetly, batting her lashes.

He blinked. Swallowed.

“You haven’t said hello yet…”

He smiled. “Oh.”

She pulled him into a kiss.

They did make it out of the house. They wandered the city, watched skaters, drank hot chocolate. He touched her often, held her hand. She felt safe. Wanted.

“What about tomorrow?” she asked.

“I promised to help train Ranko.”

She sighed.

“Come visit.”

“Huh?”

“You’re tired,” he teased.

“Ranko’s jealous,” she muttered.

“Can’t have that. Not when I’ll see you more now.”

“Think it’s a good idea I come over?”

“Yeah. Help with Ranko. Then I get to see you too.”

She smiled, finishing her drink.

“Give me that,” he said, taking her cup, tossing both into a bin. “Come on. Too cold.”

She stopped him. Kissed him deeply, sweet and warm. He groaned softly.

“I’m glad you called,” he whispered.

“Me too.”

OOOOOOOO

Akane hadn’t gone for a run in weeks. Snow had fallen earlier—thin, deceptive. It sparkled under the streetlights. She exhaled, watching her breath. Term was over. Ranma’s school was easing up. Maybe now things could settle.

She picked up speed, pushing her legs harder. Time to make plans. Real ones.

She was ready to ask her father.

By the time she got home, she was flushed, breathless—and terrified.

She circled the hallway. Kasumi eventually found her pacing. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Akane lied.

She sat on her bed, sighed.

Coward.

Finally, she made herself walk to her father’s room. Knocked.

“Come in,” he said.

Her heart jumped.

His room was spare. Traditional. Too quiet.

He looked up from his book, blinking.

Akane sat down, folded her legs. She blurted out, “Dad—”

She winced at the volume.

Then tried again.

“Dad… we haven’t trained in years. I want to start again. Maybe you don’t think I’m good enough, or maybe you don’t think I care, but I do. I need to learn so I can decide—if I want to carry on the school.”

She took a breath.

“I have ideas for my future. Not clear plans yet. But I love martial arts. And I can’t do this alone. You’re the only one who can teach me. If I ever take over the Tendo school… it has to be from you.”

Silence.

“Will you train me?”

He didn’t answer right away. Her stomach sank.

Then—

“You’ve had help,” he said quietly.

Ranma. She knew he meant Ranma.

He looked at her directly.

“You’re much stronger now. A strong woman, Akane.”

Her throat tightened.

“This boy… this man… he influences you.”

She almost laughed. Her father—chatty?

“At least he seems to have a good heart.”

She wanted to explain. Ranma helped, yes, but only when he was around. That wasn’t the point. She wanted this—their school. Their legacy.

“You mean Ranma.”

“Saotome?”

She nodded. Something about the way he said the name felt heavy. Ominous.

“Whoever teaches must know how to communicate. But a student has to listen. Has to want to grow. You got here on your own, Akane.”

She blinked fast, holding back tears.

“You’ve overcome a lot. And that’s you. Not anyone else. Letting someone help you… it doesn’t make you weak. It means you’re strong enough to grow.”

She couldn’t speak. Just nodded.

“I’m not what I was. But I’ll help you. If it makes you happy.”

She nodded again, smiling.

“Dad…?” she ventured.

He looked at her—really looked.

She wanted to ask, Do you just play the fool? But instead, she shook her head.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Chapter Text

"The Chance of Change"

A Ranma ½ fanfiction by Pia-san

Chapter Eight: Suspended Souls (Part II)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Thursday was one of the best days of the week, Ranma thought as he made his way back home. It was late. It was cold. But for once, he felt like he didn’t have a care in the world.

They were finally on a regular schedule again. Tonight, he didn’t have to stay overnight at Yoshinkan. He felt genuinely free—from Thursday through Sunday, at least. The workload had doubled, or that’s how it felt, but at least he got to be home more. He felt a little more like a normal student.

The house was dark, though there were still sounds from the kitchen. Ranko was probably already in bed. He hadn’t made it back in time for dinner—not a surprise. He’d been trying to finish as much homework as possible, so he’d have time to talk to Akane later or just do something that didn’t involve textbooks.

His stomach growled.

Maybe getting home for dinner should be part of enjoying Thursdays, he mused. The food at school wasn’t terrible—nutritious, plenty of it—but it was repetitive and bland. He missed his mom’s cooking more often than he liked to admit.

He peeled off his coat and kicked off his black slippers, padding quietly toward the kitchen. The warmth and smell of stew wrapped around him as he entered, along with the low hum of a late-night talk show. His mom sat at the table, laughing softly into her hand as the host embarrassed another guest. The table was still set. Jackpot.

“Tadaima,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her. She’d already complained once about how quiet he’d become, like he was sneaking around on purpose.

It wasn’t that. He was just more aware of his body now—how every movement used energy. Akane had called it "economy of motion."

His mother turned and smiled warmly. She raised a finger to her lips and patted the seat beside her.

“Oh, Ranma, I’m glad you’re home,” she said, once he’d sat down. As his legs slipped under the table cover, he realized how cold he really was. The heating was on. Bliss.

He might have made a face, because his mother giggled. Ranma closed his eyes and let himself soak in the comfort. Someone clapped enthusiastically on the muted TV.

He was pulled back by the soft touch of her hand on his cheek.

He blinked, surprised. She was still smiling.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she repeated, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “It’s so late! I’m surprised you didn’t freeze out there.” She pulled her hand back and gestured at the food. “Go ahead. Everyone’s already eaten.”

Ranma grinned and dug in.

She watched him with a strange look. He started to feel self-conscious.

“What?” he asked.

“You’ve grown so much this past year.”

“Oh, come on, not you too,” he teased. “Akane keeps saying that. You both act like I used to be some kind of goblin.”

She laughed. “Of course not! I’ve always been proud of you. Your father too.”

He swallowed and nodded, choosing not to push back too hard. “I mean, I’m really only good at martial arts. And that was mostly Pop’s doing…”

She frowned. “Would you have rather done something else?”

It felt like a trick question. He’d never had the space to wonder about that. Maybe gardening? He liked helping out in the yard. Or building things. Fixing stuff. But he’d never seriously considered it. He shook his head.

His mom smiled. “I’m proud you’re pushing through all this. You’re a good man, Ranma.”

He blushed, looking for something to break the awkward sincerity. “Where’s Pops?”

She sighed. “Running an errand. Your sister forgot she needs special wholemeal flour for school tomorrow. She remembered an hour ago, even though she’s known for weeks.”

Ranma snorted. Classic Ranko. He probably wouldn’t have remembered at all.

His mom turned back to the TV, and he focused on his meal.

“No need to inhale. The food’s not going anywhere.”

He rolled his eyes and made a show of setting down his bowl.

“I’m just hungry. It’s late,” he muttered.

“It is. I thought you’d be staying at school tonight.”

His eyes widened. “Voluntarily? Yeah, no thanks.” He poked at his bowl. “I just wanted to get homework out of the way so the weekend wouldn’t be a mess.”

“Smart. A relaxed weekend is worth it.”

He nodded.

“Got any plans?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Not much. Training with Ranko for a bit. Visiting Akane on Saturday. Might do some Christmas shopping.” He paused, scooping some rice. “Thought I’d get her something, maybe. Something nice. I just have no idea what.”

Suddenly, the TV went silent. He looked up. His mom was watching him again.

“What?”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Ranma-kun, have you given any more thought to—”

He dropped his bowl with a clatter before she could finish.

“Thought to what?” he asked, voice low and sharp.

He stared at the dishes, then sighed again. He could feel her eyes on him as she turned fully in her seat.

Ranma sat stiffly at the kitchen table, his jaw tight as he tried not to raise his voice.

"Have you spoken to Akane-chan at all? About the engagement?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He stared at his mother. "Why not? Really?"

Nodoka kept her tone gentle, but it only made it worse. "Well, the two of you are awfully close, and—"

"Mom, seriously, just—"

"But, Ranma—"

"What, Mom? I said I'd think about it. What more do you want?"

"But have you thought about it?"

Something in him cracked. "How could I not think about it? You want me to ask a girl to marry me. At seventeen. Like it's no big deal. Of course I’ve thought about it."

Nodoka sighed. Ranma took a breath, tried to tamp it down. He rarely lost his temper—and almost never with his mother. But this topic always hit too deep, too fast.

"I'm glad you're giving it thought," she said. "But if you have, then your father and I were wondering if you've decided what you're going to do about it."

Ranma stared at her. "What I’m gonna do? I have no idea, okay? Is that good enough for you and Pops right now?"

Nodoka straightened, her expression hardening. For someone so small, she had a way of seeming taller when she wanted to. "Don’t take that tone with me. We've explained the circumstances—how we ruined this family's honor by turning our backs on our friend. This promise is how we restore that. It matters to us. It should matter to you."

"My plans," Ranma muttered. "You mean your plans."

She didn’t respond.

"What I don't get," he said slowly, trying to steady himself, "is why the rush. I figured you’d at least want us to finish school."

"A wedding doesn’t have to happen anytime soon. But coming to an agreement would help."

Ranma pressed his palms to his forehead. She was using words like "wedding" now. Not even pretending this was hypothetical anymore.

"Why the rush? Seriously, Mom. I'm not bringing up marriage unless I know for sure she wants that too. Which might never happen. And if she figures out why I’m even asking—forget it. She’ll shut it down in a second. Trust me on that."

Nodoka hesitated. "We’re very keen on renewing our bonds with Tendo-kun."

"Okay? And?"

"And the most acceptable way to do that is by fulfilling our promise."

Ranma scratched his head. "This is so stupid."

"Ranma!"

"Sorry, but seriously. If you want to reconnect, just do it. Say you're sorry. Be honest. You don't need a marriage proposal to say you regret losing touch."

Her expression stayed calm, but her voice sharpened. "The promise still holds. It’s the only way to truly restore our honor. But you’re right—it may not be the best thing to bring up with Akane right away. We’ll speak with Tendo-kun first."

For a second, Ranma felt relief. But then realization set in. "So now you're dragging him into it too. Great."

He paused. "So let me get this straight. You would've married me off to one of the sisters no matter what? Even if I hadn't met Akane?"

His mother nodded.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

Another nod.

He fell quiet. He wanted to yell. That this was all just convenient timing. That if he hadn’t happened to care about Akane, none of this would matter. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Because no matter how twisted the setup was, he had met her. And he wouldn't undo that.

The silence stretched.

"Ranma-kun," his mother said gently, "do you think you could talk to him? Tell him we’d like to visit?"

Ranma blinked. "What? Why me? Call him. Write a letter. It was your mess, not mine."

She sighed. "You’re right. I just thought maybe you could get a feel for how he’d react."

He groaned. Maybe he could ask Kasumi. Maybe this was a trap. Maybe his mom was guilt-tripping him without even trying.

"I’ll give it a try," he muttered.

And immediately regretted it.

"And please, no more bringing up the thing, okay?"

She frowned. "Thing?"

"The engagement," he said flatly. "I’m already worrying about it. I promised I’d think it through. And I will figure out how to talk to Akane without everything going to hell. Just give me space. Please."

Nodoka nodded.

He glanced at the clock. It was late. He thought about calling Akane. But the guilt hit hard. He couldn’t talk to her. Not with all this hanging over them.

Ranma stood. "Thanks for dinner."

He was almost at the door when her voice stopped him.

"One more thing."

He paused.

"I’m sorry this upsets you. I do understand it's complicated."

He turned slightly. "And?"

She smiled, soft but tired. "Your father is planning a family vacation. To the mountains."

"Over Christmas?"

"No, in summer. Two whole weeks. We want to plan ahead. Would you like to come?"

He hesitated. He used to love family vacations. They hadn’t gone in years. But two weeks with his dad? And it would overlap with Akane’s exam prep. They’d barely have time before everything changed.

"I don’t know. I’ll think about it."

"I told Genma you might say that. Just let me know."

"Sorry."

"No need to be. You're a man now. You should have your own plans. Just let me know."

Ranma nodded.

"Are you getting up early tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Gotta be back by eight."

"Don’t rush. Have breakfast with me before you go."

"Alright. Night, Mom."

"Good night, Ranma."

He left the kitchen.

OOOOO

Dinner at the Tendo house was subdued.

Without Nabiki, there was less banter. Fewer shocking stories. And their father—if he joined them at all—usually ate in silence and left the table as soon as possible.

Akane had expected quiet. But this felt different. Stiff. Tense.

Normally, they might talk about school, or Kasumi would mention a new recipe. Their father might add a word or two. The TV usually filled in the gaps.

But now... now their father was trying to talk again.

It should've been a relief. But it wasn’t.

His comments were disjointed, overly formal. Jarring. And no one knew how to respond.

Amazingly, dinner had become even more awkward than before.

Although they hadn’t discussed it, Akane could tell Kasumi felt the same way she did. Dinner had been getting later each day, and it was clear Kasumi had been putting it off. Late meals had one advantage, though: better TV programming.

That was what Akane had been thinking about when they sat down. Kasumi's cooking was always excellent, but tonight it was something else. She had made several kinds of gyoza and dumplings from scratch—not fancy, but time-consuming and delicious. Akane couldn’t remember the last time they’d had homemade dumplings.

They ate in silence. Akane caught Kasumi’s gaze a few times but couldn’t think of what to say. Complimenting the food would have been obvious and well-deserved. She drew in a breath, ready to speak—and then their father cut in.

"So, Akane. How was your day? Any progress with your training?"

Akane inhaled the wrong way and choked. Kasumi leaned over with a glass of water.

"Akane’s been training a bit more, Father. It’s really good that you’re helping her again," she said, handing over a napkin.

"Yeah..." Akane managed, coughing. "But I’m focusing on school too, Dad. Progress will be slow. I’m in better shape than a few months ago, though."

"And you should focus on school. That’s the responsible thing to do. But don’t forget, it’s also a family’s duty to carry on its traditions."

Akane blinked. That old line again. She had no idea how to respond, so she just nodded.

“Our roles are very clear,” he added, a bit more forcefully. Akane resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Maybe if he spoke like a normal person instead of quoting samurai dramas, she'd understand him better. Then came the inevitable.

"Kasumi has been so dedicated to this family. Look at this wonderful meal. A shining example of Japanese tradition. She’s become such a fine woman. My wonderful Kasumi."

Akane bit her tongue. There hadn’t been much “family” in Kasumi’s upbringing—she had raised them all herself. Still, their father went on. "She will be a wonderful wife someday."

Kasumi's eyes widened, but she smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Father."

Akane noticed his eyes getting misty. Oh, gods. Maybe she would need therapy after this.

He reached out and patted Kasumi’s hand. "You make your father proud, Kasumi."

And that was that. They returned to their meal in silence.

Akane stared at her father. He looked the same as always. If she hadn’t witnessed it, she wouldn’t have believed that conversation had just happened.

The silence stretched. Kasumi tried to communicate something via eyebrow gymnastics, but Akane couldn’t decipher it.

Then—

"Akane!" her father barked. Both sisters jumped. "TV during dinner? What would your mother say? That’s not proper behavior. Traditions must be respected!"

Akane nearly dropped the remote. Kasumi just stared at him. He didn’t even acknowledge them.

What the hell? Akane set the remote back down slowly.

The awkward silence returned. Akane finally cleared her plate and gave Kasumi an apologetic glance. "I really need to get back to my books. Dinner was lovely, oneesan!"

Before anyone could object, she escaped. Still chewing her last bite, she paused at the bottom of the stairs.

That had been strange. Even by her father's standards.

She headed upstairs. His sudden transformation—rigid formality, emotional swings, cryptic pronouncements—was both reassuring and unsettling.

Maybe it was the training. She didn’t remember much from when she was little, but she knew her father used to lecture a lot. Maybe he was adjusting. But what really unsettled her was that Kasumi had dropped her smile.

Kasumi dropping her smile was never good.

She sat at her desk. The books were piled high. Procrastination by tidying up sounded tempting, but she knew she had to push through. There was still time before Christmas, but the pressure was building.

At least she was still sleeping and eating properly. For now.

She knew herself. The closer exams got, the more her health would deteriorate.

If Ranma were around more, she might actually slack off more often. Which might be a good thing. Or not. She missed him.

She sighed and picked up her textbook.

The words blurred.

She put it down with another sigh.

If Ranma were here, he’d be sprawled somewhere, reading manga, occasionally studying, mostly just existing nearby. And she’d be able to focus. It was his presence that helped. The quiet companionship, the way it broke the pressure.

They hadn’t spoken all week. Not even at school. Maybe if she could just talk to him a little...

Her friends were busy too. Yuka had a boyfriend, and Sayuri was drowning in cram school. Akane felt alone. Lately, everything felt lonely.

The closer they got to the end of the year, the more things shifted. She could feel herself changing—and also not. Would she ever learn to balance this pressure?

Maybe she could take one night off from worrying. Just one. But no. She always found something else to stress over.

She shook her head and tried again.

This time she managed to study for almost an hour.

Then her brain gave out. She caught herself rereading the same line five times.

A cup of tea might help.

The house was dark as she descended. Maybe Kasumi had gone to bed. Only the kitchen and her father’s room were lit.

She paused by his door. Something in her made her stop. The darkness sharpened her senses.

Voices. Raised voices.

Her chest tightened. Kasumi’s voice—not quite yelling, but firm. Upset.

That alone was alarming.

Kasumi never raised her voice. And her father? He was talking back.

Akane stood frozen.

"...kane knows to honor her family!" her father roared.

"Otosan! Akane is not—" A long sigh. "I think you don’t know your daughters at all anymore. Least of all Akane."

Her breath caught.

They were talking about her.

The voices dropped. She strained to hear.

"No, Father. It’s a terrible idea, and I refuse to help you. If you want this so badly, you’ll have to tell her yourself."

Tell her what?

"But the timing isn’t right, Kasumi. You’re in the perfect position to—"

"I said I won’t help you. That is final."

Goosebumps prickled across Akane’s skin.

Kasumi sounded like someone else entirely.

She didn’t want to know. But she did. And then she heard it.

"Saotome."

Her stomach dropped. Ranma.

Kasumi’s voice was near the door. "Akane’s a responsible young woman, Father. Surely you’re not implying—"

Akane clapped her hands over her ears.

This wasn’t meant for her. She didn’t want to hear any more.

She backed away.

Fleeing sounded like a good idea.

She made it to the kitchen, lit and warm. It smelled like dinner. Normal. She clung to that.

Tea. She needed tea.

The kettle boiled. She let it whistle long and loud.

As she poured the water, she tried to focus on the leaves swirling in her cup. The normalcy of it all.

Then a sharp gasp made her jump.

She turned. Kasumi.

She looked tired. Her usual composure was gone.

Kasumi didn’t pretend everything was fine. She quietly moved through the kitchen, mirroring Akane’s actions. Made her own tea.

"Akane..." Her voice was low. Serious. She met Akane’s eyes. Something softened.

"Mmm?" Akane replied, feigning innocence.

Kasumi frowned. "You really need to look after yourself. Be responsible. You might be giving people the wrong idea."

Akane blinked.

"And by people, I mean Father. And maybe even Ranma’s parents."

Wait. Was this about...

Pregnancy?

Kasumi sighed. "You know how he is. I’m afraid he might become unreasonable... about you and Ranma."

Akane tried to connect this to the earlier conversation. Maybe it did make sense. Kind of.

Still, why would he even assume...

Did no one trust her?

It didn’t add up. What she’d overheard had sounded way more serious.

Kasumi wasn’t saying everything.

"Mmm. Sure, oneesan. I’ll be careful," Akane said casually.

Kasumi saw through it, of course.

Akane focused on her tea.

"You’ll talk to me later, right? If you need to?" she asked softly. "I don’t know what’s going on, but... if I can help..."

Kasumi smiled. A sad one.

"Thank you, Akane-chan."

Akane nodded and headed upstairs, tea in hand.

She shut her door, leaned against it. The tea burned her fingers. She hissed, stuck her finger in her mouth.

The room was quiet.

She missed Ranma.

“Saotome,” her father had said.

Whatever it was, it involved Ranma. And responsibility. If this wasn’t about pregnancy, what else could it be?

Maybe it was about appearances. The neighbors. But her father never cared about neighbors.

Nabiki had told her to be prepared.

Maybe her friends had the right idea.

Even if she wasn’t planning anything.

Maybe it would give Kasumi peace of mind.

“Fiiiiiine...” she muttered. “I’ll make an appointment. Can’t hurt, can it...”

Then burned her tongue.

Tea sloshed onto the floor.

Perfect.

OOOOOOOO

Kasumi stayed in the kitchen long after Akane had left, even after her tea had gone cold.

She had feared this might happen. That Father would suddenly remember the old promise, just like she had, and try to get Akane to fulfill it. Worst of all, it was unknowingly Ranma and Akane’s own fault, for growing closer the way they had.

If only Father wasn’t so far gone—so absurdly obsessed with family traditions—perhaps he could eventually see that Akane would never allow herself to be controlled. That was, after all, what made her strong. Made her herself. Her independence. Her drive. Her defiance.

Maybe, if Kasumi could just keep their father from saying anything... maybe it wouldn’t matter in the end.

But how?

What pained her most was how genuinely happy her little sister seemed. Things were going so well.

Kasumi wondered if the Saotomes had considered something similar to her father. Hopefully not.

She sighed.

But what if they had?

Worse, she had no idea how Ranma-kun might react. Maybe he should be kept out of it too?

Kasumi inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly. Maybe it could be managed. It would take delicate work—like setting a jewel in place without cracking it. But maybe. Just maybe.

She felt a little less troubled.

But... how?

OOOOOOOO

"Ranma..." Akane whined. "I never see you anymore."

"Whaddya mean, you don't see me? I'm right here."

She sighed. Her cheek rested against his chest, feeling the quiet rise and fall of his breathing. They’d been lying on the floor of her room for what felt like hours. Probably had been.

"I mean..." She sighed again, lifting herself slowly. His hand, which had been absently petting her head, dropped heavily onto his chest. He looked half-asleep.

Akane leaned forward to look at his face. His eyes were closed, lips tugged into a lazy frown. She suddenly wanted to kiss him.

They hadn't done anything serious in a while. Never mind that they barely left her room when they were alone—except on Sundays, when they trained. She loved those days. But lately, most of their together time had been spent like this: wrapped around each other, half-dozing, idly touching. Intimate, yes. But maybe... too much of the same?

"It's just that... we're always here, Ranma."

His brow furrowed. "Huh. I thought you liked that."

"I do. Most of the time..."

Ranma propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a lopsided smile. He looked genuinely sleepy. Akane rested her hand on his chest, feeling its rhythm, its warmth.

Something wild rushed through her. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed a handful of his red shirt. That got his attention. His eyes snapped open, more alert now.

She let go quickly, not sure what had come over her, and went back to idly stroking his chest. Then she shifted, sitting up and half-balancing herself against him.

"Let's go somewhere."

Ranma blinked. Smiled.

"But I thought you had to study."

"I do... but I'm going to lose it if I don’t get out of the house, even just for a little while."

Ranma flopped back with a theatrical yawn, then rolled onto his side and wrapped himself around her, resting his head on his arm, facing her. One hand crept up her thigh, warm even through her jeans.

"But it's cold outside," he said, pouting. "And it's so warm here."

He sat up, the hand on her thigh sliding to her waist, face close enough to kiss.

"And I never see you anymore..." he echoed, voice low, brushing her ear.

Akane's heart stuttered. Heat bloomed across her chest. She fought to keep her expression neutral. Was he—flirting with her? That had to be flirting.

It felt strange. Familiar, but rare. Wasn't she usually the one jumping him?

She was tempted. And maybe she should let him win sometimes.

Akane touched her cheek to his, then gently pushed at his shoulder. He understood, easing back onto his back with a soft sigh. She leaned over him, studying his face. He looked so peaceful. It still amazed her that she could look at him like this—from this close. And that he let her.

Before he could speak, she leaned in and kissed him.

His mouth was soft under hers, lips warm and pliant. He responded slowly, and when his tongue brushed against hers, she moaned.

Her breathing sped up. Her hands slid from his chest to the floor, helping her brace as she pressed into him.

Ranma wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her fully on top of him. He sighed as her weight settled over him. She could feel the heat and tension in his muscles, the flutter of his breath. And the unmistakable sign of his arousal beneath her.

She whimpered, instinct taking over. Her kisses grew more urgent. Her hips moved against his. And ever since she’d started taking the pill, that thought was always there: they could, if they wanted to.

It both thrilled and terrified her. It always stopped her just short of crossing the line.

Ranma moaned into her mouth, low and rough. And then he rolled them, pinning her underneath him.

Her head rested against his arm, her neck arched and exposed. She felt his breath at her throat, warm and teasing. Shivers scattered down her spine.

She loved when he moved like this—when he took control. It was the only time she felt completely safe surrendering. More than safe. Needed.

She arched up against him, her breath catching as his hand slid up her stomach and cupped her breast, even through her clothes. Damn clothes.

She groaned, instinctively rubbing her legs together, trapping his between hers. She bucked slightly, urging him to settle more firmly over her.

He read her cue. His thumb brushed her nipple. His mouth hovered near her neck. Her whole body tingled.

"You're so amazing like this..." he whispered.

It would be so easy.

Then—a loud clatter from downstairs.

Akane flinched. The world came back.

Yes, it would be amazing. But not now. Not like this. Not when Kasumi was downstairs. Not when they might be interrupted.

She pushed gently at Ranma's chest. He rolled off without protest, and she rested half on top of him again. He didn't seem particularly fazed by the noise.

She kissed his face lightly, trying to catch her breath. He closed his eyes. Understood.

Maybe later, she thought. Maybe when no one knew he was there. She could ask him to climb through the window tonight.

His hand slid up her back, fingers splaying between her shoulder blades. She knew what would come next—how his fingers would weave into her hair, soothing. The anticipation alone gave her shivers.

She pulled back slightly. He was flushed. She probably was, too.

"Tell you what..." she murmured.

"Hmm..." he half-purred, eyes half-lidded, fingers tracing slow patterns on her back.

"Let's go out and get cold. Then we can get warm again when we come back."

He swallowed, eyes drifting closed, then open. "Where do you want to go?" he asked, resigned but smiling.

A few minutes later, as they were getting ready to leave, Kasumi emerged from the kitchen.

"Will you be gone long?" she asked.

"I don't think so," Akane replied. "I'm just bored of being locked up. We’re going for a walk."

"Oh, wonderful! Will you be going by the market, by any chance?"

"Maybe. Do you need something?"

"For dinner, yes." Kasumi rummaged in her apron pocket and handed over a list.

"Ranma-kun," she added sweetly, "will you be joining us for dinner as well?"

Akane winced. There went her plan. She had the feeling Ranma was just as eager to skip dinner and come back early.

"If you don't mind, Kasumi-san, that’d be great," he said politely.

Too politely.

Kasumi beamed.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma had never realized that Akane could be such a tease.

Well, not exactly. He’d seen glimpses before—moments when she was bold, or relaxed, or quietly mischievous. But this? He’d been naive. He should have remembered Akane always had a plan. She rarely did anything without thinking it through. He should have known better.

Still, knowing and resisting the illusion that he might be winning her over—that was something else entirely.

He couldn't believe his light teasing had actually earned him a full-on make-out session. The kind that left him half-delirious and aching for more. Not that he knew where it had come from. Or what had prompted him to try that voice—soft, coaxing, a little cocky. He hadn’t even known he could sound like that without it coming off as sleazy or like a bad joke. He’d only tried it because it was her.

He figured he had gotten his way in the end, sort of. Maybe his timing could’ve been better. But she’d promised to warm up after their walk to the market, of all places.

They were quiet now, walking side by side.

Akane had a slow, slightly bouncy pace. He smiled to himself. She was happy, then. He carried a bag with groceries Kasumi had asked for. Akane had one too, but hers was filled with sweets. Chocolates and other colorful things that looked vaguely toxic. Still, watching her face change with each bite convinced him they had to be delicious.

Hearing her mewl in delight as she sampled each one was pure torture. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her coat drawn tight around her, concealing everything. But Ranma knew what was under it. That knowledge mixed with the sounds she made was maddening.

It wasn’t fair. She was his girlfriend. Wasn't he allowed to stare? Staring at random girls was wrong, sure, but Akane was his. And if he couldn’t ogle his own girlfriend, then what was even the point?

Still, he hesitated. He wanted to stare. Wanted to take her hand. But he held back, afraid she’d read too much in his eyes, in his face. She knew him too well. If she saw everything he was feeling, she might take full advantage. He was vulnerable around her. And she had plans.

So he was learning. To observe. To keep things to himself. To hold back when it counted, just in case.

What was with all the hesitation lately? It wasn’t like he had a problem admitting his feelings. Well—some of them. Others were harder.

Maybe it was guilt.

His chest tightened. If they were ever going to have that conversation, he’d need to stay calm. Show no weakness. She’d be indignant. Or upset. Or who knew what. There would be a lot of emotion, and she affected him. Made him lose perspective. That wasn’t a secret.

He needed more control. He couldn’t keep getting outmaneuvered like today. He needed an edge now and then.

He smiled, sneaking another glance her way.

They reached the dojo.

Akane looked serious now. Maybe the reprieve was over. Back to stress. Somehow, she’d let herself unwind today. Even taken a walk. Totally unexpected.

Dinner would be waiting. Afterward, he could make an excuse to leave and climb back up through her window later. But her shoulders were tense again. A little more each time he saw her. He remembered last year’s stress, and those had only been end-of-year exams. Now it was university. And Nationals were still months away.

He could help her relax. He had to. Today had been a win. Maybe he should get her out of the house more often. It might mess with his training. Or sleep. Botan-sensei would notice. But if it helped her unwind, it would be worth it.

He smiled again.

If it meant sleeping less, so be it.

Maybe he could get her to train with him. Hard workouts to take her mind off books. That could work.

"What are you smirking at?" Akane asked, her voice light. She was pushing the door open.

Ranma blinked. No way was he telling her.

"Huh..." He lowered his voice, letting it warm. "Just thinking how long before I can sneak up to your room and make good on that deal you made."

He looked at her. Not smiling too much. Just enough.

"You left me all... bothered before."

Akane stopped mid-step. Her cheeks flared pink.

Something in him went soft. Warm. They were still innocent, really. Just playing at being grown-ups. But every little step forward felt massive.

She stared at her hands on the door. Frozen.

He stepped close. His cold fingers brushed her cheek. She shivered. He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth.

She tasted like sugar. He lingered, breathing her in. Felt her gloved hand on his arm, her head tilting toward him. He kissed her again, soft, slow. Then stepped back.

Akane looked dazed.

Ranma fought the smile.

"Don’t stare like that, ‘Kane. It’s creepy."

He pushed the door open just enough for her to slip through. "Besides, Kasumi’s probably waiting on her veggies."

He followed her in.

She was already inside when he locked the door.

Ranma smiled. She was escaping. That meant he could chase her. He liked it that way.

The smell of food hit him. His stomach grumbled.

He dropped the groceries on the counter.

"Oneesan! It smells amazing!" Akane said.

"Thank you, Akane-chan. I hope it tastes alright. I changed a few ingredients," Kasumi replied.

"Was this everything?" Ranma asked.

Kasumi examined the bag and frowned. "Oh my! I needed dried chives, not fresh."

"If it can wait, we could—"

"It’s fine," Kasumi said, checking a pan. "I think I have some in storage, just not handy. Can you stir this, Akane? Gently."

Akane lit up. "Really?"

"Just a bit. Softly."

Akane took over. Kasumi turned to Ranma.

"Could you help me? I may need to move a few boxes."

"Sure."

She pointed him to the room. "I’ll be there in a second."

He entered. Everything was labeled and neat. Odd that Kasumi didn’t know where the chives were. He spotted them quickly. "Nira chives, nira chives... ah."

He turned as Kasumi entered and locked the door.

"Kasumi...?"

"I need to speak with you privately."

Ranma swallowed. "Okay."

"Be quiet. I don’t want Akane to overhear."

He nodded. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes."

He tensed. Kasumi looked deeply uncomfortable. Anxious. Not like her at all.

Please let this not be about the engagement...

"So... what’s wrong?"

"Both our families have known each other a long time. You and Akane used to play together."

His heart dropped. He nodded.

"Are you aware of a promise?"

Another nod. "Yeah. My folks brought it up."

"And Akane?"

He shook his head. "I haven’t told her, but..."

"Okay. Ever since Father remembered who you were, he’s been... fixated. He wants to order Akane to marry you."

"No!" Ranma blurted. He lowered his voice. "He can’t. Akane wouldn’t. And I—"

"You won’t do it?"

"I—No! I mean..."

"You won’t at all? Do you not love my sister?"

"That’s not it! I just..." He stopped himself. Frustrated. "This is so hard."

Kasumi waited.

"I don’t mind the promise. I can see it happening. I’m okay with it. I just want it to be for the right reasons. My parents are pressuring me to talk to her. But I don’t want her finding out the wrong way. I’d hate to..."

"To what?"

"Miss the chance. Have her say no just because she didn’t get a choice."

Kasumi’s face softened. She nodded.

"I’ll help. But you need to be careful. Father assumes marriage is next. And honor. I tried to warn Akane, but I think I just made her nervous."

Ranma nodded, grateful.

"There’s something else," he added.

"I’m listening."

"My folks want to visit."

"Could be complicated."

"Yeah. I can ask them not to say anything. Or maybe we slip away while they’re here."

Kasumi considered it. "I’ll talk to Father."

"Will he agree?"

"Yes."

"They’re embarrassed."

"Maybe they should be. But Father will forgive."

"Great. He could forget something else while he’s at it."

"Ranma-kun... you’re a good man. I know you won’t hurt my sister. I’ll do my best. Now let’s go back before Akane comes looking."

He nodded.

"We’ll talk again," she said, holding out her hand. "Chives, please?"

Ranma handed over the jar.

They left the room.

OOOOO

Something was off with Ranma. Akane just couldn’t put her finger on it.

Dinner with the four of them hadn’t exactly been cozy, but it hadn’t been terrible either. The tension pouring off Ranma was the worst part. Now that she thought about it, Kasumi had been unusually chatty too. It left Akane's head spinning.

Her father had kept quiet as always, politely complimenting Kasumi’s cooking and even asking Ranma about his training. In a fairly normal way. Sort of.

Ranma had nearly choked when Soun addressed him directly. Akane could understand him being tense, but it wasn’t like he was a stranger. He came through the front door often enough now. Maybe these family dinners, especially with her father around, were just too much for him. Honestly, they were a bit much for her, too.

After dinner, Akane gathered the plates while Kasumi boiled water for tea. Akane started washing up on autopilot, but Kasumi stopped her gently.

"Why don’t you go rescue Ranma-kun? I’ll have a cup of tea with Father."

Akane smiled. "Thanks, oneesan. Probably a good idea."

As expected, Ranma sat stiff-backed in front of the TV, staring straight ahead and not looking at Soun.

"Ranma?" she said softly. He looked up, startled. "Can you help me out for a bit?"

"Yes," he replied, too quickly, and excused himself.

They climbed the stairs together. The moment they stepped into her room, Akane launched herself at him. They stumbled against the door as it slammed shut.

She’d been thinking about this all through dinner. There wasn’t going to be any studying tonight. She kissed him, hard, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Ranma gasped and his arms came around her, a little slow, a little loose. Maybe he hadn’t expected this either. She pulled back slightly, her breath uneven.

"Ranma?" she asked. His eyes dropped to the side, hands still resting lightly on her back.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze.

Something was wrong. He was silent. Avoiding her. It felt like he was hiding something. Akane knew she didn’t always share every thought with him, but it was strange to think of Ranma having secrets. He was so straightforward. Honest to a fault. He didn’t seem like someone who played games.

So what was he holding back?

Maybe she was overthinking again. She leaned in more gently this time, brushing his lips with hers. He responded, and she felt a flicker of hope.

"I..." he began.

Anxiety stirred in her chest. She pulled back, trying to push it away with a smile.

"Do you want to come in through the window later? I doubt I’ll get back to studying tonight."

"I—I don’t think—"

Akane swallowed. This was bad.

"Ran-ran," she said, cupping his cheek, trying to stay calm. "It’s okay."

Ranma looked at her and smiled a little. He covered her hand with his and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

"It’s just that... I forgot I promised my mom I’d be home early. I remembered during dinner, but I didn’t want to seem rude to your sister after I agreed to stay. That’s all."

She nodded slowly. It sounded believable. Ranma wasn’t a liar. And maybe his discomfort was just his awkward way of showing honesty. So why didn’t it feel right?

"You better get going, then," she said, leaning against him, hiding her face in his neck. She kissed him lightly. "Still a little disappointed, though."

He chuckled. "I’m sorry... really."

One hand circled her waist. The other slid up to her neck, his fingers easing the tension in her muscles. She sighed.

"But we’re even now," he added, smirking.

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, 'even'?" Though, of course, she already knew.

Ranma just smiled and kissed her, hand at her jaw, pulling her close.

"Training tomorrow?" she asked afterward.

He winced. "Can’t. I need to be home."

"Next week then?" she asked, feeling a little off-balance.

He nodded.

"A week is so long," she murmured, trying for another kiss.

"I’ll try to come sooner. If I finish my homework."

Akane smiled, but the tight feeling in her throat returned. She blinked hard and stepped back. Ranma smiled, opened the door.

They walked downstairs in silence. Kasumi and their father were sipping tea in front of the TV.

"Got any more tea?" Akane asked, her voice too cheerful.

"Sure we do, Akane-chan. Will you both join us?"

"Just me," she said, overly bright.

"Thank you for dinner, Kasumi-san. It was wonderful," Ranma said.

"Anytime, Ranma-kun."

"Tendo-san," he added, nodding respectfully. Her father returned it with a slight nod.

At the door, Akane leaned in. "You need a scarf. It’s cold."

"I’ll be fine. I’ll run. Won’t take ten minutes."

She unwrapped her sweater and looped it around his neck. Again, she felt the sting of tears.

Ranma sighed. "You’re upset."

She shook her head.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

She couldn’t meet his eyes.

He pulled her into a hug, nuzzled her ear.

She relaxed against him. He kissed her ear softly and whispered, "I love you."

Akane tensed, then exhaled slowly.

They held each other a moment longer.

"Take care. See you next week," she said, smiling.

"And I’ll make it up to you."

"I know."

"That’s better." He kissed her cheek. "Bye."

"Bye, Ranma."

She closed the door behind him, smile slipping away. She stared for a while.

She really had to think about all of this.

"Tea, Akane?" Kasumi called.

Yes. Later. She really would have to think about it.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma didn’t run. His nose and ears were freezing, but he couldn’t find the energy.

Guilt clung to him. Kasumi’s words, Akane’s disappointment, everything twisted in his gut. He hated keeping secrets, especially from her. It felt wrong. But how could he tell her? What would he even say?

He imagined telling her about the plan. That Kasumi knew. That everyone knew. That it had all been arranged around her. What if he just asked her to marry him, and she found out later? Would she forgive him?

He didn’t want to think about it. But it kept growing. Getting bigger. More out of control. He was scared.

What if this ruined everything?

His throat tightened. He breathed deep, trying to steady himself.

Then he caught the scent of her sweater.

He buried his nose in it. Groaned. Gods, he loved her.

He’d felt like a coward. Her sadness had gutted him. And staying had felt dangerous, like he might crack and say something he couldn’t take back. He couldn’t afford that.

But he hadn’t wanted her to think anything had changed. He’d just needed her to know that whatever else was going on, this one thing was true. That he loved her.

And somehow, the words had come out.

They were the only thing that made sense. The only thing that gave him peace. He didn’t even regret saying them.

She’d probably need time to process. Of course she would.

Ranma smiled faintly, breathed her in again, and kept walking.

OOOOO

The next weekend, Ranma showed up again. But Akane wasn’t home. Kasumi had sent her on an errand right before he arrived.

It annoyed him. But he was also grateful. Kasumi was handling the planning, which meant fewer chances for disaster.

He just had to tell his parents now. And beg them not to ruin it.

Still, he dragged his feet. He didn’t want to say a word.

He was so distracted, he didn’t even notice dinner ending until his mother called him out.

"You haven’t eaten half your food."

"Yeah," his father added, "you need to stay strong."

Right. Like he knew anything about Ranma’s training these days.

Ranko looked sleepy, playing with her pudding.

Ranma cleared his throat. "Ko-chan? Sleepy yet?"

"Mmmn-no."

He gave his mom a look and tilted his eyebrows.

She got the message. "Come on, baby," she said, and ushered Ranko to bed.

His dad tried to make conversation. "How's school?"

"Tough. But I’m managing."

"That’s my boy."

"We’ll get visitors after Christmas. Martial artists from all over. Special training and everything."

"All over?"

"Yep. Part of expanding horizons."

His dad frowned. "Your masters are the best."

"They are. These guys are just... different."

His father grunted. Ranma rolled his eyes.

His mother came back with tea.

"So, what was that all about?" she asked.

Ranma took a breath. Time to spill it.

"Kasumi said to call her to arrange a family dinner before Christmas. We’re all invited."

His mom blinked. Then smiled.

"Really? Kasumi-san?"

"Yeah. Call her during school hours. She doesn’t want Akane to know."

His mom nodded. "That makes sense."

"Say it’s just a visit for old times’ sake if she asks."

His dad frowned. "It’s only natural for the bride and groom—"

"No. None of that."

"But, son—"

"It’s Kasumi’s rules or nothing."

His mom cut in. "Genma, we’re lucky to be invited. We follow the house rules."

"But Tendo-kun—"

"Kasumi runs that house, Dad," Ranma said.

Genma sighed. "Fine. What does she want?"

"We’re old friends. No talk of engagements. Not in front of Akane or Ranko."

His dad grumbled and left. His mom turned back.

"So... Kasumi knows, then?"

"She’s the one who brought it up. She’s worried about Akane."

His mom nodded. "Tendo-san expects the engagement, then?"

"Seems like it."

She beamed. "Good news. It’s fine if Akane doesn’t know yet. Things are moving. Thank you, Ranma."

Ranma blushed. It had all been Kasumi, really.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

"The Chance of Change"

A Ranma ½ fanfiction by Pia-san

Chapter Eight: Suspended Souls (Part III)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Akane returned from her daily run, sweat cooling against her skin. Lately, it was the only thing that helped her unwind enough to sleep. She used to go out early, before school, but now she preferred the late afternoons. Maybe it was because of Ranma. That first time they talked, almost nine months ago, she had gone running on a whim. She always passed by that same park. It never failed to help.

Crossing into the yard, she noticed her father hunched over the shoji board—but he wasn’t alone. Genma was there, sitting across from him.

Yeah. A lot had changed.

Her father was alive again in a way that made her uneasy. Still quiet, still withdrawn, but thinking. Reacting. Laughing. During that recent dinner with the Saotomes, he'd actually cried from laughter.

It had been surreal. Everyone acted like they’d been one big happy family forever. The adults treated her, Ranma, and Kasumi like kids again—even Kasumi! Akane felt patronized. At least Ranma had the decency to stay quiet, visibly as uncomfortable as she was. Especially when old childhood stories came up.

And yet, it wasn’t just the awkwardness. Something about these gatherings unsettled her more deeply. It was like she and Ranma had been absorbed into a system, expected to fit into roles she hadn’t agreed to. As if they were... cousins. That kind of closeness. That kind of inevitability.

She didn’t like it.

What would happen if they broke up? Not that she was considering it. But the thought occurred. What if they got closer? Would that even be their choice anymore?

She had to admit, some things were going well. Kasumi and Mrs. Saotome had grown friendly. Ranko dropped by with her mother occasionally. Kasumi said they even exchanged recipes.

But if the Saotomes were showing up a few times a week, why wasn’t Ranma one of them? He didn’t have the time. He was busy. Just as overloaded as she was.

She smiled faintly. He even liked some of his homework now. Said it gave him an excuse to visit her during the week. When he did, they studied together—or tried to. He'd sweet-talk her into breaks, claiming she needed to relax. At first, it worked. Lately, he hadn't tried it much.

The truth was, he hated the new family dynamic more than she did. It freaked him out. Made him act strange. They’d talked about it, but she sensed his discomfort ran deeper than he let on.

And she understood. The time they spent together had always been private. It had started that way, and they’d kept it that way. Now, just sneaking in moments was a chore. Someone always tagged along.

Even if they were physically alone, it didn’t feel like it anymore. Not when everyone else already assumed they were a settled thing. It was too heavy. Too predetermined. Not wrong... but not quite right.

Last weekend, Ranma had to sneak out to visit her. Everyone knew where he’d go anyway. Hiroshi, Daisuke, maybe his roommate sometimes. But mostly, it was the dojo.

She sighed as she stepped inside, careful not to draw attention. The men were lost in their game. Kasumi, as always, was her savior, offering to bring dinner up to her room.

After forcing herself to eat at least half, she got back to work.

School ended around five. She usually studied a couple of hours, ran, then came back for another five or six. On bad days, she squeezed in more. Weekends didn’t exist anymore. She couldn’t afford them.

Ranma tried to help, pushing her to take breaks. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes it annoyed her. But mostly, it was sweet. It even motivated her to get through more during the week, just so she could feel like she’d earned the distraction.

She wondered how he did it—kept up with everything without seeming half as anxious. Was he sleeping? She certainly wasn’t. Lately, she was barely functioning.

The thought of university terrified her.

Still, she was careful not to neglect her training. She usually practiced in the mornings, with or without her father. On weekends, with Ranma. That much hadn’t changed. And her father’s return to normalcy helped. She couldn’t expect Ranma to always be available.

Running helped clear her head. But the anxiety kept building. Exams were months away, and already her stomach was in knots. What if she failed? What if she couldn’t learn everything in time?

She tried to ground herself in the physical: her kata, her body, the familiar rhythm. It helped. But less and less.

She was starting to resent the time it took. She feared she'd have to stop entirely until after exams. She hated that thought.

She knew she was being unreasonable, but couldn’t stop. She wanted to do well. To feel proud. To earn her place in the world.

She wanted to find what was hers.

Nabiki had been surprisingly helpful lately. Practical, even blunt, but not unkind. She told Akane to find something she loved, something that made the sacrifice worth it. That was what had happened to Nabiki in college.

It had happened to Ranma too.

He'd changed. Subtly, but unmistakably. At first, it was the physical. Each time she saw him, he looked... better. Sharper. Stronger. But then, it became something else. He was calmer. Focused. More aware. More himself.

And more attractive than ever.

He’d found a place that made him better. And he hadn’t even needed the national exams.

She wondered if he remembered that she’d pushed him to apply to those schools. Did he think about that?

Sometimes, it felt unfair. How things came easily for him. How he seemed to glide through life while she clawed her way forward.

Maybe he didn’t get it. Maybe he couldn’t. He hadn’t been tested the same way. Literally.

Still, he tried. And he was getting better at helping her with studying, not just distracting her. Somehow, he just... did it all. She didn’t understand how.

And then there was his school.

The Yoshinkan Academy. Mysterious. Self-contained. Apart from the world. From her.

She was jealous. Maybe that was part of it. He’d found a place. She was still looking.

But she was starting to form an idea. She wanted to study away from home. Really away. See who she was on her own.

She struggled with it. But she knew.

She was applying to scholarships across the country. She had no idea what she wanted to study, but she knew she could get in somewhere. She just had to survive the exams.

Was she going to stay in Tokyo?

Probably not.

And that scared her. If she left... how often would she see Ranma? He was barely around now. Would it make a difference?

Her future loomed, uncertain. She'd been thinking about it constantly. Maybe martial arts was still part of it. Maybe the dojo. But not yet. Not here.

She needed to go somewhere else first. To see things differently.

She could always come back.

She dropped her book and rested her forehead on the desk.

"Ouch," she muttered.

Applications. Right. First things first.

She would apply everywhere. See who responded. Then decide.

She looked out the window. The sun had just gone down. Ranma would be at dinner now. Unless he had detention. He probably had detention.

She smiled.

She imagined him scrubbing the floors, running across the wooden halls. Maybe with two mops, like bo staffs. Wiping the walls and ceiling, too. It made her laugh.

She loved watching him train. Watching his arms flex, his grip tighten. His hands were getting rougher.

She liked that.

The smile faded. She leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, still thinking about his hands.

OOOOOOOO

Sometimes, it felt good to be back at school. Outside, he was caught between tensions he couldn’t do anything about. But here? Here, he was good. The best. Ranma didn’t usually boast like that, even to himself, but lately, it felt true. Everyone seemed to think so, both inside the dojo and out. Maybe, for once, they were right. There was no challenge he couldn’t at least face head-on—and maybe even beat.

Getting out of bed early hadn’t taken any effort these past couple weeks. Their training had shifted into something different: visiting masters from all over the world, introducing techniques and philosophies Ranma had never encountered. Along with the practical drills, they discussed why things worked, where styles came from, how techniques varied across regions. Ranma soaked it all in. They’d had guests from across Asia, Africa, South America—and each one opened a new door. He could spend his whole life learning, and there’d still be more. That thought gave him a strange kind of thrill.

This week’s guest was a tiny, ancient Chinese woman. Rumor had it she’d trained Ling-Ling since birth. Some even said she could beat Botan-sensei without breaking a sweat.

Ranma believed it.

In fact, it had taken one demonstration to prove it. On her first day, Lung-sensei crushed a massive rock with a tap of her finger.

Everything Ranma thought he knew seemed to crumble in that instant. He wanted to get close to that power, understand it, break it down, rebuild it. If something that impossible was possible, he wanted to chase it.

Then came the fight between Lung-sensei and Ling-Ling.

Ranma lost it.

From that moment on, he volunteered as the guinea pig every time they needed to demonstrate something. It had been a brutal week. Kato laughed at him constantly, especially after that first night when he collapsed in pain and skipped dinner. Arata had just stared at him, concerned. He clearly wanted to say something but never did.

Now, a week later, Ranma was certain: they didn’t get it. Not the way he did. His classmates were talented, but they didn’t hunger for it. Not like this.

Maybe it made him arrogant. He didn’t care.

When Ling-Ling told him Lung-sensei wanted to meet with him privately at 4 a.m., he hadn’t slept a wink.

Dressed in the standard grey apprentice gi, Ranma slipped out of his room in the dark, his roommates still fast asleep. He flexed his wrists as he walked, adjusting the heavy metal wraps each student had been assigned. They were designed to draw heat from the body, supposedly forcing it to increase its metabolism to stay warm. Basic physics, they said. And somehow, he got it. A year ago, he might’ve dismissed it. Maybe someone had even tried to explain it back then. Who knew?

The training grounds sat at the far end of the small forest behind the compound. Despite being in the heart of Tokyo, it felt massive. Thick patches of growth blocked out what little moonlight was left, so he moved carefully. When he reached the clearing, he could see more clearly.

Lung-sensei stood at the far end, speaking rapidly with Ling-Ling in a Chinese dialect Ranma couldn’t begin to follow. He slowed, unsure. Ling-Ling was smiling, sharp and animated. It threw him. She never smiled. Her familiarity with the older woman unsettled him.

It meant the rumors were true. She’d been holding back.

But even so, he was curious. What would she look like with her mask off?

They didn’t pause their conversation as he approached. Only when he bowed and greeted them did they acknowledge him.

"I’m glad you finally showed up, boy," Lung-sensei said, tone edged.

He wisely kept quiet.

Ling-Ling offered a small smile. "Of course Saotome-san is here. He’s one of our best students, great-grandmother. As you’ve seen, he’s not only talented, but willing to take whatever training you give."

Ranma’s heart skipped. Ling-Ling. Praising him? He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The old woman smiled, teeth startlingly white. "Be at ease, boy. She’s just stating a fact."

Ling-Ling nodded toward him. "I’ve been watching him since the beginning of the year. I’ve never seen anyone progress the way he has."

Ranma blinked. Just how long had she been watching him? And how old was she, really?

The old woman studied him for a beat, then turned and walked to the center of the training ground. Her green robe swayed like water.

She gestured for him to face her.

Ling-Ling gave him a small nod of encouragement.

"Other than your impatience and recklessness—both a strength and a weakness—you’ve shown promise," Lung-sensei said. "Let’s see how much you’ve grasped. I hope you haven’t had breakfast."

Ranma shook his head.

"Good. I want you to attack me. Everything you’ve got."

He didn’t hesitate.

He launched himself at her, every muscle focused. He moved fast, hard, smart—but nothing landed. She was too fast, too elusive. Every strike met empty air. He lost his rhythm trying to compensate, staggered through his momentum.

She just laughed. "Keep going! You haven’t touched a single hair on this old head!"

He gave it everything. And still, he failed.

Eventually, she changed pace. "Let’s see how well you defend."

He didn’t last long. She didn’t even look like she was trying. He hit the ground. Hard. Again. And again.

When she finally stopped, he was sprawled on his back, gasping.

"That’ll be enough."

He started to sit up. "But—"

She shoved him back down with barely a touch. "Learn your limits. Accept your defeat."

Ranma groaned, then stayed down. She wasn’t wrong. He rarely had to stop. Losing was foreign.

While she spoke with Ling-Ling in rapid-fire Chinese, he caught his breath, then struggled upright.

"Well done, Saotome-san," Ling-Ling said. He dusted off his gi, knowing he’d need a fresh one before breakfast. And maybe a small death nap before the day started.

Lung-sensei turned back to him. "Listen carefully. Ling-Ling and I belong to a warrior tradition that goes back thousands of years. That’s why you couldn’t land a single blow. But you did well, for a first-year. Whoever trained you gave you strong fundamentals. But they didn’t know how to push you further. You do have potential. And the right attitude."

Ranma bristled slightly, but said nothing.

"We train from childhood. Ling-Ling is proof of that. Occasionally, we take mature students. If they’re talented. If they’re worth it."

Ranma’s heart kicked up.

"Yes, boy, I mean you," she said, amused. "You’d be a visiting student. Held to our rules, trained in our ways."

Ranma could already see it: China. The old paths. The thrill of impossible new techniques. Like the early days with his old man, but sharper, realer.

Then she added, almost offhand, "And it would make Xian-Pu happy."

Ling-Ling looked up, surprised. "Sister’s unhappy?"

"Bored," Lung-sensei replied, waving the concern away. "She misses a challenge."

Her eyes returned to Ranma. "We are not soft. But there is reward. You understand that. Don’t close yourself off. There are more paths than the one you’re walking."

Ranma wasn’t sure what she meant, but something in him stirred. She knew. Or at least, she sensed what was coiled inside him.

"Just hours ago," she continued, "you thought this school was the height of your potential. Now you see: there is more. Stay sharp. Stay open."

He didn’t respond. Just nodded.

"Keep going as you are, and maybe next year, we will make a formal offer."

"Arigato, Lung-sensei," he said, bowing.

She left without another word.

Ling-Ling offered a sly smile. She knew. She’d push him harder now, just because he wanted it. He had no doubt.

"Get changed," she said. "You can skip meditation today. But be on time for breakfast."

As he made his way back, he passed Botan-sensei. The old man wasn’t with the students but standing outside alone.

"So," he said, smiling. "Old Kun-Lung finally put you through your paces."

Ranma only nodded.

At breakfast, Arata wouldn’t stop asking about the bruises. Kato griped that it was unfair he got extra training. Ranma barely heard them. He was glowing.

He realized, with a twinge of guilt, that he hadn’t thought about the engagement in days. And it was a relief.

It was Thursday. He’d be out again later. Maybe this time, with less pressure hanging over his head, he could bring a little of his happiness to Akane.

Maybe.

Ranma was worried about Akane.

She still had four weeks to go before her exams, but it already looked worse than last year—and back then, she'd been buried in finals. At least then, he'd managed to pull her away every now and then. This time, it was a struggle.

He could tell she wasn’t eating right. She looked thinner. Pale. And she definitely wasn’t sleeping much. It was like she’d burned through her fuel reserves and was now running purely on willpower. That’s what scared him. No one could keep that up for long.

It also made her kind of impossible to be around. Actually, scratch that. It made her very difficult. He hadn’t thought it could get any worse, but he’d been wrong. And now he worried it still might. Not that he blamed her exactly—but that didn’t make it any easier.

She barely left the house anymore. Had been doing okay, all things considered, until a few weeks back. Now she was even skipping the end-of-year stuff—events she’d practically run the previous winter. So Ranma had decided he would drop by whenever he wasn’t sleeping over at Yoshinkan. Even if it was just for a bit. It made his own schedule tighter, but he figured it was worth it if it helped her at all.

His family hadn’t exactly made that easy. His mom had started asking about vacation again. Even his old man was pushing it. He thought he’d already made it clear he wasn’t going. Family vacation was a big deal since they hadn’t had one in years—but the timing sucked, and honestly? He didn’t want to go. Not when time with Akane was already so limited. She was planning to study away from home. They were about to see even less of each other. If anything, he wanted more time with her, not less. So, after some back-and-forth, he'd managed to convince them to go without him. A couple of weeks in the mountains, just the three of them. He felt a little bad, sure. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. It made sense that he’d want some space, right?

He’d seen Akane on Friday. She was yawning nonstop. Not that he was in much better shape, but at least he didn’t feel foggy. Even with the homework and sleep deprivation, he was enjoying his training. That made all the difference. Akane, on the other hand, seemed completely drained. He'd actually managed to talk her into a break—a real one. She wanted to spar. Not train. Not drills. Just throw punches and blow off steam. And Ranma had jumped at the chance. If that was what it took to get her out of her own head, he was in.

He missed her. This hyper-studying version of Akane was harder to be around than regular, snappy, bossy Akane—and that was saying something.

He just couldn’t understand why she pushed herself like this. He could ask her anything, and she’d know the answer. But she never seemed to trust that. For someone who talked a lot about having goals, she had surprisingly little faith in her ability to reach them. Maybe that’s what made her so good. She never coasted. Always went all in. Then overboard. And it was wearing her down.

Ranma sighed and counted the days left till the exams. He wanted them over already. Even if he dreaded what she might decide after.

She’d convinced him that studying Business and Finance made sense if she was going to take over the dojo. He guessed that tracked. He'd thought Tokyo had the best schools, but apparently not. Or so she said. Keio was her top choice. In Osaka. Osaka! It blew his mind every time he thought about it. She made it sound like moving out was some kind of salvation. Meanwhile, if he ever thought of leaving, it was just because it seemed like fun. He didn’t have a grand reason. But Akane did. Always did.

So there he was, up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday, his one free day, sneaking into the Tendo dojo to meet her. The birds were chirping like it was their job.

He slipped into his training gi and wondered if maybe he’d come too early. Maybe she was still asleep. He considered heading upstairs but decided to warm up instead. Keep his mind busy. He didn’t like when Akane’s overthinking habits rubbed off on him. And lately, they had been. A lot.

He focused, drew a breath, and started his warm-up. It didn’t take long for him to get into it. So into it that he didn’t notice the man in the doorway until it was too late.

He nearly yelped.

“M—Mr. Tendo!”

The older man stood still, arms behind his back, watching him. Ranma hated how easily this man could sneak up on him. It was creepy. There was something about him that Ranma couldn’t read, and it bothered him. Because Akane had paid the price for that kind of silence. And Ranma hadn’t forgotten.

He was still scrambling for what to say when Mr. Tendo walked in and sat down formally, facing the shrine. Ranma started to apologize and leave, but the man cut him off.

“Ranma-kun. Please be seated.”

There was no room for argument in that voice. Ranma swallowed hard and knelt down across from him, back straight, hands clenched on his thighs.

“I’m not normally outspoken,” the man began.

No kidding, Ranma thought.

“But I believe the situation calls for it. I know you and my daughter are very close.”

Ranma flushed. Did he mean close close? Or—?

“Aside from warning you to behave yourself,” Mr. Tendo continued, “this is a welcome development.”

Ranma blinked. Wait… what?

“Our families and their heritage. Kasumi tells me you’re aware of the arrangement.”

Oh, hell.

Ranma's stomach dropped. Did everyone know? Did Akane?

“Kasumi has asked me not to tell Akane yet, even though the timing feels right. But this is your duty, Ranma-kun. Yours and hers.”

Ranma surprised himself. “It would be a colossally bad idea, sir.”

Mr. Tendo’s eyes narrowed.

“I can understand Kasumi questioning her father,” he said. “You, however, do not have that right.”

Ranma winced. “With all due respect, sir… I’m just afraid of Akane’s temper.”

Great. Insult her. Nice job, genius.

To his surprise, Mr. Tendo smiled faintly. Then sighed.

“But this is what makes it perfect. You care about each other. My daughter is happier with you around. I believe, if the news came from you, she might accept it. And with my renewed friendship with Genma, it’s time to honor our promise.”

Ranma sighed. Everyone was pushing. Couldn’t they just back off? He’d already said he’d think about it. Wasn’t that enough? Did it have to be forced?

“Sir,” Ranma said slowly. “I don’t think you know your daughter as well as you think.”

He might’ve imagined it, but it looked like Mr. Tendo flinched.

“Akane values her independence. She doesn’t take well to being told what to do. If you try to corner her into something—especially marriage—it could destroy everything between us.”

The older man paused.

“Even so, Akane knows her duty. If framed properly, I’m sure she could be persuaded—”

“Persuaded?” Ranma cut in. “You mean manipulated. You’d use her sense of duty against her?”

He was shaking now, voice rising. “You’d take the one thing that defines her—her right to choose—and twist it? Hasn’t she been through enough? You know she’s had to raise herself half the time! And now you want to pin her down for your sake?”

Mr. Tendo looked shaken.

Ranma pressed on. “Please don’t talk to me about duty. Not when it means hurting her.”

Then, quietly, but clearly: “I love Akane, sir.”

The words were out before he could stop them. His heart was hammering. He wanted to run. But he kept going.

“I wish things had just developed naturally. I wish it had been our idea. But I will ask her to marry me.”

His voice trembled slightly. “Not because of some family deal. Because I love her. And I see a future with her. A family. But if she ever finds out this was orchestrated—if anyone pushes her—it could ruin everything.”

He met the man’s eyes.

“So here’s the condition. No one brings it up. Not to her. Not even if she says no. I mean it. It’s up to us. Or it’s not happening.”

Ranma took a shaky breath. His hands were clenched so tightly his fingers hurt. He lowered his head, suddenly overwhelmed.

'I will ask her to marry me.'

What the hell had he just done?

He barely noticed Mr. Tendo placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Ranma-kun,” the older man said quietly. “It means a lot that you’re thinking of her happiness.”

Ranma nodded, unable to speak.

“But remember, this is family honor. And you’ve made a promise.”

Ranma nodded again.

“I won’t mention it again,” Mr. Tendo said, his voice lighter now. “But I trust you to keep your word.”

Then, in an almost cheerful tone: “I’ll leave you to your training. I’m sure Akane won’t be long now.”

He stood, bowed to the shrine, and walked out.

Ranma stared at the doorway long after he was gone.

It was going to happen.

Wasn’t it?

OOOOOOOO

Thank God school was finally over. Akane hadn’t understood why seniors wrapped up a few weeks ahead of everyone else—until now. The quiet felt like mercy. Shame she’d missed most of the year-end activities.

Graduation had come and gone in a blur. Low-key, just her friends and classmates. A milestone, at least. She’d made it through exams. Aced them, even. Good. That meant a better shot at Keio.

Most of the universities she’d applied to had responded, impressed with her academic record. A few had hinted at scholarships, contingent on final results—especially the National Exams.

At least now she had more time to study.

She had to get in. She’d already given up so much of herself this year. She was so tired she could barely feel it anymore. Even sleep, when it came, was fragmented and restless. Her stomach was rarely interested in food. She couldn’t shut her mind off.

Akane let out a short, bitter laugh that hit her hard in the ribs. Her eyes stung.

Sleeping properly? What a joke.

She envied people like Yuka. Like Ranma. He could crash anywhere, anytime, without a second thought. She’d seen it more times than she could count.

He had exams too. Five theoretical ones at least. He’d actually started studying. It was messy and scattered, of course. He couldn’t organize anything to save his life. When bored, he’d switch topics on a whim. It drove her nuts.

Right after her graduation, when the nerves had finally eased for a few hours, he’d camped in her room with his books and notes. All over the floor. His handwriting was a disaster. Half the time, he asked her to help decipher it. It was chaotic. But he always had energy, even late at night.

If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own panic, she might’ve found it cute. But mostly, it exasperated her. Still, she held her tongue. Because his presence—despite the chaos—comforted her.

And maybe that was part of the problem.

“I know there’s a lot,” he’d shrugged. “So I just... I dunno. I just do it.”

Of course he did. He never worried about failing. Or getting things perfect. Or running out of time.

Why couldn’t she be like that? Just a little?

She hated how childish it made her feel—how badly she wanted him to agree with her just so she could feel less insane.

He’d been in her room a lot lately. Studying. Distracting. Napping. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose.

His naps always came the same way: a yawn, a stretch, a dramatic sigh. “Wake me in ten?” And then out cold. On her floor, her bed, her chair—whatever surface was closest.

And when he woke up? Fresh as anything.

Why couldn’t she do that?

Lately, his presence had started to fray her nerves. She didn’t have patience for distractions anymore, especially not when he was in a good mood.

Two Thursdays ago, he’d come by, tired but oddly content. He had an exam the next day and was clearly feeling the pressure. And she—shamefully—had been relieved. It wasn’t just her. He wasn’t invincible.

The guilt of that thought lingered. It made her feel twisted. But maybe it made her feel a little less alone.

The heat of summer pressed in. She thought, fleetingly, of ditching it all to lie in the sun and do absolutely nothing.

Two more weeks.

Just two.

She went back to her notes. Time disappeared.

A sudden voice startled her out of her focus.

“Hi!”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Ranma was already halfway through her window.

“Ranma! Don’t scare me like that!” she snapped, her whole body wound tight.

He raised both hands defensively. “Geez, Akane… Take it easy. Sorry I scared you.”

She tried to force a smile but failed. That alone told her how off-balance she was. Normally, his presence helped. Today, it just reminded her of how strung-out she felt.

“It’s fine,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

She glanced at the clock.

“You’re early,” she said before she could filter her tone.

He hesitated. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer. She stared at her notes, trying to decide if she should ask him to leave. Or at least to stay quiet.

“Any time for a bit of training?” he asked.

She shook her head. Not even remotely.

Then his hands landed lightly on her shoulders.

She froze.

Ranma’s rhythm had always been different from hers. She usually appreciated that. But today, it was throwing her off. Everything was throwing her off.

He rubbed slow, gentle circles into her shoulders.

She flinched.

“Ouch,” she whispered.

“Akane,” his voice was laced with worry. “You’re way too tense. These muscles are fried. You need real rest. Maybe a hot bath or—”

“I’m fine,” she cut in sharply.

They both knew it was a lie.

But his fingers didn’t leave. In fact, they softened. And slowly, the pain dulled. She exhaled. Let her body sink a little deeper into the chair.

She hadn’t realized how much everything hurt until it started to ease.

Then he was guiding her up from the chair. She didn’t resist. When she turned to face him, his expression startled her. Serious. Focused. Unusual.

They stood there. Silent. Heavy.

Then he hugged her.

She didn’t return it at first. Couldn’t. Her muscles screamed. Her brain buzzed. But she let it happen. Let him hold her.

And then, eventually, she melted. Just a little. Let herself rest against him. Her arms didn’t move, but her body sagged into his. Her face found his neck.

She breathed him in.

Warmth. Safety. Summer.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered.

She nearly laughed. Everything was wrong.

“Apart from the whole world resting on my exams?” she grumbled.

“That’s not what I meant.”

She went quiet.

“I want to help,” he said. “If your mind won’t rest, maybe your body can.”

She didn’t answer.

Then he poked her neck.

“Ow! What was that for?” She slapped his arm.

He tilted his head, arms crossed. “You’re sore. I can help. If you let me.”

He looked almost shy.

She wavered.

“I’m worried about you,” he added, so quietly she almost missed it. “You’re not eating. You barely sleep. Please. Let me help. Even just a little.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak. But she nodded.

He smiled. Then knelt, tugging gently on her hand. She joined him on the floor.

“Lay back. Try to loosen up. Let me know if it hurts.”

She did her best.

Ranma worked with precision and patience. He stretched her limbs, massaged sore spots, adjusted joints. Some moves hurt. Others soothed. The pain shifted into something manageable. Almost pleasurable.

She drifted.

At some point, he mumbled, “Go to sleep… stubborn,” just barely audible.

Then, “All done,” he said. Something in his tone had changed.

She sat up slowly, blinking. He was watching her, arms crossed, frowning.

“Thanks, Ranma,” she said, glancing at her books. She moved to return to the desk, but he held the chair in place.

“You should sleep now,” he said.

“I can’t,” she replied flatly. “Too much to do.”

“Your body’s relaxed now. But your mind—”

“Ranma, it’s been an hour. I can’t waste more time.”

She tugged the chair again. He didn’t let go.

Her temper spiked.

“You need a nap.”

“And you need to understand that I can’t,” she snapped. “No matter how many times you say it.”

His voice dropped. Calm. Chilling.

“If you don’t, you’ll be just as tense again in two hours.”

“I said no.”

He didn’t move.

“What, you gonna tie me to the bed?” she mocked.

He stepped close.

“I don’t need to tie you up.”

She turned to glare at him. “You wouldn’t—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Pressure. Darkness.

Everything went still.

OOOOO

When Akane opened her eyes, she felt a bit dizzy, but surprisingly well-rested. She couldn’t quite remember what day it was. It had been a dreamless, deeply restful sleep—highly unusual. The room was dim, but it didn’t feel like early morning. Too warm.

She began to stretch, expecting the usual tightness in her neck. But there was none. Odd. Moaning a little, she sat up.

She blinked, trying to clear the lingering blur from her vision.

That’s when she saw Ranma, sitting on her chair, legs crossed, hands resting on his ankles. The sight startled her so badly a rush of adrenaline jolted her awake. She felt herself smiling, reflexively.

“Ranma! What—”

Then her mind caught up. She looked down at herself, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, lying over the covers—

She remembered. The smile died. Anger surged.

She swung her legs over the side and stood. She couldn’t meet his gaze. He looked hopeful, smaller than usual—than he'd been just an hour ago, before he’d...

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said through clenched teeth, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry, Akane... but you were just—”

“No, you’re not sorry,” she snapped, voice low and shaking. “You had no right to do that to me.”

“But you needed it. You were only out for an hour—”

“How can you say I needed it?” she shouted, fists balled at her sides. “You have no idea what I’m going through! I’ve already lost two hours I could’ve spent studying!”

“But, Akane! Stop the rant!” Ranma leaned back, hands raised. “You’re rested now! You can get back to it, all you want!” His voice cracked with frustration.

She groaned aloud. He didn’t get it. He probably never would.

“Now I’m behind for today. Less sleep tonight. All because—”

“I know you think you have to do this,” he interrupted. “Run yourself into the ground with that insane schedule. But that won’t make it any easier—”

She wasn’t listening anymore. “I think I need to do this?” Her voice dropped to ice.

“But you do! And you don’t even see it! You can’t plan your way out of everything! You already know this stuff! An hour of sleep isn’t going to ruin your future. It’ll help!”

“You knocked me out! Against my will!”

“You were being really stubborn, Aka—”

“I have a right to be as stubborn as I want! This is hard! You have no idea how hard! You’ve never taken exams like these! You don’t even take school seriously!”

Her voice rose, spilling over with frustration and fatigue. Each word hit its mark, even as she felt the regret rising.

Ranma’s eyes widened, his hands gripping the chair tighter. He leaned away from her, recoiling.

And still she couldn’t stop. Because it wasn’t about logic. It was panic and pressure and the knowledge that he would never understand. That he couldn’t.

“You don’t know how much work this takes! You’ve never cared about studying, only martial arts! That’s not the real world, Ranma!”

Then she looked at him.

He looked small. Hurt. His whole body was pulled inward, as if trying to vanish. And it hit her, icy and immediate.

God, what had she done?

The words echoed in her head, too cruel to take back. Shame clamped tight around her heart. She wanted to disappear.

Ranma swallowed hard, blinking fast. He stood slowly, head down.

“I know I’m not...” he whispered, voice barely audible.

Smart. That’s what he was going to say.

She wanted to die.

They were supposed to protect each other. Trust each other. But she’d used his deepest insecurity like a weapon.

Ranma was still avoiding her eyes. But then something shifted. His expression hardened. He looked straight at her, like he was about to say something important—but stopped.

He turned away.

She panicked.

“Ranma, I—”

But the words collapsed.

He moved to the window. Muscles tensed.

She grabbed his arm. “Don’t go!”

He sighed, shaking her off gently. He braced himself to jump.

But then, just as suddenly, he dropped his head.

“You know what, Akane...” he muttered, voice hollow. He half-turned.

His tone stopped her cold.

“I’m dead on my feet. I’ve felt that way most of the past year.” He exhaled. “You talk about responsibility all the time. I’m trying, Akane. I really am. I’m training harder than ever. I’m chasing things I might want in the future. But you’re important too.”

A glance. A flash of rawness.

“I’m sorry I can’t always be here exactly when you want, or say exactly what you want. But locking yourself away like this isn’t going to help you. You know how much I care about martial arts. How little time I have. And I’m still here.”

She hadn’t realized she was crying.

“But because you want to be responsible...” He gave a short laugh. “Well, you got your wish. Keep everyone out. Lock the door. See how that works out.”

Then softer, near a whisper:

“I thought I knew you, Akane. But sometimes... sometimes I don’t think you know yourself at all.”

He turned again.

“Good night, Akane.”

And then he was gone.

She collapsed to the floor, sobbing, unable to call out, unable to do anything but shake and cry.

TBC...

Chapter Text

"The Chance of Change"

A Ranma ½ fanfiction by Pia-san

Chapter Eight: Suspended Souls (Part IV)

Latest Revision: May/2025

OOOOOO

Ranma, standing below Akane’s window, had been frozen for minutes. He squinted into the darkness, the boundary wall before him blurry and unimportant. Everything felt distant. He knew it was a big deal—her breaking down like that—but part of him also didn’t care. Or maybe couldn’t afford to. Something had cracked in him, too.

Some twisted part of him felt almost justified—like finally, finally, he had a reason to be angry at her. For real. But hearing her sobs above made his chest tighten, even if his mind refused to let it register. It all felt muted, dull. He couldn’t move.

His body tensed like he might just crumple in on himself. Just for a second. But then, with a deep breath, he turned and bolted.

At home, he barely paused—brushed past his family with hurried excuses, shoved clothes into his bag, and was gone again. The whole time, he didn't allow a single thought to settle.

The train ride back to school was agony. Nowhere to run, nothing to do. He even pulled out a textbook to feign focus. But his thoughts were a storm: guilt, anger, fear. Mostly fear. He’d promised things. He wanted to keep them. But what if she didn’t want him to anymore?

By the time he reached campus, he felt like a wire stretched to breaking. Luckily, Arata was in.

“Put on some training clothes,” Ranma said, flat. Arata blinked. "Sure. You okay?"

They sparred under the stars. Ranma struck wildly, Arata dodging. Then Ling-Ling appeared.

“Focus, Saotome-san,” she called.

She coached them, cool and sharp. With a few precise moves, she flattened Ranma. Her technique was terrifying—swift, surgical. Ranma burned with embarrassment and admiration. They drilled again and again. Ranma got floored repeatedly. But it helped. The pain gave him something to hold onto.

By the time they collapsed into bed, he was too exhausted to think.

OOOOOOOO

Akane tried to study. She really did. But her brain refused to cooperate. The guilt was too thick.

She hadn’t slept after Ranma had jumped out the window. The words she’d thrown at him haunted her. The look on his face—shocked, wounded—played on a loop in her mind.

By dawn, she gave up and returned to her books. Except… she already knew the material. She’d aced a mock exam without thinking. That should’ve been a revelation. It wasn’t.

She didn’t care. None of it mattered if she couldn’t fix what she’d done to Ranma.

Eventually, she curled up on her bed and let herself cry, again. She remembered the way he’d touched her—carefully, respectfully—and it broke her.

‘Go to sleep, stubborn,’ she imagined him muttering.

So she did.

OOOOOOOO

Thursday.

Ranma told himself he was fine. He stayed late on campus, telling himself it was to do homework. But really, he was avoiding going home.

He read, distracted. Dropped his pen. Fell backwards off his chair in slow-motion. Lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

What was he even doing? He was worried. That was all. That’s why he hadn’t gone home.

Finally, he grabbed his stuff and ran for the train. He’d figure it out when he got there.

OOOOOOOO

Akane couldn’t take it anymore. She walked to Ranma’s house without a plan, hoping to catch him.

Instead, she ended up sitting stiffly at the Saotome dining table, drinking iced tea while Nodoka watched her with unsettling intensity. Ranko popped in and out, curious. It was all painfully awkward.

“He’s usually home by now,” Nodoka murmured.

Akane panicked internally. The last thing she wanted was to explain everything to Ranma’s mother.

But somehow, the woman coaxed it out of her. Akane admitted she’d said horrible things. That she needed to apologize. Nodoka, surprisingly, didn’t scold her—instead, she praised her for coming.

Then she invited Akane to stay for dinner.

They played cards. Monopoly. Akane almost relaxed. For a moment, it felt like something close to family.

But Ranma didn’t come home.

Eventually, Akane walked home, the misery she'd kept at bay creeping back in.

She stopped at the park. Sat on the bench where she’d shared so many moments with Ranma. Let herself cry.

She missed him so much it hurt.

OOOOO

As he stepped off the train, Ranma found himself walking on autopilot. He only realized where he was heading when the thought of seeing Akane occurred to him. His feet had already decided. He really should have called home to let them know he’d be late.

He felt an odd dread settle in his chest. He didn’t know what he expected. Didn’t know what he’d say. Didn’t even know if she’d want to see him. But the way they’d left things...

He kept telling himself he was fine with what she’d said. Really. Not fine fine. But maybe it had just been a fight, and maybe they’d even been due for one. Still... her words had hit a little too close to his worst insecurities. And having someone you cared about throw those things in your face—well, it made it hard to blame it all on stress and let it go.

Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe he should’ve just gone home and called her, or waited for her to reach out. But he’d been the one to walk away... shouldn’t he be the one to make the first move?

His head throbbed. His stomach churned. None of this was like him.

Did she really think his whole career—and what a weird word that was—wasn’t enough? He’d never thought of martial arts as a career before she said it. He just lived his life, trained. And didn’t she care about the dojo too? Where had that even come from?

An unsettling thought hit him.

Were they... equals? They had to be, right? He’d always thought so. He’d always admired her—her grit, her smarts, her kindness, the way she never seemed to know how amazing she was. He even admired how she got angry. How she let him get to her.

Was it the same for her?

Why him? What was it about him she liked? Besides martial arts, he didn’t think he had much going for him. Sure, he knew he was good-looking—people had told him. He’d been the most popular guy at school, technically. But that didn’t mean anything.

Maybe if he’d dressed more like everyone else, cut his hair regulation-style, there wouldn’t have been much to look at.

Had he really changed since they met? Maybe a little. But did it even matter?

He could admit it now: when he’d gone back to school that night, he hadn’t been okay. Not really. Even after that brutal workout with Arata, he’d kept waking up. First time that had ever happened.

His pace slowed. He thought back to the argument. He’d only wanted to take care of her. He knew she’d be mad about the pressure point thing—but he hadn’t expected the rage.

He paused as a thought returned, stronger now.

What she’d hated most was that he’d made a choice for her. That was it. That was what had hurt her.

His chest tightened. He hadn’t even brought up the engagement yet. And now he was just plain scared. Back when he’d walked out, things had looked bad. Now, with a clearer head, they looked worse.

The streets were busy with rush hour, but Ranma barely noticed. It didn’t feel like four days had passed. More like he’d just run from her room.

This time, he felt the sadness fully. He’d run away before. Pretended it was fine. Now, he was scared. Scared to see her. Scared of what he’d say. Scared of what she might say. Scared his heart would break more if he didn’t see her.

School had kept him busy, had protected him. But now he was back. And he had to face her eventually.

Her words echoed in his head.

Had she really meant them? Any of them?

Finally, after a long walk, like so many times before, he found himself on her roof, above her window.

He was afraid. But he’d rather face it than keep running. He wasn’t built for this kind of second-guessing. And yet, when he finally followed his instincts... she wasn’t there.

He checked. No sign of her. Books on her desk, but no Akane. He waited—maybe she was in the bath, or out on a run, or training, or eating. He waited for the familiar surge of energy her presence always brought. But it never came. She just... wasn’t home.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. It had taken courage to get here. He wasn’t about to waste it.

Where was she?

Waiting had its perks. Gave him time to breathe. But it also gave him too much time to think.

Did she really think he didn’t understand her at all?

Maybe she was right. Maybe he wasn’t good enough for her.

Was this how it had been for his parents? He chuckled, bitterly. He’d always wondered how his mom had ended up with someone like his dad. Maybe he was more like the old man than he wanted to admit—just with better hair and eyes.

The sun went down. The air cooled. Still no sign of her.

She should’ve been back by now. With her exams coming up, she would never miss study time. Maybe she was with friends.

He waited. The city quieted. The house quieted. The Tendo household went to sleep. Still no Akane.

Eventually, he gave up. Disappointed, worried, and tired, he climbed down and walked home.

But as fate would have it, his route took him by the park.

And there she was.

Sitting on the bench near the big rock—that rock—where he’d embarrassed himself the day Ranko had intervened. His heart tugged. Trepidation swelled.

Did he really not get her?

Right now, she looked like everything she was laid bare. Sad. Still. Lost in thought. Her whole body radiating a quiet defeat.

He wanted to run to her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stood still.

He hoped she wasn’t crying. He prayed their fight wasn’t what had kept her like this for four days. That would hurt.

Four days. The longest they’d ever gone without fixing things.

He’d left. She’d been overwhelmed. He regretted it.

But more than anything now, he realized—he didn’t want to be taken for granted. Even if she could. He’d always come running. Just like now. All she had to do was ask.

But he wouldn’t run.

Because what he really wanted was for her to say it. To apologize. To own it. To see him.

He approached slowly, footsteps loud enough not to startle her. Her shoulders tensed before he spoke.

“Hey...” he said, softly.

She looked up. And in a flash, her face showed everything: relief, joy, confusion, sorrow, shame. All tangled together. It hit him hard.

She almost stood, almost reached out—but stopped. Her hands clenched the bench.

“What—?” she started, then stopped. Dropped her gaze.

She looked so tired. Focused on anything but him. An invitation, maybe. Not welcoming, but not rejection either.

Ranma stood his ground.

He didn’t want to make this easier. Not this time. It had to come from her.

She had to choose to reach out.

He knew her. She wouldn’t pretend nothing had happened. She’d mulled it over a hundred times more than he had. She probably had a thousand things to say. And somehow, that made him want to smile.

He’d always wanted to make things easier for her. But this time, he couldn’t.

He’d already said his piece, hadn’t he? Right before jumping out her window. Not all of it. Not what he really felt. But enough.

He watched her face. Eyes shut briefly. A tiny, tired smile. Then she looked up.

"Ranma... I thought you were at school."

He blinked. Of all the things—“It’s Thursday,” he said, shrugging slightly.

“I know. I was at your house today... I was hoping to…” she trailed off.

His heart thudded.

She’d been waiting for him.

“Your mom thought maybe you’d had to stay at school and forgot to tell her.”

He chuckled. Her face softened.

“I was at the dojo just now. Came straight from school,” he said, turning to show his backpack.

“Oh,” she said, then went quiet again.

“I...” she tried. “I didn’t think you’d—” She faltered. “I couldn’t wait to see you... but I was scared you might not…”

Ranma’s resolve melted. He let it.

He took off his backpack and sat beside her. She looked just as scared as he’d been earlier. Was she scared of him? Of rejection?

They sat quietly, not touching. Her hands clutched the bench. He leaned forward, hands loose between his knees. His bracelets itched, giving him something to focus on. But he stayed still.

“I was afraid you might not want to see me...” she said.

Ranma didn’t respond.

“I didn’t mean the things I said… I don’t think I can forgive myself. I don’t expect you to—”

“Akane...” he interrupted. It hurt to hear her stumble like that.

She looked at him, eyes full of pain and resolve. Whatever he’d planned to say vanished.

“You’re the best person I know,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like anything less… so sorry… You have no idea...”

He reached out and gently loosened her grip on the bench.

“You’ve been nothing but good to me…” she said, eyes dropping. “And I’ve been ungrateful…”

“It’s okay,” he said softly. It surprised him how easily it came.

Akane gasped.

“But Ranma—”

“Be quiet, Akane,” he said, a shy smile tugging at his lips. She shut up.

“I knew you wouldn’t like what I did. I pushed it.”

She listened.

“You need to let people help you,” he said, echoing something his teacher once told him. “It won’t make you weak. It’ll make you stronger.”

He paused.

“Akane... I’m sorry, too.”

She tried to interrupt, but he kept going.

“You’ve told me I’m always doing something, always full of energy? You’re the same. You just go about it differently. You do so much. You’re always moving. Worrying. Fixing things. It’s exhausting just watching you,” he said with a quiet laugh.

Her eyes were wide.

“I think this is just your way. You always succeed. You always get what you want. You just need to trust yourself.”

She choked on a sob.

He looked over, worried. She was crying—but smiling.

He squeezed her hand. She dried her face.

“Oh, Ranma...” she sighed. “You always...” Her voice broke.

“C’mon, Akane,” he said, louder. “I mess up, you mess up—”

“A lot,” she added.

“—and we’re both sorry. Doesn’t change anything, does it?”

She smiled. “I still couldn’t wait to see you...”

“Yeah, me too.”

She turned her palm up. Their fingers laced together.

“Your mom was really nice to me today...”

“She was?” he asked, wary.

“She made me stay for dinner. Force-fed me.”

He chuckled. “Good. You’re so skinny you lost all your curves—”

“Hey!” she snapped, out of habit. He grinned.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She blushed.

“So... any more studying tonight?”

“I think not. I’ll try not to, at least.”

She yawned.

“C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”

They walked in silence. At the gate, she turned.

“I didn’t say this, but... I’m grateful you knocked some sense into me.”

He smiled. “Anytime.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

She nodded.

He leaned in. Her breath hitched. Was she afraid?

He touched her cheek. She sighed and leaned in. He kissed her, soft and quick.

“G’night, Akane.”

“Night...” she said, stepping inside. She looked back before closing the door. He stood there, listening to her walk away.

He’d said everything he needed to. She’d apologized. It should’ve been enough.

So why did he still feel hollow?

Her anger, her words—he still remembered them. Felt them. As if they’d just happened. Why couldn’t he let go?

He stood there, numb.

Then, without thinking, he ran.

He jumped the wall and made his way to her window.

It was open.

He climbed in.

Ranma landed quietly beside her desk, barely making a sound—except for his bag, which thudded to the floor louder than he wanted. He stood still, uncertain of why he’d come or what he was hoping for. Akane was on her bed in pajamas, slippers still on, visibly startled. It was a miracle she hadn’t screamed.

The room was dim, but she must’ve seen something in his face. Surprise shifted into concern—no, fear.

"Ak—Akane," he said hoarsely, louder than he meant to. The sound of it rattled in his ears, too raw.

"Ranma? What—?" She stood up, but didn’t get to finish.

He was already there, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. Her slight frame tensed in his hold. He didn’t care how embarrassing it was—his body needed to be near hers, his words spilled out before he could stop them.

"Please..." he choked, voice cracking. "You can’t say things like that again... It hurt too much..." His arms tightened. "Thinking you might think I’m a joke... that I’m not worth—"

Her breath hitched, warm against his ear. "No! Ranma, no... I was out of my mind. I didn’t mean it." Her voice trembled. "Ranma... my Ranma..." Her hands found him, moving gently across his scalp, his jaw. Holding him together. "I’m so sorry. I hurt you, I know that. There’s no excuse. Please forgive me..."

He didn’t answer. Just clung tighter.

Akane gently pulled his face up, making him look at her. He resisted at first—he felt ruined—but her eyes insisted. They were shining, tear-filled but calm. She touched his temples, feathered over his eyelids, and he exhaled.

"Ranma," she said, gaze unwavering. "You really are the best person I know. I don’t know how I got so lucky. You’re kind, fierce, and so generous... I’ll do anything to earn your trust again."

Something fluttered in his chest. The ache lessened. Maybe she’d been hurting too.

He leaned in until their foreheads touched. Her arms circled his neck. It steadied him.

"Ranma... my love..."

The word didn’t shock him at all. It grounded him. She had power over him—terrifying, beautiful power—and he couldn’t imagine not feeling this way.

He pulled away slightly, held her hands in his, and brought them to his lips. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“Say it again”.

Akane’s breath hitched.

Her fingers tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer. Her body trembled a little. Maybe she was falling apart too. That helped.

“I love you, Ranma.”

He brushed their noses together, letting out a long breath that let him feeling lightheaded. Her lashes brushed his cheek, wet and soft.

He kissed her.

It was hungry, unsteady. She answered with the same urgency, breath catching between kisses, hands pressing close. It didn’t feel like passion—it felt like safety, like a place he hadn’t known he missed.

Eventually, the kisses slowed. He realized he’d lifted her off the floor. He smiled and eased her back down.

She touched his cheek again, eyes glazed but tender. "Do you have to go back to school tomorrow?"

"Classes at eight," he murmured.

She sighed, resting her forehead on his shoulder. He breathed her in.

"If it’s not too inconvenient... maybe you could stay. Just tonight."

His answer was a kiss—gentle this time. "I’d really love to."

She smiled sleepily. "Good. Let’s go to bed."

He followed her without hesitation, curling around her as she lay down. Her fingers ran through his hair. He exhaled deeply.

"You’re rubbing off on me, Akane," he mumbled. "I’m a mess now, too."

"Oh, Ranma..." she whispered, full of warmth.

Five minutes later, his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. He hadn’t eaten since lunch.

"You have to feed me," he grumbled into her chest.

She giggled, the sound vibrating under his cheek. "Alright. I’ll go steal something."

"And I need the bathroom."

She looked at him.

"I’ll be very quiet," he promised.

She took his hand and led him out. He kicked off his slippers at the door.

They tiptoed downstairs. Akane’s heart pounded—not from fear, just the adrenaline of doing something quietly rebellious. Ranma vanished into the bathroom while she made for the kitchen. She flicked the light on.

There was a tray waiting—typical Kasumi. A single portion, but enough to start with. Maybe she should grab more—Ranma had school tomorrow. He’d need breakfast, and it wasn’t like they could eat with the family. Breakfast in bed, maybe?

She smiled at the thought, cheeks warm.

Back upstairs, he’d turned on her nightstand lamp and was lounging on the bed. She tried to sit carefully, balancing the tray.

"Watch it," he said.

She gave him a look. He smiled. The annoyance melted.

She leaned against the wall as he dug in.

"Save some for breakfast," she warned.

He grinned and nodded.

"Gods, you eat so much," she muttered, watching him inhale an onigiri.

"And you eat too little," he countered—and popped a grape into her mouth.

She chewed slowly. Her stomach growled.

"Huh... maybe you’re right." She grabbed an octopus sausage.

He snorted. "Of course I’m right."

They finished eating, Akane eventually moving the tray before Ranma could polish it off. He stripped down to his underwear, tossing clothes across the room. She watched him get comfortable. Her heart pounded again.

"Whatcha starin’ at?" he asked, voice low.

She smiled and joined him anyway, despite the warmth. He curled around her, head on her chest.

She was nearly asleep when he murmured, "Don’t wanna go to sleep. Missed this."

She blinked, smiled. "Yeah. Me too."

He wasn’t done. "So. You got quality time with the whole Saotome clan. That must’ve been fun."

She giggled. "It wasn’t that bad."

"Wow. Shocking."

Akane laughed.

“Hey, Akane…” he said softly.

“Yes?”

“I love you, too.”

She looked at him, her smile so radiant as to light up the whole room

They kept talking. And touching. And talking some more.

Honesty came easier now. They asked questions they’d never dared ask, and answered them without armor. Laughter slipped in. Jokes. Seriousness. Heat.

Akane felt utterly relaxed, her worries melting away. Ranma was affectionate, possessive, curious. She didn’t care where it led. They just held each other and talked through the night.

Eventually, the birds began to sing. Her hands slowed. Their breathing deepened. She set an alarm. He had a train to catch.

She fell asleep more peacefully than she had in weeks.

And the next morning, saying goodbye felt good.

OOOOOOOO

The national exams had arrived. Three days, one future.

Technically, she’d already been accepted—but high scores meant scholarships, and she needed those. Still, the pressure was lighter now. The final school exams, her graduation, even Senior Vengeance Day had all passed in a blur.

It was early. Cool air. Empty school grounds. The calm before.

Akane closed her eyes and let it wash over her.

She touched the pendant at her neck. Ranma had given it to her—said it marked their first kiss anniversary. She hadn’t remembered until he brought it up, and even then, vaguely. She’d felt bad. He’d told her not to worry, just to wear it to the exam. Said she could make it up to him later.

They’d argued about which anniversary was more important. He’d teased her. Promised to talk more after exams.

She smiled.

This week, she’d wear her uniform one last time.

She would enjoy these exams.

OOOOOOOO

"Akane, the man is a saint," Sayuri scolded. "And you are a terrible girlfriend."

"But I—"

"She’s right," Yuka said sharply. "How do you forget your first kiss anniversary?"

Akane tried to defend herself. But the tiny umbrella in her drink was easier to look at than their judgmental faces.

"You take him for granted," Sayuri added, wagging a finger. "He might get tired of it."

Akane sighed. "I know... but he’s happy with so little—"

"That’s not the point!" Sayuri said. "Do something for him. Buy him something, ask him out—"

"Would you ask a guy out?"

"Well, no. Unless he was already my boyfriend."

"Exactly."

Sayuri blinked. "Wait. You’ve never asked him out? Have you even gone on a proper date?"

Akane mumbled. "We train a lot... and I did plan a trip once..."

"Weirdos," Sayuri muttered.

Akane finally admitted, "I guess it’s always him who plans stuff. I don’t want to come up with something boring."

"So it’s insecurity," Sayuri declared.

Akane was about to object.

"He’s crazy about you," Sayuri said firmly. "He’ll go along with anything."

"Didn’t you just say not to make him go along with stuff I want?"

"The point is to show him you care."

Yuka chimed in softly. "You’ve got his summer break. His family’s away. Just plan something nice. You’ll be apart a lot this year, right?"

The words hit Akane hard.

"Yeah... you’re right."

They said goodbye soon after. On the way to the station, Akane paused outside a lingerie shop. She stared through the glass, not really seeing.

"Wanna go in?" Yuka asked.

Akane shook her head.

"Akane-chan?"

"You were right. We’ve been apart since he started at Yoshinkan, but now we’ll really be apart. I don’t doubt our feelings... but something’s off. I don’t know what. If I could just figure it out before I leave... maybe I wouldn’t feel so uneasy."

Yuka rested a hand on her shoulder.

"You’ve managed so far. You’ll be fine."

Akane smiled weakly. "Yeah. I guess."

Yuka smiled too. "Come on. Let’s go shopping."

Akane followed.

At least Yuka was quiet.

OOOOOOOO

Very early on Saturday morning, Ranma’s first day of complete freedom that summer, Akane had shown up at his house for breakfast with his family—before he’d even woken up. His brain had practically melted. No school meant sleeping in. Lazing around. Rejoining the waking world? Not a chance.

He’d been out cold, completely disoriented when his mom came to wake him. Even more so when he found Akane eating breakfast and keeping up with Ranko’s excited talk about their family trip.

Akane was bright. Sunshiney. So cheerfully awake it made him squint.

"Good morning, Ranma!" she chirped. "You look funny."

"Aaaa..." he managed.

"Ranma dear, hurry up! We’re running late. Breakfast’s ready—"

"Breakfast’s ready!!" Ranko echoed.

"I packed a few things for you already. But you really need to be quick."

His dad kept reading the paper in silence.

"Huh...?"

"Just go!" Akane said, still smiling.

"Ahh... okay," he mumbled, and shuffled off toward the bathroom.

Later, freshly showered and full of food, Ranma finally learned they were taking a trip. When they left the house carrying luggage, he panicked, hoping he hadn’t been roped into a family vacation. He’d made it clear he was skipping it this year. He didn’t have plans—not really—other than hanging out with his girlfriend. But how do you say, "Sorry, I bailed to do important nothing"?

Thankfully, at the station, his family had waved goodbye and rushed to catch a different train. And a whole crowd was waiting for them.

"It’s late! She said 9 AM!" Sayuri complained. "I don’t want to miss the train!"

"They’ll be here any minute," Yuka said.

"Bet Saotome’s fast asleep..."

Ranma blinked at the mix of people. Akane’s friends, his friends, Arata, and a couple of new girls. What was going on?

"We’re only ten minutes late," Akane said brightly.

He was surprised—and happy—to see Hiroshi and Daisuke there. From that point, the day flowed smoothly. Everyone was in high spirits, and it was easy to slip back into old high school rhythms. Hiroshi was a bit more reserved now, especially since one of the new girls was his girlfriend.

It wasn’t a guys’ trip, not really, but the girls were doing their own thing, and it worked out fine. They took the train to Lake Ashi, hiked, swam, picnicked, and ended the day at a modest inn with hot baths and a massive dinner. A step up from their last trip, Ranma thought.

The hike was leisurely, full of photo stops and girl-group bonding. Akane and her friends had folded the newcomers in effortlessly. Ranma occasionally caught their expressions and felt embarrassed just imagining what they might be gossiping about. Hopefully not them.

While the guys argued about wrestling and tried (poorly) to fish, Ranma saw Akane break off from the group and head up a steep path. Curious, he made his way to the girls.

"Do you know where Akane went?"

Yuka pointed. "Up there to take pictures."

He followed. The climb was tough, but manageable, and he found her near the top.

"-kane!"

She turned, smiled, and called back, "Hurry up, dummy. The view's amazing."

It was. The breeze was cool, and their friends below looked tiny. Ranma crouched beside her as she fiddled with her camera.

"Did you plan all this?"

"Yeah. Your mom helped me get in touch with everyone. I hope that was okay—"

He kissed her, hand gently behind her neck. Soft and sweet. She melted into it.

He shifted behind her, pulling her into his chest.

"Thanks," he whispered. "Today’s been great."

She leaned back against him. Her heart fluttered beneath his cheek.

"Ranma," she murmured. "It’s almost a year, you know."

"A year? Thought it was longer."

"It officially started a year ago."

"I go by our first kiss."

"I go by when you asked if I was your girlfriend."

They smiled.

"So, an anniversary?"

"Exactly."

"Sneaky..."

"I’m sorry I forgot our first kiss," she pouted.

"Didn’t expect you to remember."

"That sucks."

"Why?"

"Because you expected me to forget."

He sighed. "Just be patient with me too."

"Deal. So... should we do something special?"

"When?"

"Next weekend."

"That soon? I forgot."

She slapped his arms. He caught her again.

Catcalls echoed from below. Akane stood, gave him a brief view he had to blink away, and ruffled his hair.

"Go have fun with your friends."

"Should I?"

"Yep. Because in a few weeks, I won’t be sharing you at all."

He smiled. He wasn’t sure he heard her right, but it made his chest warm.

OOOOOOOO

Akane had worn the same dress from their first official date. She’d touched the pendant he'd given her that had, by some miracle, worked like a lucky charm—she’d aced all her exams.

Kasumi invited Ranma to lunch before their date, citing empty-nest symptoms. Nabiki had returned to Tokyo but moved into her own place. Akane wouldn’t be far behind.

Her emotions were a mess. Elated one moment, uneasy the next. The relief of finishing exams had left space for dread. What would happen to them once she left town?

The concert in the park was beautiful. Ranma was handsome, the mood festive. But the joy left her anxious. He looked so at ease. Like he belonged exactly where he was.

Her fist curled into the grass.

Then his hand covered hers. Warm. Steady. She didn’t look at him. Just listened to his breathing.

She saw it. So clearly it knocked the air out of her.

They would drift apart. It wasn’t pessimism. Just inevitability. Unless something changed. Unless they chose the same direction.

She couldn’t lose this. Wouldn’t. She’d fight for it.

OOOOOOOO

The concert ended. People trickled away. Ranma felt a chill. Akane was quiet, and that meant something. Something big.

He’d wanted to enjoy this day. Their time was limited. But she was somewhere else. He wanted to be angry. Instead, he just felt sad.

She hadn’t moved in an hour. Still curled in thought. He crouched behind her, slid his arms around her. She startled.

"Is... everything okay?"

She smiled. "That was so beautiful..."

Maybe she was just soaking in the music. Maybe he was overthinking.

"Wanna get something to eat?"

Her eyes shone. She kissed his nose.

"Let’s go, dummy. Help me up."

He pulled her to her feet. She hadn’t answered, but seemed better.

They walked in silence. But she sped up. Still tense. He caught her arm.

"Where are we going?"

"Just hungry. Want to be alone."

He got that. People were nosy. Family even worse. And he was keeping secrets too.

"Okay."

"Let’s go to your place," she said. "Your parents are gone, right?"

He nodded.

She beamed. "Perfect!"

He raised a brow. "I thought you didn’t like it there."

"I never said that. Just thought sneaking into your room was harder."

She pulled his arms around her. He swallowed.

"We can do normal things. Just us."

Her waist was small under his hands. Her eyes big.

Of course his stomach growled.

"I’ll feed you," she teased.

"Eeeh..."

"Not cooking, idiot. I had something else in mind. But maybe you should cook."

He laughed. Cooking didn’t sound bad.

They bought food from a convenience store and rushed back. Akane was in a hurry. He didn’t get why. But whatever she wanted, he’d go with.

Back at the house, the silence wasn’t quite comfortable. She helped in the kitchen, quiet. Music played softly. Her mood was heavy.

It had to be the move. It had to be. He dreaded asking. But if she was thinking, she’d tell him. Eventually.

OOOOO

Having the house to himself was strange. Not that he didn’t like it. Quite the opposite. He was ridiculously proud of himself for the fact that, for the past week, he’d managed to live alone without destroying anything in the process. It was as if the house were his. And Akane fluttering around, tidying up while he worked in the kitchen, gave him a weird thrill. This was different. They’d never had time like this before. Maybe it was a little like their camping trip, ages ago. But this felt even better.

So no, he didn’t want to ruin it by pressing her to talk about whatever was clearly on her mind.

“It’s too dark,” she said suddenly from the kitchen doorway, her white dress glowing faintly. She was right. The daylight had faded, casting the house in that in-between time when it's both night and not yet night. Enough light to see outside, but not quite enough inside.

“Here, stir this,” he said. Her eyes widened, and he chuckled. “Just stir it,” he clarified. She came over, took the spoon from his hands, and he watched her for a second before slipping away to open the sliding doors. The breeze rolled in. It was nice. Late summer. He turned on a few lights, flipped on the TV, and started channel surfing.

“Wanna watch something?” he called.

No answer.

He returned to the kitchen. Akane was still stirring the curry with exaggerated focus.

“Yo,” he said from the doorway. “I turned on Ranko’s lights. Looks nice. Wanna see?”

“Ranko’s lights?” she echoed, eyes flicking toward him, then back to the pan.

“Yeah. Some fairy lights Mom set up outside so Ranko wouldn’t be scared at night. They go all around the garden to her window. They’re nice.”

“Huh. Nice,” she murmured.

He turned the heat to low, covered the pan, and took her hand. “Come on,” he said, switching off the radio. She let herself be pulled into the dining room.

“Oh… you’re right. It looks really nice,” she said with a soft smile. She poured juice for them. They sat on the floor. The TV buzzed quietly in the background.

“So how bored were you at the concert?” she teased.

“Ahhh,” Ranma said, leaning back. “Well…” He flipped channels. “Let’s just say I might have been more entertained by something like… this!”

Infomercial. For sports equipment.

“You could’ve said you didn’t want to go,” Akane said, head resting on her hand.

“I didn’t not want to go. I just didn’t really know what it was,” he said, pouting.

She laughed. “Oh, Ranma,” she said, kissing him quickly before grabbing the remote. “What about this one?” she asked. Competition show. “Kasumi liked this one—Oof!” she winced as a contestant faceplanted.

Ranma laughed. “I could ace that show.”

“That would be cheating!” she protested.

“So? I could make a living off it.”

“Gimme that,” he said, reclaiming the remote.

“Oh no… it’s like they’re trying to be bad,” she groaned.

“Yup. I’m applying. Why haven’t I thought of this before?”

Akane laughed. “Maybe I could try it too!”

“Naaah,” he waved her off. “Too clumsy. You’d just slow me down.”

He could have dodged, but he let her slap him on the forehead. Loudly.

“And you’re too heavy-handed. No finesse.”

“Ranma!” she protested, but he just laughed, pulling her closer. She didn’t resist. They watched more TV. Everything felt easy.

Dinner was nice. Dessert, better. They took bowls of fruit and ice cream out to the porch.

Then her mood shifted again.

“I got my train tickets this morning,” she said. “And the dorm info came Friday. I sent the forms back.”

Ranma smiled faintly, heart thudding. He hated this part.

“So you’re all set?” he asked, trying to sound upbeat.

She nodded.

“Guess it was worth it to have Crazy Akane around,” he joked.

She looked up, not angry, just embarrassed. Maybe it reminded her of their fight. He rushed to change the subject.

“You excited?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, eyes brightening. “I can’t believe I’m starting university!”

Of course she was. She’d worked so hard. She deserved it. He smiled but felt like pouting.

“Ne, Ranma?” she said softly.

He looked over, finishing his dessert.

“Mmm?”

“Do you think you could… come with me? Just for that weekend? Help me get settled?”

His whole brain lit up. “Sure! Sounds great. It can be our trip this year, since we didn’t go anywhere.”

Her mood lifted. “Oh! You’re right.” She smiled, rubbing her stomach. “Thanks for dinner, Ranma.” She stood.

He thought she was leaving, disappointed. But then she said, “Bathroom,” and skipped off. He relaxed.

He gathered the dishes, then gave up on cleaning. When he came back, she was standing on the porch, gazing at the lights.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “These lights are beautiful.”

He joined her. The night felt charged. Romantic. It hit him suddenly: they were completely alone. Privacy like this didn’t happen often.

He fiddled with his wrist wraps, trying not to think too much.

“What’s wrong with them?” she asked.

“They’re heavy. I want them off, but I need help.”

“Dummy. You should’ve said so. Let me,” she said gently.

He offered his arm. She took his hand first, tracing his palm with her thumbs. Her touch was soft, firm, deliberate.

She examined the bracelet, fingers grazing the metal. Ranma felt it all, phantom and real. Goosebumps.

Her hands traveled slowly, thumbs circling his skin. His brain shorted out.

“They’re warm,” she murmured. “I thought they’d be cool.”

“They absorb my body heat fast. Cool down quick after.”

She unfastened the clasps, slowly, deliberately. Ranma exhaled shakily.

“It’s so heavy,” she said, surprised.

He flexed his wrist as she set it down, then her hands returned, massaging his forearm.

He hadn’t known he was ticklish there. Or that it would make him feel this way.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Endurance training.” That was all he could manage.

“You are stronger than when we met,” she said, unfastening the second one. “I like it. It does things to me.” Her hands slid up his arms, to his chest, then his shoulders. Her eyes followed.

Ranma wanted to kiss her. Now. But she didn’t move.

So he did. Closed the distance.

Only to find she’d leaned back, smirking.

Tease.

It made him want her more. He pulled her in, one arm around her waist, the other cradling her head. Their lips met.

Akane gasped, clinging to him. Their mouths moved together, urgent and open, tongues brushing. Her chest pressed to his. He groaned, pulling her closer, kissing harder.

He bit her lip.

Akane gasped.

And then everything changed

OOOOO

Maybe Akane hadn’t been expecting to be, well... attacked. But she fought back. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, fingers grabbing at his hair, his collar, pulling him in. Her mouth opened wider against his, lips parted as he deepened the kiss. Ranma inhaled sharply and slid his tongue against hers, greedy to taste her. Akane whimpered. It was different. A little violent. A little wild. He was in her mouth, in her space, and it sent a jolt of arousal so sharp it left him lightheaded.

He needed more—more of her, closer, everywhere. His left hand dropped, hovering just above her butt. He hesitated. Was this okay? But then she rose up on her toes, and his hand landed fully against her backside. As they kissed, her leg lifted, wrapping around his. Ranma groaned, holding her as tight as he dared. She wasn’t pulling away. She was pulling him closer.

His hand slid from her ass down her thigh, then up again, fingers slipping under her dress. Skin, soft and hot, met his touch. There should have been more fabric there. What was she wearing?

Akane’s leg locked tighter around him.

Ranma realized what she was trying to do. He shifted his stance and helped her up, his hands supporting her thighs as she jumped. Her other leg wrapped around him. Her dress hiked up. His hands, now full of her, didn’t know where to settle.

Oh. This was definitely new.

The dress was in his way. That damn dress. He wanted to tear it off, to feel her skin, her chest against his. But there was more skin than he expected. His fingers met only the thinnest strip of fabric beneath the hem.

"You wearin' a—" he mumbled, still kissing her.

"Thong," she breathed, and shifted against him.

He groaned. That single word short-circuited his brain. The idea of her almost-naked under his hands—it was too much. He was already lost. He needed her. Now. Her body pressed against his arousal, and he groaned again. Holding her up wasn’t easy, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Somehow, he managed to stumble them both toward the house, kissing her the entire way. He fumbled them into the kitchen and, gracelessly, dropped her on the counter. She bounced, laughed, and pulled him back in.

Her fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, fumbling. He yanked it over his head in one swift move and let it fall. The air hit his skin. Cool. Too cool. He was burning. He kissed her again, and her hands roamed his back, slipping under the waistband of his pants and into his boxers, grabbing his ass with no hesitation.

Ranma growled low, pulling her against him so hard she nearly slid off the counter. His mouth left hers to trace the line of her neck. Akane tilted her head back, giving him more.

"Ran-ma..." she moaned.

He froze. Not from fear, but awe. He’d never heard her like that. Her voice, raw and loud in the quiet house, reminded him how alone they really were. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder and breathed her in, trying to steady himself. He was trembling.

She pulled him back in slowly, her arms draping over his shoulders, legs softening their grip around his waist.

"Ak—Akane..." he whispered. He was on the edge. And if she didn’t stop him, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself.

Her chest rose and fell just inches from his lips.

"I don’t think I can—" He gasped. "If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to..."

Akane didn’t speak. Instead, her legs climbed up his sides again, curling around his hips. Her hands pressed gently to his chest. She met his eyes.

Then she smiled. A small, shaky thing.

"Well," she said, looking away with a blush. "Let’s not, then. Stop, I mean. Let’s not."

Ranma swallowed hard. His body surged back to life at her words, even as his brain tried to catch up. He hovered above her lips.

"Akane..."

"Let’s just... take it slow," she whispered, brushing her fingers along his jaw.

He searched her eyes. She was nervous. He could see it in the way she bit her lip, the way her voice wavered. But she wasn’t backing away.

He nodded, overwhelmed by tenderness. He wanted to say so many things, but none of them came out. All he could do was kiss her again, this time slow, hesitant, reverent.

His hands slid up to her neck, cradling her. He could feel her pulse fluttering beneath her skin. One hand traced her jaw, the other found the strap of her dress. He pushed it down, baring her shoulder, then kissed the spot where it had rested.

Akane sighed and wrapped her hands in his hair, holding him there. He kissed lower, tasting the top of her breast through the fabric. Her hands tightened in his hair, her breath catching.

He slipped one arm behind her, pulling her toward him. His other hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back. She arched into him as his mouth moved over her breast, the fabric dampening under his lips.

She moaned. Loud. Arching so hard she almost hit the wall.

Ranma groaned and kept going.

Her hands fumbled at the buttons of her dress. He tried to help, but lost patience. After popping the top ones open, he pulled at the fabric, exposing more.

Then he froze.

"You’re not wearing a bra," he said dumbly.

Akane smiled and shook her head.

He blinked. "Oh, Akane, you’re the best," he mumbled, and dove back in.

She laughed. Then moaned again. The sounds tangled together, driving him wild.

"Ranma..." she gasped. "Let’s get more comfortable."

She slid off the counter, her chest brushing his. They both gasped. He held her against him for a second, then grinned.

He dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around her legs, and threw her over his shoulder.

"Hey!" she yelped, half laughing, half indignant.

He made it to his room in record time, kicking the door shut behind them. The streetlights cast a soft glow. He set her down, breathless. Her hair was a mess. Her dress was barely hanging on. And she was laughing.

Ranma wanted to howl. She was perfect.

They collided again, all lips and limbs. She tried to climb him, he tried to lift her. They fell backwards onto the bed in a tangled heap.

"Oh gods, Ranma!" she giggled as he kissed her neck. "We can’t be this clumsy. We’ll never get anywhere!"

"Oh yeah?" he challenged.

"Mmm... yeah..." she said, but her laughter turned into a moan as he found a sensitive spot.

"Watch me."

He fumbled with the rest of the buttons, then gave up and knelt, positioning her between his legs. She laid back, her arms loose, her breathing fast. He stared.

She was unreal.

He worked at the buttons, slow but determined. There were too many. But he got there. Eventually. He slid the dress off her, and his hands followed, trembling as they mapped her skin.

His mouth watered. His chest ached. He dropped kisses everywhere. Her stomach. Her chest. Her breasts. Her thighs. He couldn’t stop touching her.

She was nearly naked. Just a slip of fabric and a pendant. He was awestruck.

Then her hands were on him, tugging at his waistband, sliding beneath. Her mouth on his neck. Her breath against his skin.

"...off," she whispered.

He scrambled, kicking off his pants and boxers. Before he could recover, she was behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, her body pressed against his back.

Her lips found his ear.

"Ran...ma... I want..." she murmured, and then her hand was around him.

Ranma groaned, his head falling back onto her shoulder. Her hand moved, slow, gentle, deliberate. He gasped.

"I’d never..." she whispered, trembling. "I’d never seen you before..."

He opened his eyes and looked down. Her hand on him. Her body against his. His own hand joined hers, guiding the rhythm. Familiar. Intimate. Too much.

"Akane..." he whimpered. She met his gaze. They kissed again, hard and desperate.

He pulled her hand away, turned, and pushed her back onto the bed. She crawled back, eyes never leaving his. He followed, bracing himself over her.

So much skin. So much heat. He touched everything. Held her thighs. Her ass. Her back. She helped him slide off her last piece of clothing.

They paused. Just for a second.

She blinked. "We’re naked," she said, serious.

Ranma stared. Then laughed.

Akane flushed bright red and buried her face in his shoulder.

"Ohhh..." she groaned.

He kissed her hair, chuckling. Then she laughed too. He held her closer.

And the tension melted away

They were still, breathing each other in. The weight of everything that had come before—the teasing, the fights, the quiet moments—pressed between them, and then slowly dissolved.

Akane kissed his shoulder. Once. Then again. Ranma kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her temple. There was no rush now, just the heat of shared understanding.

Ranma shifted slightly, bracing one forearm beside her head. Akane's leg hooked around his waist again, gently pulling him back into place. Her body welcomed him, and he kissed her slowly as their hips moved, not quite grinding, just searching, aligning. The intimacy was overwhelming in its quietness.

Ranma's fingers skimmed down her side and between her thighs. He cupped her gently, and she gasped softly, her breath catching. He moved slowly, carefully, his fingers exploring her in a way that sent a sharp jolt through her core. Her hips shifted toward him, a reflex. Her breath stuttered, and then a quiet moan escaped her lips. It built gradually, her body arching, thighs trembling, until she suddenly tensed beneath him, her fingers clutching at his back. The wave crested, washing over her in a rush of heat and sensation, and she gasped his name as her body shuddered in release.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She nodded, her fingers stroking his cheek. "I just... I want to feel you."

He swallowed. Hard. Then, with one hand, he guided himself to her, moving slowly, testing. Akane's breath hitched, her fingers curling into his shoulder.

The moment he entered her, even just a little, both of them stopped breathing. It was nothing like before. The world shrank to this one sensation, this fragile stretch of skin and emotion.

Ranma looked down at her, his forehead resting against hers, his body trembling from the effort of holding back. "You’re so warm," he whispered.

Akane blinked up at him, lips parted. "So are you."

He moved again, just slightly, and her mouth opened in a soft cry. He stopped immediately.

"Too much?" he asked, voice hoarse.

She shook her head. "No. Just... slow. It’s okay."

He nodded and kissed her again, murmuring her name against her lips. His hips rocked forward inch by inch, until he was fully inside her. They both exhaled, shuddering.

Akane felt everything. Every inch of him, every tiny tremor in her own body. There was discomfort, yes, but it didn’t matter. She felt full. Claimed. Cherished. Ranma held perfectly still, as if afraid to break her. She let her hands slide down his back, encouraging.

"Move. Just a little," she whispered.

He obeyed, slowly withdrawing, then sliding in again. They gasped together. He moved once more, then again, setting a rhythm so careful it almost wasn’t one. Their eyes stayed locked.

Ranma was trying so hard. She could see it in his expression, feel it in his restrained movements. Akane arched up to meet him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply.

"You don’t have to hold back so much," she murmured.

He groaned, his body pressing closer. His rhythm quickened slightly, and she moved with him, letting herself adjust, letting the pleasure overtake the uncertainty.

They moved together, not perfectly, not gracefully, but honestly. There were bumps. Awkward breaths. Missteps. But none of that mattered. They were in sync in the ways that counted.

Ranma gasped as she clenched around him, a reflex more than a thought.

"Oh, gods, Akane..." His voice cracked. He kissed her everywhere he could reach: her lips, her shoulder, the hollow of her throat.

She whispered his name like a secret, again and again, and the sound drove him wild.

The rhythm faltered and picked up again, less tentative now, more desperate. The tension built in both of them, fast and bright. Akane's breath came in gasps. Her nails anywhere she could grab onto.

She arched against him, hips moving on instinct, chasing a high she didn't yet understand. Ranma panted, his forehead pressed to hers. He was close. So close. And still trying to make sure she was okay.

"It’s okay," she whispered. "Don’t hold back. I want it. I want you."

That undid him.

Ranma groaned her name and lost himself, burying himself in her one last time, his body shaking with release. He clung to her like a lifeline.

Akane held him as he shuddered through it, her body still burning, still hungry, but so full of tenderness it threatened to spill over. He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in.

They stayed like that for a while. His weight on her, her fingers brushing his hair. The sweat cooling on their skin. Their heartbeats gradually slowing.

Ranma pulled back, just enough to look at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, quieter now.

Akane smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. I really am."

His eyes closed in relief, and he rested his forehead against hers.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She laughed, soft and sleepy. "You don’t have to thank me, idiot."

He chuckled, and they lay there, tangled up in silence. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

Eventually, Ranma slid to the side, collapsing beside her. The separation left Akane suddenly cold, and she curled toward him, her arms tucking close to her chest before his hand found hers and tugged her back against his side.

They didn’t say much. There wasn’t a need to. They were both floating somewhere between dazed and giddy, exhausted and overstimulated. Akane rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.

Then, a soft flutter ran through her—one last, lingering aftershock. Her breath hitched. Ranma noticed.

"Still feeling it?" he murmured, his voice gravelly.

She gave a small, embarrassed nod.

"That’s… really hot," he admitted, burying his face in her hair.

Akane let out a weak laugh, her skin flushing. "Shut up."

He kissed the top of her head. "I mean it. I can still feel you… everywhere."

She whimpered and pressed her face into his shoulder.

Silence returned for a while. Their hands stayed tangled together between their bodies. When the air started to cool and goosebumps rose along Akane’s skin, Ranma moved, half-asleep, and draped the edge of his blanket over them.

A beat later, his hand returned to rest on her stomach, then drifted upward, lightly cupping her breast. Not sexual, just… there. Intimate. She didn’t move it.

Her eyes were heavy. Her body throbbed pleasantly. Everything felt far away and close at the same time. But just when she began to slip toward sleep, panic bloomed.

She sat up with a sharp inhale.

"What—?" Ranma blinked, trying to follow.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

Ranma stretched, blindly groping for the clock. "Midnight."

"Crap," she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair.

She hadn’t called home.

Ranma propped himself on an elbow. "It’s not that late. You can say we grabbed dinner after the concert. Lost track."

Akane wasn’t listening. She was already scanning the room, trying to locate scattered clothes.

Ranma sat up too, tugging on his pants. Then he moved to the closet, pulled out a spare T-shirt, and handed it to her.

She took it wordlessly, pulling it over her head. It smelled like him. Clean and warm. It helped settle her nerves just a bit.

He watched her carefully. "You okay?"

Akane nodded automatically. Then hesitated. Then shrugged.

Ranma reached up and brushed a knuckle against her cheek. "Wanna take a bath before we go? Might help."

That did help. The image of warm water and steam softened her jaw, her shoulders. She nodded again, more sincerely this time.

He stood. "Go call home. I’ll start the bath."

Akane didn’t move at first, watching him walk out, the sound of his footsteps quiet against the floor. When the door clicked shut, she sat back down, hands in her lap, pulse still a little too fast.

She was fine. She really was. But she also felt a little unmoored. Too many things had shifted in too little time.

Eventually, she stood, padded to the phone, and dialed home.

The phone rang once.

"Tendo household," came Nabiki’s bored voice.

Akane froze. Then cleared her throat. "Nabiki-oneechan?"

"About time. Kasumi’s still up, by the way."

"Oh no— I forgot to call, I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax. I’ll handle it. So. Where are you really?"

"Uh—still at Ranma’s. We… lost track of time."

There was a long pause. Akane could hear the faint sound of the kitchen radio, the trickle of running water.

Then: "So, you went to the late showing, huh? That martial arts flick you talked about?"

Akane blinked. "Uh. Yeah. That one."

"You’re not very good at this. But don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. One hour till curfew. I’m hanging up before Kasumi catches on."

"Thanks—"

"Don’t mention it. But we are absolutely talking tomorrow."

The line clicked.

Akane set the phone down, exhaled, and stared into space for a second. Nabiki may have been terrifying, but she was terrifyingly useful.

Ranma’s voice drifted from the hallway. "Bath’s ready."

Akane turned around to see him standing there, shirtless, damp from rinsing off. He still hadn’t redressed.

"You can go in first," he said. "I’ll wait."

She nodded and passed him, brushing his hand briefly as she went. The bathroom door closed behind her with a soft click.

She shed the borrowed T-shirt and sank into the bath, hissing a sigh of relief. Her limbs relaxed instantly. Steam curled around her face and hair.

She didn’t think. She didn’t try to.

When the knock came, she only said, "Come in," and closed her eyes.

Ranma entered quietly and slid into the water beside her. Neither spoke.

Their shoulders touched.

Eventually, he said, "So. How’d it go?"

Akane blinked. "The call? Nabiki answered. Covered for me."

He exhaled, visibly relieved. "Good."

Silence again.

"It’s weird," he muttered. "Being in the bath. With you. After… that."

Akane laughed, too softly to echo. "You think?"

He turned, and she met his eyes.

"Weird good?" he asked.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I think so. Yeah."

They sat together, barely moving, steam rising in delicate spirals around them. Ranma shifted just enough to loop his arm along the edge of the tub, his fingers brushing the surface of the water.

After a while, he spoke again. "You’re really okay?"

Akane hesitated. "I think so. Just… a lot at once."

He gave a slow nod. "Yeah."

She glanced at him sideways. "You?"

Ranma snorted softly. "I’m still trying to believe this wasn’t some weird dream."

Akane chuckled under her breath. "You dream of baths?"

"I dream of you."

She froze for a beat, startled. He blinked, and immediately looked away, cheeks flushing.

"I mean—not like—I just meant—"

Akane didn’t let him finish. She leaned in and kissed his shoulder. "It’s okay."

His hand found hers beneath the water. They sat quietly again, leaning into each other, until the water began to cool and their limbs felt heavy.

They dried off side by side, saying little. There was something oddly domestic about it. They both got dressed in quiet coordination, and Akane took a minute longer to fix her hair before they slipped out into the hallway.

By the time they reached the street, it was just past one in the morning. The neighborhood was silent. A few porch lights remained on, but the world had settled. Their footsteps echoed a little more than usual.

Ranma kept close to her side. Not touching, but close enough.

"Thanks for walking me."

"Of course."

They didn’t need to talk. The quiet wasn’t awkward anymore. It felt full.

When they reached the gate to the Tendo house, Akane paused. The front lights were off.

"Nabiki kept her promise," she said.

Ranma looked at the door. Then at her. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired."

"Me too."

They lingered.

Akane reached out, took his hand. Just for a moment.

Then she rose on her toes and kissed him. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just full of everything she couldn’t quite say yet.

When she stepped back, he looked stunned again. Like he had all evening. She smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Goodnight, Ranma."

"’Night, Akane."

She slipped inside the gate, turning once to look back. He was still watching her, hands in his pockets.

Back in her room, she moved on instinct. Clothes off. Pajamas on. Lights out. Her body ached in strange places. Her skin still hummed.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying not to chase every thought. Her mind kept returning to the moment when she'd decided to go to Ranma’s house in the first place. How clear and clouded it had felt at the same time.

She hadn’t gone to talk. Not really. She'd gone to take something into her own hands. To push back against the way her future was steamrolling toward her. She hadn’t planned to be so forward—or maybe she had—but once the idea lodged in her mind, it’d taken root.

Now she felt both overwhelmed and strangely grounded. Tethered.

And Ranma... gods, the way he’d touched her. The way he’d held back, even when she hadn’t. The way he looked at her, like she could undo him with a breath.

Akane sighed into her pillow.

She didn’t regret it. Not even a little.

She turned on her side and closed her eyes.

It didn’t take long to fall asleep

OOOOO

Kasumi greeted her with a warm smile when she came down for breakfast, and her father was buried in the paper as usual. Nabiki raised a single eyebrow, but said nothing.

Akane poured herself tea and ate toast in small, deliberate bites. She felt like she’d stepped into a parallel version of her life—everything looked the same, but nothing inside her was.

The ache in her thighs. The soreness in her hips. Her lips, still tender from kissing. And the dizzying flood of memories.

No one noticed. Or maybe they did, and chose not to say.

Later that afternoon, she found herself on the engawa, legs drawn up, a blanket around her shoulders even though the sun was out.

Nabiki joined her unannounced, sitting down with a carton of juice.

"So," her sister said casually, "you and the heir to the Saotome legacy finally got your act together."

Akane didn’t respond right away.

"You planning to talk about it? Or am I just supposed to read between the lines of your awkward posture and internal screaming?"

Akane gave a weak snort. "There’s not much to say."

"Mmhmm." Sip. "Except that there is."

She let the silence linger.

Nabiki didn’t push.

Finally, Akane said, "It wasn’t planned. Not exactly. But I think I wanted it to happen."

"Clearly."

Akane frowned. "I don’t mean like that. It’s just... everything’s been so heavy lately. This future looming ahead of me. All these choices I have to make. I felt... disconnected. Even from Ranma. And that scared me."

"So you slept with him."

Akane winced. "It’s not that simple."

Nabiki nodded slowly. "No. But it’s also not that complicated."

Akane looked out at the garden. The pond shimmered in the breeze. "It wasn’t about solving anything. It was just... I needed to feel something real. And he was there."

"Was it good?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "It was more than that."

Nabiki smiled without teasing. "Then maybe it was exactly what it needed to be."

They sat in companionable quiet.

After a while, Nabiki stood, dusted off her pants. "Just don’t let it spook you. What happened, or what it might mean. You’re allowed to want things without mapping out the next ten years."

Akane looked up at her, surprised.

"Wow," she said. "That was almost... supportive."

Nabiki smirked. "Don’t get used to it."

She walked away, and Akane let her words settle.

She was allowed to want things.

She wrapped the blanket tighter and leaned her head against the post.

Yeah. She wanted him.

And somehow, she knew he wanted her too.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Life’s Like That (Part I)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOO

Ranma, however, did not sleep.

He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling above his bed. The space was familiar, but tonight, it felt altered. Warmer. Charged. Her scent clung to his skin. Every little shift in the sheets whispered of what had just happened.

He breathed out slowly.

He was in deep trouble.

Ranma was feeling… conflicted. Too much stuff on his mind. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t a total airhead, but still. Having these urges and ideas, and not feeling able to act on them was just distressing.

First, he felt on top of the world. That went without saying. It made him feel giddy.

Then the giddiness turned to restlessness. And suddenly, he had much more energy than he knew what to do with. Top that with his indecisiveness, and restlessness turned into plain nervousness.

He’d much rather not think about what was making him so nervous. But there was that one unresolved issue, and it wasn’t going away. That definitely made him anxious. Then he remembered Akane—lying in his arms, making all kinds of awesome noises… and his chest ached with how fast he shot back up to the top of the world.

Rinse and repeat. Endlessly.

He should’ve been exhausted. But it’d been too much excitement for either his mind or body to handle. He’d walked Akane home, lingered around the block not knowing if he should have stayed, finally decided he’d only bother her, and come back here instead. Tried to relax.

The sheets were cool, rumpled, far from wholesome. And the pillow smelled like her. And something else, too. A weird feeling sparked in his chest. It slid downward. His heart sped up slightly. He buried his face into the pillow and inhaled deeply. The quiet that followed made him want to laugh. Instead, he sighed, tried to take in how really tired he felt, and started drifting.

Lying on his side, Ranma thought about how he always slept much better on his back. But since his pillow smelled like Akane, he didn’t want to turn over. No way. That scent felt like a souvenir. Evidence. A brag. Proof that she wanted him. That they’d been together. Right here. In his bed.

Was it like this for her?

He’d spent so many hours in Akane’s room. Either sleeping, or hanging out, or making out... But this? This was new. This was his. Did she cling to her pillows the way he was thinking of doing right now? How unmanly. But he gave in to the urge anyway, coupled with a big yawn.

He blinked out sleepy tears, eyes already adjusted to the light. Outside his window, the fairy lights were still glowing. He thought of Akane’s skin under that soft, soft light.

Akane.

His body still tingled where she’d touched him. Her voice, the way she’d moaned, the look in her eyes right before she’d pulled him in—it all looped in his mind.

But it wasn’t just the sex. It was her.

He smiled softly.

Gods, he loved her.

It wasn’t just desire. Or comfort. It was... her. The way she challenged him. The way she grounded him. The way she saw straight through him when no one else even tried.

He wanted to ask her. Really ask her. Even if it wasn’t perfect. Even if they were still young and everything was complicated.

He wanted to marry her.

The thought flipped his stomach.

Not from fear. But because he knew it would change everything.

He needed the right moment. Not a joke. Not a stammered half-question like before. He wanted it to be real. Clear.

But he didn’t want to rush her. She’d been quiet afterward. Happy, yeah. But thoughtful. She always went inward when something big happened. And this had been huge.

He didn’t want her to think he was asking just because of tonight.

So he’d wait. Not forever. But a little longer.

He let his eyes close.

The scent of her lingered.

He didn’t want to sleep just yet. He wanted to replay everything in his head. Every detail. Every scent. Every sound.

He drifted off thinking of her—her warmth, her softness, the flat of her stomach...

But then his eyes opened. Uneasy.

Something had felt off.

Now that he thought about it, Akane had been weird after the concert too. Weird enough to spook him a little. Maybe she’d been thinking about the coming year and just hadn’t wanted to dump the whole story on him. She’d explained enough. There was only so much he could do to reassure her.

Ranma yawned widely, ending in a sigh. “Oh, Akane...”

He rolled onto his back despite his earlier resolve.

Maybe he’d never fully understand her.

Later today, he’d go get his train ticket. In a few days, he’d be heading to Osaka with Akane to help her settle in. It felt right. He could maybe talk to her about the engagement while they were there. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere new.

He had a couple of weeks to work up the nerve. He hoped it wouldn’t stress her out just when she was starting fresh. Maybe he wouldn’t call it a proposal at all. Maybe he’d just ask where she thought they were going—as a couple, with their lives.

Plant the idea. Let it grow.

He realized, with some surprise, that they’d never talked about the future. Not theirs, anyway. Not in those terms. Maybe that’s why the family engagement always threw him off. Because it had never come from them.

But when he imagined a future with Akane, it didn’t feel daunting. It felt... right. Even exciting.

Not boldly asking? That was kind of a relief too, if he was honest.

He sighed again, thinking he’d finally found an answer.

Sleep came at last.

OOOOOOOO

So far, Osaka was proving to be quite wonderful.

It was a lazy Saturday morning, and Akane was basking in it. Ranma, on the other hand, clearly had something on his mind—and it was bothering him more than he let on. Akane didn’t see this often. He was usually so transparent, so impulsive, it was almost funny to watch him now. And at least she had the decency to feel a little guilty for finding his brooding mildly entertaining.

But the truth was, she felt too content to worry about anything. For now.

For the first time in forever, something about her life felt settled. A new phase was beginning. And she felt it—solid and peaceful—like a foundation finally laid. She didn’t even mind the sun streaming through the window, turning the room into a slow-cooking oven. She welcomed it. Cherished it. Winters got so cold.

She definitely wasn’t thinking about Sunday.

Not at all.

Tomorrow, Ranma would go back to Tokyo, and their new life would begin. They’d talked about it already—more than once—and she’d accepted it better than she thought she would. After everything they’d been through the past couple of months, she felt... above it all, somehow. Stronger. Clearer.

Grown up.

Almost.

A voice in the back of her head whispered that maybe—just maybe—that confidence was a massive emotional block designed to keep her from falling apart. Her stomach twisted slightly.

Still, she chose to enjoy the moment.

The feeling had started on Friday morning, as soon as they boarded the train. Ranma had even gotten special permission to skip school—‘extenuating personal circumstances’—and it had felt like their own tiny rebellion. Just the two of them, tucked into a magic bubble full of sunlight, cheap soap, and unfamiliar smells. The old flat was new to her. Her future room.

The sunlight poured in—relentless, too warm—far stronger than anything at home. The place smelled industrial. Whatever they’d used to clean the dorms, it wasn’t anything Kasumi would approve of. And foreign cooking aromas crept in through the vents.

But none of that really mattered.

Ranma was there.

And lately, everything about him had gotten more intense. It was almost impossible not to notice him. Even when he was doing nothing at all.

Now, he sat at the foot of her bed, legs crossed, elbow on knee, head in hand, frowning so hard it was almost cartoonish. And he hadn’t even noticed her watching. He looked like a sulking child.

Akane wasn’t sure if he was genuinely troubled or just indulging in a pointless pout. Then again, it wasn’t so pointless. They were both dealing with the same thing—trying to make sense of the time apart that loomed ahead.

She thought about leaving him alone, letting him work it out, but their time together was short. She didn’t want to waste it.

And honestly, she was overwhelmed by him. Everything about him had changed in the past few weeks—deepened, sharpened, solidified. Because now she knew. She remembered.

Now, it was hard not to want to jump him every chance she got. And that made her feel vaguely guilty. Right now, even. These past few days, he’d been so out of it, she hadn’t dared try.

Maybe he saved the mature version of himself for school. And now, off-duty, he was back to being something closer to what she remembered—distracted, impulsive, slightly annoying.

He wasn’t even doing the new-puppy thing properly. No wagging tail. Just… mope.

It felt like they’d switched roles. Now that she had resurfaced from the bleak mental space of university prep, he was drifting. Much like the first time she’d ever seen him—floating on the edges of everything.

Had it been Kasumi’s fault? Or maybe Nabiki’s?

Last Thursday night, Kasumi had thrown her a farewell dinner. Nothing formal, just family—and the Saotomes, of course.

That night had been strange.

The first thing Akane realized was how out of touch she’d become. Even though she thought she’d been getting closer to her sisters again, she saw now that she really hadn’t. Or not enough. The last year had worn down more than just her and Ranma—it had left cracks in all her relationships.

For some reason, Nabiki had chosen that night to tease Kasumi relentlessly about a boyfriend. And Akane, who had never even imagined such a thing, sat there wondering if she’d missed more than she thought.

What kind of life did her sister lead? Did she even have one outside the house? Was she happy? Akane had always assumed Kasumi had simply... settled. A housewife with no husband. A caretaker with no one taking care of her.

Maybe Nabiki was just being mean. Or maybe she knew something.

Because where would Kasumi even meet someone?

She barely left the house except to shop. She was fully embedded in their small world, so much so that the idea of romance seemed surreal. A little sad, even.

So when Kasumi blushed and admitted she had been seeing someone—

Akane nearly choked on her sushi.

“Tofu-sensei???” her father roared, beer spraying across the table.

And then everything exploded.

Questions flew in from all directions. When had it started? How? Was it serious? Had she met his family? Wasn’t he too old for her?

Kasumi had tried her best to explain, apologetic but resolute. “Sometimes... things just happen,” she said, again and again.

Akane had two thoughts.

First: she was an ass for judging Kasumi’s life so harshly. For assuming she was stuck when she’d clearly just chosen differently.

Second: holy hell, things were getting interesting at the Tendo house.

She was genuinely happy for her sister. Happy watching their dad melt into weepy nonsense, happy hearing Mrs. Saotome ask real questions—kind ones—about the doctor, about the relationship, about Kasumi’s happiness.

And of course, Nabiki kept teasing. About secret rendezvous, late-night escapades—none of which Kasumi denied outright, which was even weirder.

Eventually, it became clear this wasn’t a fling. It was real. Serious. They were thinking about marriage.

Akane could only smile. Of course Kasumi would do it this way. With grace. With quiet certainty. It was the most Kasumi thing in the world.

Nabiki, ever the disruptor, seized the moment.

With one eyebrow raised, she asked whether anyone else at the table had something official to announce.

Ranma, who’d been unusually quiet all evening, suddenly went stiff beside Akane.

Akane noticed it then—his shoulders, the way his knee stopped bouncing. The discomfort rolled off him in waves. And Nabiki, sharp as ever, zeroed in.

The teasing turned on them.

Wedding jokes. Engagement cracks. Speculations.

But for once, Akane didn’t get flustered.

It was a bit of a joke, really. They’d only been together a little over a year. They were still figuring things out. They were just kids, chasing their futures—sort of. Marriage was still a dot on a far-off horizon.

So she smiled. Deflected. Played along.

Most of Nabiki’s jabs were the usual big-sister prodding. Nothing too cruel. Akane parried them easily, her replies vague and amused. It even felt fun for a moment. Like being in on the joke instead of the punchline.

Ranma, though, didn’t say much. His stiffness didn’t ease. His eyes stayed focused on his plate. When he did speak, it was just a quiet yes or no.

Eventually, the teasing turned into a sparring match between the two sisters. Akane leaned in, matching Nabiki’s dry wit jab for jab. It was a welcome return to form—a sense of banter she hadn’t had in a while.

The rest of the table watched quietly now. Mr. Tendo sniffled in a corner, overwhelmed with happiness. Mrs. Saotome looked on with curiosity and the faintest smile. Kasumi beamed.

And when Akane didn’t react the way Nabiki expected—no blushes, no protests—her sister seemed to lose interest. The focus shifted back to Kasumi, to safer, newer material.

But something had changed.

Ranma hadn’t really been himself since that night.

He’d been quiet while saying goodbye to the family. Quiet on the train to Osaka. Quiet while Akane had chatted endlessly, brimming with energy. Quiet while she’d checked into her dorm. He’d gone practically mute while they unpacked.

At first, Akane chalked it up to the looming separation. Maybe this was just his way of coping.

And honestly? Tough luck.

She was thrilled.

Once she was settled, they’d wandered the neighborhood together. Picked up a few things for her room—bedding, towels, everyday stuff. Ranma had finally begun to loosen up. Akane’s excitement mellowed a little, tempered by his quieter energy. They’d giggled over sheets and pillowcases, remembered inside jokes, let the laughter ease the tension.

Later, he’d treated her to dinner at a cozy shop near campus.

Back at the dorm, they’d met her new roommates, shared an impromptu meal, and turned in for the night.

It had been a long day.

Akane had felt nothing but grateful. Grateful that Ranma was there. That he’d come all this way to be with her, to help her start this new chapter.

Which was why his silence that night stung more than she expected.

She tried to be sweet. Gentle. She didn’t press. She didn’t challenge. She coaxed.

And finally—finally—he opened up.

It surprised her.

Ranma? Jealous?

It seemed ridiculous, at first. Especially after the day they’d just had.

But pillow talk did that. It made things softer. Made it possible to say what would sound foolish in daylight.

He told her he didn’t like that she’d be living with three guys. He didn’t know them, not really—but they seemed cool. They were good-looking. And he... wouldn’t be there.

Because she was just so…

He’d trailed off, blushing.

Akane had been caught off guard. She wanted to be offended. How could he not trust her? Did he really think she’d just forget about him the second he left?

But that wasn’t what he’d meant.

What had gotten to him was the distance. That he wouldn’t be there. That someone else might be.

And honestly? She understood. She’d feel the same if it were reversed. If other women were suddenly hovering near him, while she was miles away.

The distance was already playing tricks on them.

Still, Akane believed in them. Believed in what they had. So she kissed him. A lot. Tried to get him to stop sulking and start focusing on the moment.

At first, he didn’t catch on. He was quiet. Cautious. Not at all like the eager boy she remembered from their stolen afternoons over summer break, when his family had been away.

But last night had been something else.

Akane had thought she understood bittersweet. But now she really understood it.

Ranma had been sad. She’d tried to bury her own nerves under the excitement of her new beginning—but they were still there. Lingering. Slowing everything down. Making it more tender than passionate. More presence than pleasure.

Something healing had happened.

A bit of goodbye. A bit of love.

She’d wanted to cry.

Afterward, Ranma seemed more himself again. They’d even managed to talk—really talk—about little things. Nothing serious. Just... the ease of falling asleep side by side, with no alarms, no sneaking around, no curfews.

That was new, too.

But this morning?

He was back to weird.

Late morning found her mostly naked, sprawled across the bed. Ranma was dressed already, clean and fidgeting, moving around the room like something was chasing him. She’d gotten up, slipped into her robe, gone to the bathroom and back—and found him sitting at the foot of the bed again. Same pose. Same frown.

She didn’t say a word. Just climbed back into bed, flopped onto the sheets. The sun was getting stronger. Her stomach growled. And she couldn’t stop thinking about last night.

Ranma stayed quiet.

Which, all things considered, suited her just fine.

She wasn’t in the mood to poke the bear.

Eventually, when the silence stretched too long and she was thinking maybe she’d just drop the robe and pounce on him—he sighed.

Looked at her.

Really looked.

Shivers.

A lopsided smile tugged at his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded, warm.

“Are we having breakfast at all?” he asked, voice soft, that smile curling into the words.

“I’m hungry,” Akane said, her voice lower than usual, breathier than she meant it to be. Because breakfast was clearly sexy.

She arched her back in a stretch, then curled onto her side, her robe riding up. Too high. Way too high.

Ranma’s voice was casual, but loaded.

“Yeah… me too.”

He dropped onto all fours and crawled toward her.

Then he jumped her.

And gods, did he jump her.

There was no way their roommates didn’t hear.

And that smug look on his face…

She’d tried to be quiet. Really. But it was like he was doing the exact opposite on purpose.

She was too embarrassed to even be mad.

And if she was being honest?

It was kind of touching. In a dumb, neanderthal kind of way.

But she’d think more about it later.

It was very late.

Ranma sat back on their bench—the one that had somehow become theirs. The spot where everything had tilted, shifted, started to change.

He tilted his head toward the sky, searching for stars.

But this was Tokyo.

Too bright, too noisy. The sky hid its secrets well here.

Still, it was dark enough in the park. Quiet enough. Just enough.

His mom was probably worried. Maybe he should’ve gone home first, checked in.

Oh well.

Not like he couldn’t take care of himself. They’d have to get used to him being gone more often anyway.

A bike zipped past, its tires crunching over gravel. He imagined the rush of air, the flicker of freedom, and closed his eyes.

He sighed.

It had been a long weekend.

Not bad. Not at all. But intense. And draining in ways he hadn’t expected.

He’d made plans. Thought he’d throw caution to the wind. He loved her. They had the family promise. She loved him too—she’d said it.

What could go wrong?

But he hadn’t realized just how scared he was.

He wanted to be sure she’d say yes. Not because of duty. Because she wanted to.

And that was the problem. He had no idea what Akane would say.

They’d never talked about the future. Never seriously. Never about them.

And then that dinner happened.

He’d been ready. Almost. Had the ring in his pocket. His mom’s ring—an heirloom she’d offered without question. Because he’d asked.

He’d carried it for days, waiting for the moment. Planning to bring it up while they were away. Just the two of them. New city. New start.

But Nabiki had to start teasing.

And Akane had laughed.

Not awkwardly. Not shyly. But like the whole idea of marriage was absurd. A punchline. Something you joke about when it’s too ridiculous to be real.

It had gutted him.

She didn’t mean it that way—he knew that. But she hadn’t even noticed how quiet he’d gotten. How hard it had hit him.

He thought she’d be defensive, maybe a little awkward. But she’d just... deflected.

Was marriage even something she wanted?

He didn’t know.

He’d always assumed she did. Assumed she was a family person, like he was. But she’d never said so. Not once.

The way she talked about the future, it was all ambition. Movement. Independence. A hunger to prove herself.

Ranma could see now how it had shaped her. How all that pressure made her the way she was—restless, intense, occasionally explosive. But also brilliant. Focused.

She was leaving home to find uncertainty, just to rebuild stability from scratch. It was wild. It was so her.

And maybe—just maybe—he thought the ring could be an anchor. Something certain in all the chaos. A promise they could keep, even if everything else changed.

He wanted to give her that.

And if he was honest, he wanted it for himself, too. Wanted the security of her saying yes. Wanted to know she chose him.

That’s why he asked his mom for the ring. Why he carried it around like it might turn into courage if he held it long enough.

But Nabiki had ruined it.

No. That wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t Nabiki.

It was him.

He’d panicked. Froze. Couldn’t speak.

And when Akane laughed it off—like marriage was the last thing on her mind—he’d shut down.

He hadn’t known he could be so scared.

He wasn’t even sure why it hurt so much. It wasn’t like they were breaking up. They’d had an amazing weekend. Amazing.

He should’ve just enjoyed it.

But he couldn’t stop thinking.

Maybe she’d get there someday. Maybe not. Maybe she would say yes—just not now. But gods, he’d already imagined it. Already seen her smile. Already rehearsed what he’d say.

And now it felt like that future had been quietly erased.

So he’d stayed quiet. Tried to act normal. Went through the weekend on autopilot. It wasn’t her fault. None of it was.

But still.

It hurt.

And when he finally got back to Tokyo, he wasn’t ready to go home. He wandered. Let the quiet settle around him like armor.

But eventually, it got too late. The trains had stopped. He had nowhere else to be.

He stretched, groaning, trying to shake off the fog.

“Aaahh…”

No point thinking in circles.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking home.

He didn’t know how he felt. Couldn’t pin it down. And that made it worse.

The house was quiet. Or pretending to be.

Ranko was already in bed—it was a school night. But the TV was on, the volume so low it was basically silent. His parents sat at the table, sipping tea, an extra plate on the counter.

They were waiting.

Ranma felt a mix of annoyance and relief.

Annoyed, because seriously—couldn’t they just not?

But also relieved. Because this, at least, was predictable. Familiar.

He sighed.

So much had happened. So much he hadn’t said.

He dropped his bag, careful not to make a sound.

“Hi,” he mumbled. “Sorry I’m back so late.”

His father cleared his throat, but it was his mother who spoke.

“Welcome home, dear. Did you have a good weekend? Akane-chan all settled?”

Her voice was soft. Hopeful.

Ranma looked up at her, and something twisted in his chest. He wanted to cry. Or whine, like a little kid. He hated that he wanted that.

She must’ve seen it—because her expression softened. She tilted her head. Slapped her palm lightly on the table in front of Genma.

Ranma recognized the signal. It was her polite way of saying let me handle this.

If his tea had been full, he might’ve laughed.

Instead, his shoulders sagged.

“Dinner?” she offered gently. “It was Ranko’s favorite. We saved some for you.”

He smiled despite himself.

“Thanks, but…” He scratched the back of his head. “Think I’ll skip it. I’m not really hungry. I just wanna go to bed.”

He felt Genma’s stare but ignored it.

His mother stood.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything? I could heat up some broth. It’s not good to sleep on an empty stomach.”

Ranma blinked.

She got it. She always did.

And suddenly, he noticed how much taller he was than her now. He was a grown man. And she was still looking after him.

That felt good.

“Broth sounds great,” he said, his voice softer now.

She smiled and patted his chest. “I’ll bring it to your room. Go on.”

He nodded, picked up his bag, and headed out of the kitchen.

Halfway down the hall, he heard his father mutter:

“Must you coddle him like that? He’s almost twenty—”

“Hush, dear.”

Ranma smiled and kept walking.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Life’s Like That (Part II)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOO

University was a wild place. There were a million things to do, most of which had little or nothing to do with actual studying.

Mainly, they existed so new students could meet people. And party. And party. And then party some more. Occasionally, someone might get a handle on campus life and figure out what to avoid. Maybe.

Then there were the clubs. The options were endless. Akane couldn’t understand how anyone got their coursework done or dragged themselves to class in the morning. Sure, high school had clubs too. But here? These people took it to a whole other level. They lived for their extracurriculars.

It had overwhelmed her at first. She hadn’t known which way to turn. But her upperclassmen were so relaxed about everything, like they’d made peace with never getting enough sleep. That attitude helped.

Takano-san was the perfect example. Always with a book in hand or scribbling notes, he somehow still managed to vanish for hours. His schedule was a mystery, and he openly admitted to drinking too much. Akane had seen him stumble in more than once, clearly drunk. And yet, come morning, he was back at it like nothing had happened, steaming mug of coffee in hand.

She was fascinated. Did he even sleep? He wasn’t shy or standoffish, just... dry. Blunt. Maybe permanently snarky. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Still, Akane secretly enjoyed his humor—as long as it wasn’t aimed at her.

After a few weeks, she started to settle in. The parties still weren’t her thing, and she steered clear of the heavy drinking, but she enjoyed the smaller gatherings with people who shared her interests. She grew closer to her roommates, too.

She joined the Martial Arts Society (obviously), the Literature Society, the Travel Society, the Ramen Hopping Society, and a few more she forgot after a meeting or two. Some were fun. Others were just plain weird. She dropped those quickly.

Everything felt new. Everything absorbed her. After a while, she stopped calling home every day. Kasumi had assured her it was normal—Nabiki had never called daily, after all. And she was starting to understand what it meant to share a space with four other students.

It was fun. More fun than she’d expected. Even if she didn’t completely understand all her roommates yet, they got along. She enjoyed their shared dinners and spontaneous movie nights.

She couldn’t splurge often—her scholarship didn’t stretch that far—and she had to stay on top of her studies to keep it. But she felt more alive and relaxed than she had in a long time. It helped with the homesickness. And with missing Ranma.

Ranma...

She thought about him often. Wondered how he was doing. Wondered when they’d talk next. She could maybe afford a trip to Tokyo once a month, but it would strain her budget. They’d agreed to visit each other every other month.

Still, a month was a long time without real contact. Her flat didn’t have a phone. The building had one shared line, supposedly for emergencies or quick calls like takeout orders. There were public phones a few blocks away, but timing was tricky. Saturdays were best. If the phone wasn’t busy and Ranma was home, they could talk a bit. Sometimes, if she called from a payphone, he’d call back so she wouldn’t use all her change.

The first time he couldn’t make it home for a planned weekend, she’d been crushed. Why didn’t his school have a phone line for the students? She’d even wished she could install one in her room. And then there was Tamaki-kun, who always managed to walk in while she was on the phone, teasing her relentlessly in front of everyone.

Finally, the first month passed. She was more than ready to go home.

Campus emptied quickly. It was the first long weekend of the term. The student council had planned some low-key events, but most people wanted to enjoy the last of the sunshine.

Sumire had invited her on a class trip. Akane was tempted, but the pull to see her family—and Ranma—was stronger.

Talking it over with Ranma had made the decision easy. After that call, she’d returned to her dorm in high spirits, practically glowing. Unfortunately, all her roommates had been there to witness it. Tamaki-kun, ever the instigator, immediately commented on her grin. With Sumire egging him on, the teasing began.

Even Takano-san had laughed—laughed.

In the end, it was fun. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this kind of casual connection. Her home life had never been this loud, this teasing, this full.

The next morning, Sumire left with some upperclassmen, and Akane found herself alone. She debated knocking on a neighbor’s door to see if anyone wanted to go out for drinks. Sumire would have. That’s how she knew everyone. But Akane hesitated.

She tried to distract herself with homework, but there wasn’t much to do. University, strangely, felt easier than high school had. Maybe she could go out once in a while.

Still... she wasn’t ready to dive in. Not completely.

By late afternoon, she was well and trully bored. Then, a quiet idea formed.

A small experiment. No one had to know. What could go wrong? She had nothing planned until noon tomorrow.

She left her tea, went to the fridge, and eyed Takano-san’s stash. Mostly beer and energy drinks. No food.

The fridge light blinked. She hesitated. Then grabbed a beer, sat down at the low table, and popped it open.

"This is so silly, Akane..."

She took a long swig. Grimaced.

What was the big deal? She squeezed in some lemon juice like Sumire sometimes did. That helped.

She wondered if Ranma had ever tried it.

The drink was cold, and it went down smoothly enough if she didn’t think too hard about it. By the time she finished, her skin felt warm. Her legs felt a little off.

She giggled. Predictable.

Then the door rattled.

She sat up straight, half-panicked.

Who else was still here?

"Ah! Hibiki-kun! Okaeri!"

Ryoga blinked at her from the door. "Aa, Tendo-san."

He locked the door, dropped a bag on the table, and headed to the kitchen to boil water.

"Could you please get me a glass of water? Please?" she called a bit loudly.

He turned to look at her. Stared. Was there something on her face?

"I'm really thirsty."

"Sure."

He handed her a glass and sat across from her. Started unpacking.

"Whatcha got there?" she asked.

"Just some instant ramen. Convenience store."

"You could’ve had some of my food. It'll probably go bad over the weekend."

She drank more beer, feeling lazy.

"Thank you, Tendo-san. Maybe next time."

She blinked. "Any plans for the weekend?"

"What about you, Tendo-san?"

"Akane," she said absently.

"Pardon?"

"Tendo-san is my father. Please call me Akane."

He stared. Then smiled. "If you call me Ryoga."

She drank her water. "Well then, Ryoga-kun, I'm leaving tomorrow morning. And your water's boiling."

He jumped up. She giggled.

She reached for one of his beers. "Could I have this?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'll pay you back."

"You're welcome to it. Just wondering if it's okay for you to drink that..."

"You'll be drinking too, right? Why shouldn't I?" she was feeling a little offended.

"It’s just… I never saw you drink any alcohol before, Akane-san."

"Just giving it a try. I'm home, it can't hurt."

"I suppose so."

He tapped his can against hers. "Cheers."

"Cheers!"

They drank. Silence stretched.

"Ryoga-kun," she asked eventually, "how come you're not going anywhere? Most people are off with friends or family."

"I don’t have any family in Japan."

She waited.

"Nothing weird," he added. "My father’s a diplomat. We move a lot. They're all in France now."

"Oh. That’s far for a weekend trip."

He nodded. "And I’m tired of moving. I’m Japanese, but I don’t remember ever staying here long."

It made sense. And it made her both curious and sad.

They talked a bit more. About martial arts how his mom suggested it as a way to be closer to his heritage, about carrying on family legacies, about being away from home, about Yuka and Sayuri, about friends and relatives.

Ryoga kept handing her water. She wondered why someone like him didn’t have more friends. He seemed very… empathetic to her struggles.

Then everything started to slow down.

Her elbow bumped the table. Had she nodded off?

She was so tired.

She heard movement, felt herself being lifted. Ryoga helped her to her room.

"Sorry... Ryoga-kun," she mumbled.

"Think nothing of it."

She leaned into him. Easier to walk that way.

He stopped at her door. "Will you make it to bed alright?"

He stood awkwardly, eyes looking anywhere but inside.

"Yeah... I think... I’m just--" yawn "--tired."

"I'm glad. Goodnight, Akane-san."

"Night. It was nice talking to you, Ryoga-kun. We should do this again."

She stumbled across her room, dropped into bed, fully dressed. Then heard the door click closed.

She was passed out in seconds.

OOOOOOOO

Akane woke up to sunlight and tangled blankets. Her head throbbed a little, her throat was dry. The light was… so bright. Her first hangover, surely.

Weirdly proud of herself, she got up with some effort, packed, and headed to the kitchen.

Ryoga was already there.

"Morning," he muttered.

"Good morning, Ryoga-kun," she replied, trying to smile.

Silence.

As she finished breakfast, he finally spoke.

"So you're fine this morning."

"I am. Thanks for taking care of me."

"I'm glad."

He didn’t look up.

She washed her dishes. Ready to go.

"Have a good weekend, Ryoga-kun."

Finally, he looked up. Smiled.

"You too, Akane-san."

She arrived at the station early.

As she waited, her mind drifted. She thought of her studies, of Ranma, and of Ryoga.

She hadn't planned to drink, or to spend her night talking. But she’d relaxed. And it had felt nice.

She ought to bring Ryoga a gift. Maybe something for each roommate. And Ranma, of course.

She felt bad for not thinking of it earlier.

Ryoga was such a contradiction. Polished manners, rough edges. Gentle and serious. Always a little out of place.

But he’d been good company.

Or maybe it was just the alcohol.

She smiled.

She wondered what it would be like to get drunk with Ranma.

She giggled.

She wanted to try it.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma had really wanted to get back before Akane arrived in Tokyo. But in the end, he had to settle for a last-minute dash. And this time, he was rushing more than usual. They hadn’t seen each other in a whole month, after all.

It was already dark, though not that late, as he pushed through the crowds at the Nerima Ward station.

It had been a while since he’d sprinted home like this, and it brought back memories—specifically, the last time he’d done it, at the start of his training the year before. Back then, he’d thought his sensei was brutal. He’d felt half blessed, half cursed, like he was being held hostage by the school. And when they finally let him go—what felt more like bail than permission—he’d come home carrying a restless anxiety, a sense that he was missing out on something important because of the way life had played out.

He only realized it now because he wasn’t feeling that way at all. He was just happy to be going home.

The first week back had been rough—so rough, in fact, that whatever bad mood he’d brought from Osaka had dissolved in just a couple of hours. Apparently, a few days off were all it took to throw them completely off track. The moment they stepped foot on school grounds, they were hit with a strict, no-mercy meditation regimen that involved holding the most excruciating poses for hours. They had barely been given time to toss their bags into their new dorm rooms—better located than the first-years'—before it began.

At first, Ranma hadn’t been too worried. Meditation couldn’t be that bad compared to other stuff, right? But when there was no end in sight, and every basic need—bathroom breaks, meals—was pushed aside, it became a whole new kind of suffering. Torture, really. Even his balls hurt.

Still, it worked. By the time he finally collapsed into his dorm bed, everything else melted away except the bliss of lying down. They were even sent to bed early with a light dinner—an unspoken reward for surviving.

After that, getting back into rhythm was easy. Even the strict meditations stopped bothering him. Before long, he was staying over weekends. The only downside was that it disrupted his and Akane’s call routine, so he still had to be home by Saturday evenings. But that was manageable.

Somewhere in that hectic schedule, he’d realized Ling Ling hadn’t been around. He didn’t ask. Asking too many questions at this school usually landed you in trouble.

"Thank God for that," Arata had muttered in their dorm room when Ranma mentioned it. "She’s the worst. Hates all of us. But you? You’re in a class of your own. She really can’t stand you."

"I’m just tougher," Ranma had joked, only half kidding.

"Whatever. Just don’t drag me into it. I like my limbs attached and fully functional, thanks."

It was all true. Ling Ling had pushed for him to go abroad, though he hadn’t shared that with anyone. He hadn’t wanted to jinx it. And she was genuinely helping him—albeit in her signature painful way. It might have looked shady, sneaking around at weird hours, but at least Arata got looped into the sparring sessions often enough to witness Ranma’s side of it. Still, it usually meant more bruises and fewer hours of sleep.

He didn’t mind. He’d even looked forward to it. Which made him uneasy now—what if Ling Ling was gone for good, along with his shot at studying abroad?

Then his sensei had started pushing him harder. It began the first time Ranma chose to stay over a weekend. Some students always stayed behind, for various reasons. That weekend, his sensei had casually suggested he keep sharp—it wouldn’t do to disappoint Ling Ling when she came back.

So Ranma doubled down, focusing on patience, discipline, and more patience. Inner peace, supposedly. It was a shift. Not unlike the torture sessions, but more engaging—more sharpening. Calming, even. Akane had noticed, even just over the phone.

Then Ling Ling came back. But not alone. And it wasn’t the legendary Kung Lung she returned with, as expected. Instead, it was a woman who set the whole school buzzing.

Xian Pu.

She wasn’t just attractive—she had presence. A quiet, dangerous kind of confidence. She didn’t speak. Ling Ling spoke for her. She walked like she owned the place, and honestly? Maybe she did. The guys fell over themselves. Probably some of the girls, too.

Ranma noticed her clothes first. Then he wondered if Akane would get that same reaction if she dressed like that. Sure, Xian Pu had a smaller waist and bigger... well, whatever. Akane still had a knockout body—he knew that well enough—and she was also kind and approachable. She’d probably get even more attention, in the end.

Maybe that’s why he’d acted like a possessive idiot around her new roommates. He’d practically stamped a claim on her. She’d been horrified. He probably should have felt ashamed. He hadn’t.

Xian Pu reminded him of Akane in some weird way. Which is probably why he kept watching her. At first, he’d called it being observant. These were the people he needed to impress if he wanted to study abroad. Know your competition, right?

And anyway, Akane would be into it. She loved new experiences. She was thriving out there on her own. It made sense.

Then Arata had caught him watching Xian Pu during a late-night sparring session. Ranma had thought he was being subtle, tucked into the shadows, heading back from dinner. But he couldn’t stop watching the way she moved.

“Stop obsessing, man,” Arata said.

“I’m not—” Ranma started, instinctively.

“Right,” Arata said, smirking.

Ranma sighed. “I don’t think I can help it,” he admitted. Just then, Xian Pu looked straight at him. He flinched, glanced at Arata, who sat down beside him.

“She’s picking who gets to train at her village. Ling Ling said so.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. What is it with you and Chinese women? You sound like a broken record. Just tone it down, will you? You’re starting to look like a creep.”

Maybe he was.

They sat quietly for a bit.

“So,” Arata eventually asked, “have you talked to Akane about China?”

“Not really,” Ranma said.

“Oooh, man…”

“—because nothing’s definite yet,” Ranma finished, though the look on Arata’s face made his stomach tighten.

“So you’re gonna spring it on her after it’s a done deal?”

That made Ranma pause. Put that way, it sounded bad. Like he was being careless. But it wasn’t like that.

“It’ll be fine. Akane’s always up for new things.”

“Mmm… I’m not so sure.”

Ranma frowned. What did Arata know about Akane? He turned toward him.

“Oh yeah? Who made you king of—”

“Chill, man,” Arata said, hands up. “I’m just saying—if you’re serious about her, you gotta talk to her about this. Life-changing stuff shouldn’t be dropped out of nowhere. How would you feel if she did the same?”

Ranma looked away, back at Xian Pu. “Yeah… you’re right.”

But it left a bad taste in his mouth. Akane had chosen to move out on her own, hadn’t she? They hadn’t really discussed options back then. Their relationship had been too new. Maybe that was normal. They weren’t planning a future back then.

Oh, crap.

They weren’t planning one now, either. But he was.

Lately, he was getting better at not talking to Akane, which was the opposite of what he should be doing. He just didn’t want to scare her off with serious talk.

After that conversation with Arata, he tried to tone it all down. Meditate more. Maybe if he could quiet his mind, he’d figure out what he really wanted—what he was afraid of.

Then Xian Pu left.

And Ling Ling turned his world sideways.

“Next time she returns, you’ll be tested,” she told him. “And it’s my task to prepare you personally.”

“She’s been watching you, Saotome-san,” Ling Ling said, “just as much as you’ve been watching her.” That had made him both embarrassed and excited.

“The whole school’s watching her, sensei.”

“That may be,” Ling Ling allowed. “But she’s tuned in to your interest. There might be something different about it. Big sister is rarely wrong. It may be fate.”

That left Ranma feeling... all kinds of things. Excited. Nervous. Weirded out. Maybe he was just anxious to prove himself. But now that it felt real, now that he was “in,” it all hit harder.

He needed to tell Akane.

She’d be home in a week. He missed her. He wanted to see her. But weirdly, this time he didn’t want the days to fly by. Training was fun. And after that talk with Arata, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to mess something up in a major way.

So he stayed at school as long as he could, squeezing in a few last lessons with Ling Ling—before finally sprinting off to catch what turned out to be the last train to Nerima.

OOOOOOOO

Akane made it to Nerima a little earlier than expected.

The house was buzzing. Kasumi had prepared an early dinner to welcome her home, which wasn’t unusual. But Tofu-sensei was there, and that made it special.

Her father had been jittery all evening—nothing new there. But Tofu-sensei looked uncharacteristically nervous, and it took Akane a moment to realize why. Kasumi wasn’t just playing hostess. This was an introduction. This was serious.

Akane sat across from the man she’d once had a massive crush on, struggling to reconcile her childhood memories with the slightly awkward, endearing man now being formally presented as her sister’s fiancé. In some ways, it made her feel grown up. She could now talk to him as an equal. They even joked about what it was like to face parental scrutiny.

And the Saotomes… why were they here? She understood they were family friends, but this dinner felt intimate, and clearly meant a lot to Kasumi. So she wondered. It wasn't that she minded—she was still having a good time. She just wished Ranma had been there, too. Maybe she wasn’t hiding it all that well, because while she was loading a tray of utensils to carry to the table, Auntie Nodoka found her in the kitchen.

"Don’t worry, dear," she whispered kindly. "Ranma will be here the minute he gets back to Nerima."

Akane smiled, grateful for the reassurance. Of course she knew that—it’s what they’d agreed. But still, hearing it out loud soothed something in her.

Dinner wound down as the night cooled. Ranko fell asleep on a cushion, and eventually the Saotomes said their goodbyes. Still no sign of Ranma. Akane tried not to dwell.

Tofu-sensei stayed behind to help Kasumi and Akane clean up. They fell into an easy rhythm—it felt domestic. Familiar. Like a future quietly sketching itself into the corners.

Tofu exhaled as he leaned on the counter. "I didn’t think anyone could be that serious. Nothing I said seemed to amuse your father."

Kasumi giggled. "It’s the martial artist upbringing. They take themselves very seriously. Right, Akane-chan?"

"Hey!" Akane mock-defended. "There’s nothing wrong with being serious. Though Dad and Mr. Saotome do take it to a new level."

All three glanced toward the porch, where her father sat completely still.

"He might be asleep," Tofu said.

"Could be," Akane agreed. "Part of the path of the true martial artist: becoming one with the environment."

"Hey!" Kasumi teased again.

Akane smiled, watching her sister giggle like a teenager.

"Good thing I love you," Tofu said to Kasumi, kissing her cheek. Akane turned back to the dishes, pretending not to notice, though the gesture warmed her.

"I’ll go check on him," Tofu said. "He might need to be ushered to bed."

Tofu squared his shoulders. "Wish me luck."

Kasumi grinned. "Thank you, darling!"

When he left, she turned to Akane. "Sorry about the crowd tonight. I wanted us to have time to talk."

"It’s okay. The night’s still young, right?"

Kasumi lit up. "Exactly!" She reached into a cupboard. "Ono-kun’s off duty this weekend, so I thought... nightcap?"

Akane blinked. "You’ve never offered me alcohol before, oneechan."

"Maybe with some more dessert?"

"We just had dessert."

"I feel like ice cream. Too bad there isn’t any."

"I’ll go get some."

"You don’t have to. It’s late."

"It’s close. I’ll be quick."

Before Kasumi could protest, Akane grabbed her wallet and jacket. She was already at the gate when her sister called out,

"Oh! Akane-chan! Could you grab some cookies, too?"

Akane turned, waved—and promptly walked straight into someone.

Her instincts kicked in; she tried to leap back, arms coming up. But she didn’t get the chance. She was already being held.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" a voice teased softly.

Akane sagged into him with relief, her hands curling over his shoulders. She buried her face in his neck, eyes fluttering shut.

Ranma.

She felt his hand cradle the back of her head, his warmth soaking into her.

She punched his shoulder lightly. "Jackass."

He chuckled. "Mmm."

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

They stood wrapped around each other. His chest moved with each breath. His nose brushed her jaw, the stubble on his chin grazing her skin. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She let out a soft sound.

When his lips met hers, Akane felt like she’d been waiting forever. She kissed him back, lips parting in rhythm, urgency building in the quiet night. It was almost unreal—like a dream she didn’t want to wake from.

Eventually, the moment softened. Ranma rested his head on her shoulder. She turned toward him, held him closer, and closed her eyes.

"You took so long…" she whispered.

"Sorry," he murmured. His arms tightened.

"Okay. Just this once, though."

"Where were you headed?"

She started walking. He matched her step, taking her hand.

"Convenience store. Kasumi wants ice cream."

They walked in comfortable silence.

"Bit late for ice cream," Ranma said.

"Yeah, but oneechan’s happy. She brought out sake and everything."

"Sake? I’ve never seen her drink."

Akane smiled up at him. "There’s a first time for everything."

He slung an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his side. It felt right.

At the store, she picked two flavors and forgot the cookies.

"So," she asked on the way back, "what took you so long? I figured you’d be here earlier. I missed you all afternoon."

She kept her tone light, but she’d been buzzing all day—checking every sound, jumping at the phone. It felt anticlimactic, finding him quiet. Withdrawn.

"Actually... I dunno. Lost track of time."

"Really? That’s surprising."

"I’m sorry, Akane. I guess I lose track of the days sometimes at school."

They reached the dojo gate. Akane stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

"Well, I’m glad you didn’t forget completely."

Ranma chuckled, a little sheepish. "I did run to catch the train."

She smiled as he hugged her from behind.

"I wouldn’t forget."

She leaned into him.

The walk back to the porch felt golden. Warm. Like home.

It was a lovely scene. The warmth of the house wrapped around her. Even the lighting felt softer, cozier. She loved the sound of their footsteps on the stone path. The golden glow spilling from the dining room was like walking into a paper lantern. Kasumi’s happiness hummed through the air in bits of laughter and quiet talk. And Ranma’s presence behind her was solid and sure, making her feel safe.

It was everything she’d missed. Everything she’d dreamed of.

OOOOOOOO

The remainder of the evening had been lovely. The absence of looming parents probably had a lot to do with it. That, and the glow in Kasumi’s face. The doctor had proven himself warm, gentle, and engaging. Ranma had felt a little awkward at first—drinks with the local doctor was not a usual Saturday night—but Tofu-sensei was easy to like.

They talked about the boarding school, martial arts, and what it was like to live among strangers. Tofu-sensei had a calm presence that drew people in. Ranma noticed the way Akane leaned into the conversation, sipping her sake, smiling more than she had all week. It stung a little.

She seemed so animated talking to Tofu-sensei. The conversation flowed. She shared stories about her roommates and university life, her words tumbling out in an enthusiastic rhythm.

Ranma listened, smiling, but a quiet restlessness crept in. Tofu-sensei was asking the kinds of things he should have asked her. Things he hadn’t even thought to ask.

Maybe it was a family thing. Kasumi, too, looked completely smitten, nodding at every word, her eyes sparkling. He wondered if Akane had ever looked at him like that. Maybe she had. She’d said she liked his simplicity. But in that moment, simplicity felt like a poor substitute for insight.

The ice cream helped. Kasumi brought it out with more sake, and everyone settled into cozy corners of the living room.

Akane leaned in again. "One of my roommates, Hibiki-kun, is kind of a contradiction. He’s lived abroad most of his life, so I thought he’d be more open or worldly. But he’s not. He’s serious. Quiet. Almost like he’s always watching everything. I think he’s just... lonely."

Ranma stiffened slightly. Quiet watchfulness and loneliness? That was how she described him? He scooped ice cream with a bit more force than necessary.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned slightly closer, sliding his hand under the table to rest it lightly on Akane’s thigh.

She didn’t skip a beat. She turned toward him briefly, flashing a warm smile before continuing the conversation. Then her hand slipped under the table to lace her fingers with his. Her touch was warm. Steady.

Ranma relaxed.

She leaned against him, her head lightly resting on his shoulder. He let his cheek rest against her hair.

This was better.

A couple of hours later, with the ice cream gone and Kasumi yawning, the evening wound down. Ranma said his polite goodbyes, pretending he was heading home, only to circle back and sneak up to Akane’s room, as usual.

She was already waiting. Jeans gone, the top buttons of her blouse undone.. The window barely clicked shut before she pulled him down onto the bed, laughter on her lips.

They kissed, her laughter fading into soft gasps. She straddled him with the confident grace of someone who knew exactly what she wanted. Hair messy. Eyes bright.

"I think I might be drunk," she whispered, blinking wide-eyed at him.

He laughed softly. "Loud, too."

She tilted her head at him, playful. Then her smile faded.

"Do you think I’ll ever seem like them?" she asked suddenly, her voice small. "Everything’s so new, and they all seem to fit right in. I feel... naïve."

He looked at her, quiet. Her vulnerability made something ache in his chest.

"I want to be more sophisticated, like Takano. Or adventurous like Sumire. Or confident like Tamaki. Maybe even dark and misunderstood like Ryoga-kun."

His expression shifted.

She saw it. Her tone softened.

"I’m thinking too much, right?"

She kissed his palm. Then she pushed him back, straddling him again, her eyes dark.

Well, no. That’s not what he was thinking, but he’d let her roll with it.

"You’ve always been so good at making me forget my mind." Akane’s tone changed in a instant.

She took his hand, guided it to her thigh. Then to her breast, pulling the fabric down with a roughness that made them both gasp.

"I missed this," she whispered, her voice breaking as she moved against him. "I missed you."

He kissed her, hungry. One hand tangled in her hair, the other on her waist.

"Ranma..." she whimpered, eyes fluttering. "I want to feel you when you’re not with me. I want you to... fuck me so hard I still feel you next week."

Ranma growled softly, grabbing her wrists and twisting her shirt behind her back to hold her there. Yes, it was a thrill holding for her like this, her wrists tight in one of his hands with the aid of her clothing, trapping her as she bucked some more, his other hand pulling her closer to him, to better grind himself against her.

Oh, Gods, how she moaned, her thighs squeezing him and keeping him in place, at her mercy,  even as he tried to…. to rough her up… to control her… to make her shut up and forget all about cool, brooding, and dark and mysterious new people. Something gave in his mind. Ranma grunted with effort, suddenly frustrated, as he squeezed her ass hard, making her gasp sharply.

She exhaled, her movements harsh on his lap, struggling to free her hands even as she whimpered his name. He tightened the hand on her wrists, as his other hand travelled to pull sharply at her bra, “Ranma… You’re so strong…” she said between breaths, the words barely forming and he squeezed her. “I want to feel you--” she started, but choked on her words as he slapped her over her breast. What possessed him, he’d probably never know. But the sound was so sharp and sudden, and it made him so hot he thought his eyes crossed. “I want to feel you,” she tried again, recovering much too quickly for his liking, her breath fast as he rubbed his thumb over her nipple over and over. And she moaned and wiggled, as far as her trapped arms would let her.

She bucked against him, gasping as he ground up into her.

"Shut up," he muttered, hoarse. Then hesitated.

She looked at him, eyes soft and trusting.

"You’re being really loud," he said, with a small smirk.

She laughed. He smiled against her skin.

"Shut up," he repeated, and kissed her hard.

She melted into him.

He gave in to the moment, to her abandon. But somewhere in the back of his mind, something tugged. A small wish that they could slow down. That she’d looked at him a bit longer. Touched him more gently. Moaned a little less.

He held her tighter, as if that would quiet the thought.

OOOOOOOO

The next morning came quickly.

Ranma woke before the sun. He shifted carefully, trying not to wake Akane, whose arm was slung over his chest. Her breathing was slow and even, mouth slightly open, a smear of pillow crease on her cheek.

He stared at the ceiling.

His body still buzzed from the night before. But his mind... his mind felt like it was lagging behind. Something inside him had stayed untouched.

He liked the way she touched him. He loved that she wanted him. But still, something small and quiet inside him whispered: Was that all she wanted from me?

He didn’t want to think like that.

Akane stirred.

He turned to her, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. Her eyes opened, unfocused.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

She blinked, then smiled. “Mmm. Morning.”

They stayed like that for a minute. Then she yawned and buried her face in his shoulder.

“I have to go soon,” she mumbled.

He nodded. “I know.”

But he didn’t move.

She ran her hand across his chest, fingertips brushing over a scar. Her touch gentled.

“I wish we had more time,” she whispered.

He didn’t say anything. He just kissed her temple.

They moved slowly after that. Quiet, careful. They dressed without speaking much. Downstairs, Kasumi had already made breakfast.

Kasumi glanced at them. Said nothing. Just smiled and poured tea.

OOOOOOOO

The train station felt cold.

Ranma walked her to the platform. Neither of them said what they were thinking.

When her train pulled in, she turned to him.

“I’ll call next Saturday?”

He nodded. “I’ll try to be home.”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

They kissed. Quick, soft. Then she was gone.

Ranma stood still until the train disappeared.

Then he walked home.

The street was quiet. The sun was warm. And his chest ached in a way he couldn’t explain.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Life’s Like That (Part III)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOO

Days at school became routine very quickly. Ranma wasn’t sure whether he appreciated that or not. While he understood the importance of good habits—rising at dawn, meditating, cleaning up at the end of the day, and so on—sometimes it felt like time was standing still. And it made him edgy.

Fortunately, Ling Ling continued to tutor him in the evenings, and sometimes even before most students were up. It took the edge off the waiting. Slightly.

Waiting. Waiting to get better. Waiting to be acknowledged. Waiting for the Amazons to come back. Waiting for the next day off so he could go home. Waiting for his turn to visit Akane. Waiting for the courage to say the things he needed to say.

But there just wasn’t time. He’d really understood this only a few weeks ago, when he hung up the phone after a ten-minute chat with Akane. There wasn’t time. There was never going to be a perfect opportunity. Still, he didn’t want to ruin the little time they had together with heavy talk. So Ranma had decided to let it go for now, to stop feeling guilty for not talking about the future, and to wait until summer break, when they’d have more time together.

It was a real problem, not having time. He just needed to be close to her, to touch her, and damn everything else. Especially talking about important things. By the time he got past the longing, it was always time to say goodbye again. Who wanted serious conversations in moments like that?

He could tell Akane felt the same. They’d talked just the weekend before, about stupid stuff mostly. Just catching up. He’d heard the strain in her voice, though. It took effort for her to keep it light. She mentioned school getting rough, but left it at that. She missed him. She missed home. He could picture her at her desk, scribbling notes and reading until well past midnight. There was no way he was going to dump more stress on her.

So he told himself it was reasonable to wait. And that was okay.

Then, a week later, the Amazons came back. Ling Ling said it was strange they’d returned so soon.

For a whole week, the tension had mounted. It wasn’t a secret anymore that some students would be chosen to train abroad. A lot of people wanted in. The whole school buzzed with this ridiculous intensity that set Ranma on edge. He heard the talk. Some students knew what was happening but didn’t think they were in the running. Still, everyone was excited. A lot of first-years expected some kind of contest, even while the older students insisted it had never worked like that. No one explained anything.

"There may be a competition," Ling Ling had said. "Only if the decision is a difficult one. If there is one," she added with a sly smile, "contestants won't see it coming."

Talk about anticlimactic. Ranma felt frustrated.

He was sparring distractedly, with Arata helping out as he sometimes did—either to fight boredom or because he benefitted from Ling Ling’s sharp eye—when he suddenly noticed someone new standing beside sensei.

From their attitude alone, Ranma knew. They were being scouted.

The newcomer turned out to be Ling Ling’s older sister, Xian Pu. And she had two traits that drove him a little nuts.

First, she had this poker face that made Ranma want to break through it, to see anything—any reaction. He could tell it was a mask. She wielded that control like a weapon.

Second, her body moved with such fluid control that he instinctively knew she was on a different level. He was dying to see her in action.

And besides, she was gorgeous. Not that Ranma wanted to think about it. But he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he enjoyed it, sometimes he felt guilty. But he didn’t beat himself up about it too much. Every straight guy in the compound felt the same way.

Regardless, her presence pushed him to focus.

Ling Ling noticed immediately and encouraged it. Mostly, she insisted on beating him down because his ego made him reckless. Ranma needed to understand that the only competition was with himself.

He knew that. Obviously. But he also knew he was probably one of the best students around. How did anyone keep their ego in check under those conditions?

And besides, Xian Pu was watching. She was almost always nearby. She let her presence be felt. He had no doubt she was watching. Maybe he wanted to show off.

But Ling Ling had said bowing down was essential. Warriors needed to follow orders, even with powerful minds and bodies. And Ranma, being the wild card, was no candidate for obedience.

He got the logic. Even if it sounded more like the army than martial arts for art's sake. The path of the warrior was more than that, wasn’t it? Still, he took it to heart. So when Ling Ling told him to meditate in the clearing where they usually sparred and await instructions, he zipped it and did as he was told.

He felt his heart leap when someone settled down noisily in front of him.

He scrambled back on hands and feet, startled, even before he opened his eyes. No grace at all. He’d been so caught off guard, his cheeks burned with shame. Damn Ling Ling and her--

The laugh was soft and musical, totally unlike what he’d expected. And it wasn’t Ling Ling. Obviously. Or he’d have sensed her coming.

"Sister says you're quite advanced, Saotome-san," Xian Pu giggled, crossing her legs comfortably. "But there is still much to do with your senses and concentration."

Ranma wanted to argue. His heart was pounding. No student could sneak up on him anymore. Arata couldn’t. None of the upperclassmen, either. Maybe the sensei weren’t trying. Still.

But he bit his tongue. Slowly, he returned to a seated position.

Xian Pu was petite but intense, staring him down from across the clearing. A smile teased the corner of her lips. She’d seemed taller in his mind.

Ling Ling’s advice echoed: Bite your tongue. Maybe then she’d show more expression.

Swallowing his embarrassment, Ranma managed a smile and bowed.

"Sensei."

"Not here," she said shortly. "Observer only."

That made him uneasy.

"You’re not here to teach?"

She shook her head, eyes unblinking.

Ranma held her gaze, his mind scrambling. This had to be the test.

She smiled, too sweetly.

"You’re tense. I apologize," she said, leaning back on her hands, legs relaxed.

Ranma exhaled, smiling. She smiled back.

"You surprised me. Even now," he said, "it’s like you’re not here."

She laughed again, and suddenly they were in this strange, intimate bubble. This wasn’t the same woman he’d seen stalking around school. He tried to stay guarded, but felt oddly at ease.

He slouched a bit, scratched his head, smiling in spite of himself.

She seemed so relaxed, maybe it was okay to relax too. Unless it was all a setup and he was messing up.

He straightened up.

"No test," she said, reading him perfectly. "Only talk."

He wasn’t sure.

He glanced around. Any sign of Ling Ling? Any other surprise attacks? This had already been one.

Xian Pu laughed again.

"Ranma," she said softly, eyes sharp. "No test. I’m just curious."

"I... don’t know why," he admitted, unsure how to address her.

"Grandmother and sister have spoken of you. Bright students always come to Yoshinkan. But it is unusual for Amazon women to play favorites."

He knew Ling Ling had favored him, at least a little. He figured it was more camaraderie than anything else.

"Oh," he said, scratching his head. "I’m not sure what to say... I mean, yeah, I get extra help. I’m probably above average. But..."

"Ranma is stubborn, driven, hardworking, and strong. He has attitude, but shows kindness and honor. That’s rare. So I am curious."

Ranma swallowed hard. He wanted to feel flattered. And he did. Only Akane and his mom had ever spoken of him like that. It made his chest tighten.

"Ranma reminds Xian Pu of herself," she added, finally looking away.

"Oh. I see." Maybe she’d had the same attitude issues. Yeah. He could see that. He relaxed a bit.

"But Xian Pu has never been kind. It is not our way. Kindness is seen as a double-edged sword. It can cut down opportunities as much as it opens them. It can lead to weakness. So it is not encouraged."

Yeah. That tracked. Neither of her relatives had ever been what you’d call kind. Or fair. Just strong. And cryptic.

"So... you were strong, with attitude?"

"Yes. And driven. Especially as a student. More so now, with responsibilities." She sighed, leaning in closer. "But I know what it’s like, to feel raw power, and to want more."

Her voice was soft. Ranma leaned in, listening.

"To feel restricted by rules. To feel far from your full potential. I’ve been where you are."

"Just... Xian Pu," he said, forgetting caution. The name felt weird on his tongue. "How old are you?"

He regretted it immediately. But she laughed, leaning in again.

"Twenty-four," she whispered.

He grinned.

"And Ling Ling?"

"Twenty."

"Twenty?!"

"Yes."

Ranma burst out laughing. "Oh man, I thought you were going to say fifty or something!"

"Ranma is surprised," she said, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms.

"You bet I am," he said, teasing. "The way Ling-sensei talks, the way she kicks me around—you’d think she was ancient."

"We start learning our paths before we can walk."

"So you’re all super advanced even when you’re young..."

"If it helps, surprising you tonight was not easy."

Ranma felt a surprising rush of pride.

"But I wanted to see."

"And what did you see?"

"I see why Great-Grandmother has chosen you."

Ranma was stunned.

"Chosen me?"

Xian Pu nodded.

"But I thought someone else made that call."

"Normally, yes. But this time, Great-Grandmother insists. You are to be welcomed into our tribe. I see no problem with it."

His chest swelled. He grinned.

"Really?"

"Yes. Not official yet. But it will be."

"No tests?"

She shook her head. "Life is a test. Besides strength, we look for attitude. Sometimes, other things matter, but not as much."

"Other things?"

Xian Pu smiled.

"Ranma worries a lot."

Ranma snorted. "Well, you guys don’t exactly share information. We get bits and cryptic remarks."

"Knowing you will be trained by world-class masters is not enough?"

Honestly, it was.

"Are you a master, Xian Pu? Will you be training me?"

"To some, yes," she said. "But to you..." She paused. It made Ranma nervous.

"To Ranma," she said, lifting a finger and pointing at his chest. He stared as it approached, the pad of her finger finally resting on his exposed chest. His senses exploded.

He thought he felt it trace a line, then suddenly push. Off balance, he fell back on his forearms, stunned, looking up at her as she stood.

She nodded, then walked away, her long hair glinting in the light.

"Will you spar with me?" he called. "Eventually?"

She chuckled.

"It was good to meet you, Ranma. We will talk again. Good night."

His last thought before turning in was that she really needed a haircut. What was it with Amazon women and long hair? Couldn’t that be used against them?

He tugged at his pigtail, self-conscious, then went to find his bed.

OOOOOOOO

Unfortunately, Arata wanted to talk. He was reading some yankee manga, which he hastily set aside the moment Ranma walked through the door.

"That was a long one," Arata commented, sitting up on his futon. "You and Ling Ling are getting awfully close lately. Spending a lot of time together..."

Lately, Arata had been hinting a lot. Ranma didn’t get why. They’d both been through enough sparring sessions with Ling Ling to know there was nothing remotely romantic about them—just pain, exhaustion, and the occasional bit of banter. Ranma refused to take the bait.

"She’s fond of wiping the floor with me, I think," he muttered.

Arata watched him unroll his futon. "You don’t look particularly wiped, though," he said absently, eyes drifting back to his manga.

Ranma lay down with a sigh. "No. I was actually being interviewed by Xian Pu just now."

That got Arata’s attention.

"Seriously? Why? What did she say?"

Ranma chuckled. "I found out how old they are."

"Ooh, interesting interview. Would I have won?"

"Way off the mark, man."

Arata laughed. "So, how old are they?"

"Not saying. I was way off too. And there’s no way I’m cleaning toilets for days on top of everything else."

Ranma was already dozing off when Arata spoke again.

"Xian Pu, huh? She... she scares me a bit."

"Yeah," Ranma murmured. "Me too. But she was kinda nice."

"Oh really?"

"She laughed and everything."

"Well, look at you, sly charming man. Making ice queens laugh."

Ranma took a second to feel smug.

"I didn’t do anything, really."

"Sure you didn’t."

"I didn’t. I just answered some questions, then asked some myself..."

"Questions..."

"Like how old they all were."

"Did that get her laughing?"

"It did, actually."

"Hmmm... you need to be more forthcoming, man. This feels like a breakthrough and you’re holding out on me."

"Not much more to say. Well..." Ranma dropped onto his futon with a thud. "She told me I’d been chosen to go abroad."

"Seriously?? Did she test you or something?"

"No. Apparently, they’ve been watching for a while now."

"Man, I’m jealous now."

"Well..."

"Are they picking anyone else?"

"She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask."

"Some informer you are. So... are you going, then?"

Yes, was what Ranma wanted to say. He desperately wanted to go. But something stopped him. There was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"I... want to go. Yes."

"You don’t sound thrilled."

"I... need to talk to Akane first..."

The relaxed high he’d been feeling vanished. He sat up abruptly and rubbed his eyes.

Crap.

Maybe he just needed to see her. Their phone conversations were too brief, too guarded. With term in full swing, she was probably even busier, even more stressed. Did she think of him often? Did she wait for the weekend calls?

He kept forgetting lately. There was too much going on. Too much distance.

Would it be okay to just... visit?

He missed her, obviously. But somehow... he missed her and dreaded seeing her at the same time. Was that even possible?

He tried to comfort himself with the idea that maybe Akane would be excited about the idea of living abroad for a while. Maybe.

Of course, he didn’t sleep very well after that.

OOOOO

Days passed in their usual routine. Ranma tried to stay cool. But he couldn’t tell if this buzz in his chest was just excitement—or anxiety too.

Xian Pu reached out a few more times. Always mysterious, but strangely... approachable. And Ranma started to look forward to these halfway-secret encounters. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because Xian Pu was like his future—or he was like her past. She’d been in his position before. Maybe she felt a kinship.

She understood. She’d had the same drive to get stronger, to be acknowledged. There were feelings and instincts he didn’t yet have words for, rising in him as he walked this path—and even Arata couldn’t relate. But Xian Pu could. She didn’t have to say much for him to feel that.

It felt good. It felt... fulfilling, in a way only someone on the same road could provide.

And it made him think of Akane.

There was a time when they had connected like that. When beyond the attraction—the kind that had sucked him in like a whirlpool—he’d found something deeper.

Now, he just missed her. He missed her, even if the thought of telling her about his plans made him anxious. He missed the quiet moments they used to have. Missed her certainty and her rambling thoughts when she needed help unraveling them. Missed her attention.

Akane made him feel vulnerable and appreciated at the same time.

Strangely, Xian Pu did too. She saw something in him beyond being a task. There was respect there, maybe even affection. She showed him a different side of herself, one she didn’t show to the rest of the school. She felt more like a friend than a teacher.

And she reminded him of Akane. The way she carried herself. The way people noticed. The way she held their respect. Strong women were like that, he supposed.

A few days later, the Amazons made the announcement: students had been selected to train abroad. Those interested would have to confirm by the end of the month so arrangements could be made.

The school buzzed with talk and excitement. People congratulated each other, others whispered jealously. Ranma felt the walls closing in.

Something had shifted. Things were happening fast. Too fast.

That Friday, just before curfew, he wandered around aimlessly, trying to decide whether to stay over the weekend or go home to his parents' constant questioning. That’s when Xian Pu found him.

She startled him—again—appearing silently from above the trees.

"Ranma seems troubled."

He looked up from the rock he was perched on, straightening like a kid caught sulking. She landed with graceful silence, as if she weighed nothing.

"Hi," he said. Half-relaxed, half-on alert—the usual combination when she was around.

"Will Ranma mind company?" she asked, gesturing to the spot next to him.

He slid over without a word.

He thought of how much time he spent in these woods. Sometimes he imagined they were wild forests, far from Tokyo. Tonight, he stayed close. He could see the compound lights through the trees. He hadn’t gone to the clearing where he sparred with Ling Ling, or deeper into the woods like he sometimes did.

Tonight, being able to see the buildings that had become his second home felt like a good thing.

"So quiet here, for such loud city," she said, reading his mood instantly.

Ranma nodded. "Yeah... I guess it is quiet. When it wants to be."

This past week, second-years had helped tidy the park. Just enough wilderness to seem wild.

"Though really," he added, "we're always close to some building. If you listen, you can hear the compound. It's kind of make-believe."

Xian Pu leaned back on her arms, looking up.

"If this were real forest, we could see stars."

Ranma looked up too, trying to imagine a clear sky.

"Could be worse. I like it here."

"Yes. Xian Pu can tell."

A few minutes passed in silence. The distant sounds of the dining hall being cleaned reached them. It was oddly calming.

"Ranma would like the village," she said eventually. "Wilderness is real. Sky close enough to touch."

Ranma looked at her. She seemed smaller, more wistful.

"I miss home," she murmured. "This city... too much of everything. Except what matters."

He could understand that. They hadn’t been in Japan long, but homesickness didn’t follow a timetable.

"You’re going back soon, right?"

She brightened and smiled dazzlingly.

"Yes. One week. Very exciting. Because Ranma has been chosen too."

His heart skipped. And he didn’t like how it felt.

He stared at the trees.

"Though it will still be some time before students arrive, the village will prepare. And I know Ranma will come."

Ranma gave a weak smile, a grunt, and stayed quiet. Of course he wanted to go. But he couldn’t say yes. Not yet. Even though he probably should.

He imagined Akane’s smile. He wanted her to smile at this news. He wanted her to be happy for him. What would she think? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

His chest tightened.

Oh gods... Akane. He needed to get home. To call her. Or maybe--

"Ranma is far away," Xian Pu said softly, misreading him slightly. "Thinking of wilderness? Of trip to come?"

He took a deep breath. Tried to quiet his mind.

"I’m grateful for the honor," he said, a little stiff. "And I’m looking forward to--"

"Why hesitate?" she interrupted, voice suddenly sharp. "Xian Pu knows Ranma hesitates. But this is unique opportunity."

Her tone startled him. She sounded annoyed. He glanced sideways. She was sitting upright now, arms folded, all softness gone.

"I know what Ranma wants. Even if he doesn’t. Even if he won’t say."

He swallowed.

"Why is Ranma the only student who has not agreed to come?" Her voice was tight, almost like she was talking to herself.

He was searching for words when he felt something warm press against his arm. He turned. She was close. Closer than he’d expected.

"Xian Pu will wait for Ranma..."

Her voice was breathy. Her lip was close. Too close. Then her hand brushed against his thigh, just above the knee. Slow. Decisive.

His heart raced.

The next instant, he was standing, a safe distance away. He didn’t know if he was more embarrassed or panicked.

And Xian Pu... she wasn’t smiling. Not really. She smirked.

He felt played.

"I see," she said, arms and legs crossed. "An important condition to be chosen is few emotional attachments. But we don’t say this. Ranma hides his well."

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

"Arata-san was considered. Hardworking. Loyal. Useful. But dismissed. He is pledged to marry."

She stood and walked toward him. He thought about bolting. He doubted it would help.

"Students are meant to stay one year. But most stay longer. Ranma is perfect candidate. Perfect."

She stopped in front of him. Too close.

"Perfect candidate in every sense," she murmured. "Yet he will not commit."

She looked him straight in the eye.

"Ranma has wife and family he cannot leave?"

Was this a test? What were they even asking?

Her voice had a tone he didn’t like. It rubbed him raw. And suddenly, he wasn’t afraid. He was angry. He wanted to wipe that smirk off her face.

He opened his mouth. His brain wasn’t ready. But his pride was.

"I do."

Her brow lifted. She hadn’t expected that.

Her voice changed. Softer. Less sure.

"We deal with her, then. Wives are problem. Unless they understand: the path of the warrior comes first. Otherwise, it becomes weakness. But we are decided. We will take you."

Her eyes narrowed.

"I will speak to grandmother. We will make accommodation for your family. They do not seem to weaken you. Get your affairs in order. You have until semester ends."

That gave him a couple of months.

They’d taken him in. He was going back to China.

With his... wife.

He tried not to show any reaction. Tried not to give her the upper hand. But panic bloomed. Would Akane even agree to that? Leave school? Marry him?

Oh, gods.

Still... wouldn’t it be amazing? If they could go together? She’d always talked about going away. What if they actually did?

Xian Pu was gone.

Ranma let out a huge sigh.

Yeah. He needed to get home. Right now.

OOOOOOOO

After all the novelty, university life started to feel... familiar. Almost like high school. There were club activities, lectures, mountains of homework, and not much free time. In some ways, Akane welcomed the return to routine. But she wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing.

At first, it had been exciting. The newness of everything—the freedom, the people, the late nights—gave her a thrill. Her roommates had started to feel like family. That helped with adjusting. They partied a little at first, cautiously, then more freely. Akane had always been careful, but something about being around people she trusted helped her loosen up.

She discovered she enjoyed drinking. Not excessively, but enough to feel light and unburdened. It quieted her overthinking. But she learned quickly that alcohol hit her fast. Takano-san told her she’d get better at handling it with time. He drank a lot. Beer at home, spirits out. Never seemed to get drunk. Akane wasn’t sure she wanted to build that kind of tolerance.

Dinner at home became her favorite part of the day. Nobody was a great cook, but Tamaki and Sumire were picky about food. They loved elaborate meals with foreign names and wine pairings. Tamaki fussed about wine body and background flavors, and Akane didn’t always follow, but it was fun. Sitting together over pasta and student-budget wine, cozy and full, was becoming a new comfort.

Everyone changed a little in those moments. Takano smiled more. Tamaki got less airy and more insightful. Sumire softened. Akane wondered what side of herself she showed during those evenings. It was clear everyone enjoyed the company.

Ryoga-kun remained the exception. Always a little distant. Reflective. Guarded.

Akane figured he missed home. If he had one. That thought made her heart ache. She missed her family too.

So things were settling into a new normal. The apartment started to feel like home. Classes got more intense. Studying took over. The partying helped less.

And she started longing for real comforts. Kasumi’s cooking. The dojo. Her bed. Ranma.

She’d never thought of Ranma as her stress relief before, but it was obvious now. He’d been a grounding force last year.

She didn’t want to burden him. He had enough going on. And besides, he seemed so mature lately, so focused. She couldn’t bring herself to whine about homesickness, not after fighting so hard to be here. To be independent. Like Nabiki. Especially after the way she’d treated him about it.

Their calls, rare as they were, felt empty. She couldn’t open up. She put on a brave face. That didn’t bother her much. Maybe this was adulthood: dealing with your own stuff.

Still, she needed to talk to him. So sometimes, she wrote him letters. Letters she never sent. They weren’t meant to be read. Just writing them helped. Maybe she’d give them to him one day. Maybe not. For now, they stayed with her.

Weirdly, it was easier to talk to Nabiki. Maybe because she’d gone through this too. They spoke more often, usually about Kasumi’s wedding.

She missed Kasumi terribly. Missed talking to her. But she didn’t want to impose, not now, not during such a joyful time.

It never failed to hit harder whenever Ryoga spoke.

The night before, they’d tried to cook an English-style roast. Tamaki insisted on it, despite it being a Thursday. They needed a break after midterms, and the weather was miserable.

Akane peeled potatoes—the closest anyone allowed her to cooking. Somehow, she managed.

"This was my mom’s favorite," Tamaki explained. "She liked creamy vegetable sauces. I prefer teriyaki, but we can do both."

"My mom always liked okonomiyaki," Sumire chimed in. "Probably because she didn’t have to cook it."

"I’m fine with noodles," Ryoga said, setting the table. "That’s all my mom ever ordered."

The silence that followed was sharp.

"Not much of a cook, huh..." Takano murmured, watching from the corner.

"No," Ryoga replied.

Akane smiled at him. "Not everyone gets home-cooked meals every day."

He smiled back. Small, but genuine. It warmed her.

"You would know, Akane-chan," Tamaki teased. "Right?"

"Yes, yes. I can’t cook to save my life. Very funny, sempai."

"Or peel potatoes either..."

They all laughed, but inside, Akane felt sad for Ryoga. He hadn’t had the things she’d taken for granted. Kasumi’s care. Family dinners. Warmth.

As lovely as the evening was, being around Ryoga always reminded her of how much she missed home. Maybe it didn’t matter where she studied. Maybe she could still reach her goals closer to home. Help Kasumi. Train with her dad. And see Ranma more often.

But what was done was done. Usually.

Things were good. She couldn’t deny that. But the homesickness weighed too heavily. If only it didn’t, maybe everything else would feel easier.

OOOOOOOO

The afternoon sun slanted across the tiny table in Akane’s dorm kitchen, catching on the edge of a pale blue envelope.

She ran her thumb over the handwriting on the front. It was from Yuka—back from her exchange in Canada, full of messy excitement.

Inside were printed photos and a chaotic letter in blue gel pen:

"You would’ve loved the mountains here. I hiked until my legs gave out and thought of you every time I saw someone trying to stretch their hamstrings wrong. We have to go somewhere like this one day. Anyway, I’m back in Tokyo for now. Call me when you’re in town. Seriously, I can’t wait to see you. I’ll even sit through a poetry reading if it means hanging out."

Akane smiled faintly. Her fingers hovered over the letter before tucking it gently back into the envelope.

A wave of homesickness washed over her. Not just for the dojo or Kasumi’s voice down the hallway, or her father humming over tea. But for simplicity. For connections that didn’t need translating or softening.

That weekend, she phoned Sayuri.

It was a short call, but grounding. Sayuri’s laugh hadn’t changed. She teased Akane about her "new student smell" and said she missed her bossiness. Akane laughed out loud at that.

Then, unprompted, Sayuri said something that stuck:

"You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, you know. You already did the hard part. You left. You saw what it’s like. If it doesn’t fit, that’s not failure. That’s just knowing better."

Akane thought about that for a long time.

Later that night, she pulled out the university transfer forms.

Just to look.

Just to check what it would take to move her coursework back to Tokyo.

She didn’t decide anything.

But she didn’t put the forms away, either.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma’s unannounced visit came the following weekend.

Akane had just come back from class when she heard the familiar knock—quick, clipped, unmistakable. Her heart jolted. She opened the door to find him there, looking casual and rumpled, backpack slung over one shoulder, the ever-present glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Hey,” she replied, stepping aside.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment.

The visit wasn’t bad. But it didn’t feel easy either. The last few times they’d seen each other, there’d been something off. He’d been distracted—guilty, even—and Akane couldn’t shake the feeling that his mind had been elsewhere.

They tried. They really did.

She made tea. They sat in the kitchen with her roommates coming and going, chatting about this and that. Ranma watched her interact, mostly silent, mostly outside of the rhythm. He wasn’t part of this world, and Akane was starting to realize that maybe he didn’t want to be. Or maybe he couldn’t be.

He left that evening.

And as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, something in Akane unraveled.

She paced. Then sat. Then stood again. Her chest felt tight. Her hands shook.

When she finally called him—after only an hour—she didn’t even try to pretend everything was fine.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she admitted, voice low.

Ranma was quiet on the other end. “What do you mean?”

“We’re weird,” she said. “Aren’t we? You and me. It’s like we’re acting like we’re fine. But we’re not. I don’t feel okay.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. “I know.”

Akane exhaled shakily. “I miss you. And I’m so tired of missing you. And even when you’re here, I feel like you’re not really here. Like I can’t reach you.”

Ranma didn’t respond for a long time.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he said finally.

“Yeah. Me neither.”

They sat in that silence for a while. And when they finally hung up, there was no comfort. Just quiet.

Later that night, Akane opened the box under her bed. It was full of letters she’d written to Ranma. None of them sent. Some angry. Some full of longing. Some just day-to-day nothingness. She hadn’t mailed a single one.

Not because she didn’t want to. But because she didn’t want to burden him. Because she thought she could handle it on her own. Because she was trying to be strong.

She didn’t cry.

But she didn’t sleep either.

OOOOOOOO

As she looked out the window of the moving train, she wondered how things happened so fast.

The wedding came and went.

Kasumi had looked beautiful, radiant in that effortless way she always had. Dr. Tofu had cried—more than once, actually—and Akane had smiled, and laughed, and hugged every relative in sight. He had so many relatives. She had posed for photos, helped the older aunts to their seats, and handed her father a fresh handkerchief every time he began to weep again. And it had been lovely. Really, it had.

She and Ranma had played their parts perfectly. Their timing, their rhythm, still worked when they needed it to. They stood together in photos, passed dishes back and forth across the table, joked with Sayuri and Yuka like they always had. No one would have known anything was off.

But even in the moment, something inside her had felt slightly out of step. She hadn’t been able to relax into the joy of it. Not fully. Every shared glance with Ranma was laced with an ache she couldn’t quite place, and every tender moment in the ceremony felt like something she was observing through glass. There and not there.

Because the whole time, she’d known it wouldn’t last. Not the marriage—that, she was sure, would be fine. But the gathering. The laughter. The sense of being surrounded by her people.

Home was temporary now.

And so was he.

Later that evening, after everything had calmed down, she stepped outside the gates, hiding, maybe. Akane stood with her back to the house, away from the clatter of dishes being washed and guests preparing for their return trips. She was drained in a way that went deeper than physical exhaustion. She didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore. Not right now.

She didn’t want Ranma to see her like this, though. Didn’t want to admit how unwell she really felt—not when he seemed just as tense, just as unlike himself. They were still going through the motions, still speaking the same shorthand they'd always known. But it wasn’t clicking. Not like it used to. Their exchanges felt off-beat, like a familiar song played in the wrong key.

He’d found her, regardless, and offered to take a walk around.

It was a very quiet walk. Too quiet. No teasing, no comfortable silence. Just words, offered like an old script. She leaned into his shoulder once, and he let her, wrapping an arm around her in a half-hearted hug. But it didn’t feel like a hug. It felt like a placeholder for comfort she could no longer access.

And yet, she still tried to take something from it. Still clung to the idea that being near him should make things better.

It didn’t. And that made her feel worse.

When they parted ways that night, he held her for a moment longer, his arms tightening just slightly.

"You’ll be okay," he said, too softly.

"Yeah. You too," she replied, voice barely above a whisper.

But it meant nothing. Not because it wasn’t kind, or because she didn’t love him, but because it couldn’t fix anything. They let go slowly, like each of them was waiting for the other to say something real.

Neither did.

And that hurt more than she expected.

Because Ranma had always been her feel-good pill. Her anchor. Her fix. And now? Even he couldn’t reach her the same way.

And she started to wonder—was that because of him?

Or was it because of her?

She was back on the train the next morning, seat gently rattling beneath her, half-heartedly watching the countryside slip past her window. Her carry-on sat heavily at her feet. It wasn’t just the weight of the clothes or the boxed-up slices of Kasumi’s wedding cake. It was the weight of going back to a place that no longer felt like anything.

University had once meant something. Challenge. Independence. Purpose. New friends that inspired her. But now? Her flatmates grated on her nerves more than they used to. Conversations felt hollow. She found herself staying quiet in group settings, fading into the background, or zoning out entirely. Her lectures blurred together. Her textbooks sat unread longer than they should. She’d always been a strong student, but lately, she couldn’t even summon the energy to pretend to care. She went through the motions—taking notes, handing in assignments—but none of it felt real. None of it felt like her.

The studio lights were too bright. The train too loud. Everyone around her too fast. And she was too tired.

She kept thinking about the way Ranma had stood at the edge of the wedding photos, hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets. He'd said all the right things. Helped carry tables. Danced badly, with Yuka, Kasumi and his Mom. Danced with her as well.

Whatever was off between them, it wasn’t dramatic or explosive. Just… off.

And maybe that was worse. Because it meant there was nothing to point to. No argument to untangle. Just this slow, quiet unraveling that neither of them seemed to know how to stop.

She wanted to talk to him. God, she wanted to just sit across from him and say: "I miss you." Not the way you say it to someone you haven’t seen in a while. But the other way. The harder way. The "I miss you even when you’re here" way.

But what would be the point? Even when they were together, it felt like they were walking parallel lines that never quite touched.

She rested her head against the window, chilled glass against her temple. Her breath left fog in short bursts. Her heart ached.

She didn’t want to miss things anymore. Not family dinners. Not birthdays. Not wedding rehearsals. Not fights with Ranma that ended in making up over bowls of ramen. She wanted to be there For all of it. For them. Especially for him.

And she didn’t know how to fix that. How to change a life already in motion.

She closed her eyes, willing the thoughts away. But they kept coming. Heavy and insistent.

Maybe the problem wasn’t just the distance.

Maybe the problem was her.

Because this weight in her chest—the fog, the dullness, the sense that everything joyful was happening just outside her reach—had started to feel constant. She was tired all the time. Disconnected. She caught herself staring into space, forgetting where she was, what she was supposed to be doing. Her appetite had changed. Her sleep was off. And that spark of defiance, of fire, that used to fuel her—she hadn’t felt it in weeks.

She knew she was strong. She always had been. People expected that from her—her sisters, her father, even Ranma. And for a long time, being strong had helped her survive. Had given her purpose. Ever since her mother’s passing.

But maybe she didn’t want to be strong like that anymore. Maybe being strong didn’t mean pretending everything was fine. Maybe it meant admitting it wasn’t.

She didn’t want to feel like this. Numb. Disconnected. Like she was slipping out of her own life.

Maybe she needed help.

Not just a break. Not just a weekend at home. But real help.

She thought of her father again—how he’d once been sharp and vibrant and fierce, and how he’d slowly folded in on himself after their mother died. He had never really talked about it. Never reached out. And he’d never fully come back from it either.

She didn’t want that to happen to her.

She needed to be around her family more. Around people who really knew her. She needed support—not just the kind you joke around with in a dorm kitchen, but the kind that sits quietly next to you when you’re not sure you can speak.

The train rocked gently as it curved along the hillside, and she opened her eyes to the fading light outside.

She would get through the rest of the semester. She always did.

But something had to change.

Because this—this wasn’t normal.

And she didn’t want to pretend it was.

OOOOOOOO

Dinner at the dojo was loud.

Everyone was home.

The table was crowded with familiar faces, plates being passed around, chopsticks clinking against bowls, laughter overlapping with half-finished stories. For anyone else, it might have felt comforting. Festive.

Akane sat among them, feeling like a visitor inside her own life, once more.

She had been trying, truly trying, to be present. To enjoy being back in the warmth of her family, to find some kind of relief in being home.

But everything around her seemed tuned to a frequency she could no longer reach.

She was still far from home. Not geographically. Emotionally.

And it hit her now, with the weight of the room pressing in, that she didn’t need to run. That she never had. That maybe the dojo, her home, could have been enough all along.

But family gatherings had their own kind of pressure. A performance of harmony. She smiled when spoken to, passed dishes when asked, nodded in rhythm with the stories. All automatic. None of it reaching her.

Ranma was seated a few places down. Close enough that she could feel his presence. Too far to feel grounded by it at all.

They hadn’t spoken much. Not really. Not in any meaningful way, as it was becoming the norm lately.

There was tension. But more than that, there was distance. A dull fog between them that hadn’t cleared in weeks. Months.

She wasn’t even sure what they were to each other anymore. And what scared her most was realizing she didn’t miss the certainty. Not like she used to.

There was a moment—quiet, almost too quiet—when the noise at the table felt very far away.

Nabiki said something clever. Kasumi laughed her soft, delighted laugh. Their father chuckled through tears. Nodoka poured another round of sake.

Akane sat very still, fingers curled loosely around her chopsticks.

And she knew.

Something was wrong.

Really wrong.

She felt wrong.

A sense of dislocation, of floating just above herself, settled into her bones. The push-pull of wanting to be left alone and desperately wanting someone to notice. To see through the surface. To reach out. But even that wish felt too heavy now.

Kasumi stood up, gently clinking her glass with a spoon.

"We have an announcement," she said, her voice warm with joy.

Everyone turned to her. The room hushed.

Akane already knew.

But hearing it aloud still pierced something inside.

"I'm pregnant."

There was an eruption of emotion. Cheers. Clapping. More laughter. Someone called for a toast. Their father cried again, clutching his cup like a prayer.

Akane stood with everyone else. Smiled. Hugged Kasumi. Said all the right things.

But it was like watching someone else's life unfold. Like acting in a play where she no longer remembered her lines.

When she glanced at Ranma, he was already looking at her.

Their eyes met for a moment that should have meant something.

But his expression was unreadable. And hers was practiced.

That single moment lodged itself in her chest like a splinter.

She sat back down. The noise around her grew again. Plates clattered. More bottles opened. The party picked up speed.

And all the while, she felt herself receding.

Later, when the volume became too much—too many people, too many emotions she couldn’t carry—she stood up quietly. Her chair barely scraped the floor.

No one noticed.

Or maybe they were being kind by not stopping her.

She walked out of the room, slid the door shut behind her without a sound, and did not look back.

She didn’t have the strength to.

OOOOOOOO

Akane seemed off. More so than usual. He hadn’t been able to get a clear read on her lately, for months now. She was always fidgety. Dodgy. None of it would’ve mattered—if he wasn’t about to drop big, potentially distressing news on her. Sort of.

It had started the second Kasumi announced her pregnancy. Ranma had noticed Akane’s mood shift instantly. And he’d wondered.

She’d been good at hiding it, though. He doubted anyone else had noticed. Her breathing had gone shallow. Her smile, slightly strained, didn’t quite reach her eyes. But in a split second, she’d covered it up—squared her shoulders, slapped on that wild smile, and powered through.

It was all very wrong.

Especially because—besides the physical tells—she wasn’t looking at him.

He’d chalked up their distance during dinner to the excitement of the gathering. Her whole family together, old friends, a good meal—it didn’t happen often. That had to be it. And he knew the distance had taken its toll on her.

But since Kasumi’s announcement, Ranma hadn’t taken his eyes off Akane. She was all smiles and chatter and laughter—forced, in his eyes—but still there. Directed at everyone at the table. Except him.

She was clearly, plainly, not looking his way.

Well, fuck.

He felt incredibly stupid, searching his brain for an answer. But nothing seemed good enough to explain the weird vibe between them. He wished he had a clue—why she was so tense, and why, for the life of him, she was shutting him out.

Sadness hit him hard. This distance wasn’t just about tonight. It had been growing for a while. And honestly, what had they expected? They lived hundreds of miles apart. He’d thought they were doing okay—making the best of it. Maybe they needed to try harder. But how? When?

Never mind that he loved her. Loved her, loved her. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to make things better between them. Which made all this even harder to accept.

How could he be so attuned to someone—to read their mood in the blink of an eye, in the way a muscle tensed to hold up a smile—and still have no idea what was actually going on?

What the hell was going on?

Crap.

And he was horribly aware that time was running out. Fast. He had to confirm his acceptance—no, their acceptance—as a couple, for him to start training the following semester. They’d already given him a couple of months. Now, his final month was slipping away, and he still hadn’t told her.

How fucked up was that?

But he hadn’t said a word. Why not? Why was he so scared?

He could blame their circumstances. Their timing. But none of that changed the fact that now—now, when it had become inevitable—still didn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Would there ever be a right time? What the hell was he waiting for?

Ranma sighed, willing her to look at him. Just a glance. A shift of her too-bright smile in his direction. Anything. He didn’t care if it was bad. He just wanted to be part of her world again—part of whatever storm was brewing inside her.

Because none of it changed the fact that he had to talk to her. Tonight. Before it was too late, whether she shook off the tension or not.

Dinner carried on around him, loud and chaotic. The men opened expensive sake. Nabiki was yelling for food delivery—clearly, the home-cooked spread wouldn’t cut it. Kasumi shot up from her seat, wanting to play hostess in her father’s house, only for Nodoka to gently push her back down with a smile, insisting that tonight, they were all family already.

More laughter. Louder now. More drunken by the minute.

He blinked when Nodoka offered a round of drinks and Akane not only accepted—she downed her cup in one go. He’d seen her drink before, but never like that. Never with that kind of urgency.

The party dragged on, rowdy and overflowing with cheer. Mr. Tendo wept openly, then burst into laughter, then back to tears again. Eventually, Akane stood up. She murmured an excuse—purely out of form, he thought, since no one really heard her—and walked out.

Ranma watched her go. Watched her glide to the door without once glancing his way. Watched her slide it open and shut it behind her. Quiet. Deliberate.

Still, not once had she looked at him.

Now he was well and truly worried. And it must’ve shown, because before he even realized it, Nabiki had slid into the seat beside him. Her voice was low, too close to his ear, but gentler than he expected.

“What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”

He should’ve been annoyed. But he just sighed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, stomach in knots.

“Mmm,” she hummed, taking a swig straight from the bottle. “Just go already. The two of you make me want to rip my hair out.”

“Yeah…” he mumbled.

He sighed again, stood up without much fuss, and headed toward the door. As he reached it, he felt a distinct gaze on his back.

Probably his mom.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Life’s Like That (Part IV)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOOOO

The sky was heavy above the Tendo Household, thick with late-afternoon heat, the kind that turned shadows dull and the air too still. Ranma stood outside the dojo door, barefoot, arms loose at his sides. He hadn’t gone in yet. He’d heard her. He always knew when she was inside.

It wasn’t ki. Not really. Not like martial awareness. It was something else. A kind of tension she gave off when things were bad. Like a low current in the air. Her silence didn’t feel quiet—it felt like pressure. Like the kind of silence that made you feel small just for walking into it.

She was in there. He knew it. He could feel it like heat coming off a stove.

And she was hurting. That much was obvious. He’d seen the signs—on the rare weekends they managed to meet, on the phone calls that had grown shorter and stranger. Her voice had changed. Not all the time. But enough that it lingered in his chest afterward, like the ghost of something she didn’t say.

He’d tried to ask, once.

"You okay?" he’d said, maybe a month ago. Her answer had been, "Just tired."

Another time, he’d done something impulsive—taken the train out to her campus on a free afternoon. He hadn’t warned her. He thought maybe surprising her would help, that seeing her face would shake something loose in both of them.

She’d smiled when she saw him. Hugged him, even. They’d walked around the neighborhood and grabbed something to eat. She talked about school, her roommates, how expensive groceries were getting. Everything seemed normal. But it wasn’t.

He never got the chance to bring up China. Or the ring. The moment never came. Or maybe he chickened out. He remembered thinking: this isn’t the right time. She looked too tired. Her laugh wasn’t quite reaching her eyes. And honestly, she didn’t seem like she wanted more to think about.

That made today even worse.

He could admit it now: he’d been scared.

Scared that if he pushed too hard, she’d shut down completely. Scared of the edge in her voice sometimes, the hollow spots in her laughter. He didn’t know what he was hearing back then. Not really. He just knew she wasn’t okay. And he didn’t know how to fix it.

It was like trying to train with a weight you couldn’t see. Every time he thought he understood where she was at, she shifted, pulled back, smiled too brightly or changed the subject. It left him guessing, off-balance. Like fighting someone who kept changing styles mid-match.

He wanted to help. God, he wanted to help. But what did you do when love didn’t make you fluent in someone’s pain?

He’d spent half the night pacing the roof.

The ring burned a hole in his pocket. It wasn’t even about marriage, not really. Not yet. It was about showing her something was still solid between them. Something was still true. But even that, now, felt fragile.

She hadn’t let him in. Not really. And he hadn’t known how to knock.

There was no good time to do this. No good way. But waiting had turned into silence, and silence had become something worse.

So here he was. Standing outside the dojo, trying to steady his breath. Because she was inside. Because he could feel the way her sadness filled the air like smoke. Because he didn’t know what she needed—but he had to try.

He closed his eyes.

One step. Then another.

And then he slid the door open.

OOOOOOOO

The dojo was cool and quiet, steeped in shadow. He found her sitting in the far corner opposite the shrine, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her hair clung slightly to the nape of her neck with sweat, and one of her sandals lay sideways near the door. Her posture was tight, defensive—like she’d been trying not to cry.

Akane didn’t look up when he entered.

He sat down beside her without speaking. The silence stretched out like an old blanket between them. Ranma swallowed.

“You okay?” he asked finally. Again. Feeling like a broken record.

She shrugged. “Tired.”

He nodded. Thought of a dozen things to say. Said none of them. The air between them was warm and dry and too still.

He reached out, almost without thinking, brushing a bit of hair off her shoulder.

Akane flinched.

It was small, almost imperceptible. But he noticed.

Ranma pulled his hand back slowly, his chest tightening.

He shifted his legs, restless now, trying to find the right moment, the right words. The silence pressed in. Her breathing was shallow, barely audible.

Finally, he reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the small, square box he’d been carrying for weeks.

“Akane, I…” He swallowed. His tongue felt thick. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About us. About the future.”

She turned her head slowly, body curled in on itself like she was bracing for impact.

“I was gonna wait. For a better time. But I guess… there’s no point in waiting anymore.”

He held out the box.

Akane stared at it. At him. Her chest felt tight, her lower back ached from how long she’d been sitting.

“What is this?”

“It’s… what you think it is,” he said, voice rough. “If you want it.”

She didn’t touch the box. Her fingers clenched harder around her knees. “You’re asking me to marry you.”

He nodded.

She shook her head—not in refusal, but disbelief. “Now?”

“I thought maybe it’d be good. Something to look forward to. While you’re away. While I—”

“While you what?”

He hesitated. “While I’m in China.”

The silence that followed was thick and absolute.

Akane blinked. “You’re going to China?”

Ranma opened his mouth, closed it. Rubbed the back of his neck. “I got offered a place. With the Amazons. It’s… kind of a big deal.”

Akane was quiet. Too quiet. He felt the need to fill the silence.

“I… I haven’t said yes yet. But I really want to go, and they need my decision soon. I’d be a fool to miss this chance. It would only be for a while. Maybe a year. Perhaps—”

“And you didn’t think to mention this until now? While asking me to marry you?”

“They said I could bring my wife. That it was allowed. So I—”

Her voice turned sharp, slicing through the quiet. “So you thought I’d come with you. Leave everything and follow you to China.”

“It wouldn’t be forever. You said you wanted to see the world. I thought—”

“What about my studies? What about sorting things out here? My wanting to be home more often? Why now? Why like this?”

“Please, Akane, calm down. It’s not like we’ve had many chances to talk this past year, and I thought—”

“No, Ranma.” Her voice cut him off, calm and deliberate. “You thought for me.”

He reeled back as if struck. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” She uncrossed her legs, winced, and rubbed at her calf. “You keep deciding what we need, and then act like it’s mutual.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t ask.” Her voice trembled. “You decided. You and your big plans. And I’m just supposed to say yes because I used to want to leave. Because I used to be scared of being left behind.”

Ranma’s voice cracked. “You said you wanted to grow. Not be stuck. That’s what this is.”

Akane shook her head slowly. “I’m tired, Ranma. I’ve realized I don’t want to chase the world anymore. Not like this.”

“So you want to stay here? At home?”

“Yes.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “I’m thinking about transferring back to Tokyo. I want to be close to my sisters. To the dojo. I should’ve stayed all along.”

Ranma looked stunned. “You never said—”

“Neither did you.”

They sat in silence, everything fraying between them.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

“You already had me. You just didn’t see it.”

He leaned in, desperate. “We can fix this. Please. We’re just tired. Let’s stop fighting and figure it out later.”

“I don’t know, Ranma,” Akane said quietly, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re right about one thing… I didn’t say anything either.”

She looked at him. Really looked. His hands were shaking.

“I can’t do what you’re asking, Ranma. Not now. Not like this.”

“So that’s it?”

She didn’t answer.

Ranma pressed the ring box into her palm. “Keep it. Just in case.”

Akane closed her eyes. Swallowed. Let more tears fall. The box rested beside her.

By the time she opened her eyes, she was alone in the dojo.

OOOOOOOO

That night, Akane lay in her old bed. The sheets felt strangely stiff against her skin. Her shoulder blade throbbed from an awkward fall during sparring two days earlier, and tension pulled tight at her neck. The air was too still. Her suitcase stood half-packed by the door.

She stared at the ceiling and thought about the way he’d looked, standing in the dojo. The way his voice had cracked.

She loved him. That hadn’t changed.

But everything else had.

She turned on her side, winced, adjusted her pillow, pulled the covers up to her chin, and whispered into the dark.

“I need to come home.”

She sighed. Tired. Needing comfort. Maybe a bath. Maybe tea.

Maybe…

Anything to lighten her bruised mind and heart.

She picked herself up and made her way downstairs.

OOOOO

Ranma lay on the floor of his room, staring at the ceiling.

He felt numb. Like something massive had shifted and his body hadn’t caught up yet.

He wanted to punch something. Or sleep for days.

Instead, he stared at the ceiling and whispered:

“I thought if I waited long enough, it’d be true.”

OOOOOOOO

The kitchen was dim and hushed, lit only by the warm glow of the stove’s pilot light. Akane sat alone at the table, a mug of tea cooling between her hands. Untouched

The door creaked. Nabiki slipped in, barefoot.

“You looked like you could use backup,” she said lightly, grabbing two more mugs.

Kasumi followed a moment later, wrapped in a soft shawl. She said nothing, just sat beside Akane and reached over to squeeze her hand.

No one spoke for a moment.

“So,” Nabiki began, sliding cups toward them, “how was your emotionally disastrous evening?”

Akane let out a tiny breath. It wasn’t quite a laugh, and her eyes filled with tears again.

“He proposed.”

Kasumi blinked. Nabiki raised her eyebrows. “Wow. Subtle timing.”

Akane looked down at her mug. “He wants me to go with him to China. They’ll let him bring a wife. And it needs to be now.”

Nabiki whistled under her breath. “Ah. Romantic and pragmatic. Always a killer combo.”

“He thought I’d just… go,” Akane whispered. “Like he was doing me a favor.”

Kasumi’s fingers tightened around hers. “Because once, you would’ve.”

“I don´t know…maybe”.

“But not now,” Nabiki added. “Now you’re the one making choices. For yourself.”

Akane’s voice cracked. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

“Because it matters,” Kasumi said softly. “Relationships are… a thing of two.”

“Because it always does,” Nabiki added. “Even when you outgrow something, it still leaves an ache.”

Akane swallowed. Her spine felt heavy, compressed. Her bones exhausted. But here, in this quiet space between her sisters, something inside her began to settle.

“I told him no.”

Nabiki reached across and clinked her cup against Akane’s. “To saying yes to yourself instead. Cheers.”

Akane smiled. It was small, but real.

Kasumi exhaled. “It’ll get easier.”

“It has to,” Akane said. And for the first time in days, she almost believed it.

OOOOOOOO

It was early. The house was quiet. Ranma was still tying his pack when he heard a soft tap of gravel against his window.

Akane stood in the yard, arms crossed, chin lifted. She looked like she hadn’t slept. His heart betrayed him with a skip. He opened the window.

“Come down,” she said softly.

He nodded and slipped outside.

They walked in silence through the soft morning light, side by side, toward the park. The place was nearly empty.

They sat on their bench.

Akane sighed deeply. Ranma stared at his feet.

She finally spoke. “Explain it to me like I’m five. Why now? Why the ring? Why China?”

Ranma sighed. Buried his face in his hands. “It’s so messed up. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Anywhere.”

He looked at her. Her eyes were tired, but kind.

“I love you,” he said.

She blinked. Didn’t look away.

“That’s the most important thing. I need you to understand that.”

She nodded.

“And yeah. Our families made a promise. That we’d get married. Did you know? Everyone else seemed to…”

Her eyes widened. She shook her head.

“I didn’t know either. Not until recently. They ambushed me. Even your dad. Freaked me out. But… I didn’t hate the idea. Not if it was you.”

He paused. Laughed bitterly. “But I didn’t tell you. Because I’m a coward. Because you were stressed. Because I didn’t want to screw it up. Because I wanted to be sure you’d say yes.”

Akane seemed to mull that over. Minutes of silence went by. Ranma didn’t know if he was scared or hopeful.

After a while, Akane tilted her head. “And the China thing?”

He looked down. “It’s a big deal. A once-in-a-lifetime thing. I thought… you’d want to come. Train. See the masters. Have an adventure. Just us. But they pressured me. They only accept single applicants. If they’d known about you, they wouldn’t have picked me.”

“I see…” she sighed. “You were struggling too. And you didn’t tell me.”

“It’s not—I didn’t want to force anything on you. I thought you’d say no. I want you to say yes.”

Akane was silent. Her hands clenched on her thighs. Her back straight.

“And you’ve been holding back too,” Ranma said. “I didn’t know you were feeling so…”

She reached into her pocket. Pulled out a bundle of letters.

“I wrote these,” she said, laying them between them. “Meant for you. I never sent them. I didn’t want to worry you.” She laughed bitterly. “I decided to come home, and told you nothing. We’re both guilty.”

Ranma reached for her hand. She let him.

“I’m sorry, Ranma,” Akane said calmly, squeezing his hand. “I can’t marry you like this, not when we never once talked about a future together. I can’t come with you, either. And I… I can’t keep living like this. Barely seeing each other. Missing you…. And missing home so badly that it feels like I’m dying a little bit inside.”

Ranma nodded, eyes burning.

“And I can’t be the reason you don’t go to China. You have to. And, for whatever it’s worth… I love you.” Her breath shook, and tears started to run down her cheeks. “ And what is worse… I really, really do… But this isn’t working. We aren’t working. Not just the distance. We stopped talking. We didn’t notice.”

Ranma let go of her hand, and ever so gently pulled her into his arms.

“Come here…” he whispered.

They held each other tightly, both of them trying to find a bit of that place that had once been close to a fairy tale. A while that couldn’t be found now, the love, and the comfort, was still there. Akane found some solace, and slowly calmed down.

Suddenly, Ranma chuckled softly. “You’re right,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re always right, Akane.”

She pulled back and laughed through her tears, back for an instant in that place they’d called home. Then Ranma kissed her. A desperate kiss. A long one. A final one. She responded in kind, feeling closer to him than she had in months.

He looked at her, hollow and full at once. His arms wrapped around her again.

She leaned in. Kissed him again. This one was soft. A goodbye pretending not to be.

“You’ll be amazing,” she whispered.

“So will you.”

They sat in silence. Watched the morning grow lighter. Holding on.

OOOOOOOO

Akane watched his train pull away from the station an hour later.

She didn’t cry.

Ranma didn’t wave.

They’d said everything that needed saying.

And not quite enough.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Gravity (Part I)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOOOO

The first thing he noticed was the silence.

Not the quiet of wilderness or weather—he'd crossed mountain passes with his father as a child, camped in caves slick with moss, heard the howls of wild dogs from behind moonlit rocks. This wasn’t that kind of silence. This one felt... ceremonial. Held. Like the air itself was waiting for him to misstep or to breath wrong. It made him an uneasiness he wasn’t expecting it.

Ranma shifted the weight of his pack against his shoulder and adjusted the grip on the staff he'd carved two months ago, when they’d started the China crossing that signaled the beginning of the Joketsuzoku training for foreigners. The villagers ahead had gathered in rows.

The villagers faces unreadable. He'd expected curiosity. Maybe a few grunts of recognition—something that said hey, you're that Japanese kid who beat a hundred martial artists in Shanghai. But what he got was nods. Not the respectful kind. The knowing kind. The kind that said you’re exactly what we expected.

The road to Joketsuzoku had not been an easy one. No one had told him he’d have to defeat so many people if he wanted to get as far as he’d come. Most of his classmates from Yoshinkan who had made the trip with him had already gone back home, defeated. And they weren’t bad martial artists, not by a long shot. There was a reason why they’d been invited in the first place. The rest had decided to stay half way, training with a master they thought suited them better. He was the only one to make it this far. He supposed he needed to thank his pops for that. He wondered how much harder it could get. He didn’t care, they could dish out whatever.

A banner rippled from a second-floor balcony. It bore the crest of the Joketsuzoku—a crimson phoenix curled around a sword—and for a moment, Ranma wanted to laugh. Not because it was funny. But because he hadn’t felt like a phoenix in a long time. More like a piece of charcoal that kept sparking in the wind.

A woman stepped forward—tall, expression like carved stone, robes heavy with braid and beads. Her voice, when it came, was deep and unhurried.

“Saotome Ranma.”

He bowed, stiff but respectful. He hoped it was the right depth.

She didn’t smile. “You came for strength.”

He nodded. “Yeah. To learn. From the best.”

She tilted her head. “Then you will follow.”

And just like that, the silence broke. Not with applause or welcome, or any kind of chatter, but with movement—efficient, orderly, ritualistic. He was led between rows of people, past stone courtyards and elevated shrines, past girls no older than fourteen with fists calloused harder than his. No one spoke. No one smiled. But everyone stared.

Ranma swallowed. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end. Not fear. Not exactly.

Evaluation.

As always, his thoughts drifted to Akane. Of how she would’ve stared right back. Chin up. Daring anyone to make her flinch. The corner of his mouth twitched. His heart ached a bit.

Thank God she never came here.

These people—these warriors—they didn’t just train strength. They worshipped it. Structured their entire lives around it. Their laws, their rituals, their... expectations. All wrapped in the same tight braid.

And he could already feel it tightening around him.

OOOOOOOO

The days bled into each other. In the mountains, time didn't pass—it pressed. Heavy, unrelenting, like the altitude itself.

Ranma woke before dawn, every morning, to the clang of a bronze bell that hung crookedly from a stone arch. He was expected on the training grounds before the sun crested the eastern peaks. No ceremony. No warm-ups. Just a nod from an elder, and the expectation that his body would be ready.

He learned not to ask questions.

The first month broke him down. Not physically—he could take hits, hold his breath under icy rivers. That wasn't new. But this was different. Training here wasn’t about improving what he already knew. It was about unlearning.

Stances corrected. Reflexes reshaped. Vocabulary stripped back to breath and bone. One master refused to speak to him at all—only used a crooked bamboo rod to strike corrections across his thighs and arms. Another would pause entire lessons if he so much as exhaled wrong. He learned his cues from students much younger than himself that he shared most lessons with, as he was considered still a neophyte, not apt enough to participate with learners his own age. He was levels behind. So at least he had that guide in terms of expected behavior

The isolation though… that was much harder to ignore, and it grated on his nerves and determination much worse than the physical punishment of harsh training.

Most of the villagers didn’t speak Japanese. A few older warriors knew scraps of Mandarin he barely understood. Conversation, when it happened, was stilted and sparse, even between the villagers. He found himself communicating more with his body than by speech.

He kept a notebook. Never in a million years would he have guessed he’d become attached to note-taking. He became very good at it. It was not for technique—though he had plenty of that—but for tracking the little things: the rhythm of training drills, the pauses in speech, the way senior students bowed to each other before and after fights. When he wasn't sparring, or going through some sort of drill, he was watching. He watched everything. He started to develop a different kind of patience, to just sit and watch for hours, while talking or sharing anything with anybody at all, and baring the discomfort his body was always in.

After three months, one of the elders nodded at him in the middle of a lesson. Just once. No words. But it felt like he had just been handed a medal.

He didn't celebrate, though. He knew it was just his duty.

From that point on, he was allowed to train with older apprentices. That nod had been a graduation of some sort.

At night, he sat cross-legged on a rolled mat in a small stone hut they gave him at the edge of the village. He boiled rice. Washed in freezing water. Watched the moon rise behind the east ridge and thought about how little he spoke nowadays.

Ocassionally, he saw Xian-Pu, always from a distance. She seemed to be some kind of royalty within youth in the village. But she was never around. At first he thought she was going to be the familiar face that was going to ease his isolation. But the few days she was in the village, which were months apart, she treated him like a complete stranger. He supposed he understood. He wasn’t strong enough to be looked at.

The laws of the village became clear over time—not because anyone explained them, but because they were lived. When he sparred with a young woman and won, she bowed deeper than normal and wouldn’t meet his eyes for days. Another girl who lost a match was later seen bringing food to her opponent’s doorstep.

It dawned on him slowly. Not every match was a match.

One evening, after besting a girl in a long, grueling bout, he returned to his quarters to find a woven sash folded neatly on his sleeping mat.

It was pink.

He stared at it for a long time.

Didn’t touch it.

Didn’t sleep well that night at all.

By the sixth month, he had mastered three new weapons forms and learned to fall silently in any terrain. He’d also learned how to read body language like a second language—and how to disappear at the first sign of a marriage offering.

He wasn’t here for that. That’s not what this was about. It had always been a big deal, but never about marriage. If there had been anyone he would have married, that would have been Akane. And that had turned out to be such a sour experience, he was nowhere near ready to even entertain the idea of tying himself up to anybody. Much less someone he didn’t know at all. All these people cared about was strength, he understood that. It didn’t mean he had to share that vision to get better under that vision.

He was here to grow, that was all that mattered. He had sacrificed too much because of this, and he was not about to ruin it with absurd laws that didn’t interest him.

He was here to learn what no one else could teach him. Even if it meant swallowing discomfort. Even if it meant solitude. Even if it meant letting the world forget him for a while.

Because the truth was, he didn’t want to be known.

Not yet.

He wanted to be ready.

And he wanted to forget.

OOOOOOOO

The preparations started a week before the event

At first, it was very subtle. It was all the new or different things, like warriors returning from drills with incense on their sleeves. A series of soft, pink sashes draped over the market stalls like decoration. Smalls bells tied to doorways. An even heavier sense of formality beginning to bleed into everyday routines. It made him uneasy. He knew something was about to happen.

Ranma noticed the changes, but no one bothered to explain any of it. When he asked about it to the girl who brought his evening rations, about why the training fields had been swept yet again, she just smiled, bowed, and walked away. The next morning, she left a small carved token beside his water basin.

He left it there, untouched. That night, it was gone.

By the fifth day, the village was plenty transformed. Cloth banners had appeared over walkways. Meals included fruit that were preserved for special occasions. He watched the young women braid each other’s hair, adjusting the angle of combs and pins with mirrorless precision. His own training was intensified, shortened, rearranged—his morning session replaced by a lecture in a dialect he barely understood. When he asked why, the only answer he received was: “You will see.”

He saw, indeed.

The day of the Summer Balance Festival was bright and hot, the air heavy with spices and smoke. Ranma was given a new robe—white, formal, edged in embroidered red. He folded it neatly and placed it under his sleeping mat.

He walked to the courtyard in his regular gi. Somehow, he still felt the foreign student, invited as a guest because of his skills. He’d be a witness, not an active participant if he could help it.

Matches had already begun. Some were ceremonial. Others, real. He watched a girl no older than twelve knock down a stocky boy twice her size, then help him to his feet without smiling. Everything was efficient. Impressive. Ominous.

Ranma was called forward last.

His opponent was a young woman, older than he expected. Maybe nineteen. Taller than him. Her expression unreadable, made of stone.

The match was a difficult one. Clean. Perfectly paced. Ranma let himself forget what the crowd might expect. He fought like he meant it. And when it was over—when he finally locked her movement, and paused just before a final hit could connect—she nodded once, acknowledging defeat, and walked away.

As always, there was no applause. No celebration. Just the sound of crackling firelight.

That marked the end of the matches. Afterwards, came a feast.

And with it, the offer.

Ranma was seated near the elders, near the front of the square, despite his best efforts to remain further out, unnoticed. This made him feel extremely uneasy. But at least, the food was good. Hot and strange. Someone poured him wine. He sipped it cautiously and immediately regretted it— it was bitter, medicinal, and wholly unfamiliar. And he wanted his wits about him as much as possible.

Then, a hush started to move through the courtyard.

Two young women walked up to the man sitting across from him. He’d seen him win his match with some struggle. He was from nearby village, and he was a talented martial artist, as far as Ranma was concerned. One of the women was holding a folded pink sash, the other carrying a bowl filled with blossoms. The man stood up, took the bowl and placed it on the table, then took the sash, unfolded it, and tied it around on of the women’s waist with a knot on the side. Then he sat back down. The girl with the sash stood behind the man, her face a picture of pride, while the other girl slowly took her leave.

The feast resumed.

Ranma stared at his food, appetite gone.

The same event unfolded a couple more times, to villager men who had also very cleanly won their fights.

The night continued, the food started to run out. Ranma and no more women approached the dinning men

Until they did.

Two young women approached him, one holding a folded pink sash -again a pink sash- the other carrying the bowl filled with blossoms. The difference was, behind them a senior woman stepped forward.

“Saotome Ranma,” she said in practiced Mandarin. “You have fought, and you have honored our tradition. Tonight, we honor you.”

He straightened, staring in bewilderment. “Thank you. But I—”

She held up a hand. “Tonight, you are offered the Right of Continuance. As winner of the final match, you may select the woman who will stand with you.”

He froze.

“I’m sorry,” he said carefully, struggling to get his meaning across. “I’m not here for this. I’m an outsider, invited to become stronger. That is all. That was always all. Temporary”

The elder nodded, her expression calm. “But you stayed. You learned. You became one of us.”

“I’m not. I have never agreed to a marriage,” he said, lower.

She tilted her head. “This is not marriage. This is acceptance. Legacy and heritage. A choice.”

He looked at the two women. Neither met his gaze.

“Then… No,” he said.

The woman studied him, incredulous. “You decline?”

“I decline.”

There was silence. A few muttered words. One of the girls bowed and stepped back. The other held the sash a moment longer, then placed it in the ceremonial bowl.

Somehow, this marked the end of the festival, as nobody knew quite what to do with his refusal.

He excused himself as best he could, and ran away to the solitude of his hut.

Waiting for him, Ranma found another pink sash folded neatly outside his doorstep.

He didn’t pick it up.

He burned it with the morning fire.

OOOOOOOO

The next festival came in spring.

Once again, Ranma didn’t wear the robe they offered.

His gi was faded, patched at the elbow, the sleeves pushed up in habit. He leaned against a stone column on the far edge of the square, far enough from the lantern glow to feel invisible, close enough to observe. A bowl of rice cooled untouched in his hand. Music filled the air, but didn’t move him. It never did.

He recognized almost every face now. The girls who lingered near the weapon racks. The elders whose silence was louder than their voices. The apprentices who still watched him like he might suddenly unravel the meaning of mastery. They respected him. Some even admired him. But none of them knew him.

No one here did.

The air shifted. Whispers carried through the crowd like dry grass catching wind.

Then she arrived.

Xian-Pu stepped into the firelight like it belonged to her.

He knew it was her before he saw her. The cadence of the hush. The way heads turned. The way a young boy stood straighter without realizing.

Her braid gleamed. Her stride cut through the celebration. She hadn’t changed much, but something about her was tighter. Sharper. The ease in her motion now had an edge.

The effect was instant.

People stilled — subtly, but noticeably. A trio of young girls who had been laughing beside the food stall quieted and drifted away. Two boys sharing a jug of tea straightened their backs. Even an elder, seated cross-legged near the inner ring, shifted their gaze to Ranma as if reevaluating something previously settled.

Ranma could feel it. The way the air between him and the crowd had changed temperature. He wasn’t just a foreigner anymore. Not just the skilled outsider who didn’t belong.

Now, with Xian-Pu approaching him in full view, he was part of something unspoken — something ceremonial. Something watched.

She wasn’t smiling for him. She was performing.

"Ranma, you are still here, although you refused Continuance," she said in Japanese.

He blinked, startled.

"Didn’t expect that."

"I didn’t forget everything."

She stood before him, head tilted. She was taller than he remembered. Or maybe he was just more tired.

"You stayed," she said.

"There was more to learn."

"You look different."

"You look... familiar."

The fire popped. Somewhere behind them, laughter. A bowl clattered. The air smelled of spice and oiled leather.

Xian-Pu’s eyes softened, almost amused. "You haven’t changed that much. Still thinking too hard."

Ranma lowered his gaze to the bowl in his hand. "I came to train. You know this."

"And you’ve trained. Harder than most."

He shrugged. "Hard enough not to get kicked out."

"Hard enough to be watched."

He said nothing.

She moved closer, not crowding, but enough to be intentional. "You know what this place is, don’t you?"

He looked away. Toward the mountains.

"It’s not just about fighting. Not just about strength. Here, everything leads somewhere. Every win. Every loss. Every choice."

He nodded slowly. "I know."

"Then you know what you represent."

He did. That was the problem.

She took a half step back. "You could stay. You could belong."

He hesitated. Then shook his head. "I can't."

"Why?"

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the cooling bowl. There were too many answers. None of them simple.

"You think you're different," she said. "But you’re not. Not really. You're just waiting for someone to tell you who to be. We all are. The only difference is, some of us stopped pretending we weren’t."

Ranma looked at her, finally. "Is that what you think I’m doing? Pretending?"

Xian-Pu shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. "You act like training makes you free. But it’s still a chain, Ranma. Just one you chose."

He exhaled through his nose. "Better than one I didn’t."

She studied him a moment, then stepped in close enough that their sleeves nearly touched. "You could choose this, too. It doesn’t have to be a trap. You wouldn’t be alone."

His throat tightened. The words were almost kind. Almost sincere.

But the feeling behind them wasn’t.

"I’m already not alone," he said, and didn’t realize it until the words left him. Because in his chest, Akane’s name stirred again. Just the thought of her voice, the tilt of her head, the mornings she made him laugh before he even noticed he was awake.

It wasn’t about who stood beside him. It was about who saw him.

"Because the things that matter don’t have to be won," he said at last.

But in his mind, there she was. Akane, leaning against the railing of her family’s house, arms crossed, teasing him with a smirk she didn’t quite mean. Akane, with her eyes like sharp glass and warm tea. Akane, who never asked him to win her. Who only ever asked him to show up.

"Because the things that matter don’t have to be won," he said at last.

Xian-Pu frowned. "You never fought me. Not really. But they all think you did. And that is enough. They look at me differently now. They look at you like you're already part of something you never agreed to. That matters more than you think."

She let that hang in the air a beat longer than necessary.

"You could’ve fought me," she added, softer. "You had chances. You avoided them. That, too, was a kind of answer."

He looked up.

She was already turning away, her braid swaying like a banner in retreat.

And for the first time, Ranma realized that in a place where meaning came from spectacle, even silence could be a declaration.

She blinked. And for a moment, something in her gaze cracked. Not anger. Not pride. Just something raw.

"Pity," she said.

Then she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

And Ranma, bowl still untouched, felt the kindling of something not quite fear.

Not yet.

But it was coming.

OOOOOOOO

It had been a couple of weeks since the festival.

Long enough for the whispers to settle, for the stares to resume their old rhythm. But something hadn’t returned to normal. Xian-Pu, who usually only remained in the village for a few days at a time—scouting, teaching, reporting—had stayed. She hadn’t left the village once.

The wind was strange that night.

Ranma returned late from training, dirt crusted along his boots, sweat dried into salt. The hut was dark, but the door stood slightly ajar.

His chest tightened.

He pushed it open.

Xian-Pu was inside.

She wasn’t sitting. She was standing beside his shelf, turning over a folded robe. She held it like a puzzle, fingers brushing the fabric, eyes unreadable. She didn’t look up when he entered. Her fingers traced the fabric slowly, like she wasn’t sure whether to fold it again or tear it in half.

"You left it behind," she said without looking at him. "I thought it might mean something."

Ranma didn’t move. "It doesn’t."

She turned.

The shadows made her face look older. Harder. She stepped forward, slow. Controlled. The air between them tightened like thread pulled taut.

"You still keep notes," she said, flipping through his book. "You always struck me as someone who relied on instinct."

"Instinct doesn’t help when the rules change every day."

She watched him. "You’ve learned well."

He didn’t respond.

"The elders talk about you."

"Let them."

"They think you’re... wasting potential."

"That’s not theirs to decide."

"Isn’t it? You came here. You accepted what we gave. That has burden."

Ranma stepped forward. "I never asked for burden. I came to train. I never asked to be a symbol."

Xian-Pu’s gaze sharpened. "Then why did you stay?"

He opened his mouth.

And stopped.

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bedding, elbows on his knees. The silence hung.

"You could’ve gone back," she said. "They even allowed you to bring your wife."

He looked at her, sharp. "That was never real. That was bait."

She didn’t bother to deny it.

"Then why stay? Why take all this pain—this silence, this discipline—if not for something bigger than skill?"

Ranma ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "I didn’t stay because I wanted to. I stayed because I didn’t know what else to do. Because walking away from what I had with her. left a hole so big I didn’t know what to fill it with. I thought maybe breaking myself down enough would make the ache go away."

She was silent.

"But it didn’t," he went on. "It just made it clearer. Made me see how rare it was to be seen. To be challenged without being erased. That’s what I had with her. I didn’t understand how good it was until I lost it."

Xian-Pu took a breath. "So you want to go back?"

He shook his head. "I don’t know. But I know I won’t replace it by letting someone else choose for me. Not you. Not the elders. Not the law."

She moved closer. "You think you’re still free? You’ve been shaped, Ranma. Molded. You think the law isn’t already moving through you?"

He stood then. Not confrontational, but steady. "You said once: 'We must have you.' But you never asked what I wanted. You don’t care. You just want the win."

Her jaw tightened. "You’re not a prize. But you are an asset. This is a burden. No matter if you want it or not."

"Then maybe it’s time I let go of it, then."

She stared at him, her eyes large. The fire outside crackled faintly.

"If you leave, the village won’t stop you. But your place here won’t vanish just because you do. People will talk. The elders will remember. So will I. You may walk away, but you’ll still belong to this place in ways you can’t erase."

"Good," he said quietly. "Then maybe I’ll remember too. But on my own terms."

She took a step toward the door, then paused. Her voice came softer, more personal. "Stay, Ranma. We can still make it work. You don’t have to throw everything away just to prove something to yourself."

He looked at her, steady. "I’m not proving anything. I’m remembering who I am."

Only then did she nod. Once. A sharp breath through her nose. And then she left, the door whispering shut behind her.

Ranma didn’t sleep that night.

He sat against the wall until dawn, watching the thin band of silver stretch across the horizon. The silence wasn’t punishing anymore. It felt clean. Honest. There was no audience now. No test to pass. Just the ache in his chest, and the slow, clear recognition of what he wanted.

Not strength for its own sake. Not mastery without meaning. But steadiness. Integrity. The kind of foundation he could return to—not because someone else demanded it, but because it mattered to him.

Akane.

He could see her as clearly as if she stood beside him: hair tangled from sleep, annoyed about something small, hiding a smile she didn’t want him to see. She had always asked the harder thing—not that he win, but that he try. Not that he be perfect, but that he stay real.

And now, finally, he was.

OOOOOOOO

The morning air was thin. Cold, but not biting. It clung to his lungs like a final reminder—one more breath before things changed.

Ranma stood barefoot on the stone platform at the ridge’s summit. His soles were numb. The flagstones hadn’t been warmed by sun in weeks, but that didn’t matter. He’d stood on worse. Waited through worse. He flexed his toes, anchoring himself in the silence.

He’d arrived early. Too early. But he couldn’t stay in the hut. Not after last night.

The sun crept up like a slow breath. The sky turned silver, then gold. Below, the village began to stir. The clang of a kitchen pot. Someone splitting kindling. A cough carried on wind. Familiar sounds, made strange by the burden pressing against his spine.

The master arrived just as the shadow of the pine tree shifted past the boundary stone.

He didn’t speak.

Just stepped forward, circled the edge, and took position.

Ranma bowed.

The master inclined his head. Just once.

And then it began.

No opening call. No spectators. Just movement.

At first, they circled. Testing. Ranma’s footfalls were deliberate, light. The master’s movements were slower, but unshakable. His balance was effortless, reactive. The wind lifted strands of their sleeves like flags, but their stances never wavered.

Then a strike. A deflection. A rapid sequence of fluid techniques—wrist-throws, leg sweeps, palm blocks—each one answered by a counter that respected the previous form.

Ranma’s breath evened out. His pulse slowed. He wasn’t fighting. He was speaking.

This was their language. And this was a final request.

He misstepped once. A crack in a flagstone. The master seized it—a pivot, a brush against the ribs, a glancing blow that left Ranma’s side burning.

He grunted. Reset. Took a step back. Adjusted.

The next pass was cleaner.

No anger. No proving. Just purpose.

It ended the only way it could: not with a strike, but with stillness.

Ranma launched a rising elbow, redirected low, feinted a sweep—and froze, fist suspended an inch from the master’s chest.

The master met his eyes.

Raised one hand.

Enough.

He turned. Walked to the platform’s edge. The wind tugged at his robes. He reached into the folds and withdrew a cloth-wrapped bundle.

A scroll. Tied in crimson cord.

Ranma stepped forward and accepted it with both hands. He bowed, deeper this time.

The master said nothing. Just turned and walked down the slope, his form disappearing into sunlight and smoke.

Ranma stood alone for a long while.

Then, without turning back, he descended.

By the time the village stirred, he was already at the edge of the path.

He didn’t wait for a sendoff. There was none. But he felt the eyes. The old cook. The apprentices. A flash of a ribbon. The sound of sweeping. No goodbyes, only acknowledgment.

He walked past the bell tower, past the shrine where offerings waited, past the platform where sweat and silence had once been his whole world.

The air warmed as he descended. Trees gave way to scrub. Then stone. Then road.

He didn’t look back.

And for the first time, every step felt like it belonged to him.

Then, scroll in hand, he turned from the ridge and began the long descent.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Gravity (Part II)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOOOO

The air was already warm when Ranma stepped outside, the kind of damp heat that got stuck to your skin and never quite left. He didn’t mind. At least, not anymore.

The shack he lived in had once been a toolshed, or maybe a storage room for a defunct surf rental place. Someone had painted it coral pink a long time ago, and now the color faded unevenly beneath salty wind and a lot of sun.

He left the door open as he moved around the small space, barefoot, the stone floor cool under his feet. He tried keeping it as clean as possible. Tall order considering the sand and wind, but he tried nonetheless. A battered pot of cassava boiled over the single gas fire. He poked it with a stick, flipped the lid, and leaned on the wall, letting the steam hit his face.

He liked mornings here. Before the noise built up. Before the mopeds and blasting speakers and peddlers shouting prices. Before the church bell down the road started clanging off-key hymns through a speaker wired in 1978. Before the quiet thinned, and the beach filled up with regulars and tourists alike.

Outside, the tide insistent, up and down the sand, a low shushing that had become his morning bell. The air smelled of seaweed and woodsmoke. From a little ways down the beach, a chorus of small voices rose in uneven Portuguese:

"Professor Ranma! Você está atrasado!"

He snorted. “Vocês que estão adiantados,” he muttered back, grabbing a chipped mug and pouring hot water over instant coffee. It was mostly sugar, the way the kids liked it. He took a sip anyway. Too sweet. He drank it all.

When he finally stepped outside, the children were already running drills — well, something between drills and chaos. Sand kicked up in every direction. Bare limbs tangled and untangled, and one boy attempted a flying kick with far too much confidence.

"João! Vai machucar alguém assim!"

The boy grinned, unrepentant, and fell over in a tangle of limbs. Another little girl ran by swinging her arms in what she clearly thought was a kata. Ranma stood for a moment watching them, amused, before walking barefoot across the sand, shaking his head but smiling. He didn’t call them students. They weren’t. Not in any formal sense. But every morning, they came. And so did he.

Behind him, from the neighboring hut, Dona Celina leaned out her window, a headscarf tied tight against her forehead. "Ranma, dear, don’t let them kill each other before breakfast!"

“Just a little bit,” Ranma called back, deadpan. A few of the older kids laughed.

The smell of fried dough from her kitchen curled around him, cinnamon and oil and something else he hadn’t learned the name for yet. A breeze stirred his hair. He adjusted his stance without thinking, body naturally falling into a sequence — breath, step, turn, shift. A warm-up, but gentler now. More like a greeting.

There was comfort in the routine. Even if it wasn’t his. He spoke the language now without thinking. It took him a while, but after the struggle he’d been through at the Joketsuzoku village, this had seemed like a natural flow.

He also knew the price of cassava by season, could gut a fish in under a minute, knew which street vendor gave extra flour if you were polite.

But sometimes, in the pauses between breath and movement, he’d reach for a word and find only silence.

He’d dreamt last night in Portuguese again. It always left him vaguely off-balance — like he was borrowing someone else’s body. Someone else’s mouth.

“Teacher!” one of the younger ones tugged at his pants. “Did you bring more of those booklets? The ones with the drawing?”

He blinked. “Manga?”

“Yes!”

He crouched beside her, pulled a folded booklet from his back pocket. It was photocopied badly, the ink blotchy. Still, her face lit up like he’d handed her treasure.

She ran off waving it. He watched her go.

Another child flopped onto the sand beside him, panting theatrically. “Did you really fight in Japan?”

Ranma shrugged. “A little.”

“Like in the movies?”

“Less yelling.”

The boy grinned and tried to mimic a crane kick. Fell over.

And then, as if pulled by a thread, Ranma turned toward the ocean.

The sky was lightening fast, streaked with the soft burn of orange and rose. It spilled across the horizon like it was trying to explain something to him. Something he couldn’t quite hear. Or maybe didn’t want to.

He stood there for a long time, letting it wash over him. Letting the ache be what it was. It didn’t really bother him.

The children yelled. He didn’t answer.

OOOOOOOO

He hadn’t meant to come to Brazil.

After China, nothing had felt real for a long time. Not the ocean. Not the sky. Not even his own name, which sounded strange and hollow in his ears — like a line from a play he didn’t want to perform anymore.

He left Joketsuzoku with bruises beneath the skin that had nothing to do with sparring. He didn’t rush. Didn’t flee. But he left like a man stepping outside a dream that had stopped making sense — even if he’d learned from it. Even if he was grateful. There’d been no ceremony. Just a nod, a glance, a whispered warning not to come back too soon.

He wandered for a while. From village to village, trading odd jobs for meals, sleep, silence. In the harbor city of Zhanjiang, he found a rust-streaked freighter called the Santa Felicidade moored between cargo hulks and fishing boats. It was Brazilian-registered, but its crew was mixed — Chinese, Cape Verdean, a couple of Portuguese engineers, and one woman from Recife who cursed better than all of them combined. The ship ran odd coastal supply runs and deep-sea trawling in rotation, trading cheap labor for food and rest between ports.

They didn’t normally take passengers. But he was strong, silent, and willing to do anything. He patched nets. Cleaned bilges. Hauled crates too heavy for one man. He earned his place quickly.

Portuguese came slowly, more rhythm than logic. Curse words barked over waves. Half-muttered jokes at port. Long, musical rants from the cook who hated how he cut onions. She made him repeat phrases until he got them right, then cuffed his shoulder in approval.

The days passed in salt and diesel. The sea was constant and uncaring. He liked that too.

The work was hard — long shifts in blistering heat, sleep stolen in damp corners — but it was honest. He learned the language faster than he thought he would. Earned the grudging respect of the men on board. Not just because he worked, but because he worked well. Quietly. With precision. With strength.

By the second month, they started handing him the tougher jobs. The dangerous ones. One of the engineers taught him how to splice steel cable and let him climb the rigging. When a minor injury sent one of the crew home, they offered Ranma his pay stub. It wasn’t much. But it was Brazilian reais — crumpled, salty bills he tucked into the lining of his pack, unsure what they were for.

He didn’t have a plan. But he’d earned them. And something about that mattered.

He saw ports — not just in China, but beyond. Across the straits and further down the South China Sea. There were dusty harbors in Vietnam where the air smelled like fish sauce and sun-warmed copper, sleek container docks in Malaysia, and island ports in Indonesia where music rang out even before the boats tied up. Ports with metal cranes like praying mantises, ports where children ran barefoot over concrete, ports that smelled of sugar and rain. He walked through alleys where unfamiliar music leaked from windows — sometimes pulsing with drums, sometimes sweet with strings. By the time they reached Brazilian waters, it was samba he recognized, loud and layered, alive in the heat. He moved through fish markets where the language changed block by block, and every dialect felt like another puzzle piece turning in his mouth.

Something inside him began to soften. Not melt — just... breathe.

By the time they reached Brazil, his body was sore in a way that felt good. He had a little money. A rough understanding of the language. A growing desire — not for a new life, exactly, but for rest. For quiet.

So when they docked in a small coastal town where paint peeled from the walls and hibiscus grew through fences, he stepped off with the rest of the crew.

He was meant to get back on board the next day.

He didn’t.

Not because he had a plan. But because it just felt like somewhere he could stop moving. Maybe for a day. Maybe for a week. Maybe longer.

He found a hammock under a corrugated awning behind a fish stall. Paid for it with a week of lifting crates and filleting mackerel. The stall owner had a radio that played samba and no patience for complaints. There was a bathroom with a broken door and cold water. He didn’t mind.

He ate grilled corn, stale rolls, and occasionally something fried and unidentifiable wrapped in newspaper. He watched ants carry away sugar. Watched dogs laze in the street. Watched his own hands as they slowly healed.

He didn’t fight. Not once. Not even in his sleep.

But the ache didn’t leave. It just changed. His body ached in a different way— honest, uncomplicated, clean.

One evening, he sat on a low wall near the square. It was almost night. Someone was playing forró on a battered accordion, fast and joyous. Kids chased each other through the dust, barefoot and shrieking, laughter flying higher than the music.

A little girl tripped, skinned her knee, got up grinning.

Ranma didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away either.

Something inside him — something wrapped tight — loosened.

He breathed deep. Felt the warm air settle in his chest.

He stayed.

OOOOOOOO

He started showing up at the training shed long before anyone asked him to. It wasn’t really a dojo—just an open-air space shaded by corrugated metal, the floor packed hard from years of use. The structure looked like it had once been part of a school or a community center, maybe both. The wooden posts were warped with age, and the paint had peeled down to patches. Someone had fixed it enough times to keep it standing, but not enough to make it pretty.

The man who ran it — Mestre Kenji — was in his sixties, maybe older. He was lean in the way fishermen get lean: built of rope and bone, his skin sun-browned and creased, his smile always half-formed. His Portuguese carried the casual swing of the northeast, but when he cursed, there was sometimes a touch of something clipped and formal — a holdover, maybe, from his Japanese mother. His father had been a local dockworker, and Mestre Kenji grew up on the sand, barefoot and defiant.

He moved like a man who knew how to fight, but didn’t need to prove it anymore. He wasn’t a formal master. No belts, no ranks. Just a beat-up whistle, a faded straw hat, and an air of patience that masked a sharp eye.

He wasn’t quiet — far from it. He joked with the kids. Sang badly on purpose. Taught them drills that looked more like games until someone messed up, and then turned into lessons fast. He would clap, cheer, scold with exaggerated flair, and then wink like he’d let them get away with something. He called them by nicknames he invented on the spot. And he always had a thermos of coffee someone had gifted him, which he guarded like treasure.

Ranma watched from a distance. For days. He didn’t know what Mestre Kenji was teaching — some blend of old street capoeira and whatever else the man had picked up along the way. It didn’t matter. The man was good. Not flashy. Just rooted.

One morning, when one of the boys got too cocky and landed badly during a takedown drill, Ranma moved before anyone else. He knelt, checked the wrist, adjusted it gently with a quiet murmur.

Kenji watched from a step away, arms crossed. When the kid ran off sniffling but intact, Kenji walked up to Ranma without ceremony.

“You Japanese?” he asked in a mix of Portuguese and a ghost of Japanese.

Ranma nodded.

Kenji nodded back. “You’re here for a reason,” he said in simple, practiced Japanese. Then switched back. “In the meantime, you can start sweeping.”

He handed him a broom. No smile. No teasing. Just a start.

Ranma swept.

That’s how it began. No ceremony. No titles. Just presence and a broom.

The work was steady. In exchange, he got rice and beans, a dry place to sleep, and modest wages. Ranma thought it more than fair. Compared to the last few years, it was easy — physical, but without the pressure of survival. He helped repair the shed’s roof, reinforced the wooden posts with salvaged scrap, and mended uniforms with a needle he found in a street market.

He ran errands. Cleaned fish. Carried baskets to market alongside a teenage girl who spoke too fast and rolled her eyes when he asked her to slow down.

He kept his scroll wrapped in cloth and hidden inside a crate beneath his bed. He didn’t touch it for weeks at a time.

But he started stretching again. Practicing at dawn, slow, deliberate motions that brought breath back to his bones.

One morning, Ranma approached Mestre Kenji and asked — as best he could — if the man would train him properly. Not in showy kicks or forms, but whatever it was he really knew.

Kenji didn’t answer right away. Just poured him coffee. Handed it over. “You don’t ask to be taught,” he said eventually. “You listen. And you stay.”

So Ranma stayed. And Kenji started showing him things.

At some point, people began to greet Ranma by name.

He planted herbs in an old crate outside the kitchen where he slept. At first, they wilted or molded or got scorched by the sun. A neighbor — a sharp-eyed woman named Dona Alzira, who sold teas and tinctures — noticed. She came by with a scowl and a handful of cuttings. Showed him how to water at the roots. How to speak softly to the seedlings. He listened. Asked questions. Took notes. Soon, she had him helping her gather leaves at dawn. Said he had good hands. He liked that.

At night, when the breeze came through the slats, he listened to the quiet chatter of the town, the way crickets fought with distant music. It wasn't Japan. It wasn't China. It was something else entirely, and he loved it.

He still didn’t know if he belonged, though.

And in the meantime — he lived. Fully, sometimes messily.

There were women. There was no shortage of bold flirtation, no cultural shyness. The first time a girl reached out and tugged him down by the collar for a kiss, he blinked and let it happen. Later, he learned that her name was Luana, that she worked the fruit stall two streets over, and that she laughed with her whole body.

There was another — Renata, who came and went like the tides. And once, a quiet moment on the back of a motorbike with a woman whose name he never learned, who hummed to herself while steering one-handed.

None of it was love. Not even close. But it made him feel real again. Tethered. Desired, not claimed.

He liked that.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely. But it made the loneliness easier to carry.

Sometimes, in the dark, he thought of Nerima. Of what it had meant to be pulled in all directions at once. The noise of it. The weight of expectation. The constant sense of being watched.

Here, the wanting was simpler. And it passed. Like rain.

He still didn’t speak much about himself. Most people didn’t ask. He liked that too.

But the dust had begun to settle around him. And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like running

OOOOOOOO

He met her outside the community center, where she sold pastel and caldo de cana under a faded red umbrella. Her stand always smelled like onions and fried dough and cinnamon. The first time he passed, she squinted at him from behind her table, wiped her hands on her apron, and said, "Japa bonito, vai querer ou só tá desfilando?"

He blinked. “Desfi—?”

“Desfilando,” she repeated, grinning. “Parading.”

He ordered two pastel, mostly to save face. Burned his mouth on the second one, which made her laugh so hard she slapped the table.

Her name was Eduarda. Ranma tried to say it out loud once, early on — "Eh-doo-ahh-ruh-dah",  and she choked mid-sip on her tamarind juice, spraying it all over her prep station. Caio, her seven-year-old son, started laughing before he even knew why.

“Meu Deus,” she wheezed, holding her side. “You sound like you’re dying in slow motion.”

After that, she told him to call her Edu. Everyone else did.

It started with banter. Her teasing. His confusion. The way he always returned to her stand, coins already sweaty in his palm, pretending he needed snacks for the kids.

Then one night she found him patching a hole in the dojo roof by lamplight and climbed up without asking, barefoot, hammer in one hand. They fixed it together in silence. At the end, she handed him a warm pastel wrapped in brown paper. “You don’t know how to stop, do you?” she said, not unkindly.

That was how it began.

Not with a kiss. With a shared hammer.

She was bold. Steady. Sharp-witted and unafraid of mess. She ran her stall with one hand and wrangled her son with the other, like it was nothing. She didn’t coo or posture. She didn’t ask for stories. She just made space.

Their first kiss was under her awning after a storm. The rain had cooled the air, and Caio was asleep with one sandal off, curled into a chair like a kitten. Edu handed Ranma a cloth to dry his face. When he looked up, she kissed him. It was soft, a little salty, and completely certain.

It was a great kiss, and full with something Ranma didn’t know he needed. He surrendered.

OOOOOOOO

Ranma was not a good dancer.

He tried. Of course he did. She pulled him to neighborhood parties, outdoor celebrations with music that vibrated up from the soles of your feet. He swayed stiffly beside her, stepping on her toes, trying to mirror the fluid roll of her hips. It was hopeless.

She laughed and spun away, sweat shining on her collarbone. “Jesus, you move like you’re dodging attacks.”

“Maybe I am,” he muttered.

But he kept trying. And when he stopped trying to look right and just let his hands rest on her waist, have her lead him, she kissed him again, slow and warm and whole, and the world was alright.

They had routines. He’d cook on Wednesdays — badly — and she’d critique him with dramatic flair. He’d teach Caio how to cartwheel without falling. They made tea with her herbs. Sat on the roof sometimes watching bats dart through the twilight.

They fought, too. About small things. How quiet he could be. How closed. She wanted words, and he only had gestures. Once, she said, "I don’t need a statue. I need a man who knows he’s real."

He didn’t answer. But the next morning, he came back with a comic book for Caio, and a fried pastry from a stall two neighborhoods away — her favorite. He didn’t say why. She didn’t ask.

She called him “meio-luz.” Half-light. Because, she said, he was never fully there. Not even when he was lying beside her.

He tried to change that. He stayed longer. Helped more. Let her press her face into the crook of his neck when the nights were too hot and the roof leaked and they were too tired to move.

One night, long after the town had gone quiet, they lay side by side, fingers twined beneath the sheets. Her voice was drowsy.

“Did you ever have someone waiting for you?”

He hesitated. “Maybe once.”

“Still waiting?”

He didn’t answer.

She sighed. Rolled toward him. “You won’t stay.”

“I haven’t left.”

“Yet.”

She kissed his chest, gently, as if to mark her place.

“Are you staying?” she asked again, weeks later, while Caio splashed in a bucket outside and the smell of garlic and lime filled the kitchen.

He stirred the rice. The silence stretched. He didn’t look up.

“For now,” he said.

She nodded. Didn’t smile.

And said nothing more.

OOOOOOOO

Eduarda insisted they celebrate his birthday.

Ranma had waved her off the first time, mumbling something about not being sure of the date. It wasn’t a lie, not really — the exact day had blurred over the years, another thing lost between borders. But she squinted at him like she saw through it.

“Don’t give me that,” she said. “You know your age.”

He thought about it. Counted backwards through places, faces, years folded into other years. “Thirty,” he said finally. “I think. Maybe.”

“Good enough.”

So they picked a day. Or rather, she picked it, and he didn’t argue. She roped in Dona Alzira, Kenji, a few of the teenagers from the shed, and Caio, who took it upon himself to decorate the courtyard with cut-up paper stars and one slightly lopsided drawing of Ranma in a superhero cape.

There was music — of course there was music — and food that Edu had been secretly planning for a week. A pot of feijão, spicy farofa, something fried and golden. Someone brought a cake, and someone else brought cachaça, and before long the sun was down and the courtyard pulsed with life.

Ranma had never had a birthday like this. Not as a child. Not even as an adult. It wasn’t loud in the way Nerima had been loud. It was warm. Lived-in. Easy.

Kenji gave him a carved wooden charm — said it was for balance, then winked and added, “Though you’re already impossible to knock over.”

Edu didn’t give him anything that night. Not wrapped. Just pressed her hand to the back of his neck when the music slowed and said, quietly, “You’re allowed to be loved, you know.”

He didn’t answer.

But he stood there a long time, her fingers warm and steady, the air sweet with sugar and smoke. And he let the moment settle in his bones.

OOOOOOOO

Time didn’t pass evenly. Some days vanished like heat off the road. Others stretched out, full of motion and weight.

Ranma learned things he never expected to learn. He learned to repair bicycle chains with improvised tools, to balance three stacked crates on one shoulder while laughing children darted through his legs. He learned to whistle for someone across the plaza and be heard. He learned the rhythm of the market — when to show up for fresh greens, which vendor told jokes before selling, which one haggled like it was bloodsport.

He learned how to gut fish for a party of thirty. How to tie climbing beans with old shoelaces. How to pull a splinter from a screaming toddler without flinching. He became the kind of person people looked for when something broke, when someone fell, when a post needed setting in the mud before the storm came.

He taught literacy at the community center. He wasn’t trained for it, but he had comics — Portuguese editions of Dragon Ball and some photocopied shōnen books he translated aloud with gestures and sound effects. The kids adored it. He made them draw their own stories, too. One girl invented a warrior with flaming braids who kicked buildings in half.

He remembered that girl long after she stopped coming.

The days took on a pattern. Light, sweat, sound. He would wake to the rustle of palm leaves, walk to the shed barefoot, stretch as the sun came up. Sometimes Edu would send Caio ahead with a thermos of coffee and a leftover sweet roll. Other times she’d come herself and sit nearby, watching him warm up, pretending not to watch.

He forgot the names of some Tokyo streets. Forgot the exact sound of his father’s snore. Sometimes a Japanese word would hang just out of reach — he’d pause mid-sentence, frown, search for it, and then let it go.

He didn’t forget Akane’s name. But it felt farther away. Most of the times.

Nights lengthened. The wind shifted. And sometimes, memory slipped in like a shadow.

He hadn’t written anyone in a while. He’d meant to. He’d even drafted a letter in his head once — full of apologies and nothing specific. But he couldn’t picture the right address, and he wasn’t sure who it was meant for. Or if it mattered anymore.

And still, he drifted. Not aimless, not rootless — but not quite grounded either. He was reliable. Known. Liked, even. He was someone who waved from doorways, someone whose hands knew the weight of a hundred borrowed tasks.

But late at night, in the breathless dark, he sometimes felt like a guest in a life that had let him stay longer than expected.

He didn't want to leave. But he didn’t know how to claim it, either.

But something was about to change. Or maybe it already had, and he was only just beginning to notice.

OOOOOOOO

It didn’t explode. It eroded.

The shift came quietly. Like a stone loosening under water. A slight gap between gestures. A pause too long before answering. A softness in her voice that went stiff around the edges.

It began with Eduarda working longer at the stall. Or so she said. Then came the quiet dinners — fewer jokes, fewer comments about his hopeless seasoning. The nights turned quieter. Caio still came running, arms open, full of questions about comic book powers and why people sweat when they sleep. But Edu had started watching Ranma from the side, not head-on. Measuring.

She didn’t accuse. Didn’t complain. She simply... stepped back.

One evening, they were peeling plantains for a charity meal. The twilight hung thick with mosquitoes, and the fan in the corner kept clicking uselessly. Caio had fallen asleep in the hammock, a dog-eared manga spread across his chest.

Ranma passed her a bowl without looking. She took it.

“I think you’ve already left,” she said, not unkindly. “You just haven’t packed.”

He didn’t argue. He wanted to. Wanted to say something that would undo whatever had formed between them. But the words didn’t come — not in Portuguese, not in Japanese.

She didn’t press. Just set the bowl down and stood. Her hands were sticky with fruit. She wiped them on her apron, kissed the top of Caio’s head, and disappeared into the kitchen.

They didn’t sleep in the same bed that night.

A week passed.

He tried to fix things the way he fixed everything else — showing up early to help, running errands, fixing the hinge on her window. But kindness didn’t equal connection. And effort wasn’t the same as presence.

Edu didn’t close the door on him. But she no longer opened it all the way either.

Then came the words that stuck — not hers, but Caio’s.

It was a muggy afternoon. The town was setting up for a music event. Ranma was hauling chairs, sweat pouring down his back. Caio was coloring a flier, legs swinging under the table.

Out of nowhere, he looked up and said, “My mom says you’re always leaving, even when you stay.”

Ranma froze, hands wrapped around the chair back.

He didn’t answer. Just forced a smile, gently tousled Caio’s hair, and walked outside before the words could unravel him.

That night he walked to the edge of the beach and stood knee-deep in black water. The sea was warm and restless, waves lapping at his calves like the ghost of something that once pulled him under.

He stayed until his feet went numb. Until he couldn’t tell if the wind in his ears was the tide or his own blood rushing.

Back at the shed the next day, he found an old tin behind the cot. Inside it was a dusty postcard — a faded tourist view of the bay, the colors oversaturated and wrong. Glitter still clung to the edges.

He held it in his hand for a long time, turning it over. The back was blank.

He didn’t write anything yet. But he didn’t throw it away.

He slipped it into the pocket of his pack. Folded his hands around the weight of it.

OOOOOOOO

He left before the rain started.

It was the season when the air felt like it might split open, when the sky darkened too early and dogs barked at nothing. The heat had shifted — not gone, but heavier, moister, like it carried weight inside it. He rose before dawn, as always, packed slowly. Methodically.

He took only what he needed. A few clothes — folded with the kind of care that felt ceremonial, though he didn’t name it that. The scroll — still wrapped in its cloth, untouched since the last time he had opened it under moonlight, its edges soft with age. The herbs Eduarda had helped him dry and wrap in cloth — crushed lavender, bold mint, a thread of rosemary that still smelled like her hands. He hesitated there. Fingers paused on the little bundle, thumb brushing over the knotted twine. For a moment, he didn’t move, just stood in the hush of the early hour, heart thudding behind his ribs. He almost left it.

But didn’t. The dented mug he always used. The postcard.

He didn’t knock on doors or write a note. This wasn’t that kind of place. Or maybe he wasn’t that kind of person.

When he stepped out, the beach was still shadowed. A pale blue pre-morning, the kind that made everything feel temporary. The tide had come in high the night before, and the sand held long, uneven pools that shimmered like memory.

A few kids were up, barefoot and half-asleep. One of them spotted him, waved. Another came running from the path near the shed, holding something above his head.

“Professor! You forgot your belt!”

Ranma turned. It was the faded blue one he used when running drills. Frayed at the ends. Still damp from yesterday’s sweat.

He met the boy halfway, ruffled his hair, and crouched down to look him in the eye. “Fica com ele,” he said quietly. “É seu agora.”

The kid blinked, uncertain. Then smiled.

Ranma stood again, adjusted his pack, and kept walking. He didn’t look back.

Somewhere, a window creaked open. He thought he saw a shape behind the gauze curtain — small, still. Maybe Eduarda. Maybe not. The faint scent of garlic and oil drifted into the open air, warm and familiar, the kind of smell that always settled low in his chest. For a moment, he imagined her there — hair pulled back, barefoot on the tile, turning slowly to look. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe it was just the smell, and the silence, and the hope his body hadn’t let go of yet. He didn’t wait to find out. — small, still. Maybe Eduarda. Maybe not. He didn’t wait to see.

He caught the first bus heading north.

The seats were stiff and too close together, upholstered in a faded orange pattern that looked like it had once meant to be cheerful. The window beside him was scratched with years of initials and hearts, and the glass fogged slightly as the engine warmed beneath them.

The town slipped away behind him in pieces. First the low walls painted with slogans, then the corner shop where he always bought cassava flour, the schoolyard fence, the line of palm trees bent slightly by sea wind. A boy on a bicycle waved once and kept riding. Dogs sprawled across doorsteps didn’t lift their heads.

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass. It wasn’t comfortable, but it kept him tethered. The motion of the road beneath them was steady, hypnotic — a soft shudder that vibrated through his bones. He didn’t look around. He didn’t want to know if anyone was watching from a window, or if Eduarda had told anyone he was leaving.

The further they went, the more the ocean smell faded, replaced by forest, mountains, and distant fires — the kind that burned trash slowly on the outskirts of forgotten places. He watched the road stretch and twist, watched the sky brighten from gray to pale yellow.

His bag sat heavy in his lap. He reached inside and pulled out the postcard. Held it between both hands like something delicate.

As the town blurred behind him, he pulled the postcard from his pack. Rested it on his knee.

In slow, cramped letters, he wrote:

“Edu,

I don’t know how to write this. I’m not good with words. You already know that. But I owe you more than silence.

I stayed longer than I meant to. Not because I was stuck — because I wanted to. You made space for me. Real space. You let me try, even when I didn’t know what I was offering. You didn’t ask me to be more than I could give, but I wish I had been anyway.

I’m sorry I couldn’t stay whole. I’m sorry I couldn’t be still.

You and Caio — you were joy I didn’t expect. And I’ll carry that.

Thank you for the mornings, the laughter, the dancing I was so bad at. Thank you for letting me be someone softer for a while.

Take care of yourself. Take care of him. He’s got your fire.

Ranma”

He tucked it back into the pack. And leaned into the window, forehead cool against the glass, as the road unspooled like a story he hadn’t decided how to end.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Gravity (Part III)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOOOO

The air in the mountains was always thin. Not in the way that made you gasp — not anymore — but in the way that reminded you to slow down. Every breath felt earned. And you felt it deeply, from the tip of your nose, as it made its way down your throat, slowly filling up your lungs, then out again in a renewed woosh.

Ranma had been living in the village for almost a year. Maybe longer. He’d stopped counting after the first heavy snow, when the wind had buried the marker stones and frozen his laundry to the line in under an hour. Time didn’t move the same way here. It wasn’t marked by clocks or screens, but by cold fingers, steep paths, the weight of water carried uphill, and the movement of very sharp shadows on contrast to bright light, thanks to a clean, clear sky.

The clinic sat low on the slope, built from stone and painted with faded prayers that peeled in places. It was no monastery. There were no monks, no incense, no chants. Which was what he had more or less expected when he’d first heard of Nepal. No. Just a few stiff-backed beds, a shelf of bandages and herbs, and the smell of boiled water and sweat. The man who ran it — Dawa — was older than he looked, and definitely younger than he sounded. His hands were scarred and roughened, but steady. He had five children, three goats, and a laugh that made the rafters creak.

By the time Ranma left Brazil for good, he wasn’t really running from anything anymore, but rather, looking for something else.

The coastal town had been the first stop. A place of sun, sound, and salt — where he’d arrived half-accidentally and stayed far longer than planned. There, he'd learned Portuguese out of necessity, then fluently. He worked at a small martial arts studio at first, then found steadier work in the kitchens of a beachfront café. He became part of the daily rhythm: sand underfoot, music through windows, and the weight of a life he hadn’t expected to like.

It was also where he met Eduarda. She was sharp-tongued, serious when it mattered, and never treated him like a mystery. With her, things felt easy and grown-up. They lived together for over a year in a breezy second-floor apartment above a bike shop. It was, for a while, exactly what Ranma had needed — a place where he could be someone real, not someone proving anything.

But not all stories last forever. When it ended — without drama, without bitterness — he knew it was time to go. Just… onward.

He relocated to a different city further up north, where an acquaintance helped him find work in a family-run restaurant. It was noisy, busy, and honest. He worked nights. Shared a place with two cousins of the owner. Ate late meals, fixed a busted bathroom door with string and a screwdriver, listened to old love songs on the radio. It was nothing like his old life, and that was exactly the point.

The urge to move again didn’t come from heartbreak or loss. It came from fullness. A sense that he’d gathered something — learned something — and it was time to offer it somewhere new.

He began making quiet plans. Picked up Portuguese medical terms from a friend who was training as a nurse. Started looking at old emails from NGOs that had once sent representatives through town. Dusted off his passport.

When he told Jonas, the night dishwasher, the man just grunted and said, “Took you long enough.”

Ranma laughed. “You think I’m late?”

“I think you’re good,” Jonas replied. “And good doesn’t stay still forever.”

The trip to Nepal wasn’t elegant. It involved a layover in Kolkata, a cracked bus window, and a three-hour wait at a border crossing where a goat tried to chew on his pant leg. But he made it.

He arrived in the mountain village after nightfall, tired and a little wired. The air was cold and sharp, and the silence pressed in on him like a blanket. A man with a weather-lined face and strong arms met him at the gate of the small clinic.

“You’re the one from Brazil?”

Ranma nodded. “Sort of.”

The man laughed, dry and kind. “Close enough. I’m Dawa.”

Dawa’s house stood behind the clinic, built from stone like everything else, but warm inside. His wife — Mingmar — was brisk, gentle, and more precise with a kitchen knife than any chef Ranma had worked with. She welcomed him without ceremony. Handed him a towel. Pointed to the wood pile. By the third day, she was giving him silent orders with a single look.

One morning, over porridge, she said, “Don’t wait too long to settle your feet. You already feel half here.”

He blinked. “You don’t even know me.”

She tilted her head. “But I know people.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t mystical. But somehow, it was enough. Within a week, he was part of the house. Not a guest. Not an outsider.

It was never spoken aloud, but it was understood: Ranma belonged.

Ranma worked under him like he’d been doing it forever. He cleaned wounds, rubbed aching joints with salves, carried elders to the bench in the sun, took them back in when the sun was too strong. He learned how to check a pulse, how to feel for swelling behind the knee, how to tell when someone was too proud to say they needed help. He found he didn’t need to speak much. The locals spoke even less. Everything important was passed in gesture.

One evening, while stacking firewood outside the clinic, Dawa stepped beside him and handed over a cup of tea. They stood for a moment in companionable quiet, watching the sky darken.

"You know," Dawa said, not looking at him, "some people come here to find peace. Most don’t last. But you—you found rhythm. That’s harder."

Ranma sipped the tea, nodding slowly. "It feels... good here," he said. Then, after a pause, more certain: "I think I needed to learn that quiet doesn’t mean empty."

Dawa smiled faintly. "And noise doesn’t mean fullness."

Ranma chuckled. "Brazil was loud. I loved it. But here? I hear myself more. I didn’t expect that."

The words surprised even him. But they felt right.

Dawa clapped him once on the shoulder and walked back inside. The door creaked shut behind him.

Ranma stayed where he was, tea warm in his hands, and felt the mountain settle around him like a promise.

OOOOOOOO

The girl — Dawa’s second daughter — was blind from birth. Her name was Lhakpa. She was maybe seventeen, maybe twenty. She moved like she’d never needed eyes: hands light, steps sure, her voice quiet but certain. She organized the clinic’s shelves by touch, brewed tea without measuring, and corrected Ranma’s pronunciation without blinking.

The first time she took his hand — to guide it toward the proper knot for a splint — he’d flinched slightly. Not from her touch. From how easily she understood what he didn’t say.

One afternoon, while they sorted medicinal roots together on a woven mat in the sun, she asked, "Why did you really come here?"

Ranma didn’t answer right away. Then, gently, he said, "To help. But also... to remember who I was before I started running."

Lhakpa nodded, thoughtful. "And? Have you remembered?"

"I think I’ve changed too much to go back to who I was," he said. "But that’s not a bad thing. I’ve found pieces of myself I didn’t know were worth keeping."

She smiled. "That’s good. Most people try to go back. It’s harder to go forward."

Another day, when she handed him a bowl of soup and sat beside him on the low bench near the door, he ventured a question of his own.

"Do you ever wish... you’d been born different?"

Lhakpa considered. "Maybe when I was little. When I didn’t understand what I could do. Now? I don’t think so. Being like this makes people talk to me differently. Or not talk at all. And that teaches me things."

"Like what?"

"Who listens. Who assumes. Who waits."

Ranma chuckled softly. "Sounds familiar."

She tilted her face toward him. "You’re not as quiet as you think."

"I used to be quieter. Now I just think before I speak."

"That’s different."

They ate in silence after that, but it wasn’t the same kind of quiet. It was full of something easier — trust, perhaps. Or the simple comfort of not needing to explain every part of yourself aloud.

Ranma had come to the mountains thinking he had nothing left to say. But now, more often, he wanted to speak. Not because he needed to be understood, but because he wanted to share what mattered.

And slowly, he did.

She would sit near him while he peeled ginger or mashed herbs with a flat stone, and sometimes tell stories. Some were local — spirits in the mist, tigers that became monks. Others were not. Once she told him about a French volunteer who cried on his first day and left the next morning. “He was kind,” she said. “But afraid of quiet.”

Over time, they became familiar. Not close — not exactly — but known. She could tell when he entered the room by the shift in air. He could tell when she was about to smile by the tilt of her chin. They worked in tandem without needing words. At night, she walked with him up the slope, sometimes humming softly under her breath.

Ranma didn’t speak of his past often, but it was there — in the set of his shoulders, the reflexes that never fully relaxed, the way he sometimes stared out into the fog like he expected it to move first.

But the mountains didn’t ask anything of him. And neither did Lhakpa. So the memories came naturally.

Then one day, while wrapping a woman’s knee with Lhakpa at his side, something shifted — not externally, but deep in the marrow of him. He realized he hadn’t thrown a punch in over six months. Not in practice, not in anger. He still trained each morning, but it had changed — slower, deeper, more attuned. The rhythm of it reminded him of music without sound, like breathing without effort. There was nothing left to prove. No fight to win. Only the motion itself, the quiet dialogue between body and breath.

He finished tying the wrap and glanced at Lhakpa, who was already handing him the next roll of gauze. Her expression was calm, as usual, but her posture mirrored his — grounded, open.

He sat back, hands resting loosely on his thighs, and took in the sunlight through the window, the way it caught the dust in lazy spirals. He breathed in — not sharply, not shallowly — but fully.

And his shoulders dropped. Completely. Not out of fatigue, but release.

A warmth bloomed in his chest — subtle, but unmistakable. It wasn’t happiness in the explosive, fleeting sense. It was wholeness. A kind of peace that didn’t require explanation. The smile that touched his lips was quiet, surprised, and utterly real.

He looked down at his hands. Steady. Useful. Trusted.

“I’m good here,” he said aloud, more to himself than to anyone else.

Lhakpa, beside him, gave a small nod. “I know.”

He didn’t need to explain how he knew. Or why.

For the first time in years, Ranma realized he didn’t just feel better. He felt complete.

And he would carry that with him — wherever he went next.

A few days later, as they sat outside the clinic steps with mugs of butter tea between their palms, she asked him one of the most important questions anyone had ever asked him.

“Are you still looking for home?”

“I… didn’t think I was. But you might be right”.

The silence stretched, but she didn’t press.

“I don’t think it’s here,” she said at last. “But I think you were supposed to pass through.”

He looked out over the valley. The sky was fading. The peaks beyond were stained violet and ash.

She turned toward him — unseeing, unhesitating.

“You’re ready,” she said. “Even if you don’t know where yet.”

A thought rose in him then, clear and quiet as breath:

I can go back.

He didn’t say it aloud. Didn’t need to.

The mountains had been still long enough. The ache that used to feel like hunger had softened into something quieter. Not peace — not entirely — but permission.

She reached for his hand and found it easily.

He held on.

And when she let go, he didn’t feel empty.

OOOOOOOO

The opportunity found him, as such things often do, not when he was looking, but when he was most himself.

It was a Tuesday, or what passed for one. The days in the mountains didn’t follow calendars. Time was marked by weather, by deliveries, by whose joints ached more than usual. And on that day, a man arrived — not sick, not lost, but clearly not from here.

He came with a mule and two crates of gauze, a clipboard, and a backpack too clean for the road he’d taken.

His name was Tomas. Czech, with weathered boots and a voice like brushed stone. He spoke English, Nepali, and a few words of Tibetan, switching easily, naturally, like someone used to slipping through borders.

Tomas observed the clinic for a few days. He watched without interrupting, sat in on bandage changes, offered no corrections. In the afternoons, he’d ask Dawa quiet questions or help Mingmar refill jars.

It was during one of these days that Tomas watched Ranma work — massaging a shepherd’s shoulder with warmed oil and a flat stone. The shepherd hissed once, then sighed like his bones had remembered something softer.

Afterward, over lentils and flatbread, Tomas leaned in across the bench. “You have hands like a language,” he said. “Where did you learn?”

Ranma shrugged. “Here.”

“And before?”

“Fighting.” Another shrug, lighter now.

Tomas smiled faintly. “So. You’re bilingual.”

Ranma laughed at that — really laughed, not just a chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”

They spoke more over the next few days. Not interviews, just conversations. Tomas asked about pressure points, about how Ranma adjusted patients’ balance by watching how they walked. He never assumed, never talked over him. He listened. That earned Ranma’s trust.

When Tomas finally made his offer, he did so gently.

“We have clinics farther west. Romania first, maybe Poland. Some with good equipment, some... not. But what they all need is what you already do: meet people where they are. Teach them to trust their bodies again.”

Ranma didn’t answer right away. He looked past Tomas, out the window where the fog was lifting from the lower paths.

“It’s not charity,” Tomas added. “It’s paid work. A real job. Not easy. But meaningful.”

Ranma nodded slowly. “And why me?”

“Because,” Tomas said, “you’re already doing it. And I don’t think you’re meant to vanish into these hills, no matter how peaceful they are.”

That night, Ranma sat in the storeroom, sorting herbs with Lhakpa.

“You’re leaving,” she said, not unkindly.

He ran a thumb over the rim of the tea mug, watching the way the leaves had settled at the bottom.

“I think so.”

She sat down beside him, fingers brushing over the rough leaves. “Not because you’re restless.”

“No.”

“Not because you’re broken, either.”

He shook his head. “I’m whole. I just... have more to give now.”

She reached for his hand, found it, and ran her thumb over his wrist, where the pulse beat steady.

“You’ll carry us,” she said. “That’s enough.”

He smiled. Not because it made him sad, but because it didn’t.

He left two days later. With a satchel of dried herbs, a letter from Dawa to a friend in Bucharest, and a woven bracelet Lhakpa tied around his wrist the night before.

He didn’t untie it.

Not for a long time.

OOOOOOOO

The Romanian town met him with unspoken indifference — not hostile, just uninterested. After the intimacy of Nepal, it was almost refreshing. The air was damp instead of thin, the cold rising not from snow, but from sidewalks and metal doorframes, from concrete that held the chill like memory. The wind came from the east, sharp and impatient.

He arrived at dusk, late autumn. The train ride had been long and quiet; the station was neither. Fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, throwing hard shadows. Brakes hissed. Wheels screeched. Announcements blared in a language that hit the ear like gravel — fast, nasal, incomprehensible. The sidewalk was slick, the crosswalk too short, the buses flanked too close and sprayed muddy water across his boots. A car honked. A vending machine beeped. Somewhere, children yelled from behind stairwell bars, laughter jagged and metallic.

It was overwhelming — not frightening, but abrupt. A slap of civilization after months and seasons of wind and firewood and stillness. But instead of recoiling, Ranma took a deep breath. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and kept walking.

He felt the contrast. That was the point. But it didn’t bother him. It was familiar now — the feeling of stepping into a new place, of watching strangers and figuring out how to be among them without getting lost.

The clinic was on the edge of town, housed in a repurposed school building with chalkboards still bolted to the walls and faded cartoon murals in the hallway. The hall smelled like antiseptic and radiator heat. A receptionist with sharp nails and a heavier accent handed him a key, a binder, and a tired smile.

Ranma didn’t ask questions. He unpacked into a narrow cot beside a window and ate his first meal in Romania alone — leftover rice and pickled cabbage offered by a neighbor in the kitchen upstairs.

The work wasn’t hard, just unfamiliar. The patients spoke Romanian. Ranma did not. But he had gestures, patience, and a face people trusted. He watched the way elderly men walked with uneven weight and how children flinched at the cold steel of examination tables. He listened more than he spoke. Slowly, he learned the words that mattered: pain, careful, again.

The other volunteer, Luca, was loud, warm, and very bad at staying on task. He introduced himself with a handshake that nearly dislocated Ranma’s wrist and immediately dubbed him “Sensei.”

“You move like you’re trying not to be seen,” Luca said, squinting at him. “That’s suspicious. You CIA?”

Ranma rolled his eyes. “Just tired.”

They clicked.

Luca handled the files, the rules, the bureaucracy. Ranma handled the people. Together, they turned the clinic into something functional, then into something a little better than that.

They started morning stretches for waiting patients. They hung posters about hydration. One kid drew them a cartoon and taped it to the wall: Luca had a cape, and Ranma had glowing hands.

In the evenings, they walked to a nearby tavern. Cabbage soup, plum brandy, music in the background. They didn’t talk much about their pasts, which suited Ranma fine. They talked about repairs, ridiculous translations, food. Simple things.

Ranma found a gym down the block — small and dusty, but clean. He taught a boy how to fall without bracing on his hands. He sparred once, gently, with a man who used to box. He was offered a teaching slot. He declined. He didn’t need it anymore.

That winter, on his birthday — a date he just chose — Luca threw him a party at the clinic with homemade pastries and a paper crown. Ranma wore the crown for exactly fifteen seconds before giving it to a toddler in the waiting room. It was the best birthday he’d had in years.

He didn’t feel alone.

He didn’t feel unfinished.

And that, he realized one night as he locked the clinic doors and looked out at the frost on the rooftops, was everything.

OOOOOOOO

It started with a notebook.

He found it tucked inside a drawer beside his cot — buried under a brittle calendar from five years ago and a coil of mismatched rubber bands. The cover was soft with wear, the pages yellowed and mostly blank. At first, he thought to use it for clinic notes: things to remember, terms to look up, lists for the market.

But one night, after a long shift and a quiet dinner, he sat down at the desk and wrote:

I’m working at a clinic now. In a town with sharp wind and soft bread. People are kind, if not talkative. It’s enough.

He stared at that sentence for a long time. Then turned the page.

Hi, Mom.

The next lines came slowly. Not polished. Not dramatic. But honest. He wrote about the work, the way it felt to see someone walk a little straighter after a month of effort. He described the cracked tiles in the hallway, Luca’s terrible playlist, and the scarf an old woman knitted him because he reminded her of her late nephew.

He didn’t intend to send it. But when he reread it the next morning, something in it felt steady. Ready.

He folded the pages, walked to the post office three blocks away, and mailed it.

A month later, the receptionist handed him a reply — pink stationery, messy loops, a tiny ink smudge in the corner.

“Dear Dumbass,” it began. “I hope you enjoyed your self-imposed exile, because apparently you’ve been too busy wrapping knees and boiling roots to remember EMAIL EXISTS.”

Ranma blinked. Then laughed.

It was Ranko.

She updated him on life in Tokyo. Her cat, Habanera. Their mom. She said she wasn’t married, wasn’t in jail, and still had all her teeth. She also said — in increasingly bold handwriting — that he needed to learn how to use a computer.

Ranma read the letter three times. He sat on the edge of his cot, clutching the pages like something warm he'd been afraid to find.

Later that week, over instant coffee, he confessed to Luca.

“My sister thinks I’m technologically hopeless.”

Luca nearly choked on his mug. “Thinks?”

“Fine. Says. Loudly.”

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Luca dragged him into the clinic’s back office and booted up the ancient desktop. It took forty minutes, two lockouts, and a full reset.

But when it was done, Ranma sat in front of the blinking cursor and typed:

Hi.

It’s me.

I’m okay.

Then deleted all of it.

Started again.

Thank you for finding me.

I’m not lost. Just... getting there.

Then he signed his name. Nothing more.

And hit send.

OOOOOOOO

The snow came late that year.

It dusted the rooftops like confectioner’s sugar, never thick enough to stick for long, but enough to sting Ranma’s hands when he cleared the walkway each morning. The wind had changed too — less biting, more familiar. He didn’t know why he noticed that.

Maybe it was because the letters had started again.

Ranko’s reply came a week later — this time short and full of attitude. “So you figured out the keyboard. Miracles never cease. FYI: Akane-san’s still at the dojo. Still teaching. Still smarter than you.”

Attached was a photo — low resolution, slightly blurred. Akane in profile, sitting on the engawa steps with two little girls leaning against her shoulders. She was laughing. Not posed. Not polished. Just alive.

Ranma stared at it for a long time.

It wasn’t longing that hit him first. It was warmth. Familiarity. That kind of recognition that slips under your skin when you see a piece of your youth, intact and bright.

He hadn’t thought of Akane every day. But when he did, it was never with regret. It was with admiration. Respect. Even now, seeing her like that — grounded, joyful — he felt proud. She had always been capable of so much. He knew it then. He saw it now. But now, looking at her, he could feel the same breath he’d found in the mountains — steady, unforced, complete.

The photo made something in him soften.

The girls weren’t hers — or maybe they were. It didn’t matter. It was the way she held them, casual and at ease, like someone who had become her fullest self without needing fanfare.

Ranma printed out the photo and folded it into his notebook.

He didn’t write back right away. But he did find himself walking more. Thinking differently.

Not wistfully. Not with ache.

But with that strange gravity — the kind that doesn’t pull, but hums beneath the ribs. Like a note held just beyond hearing, steady and unresolved.

He didn’t know what it was pointing toward.

But he tucked the photo into his notebook with the care of someone who’d just remembered the sound of their own name said kindly.

And then he went on with his day.

Quietly changed.

He took longer routes to the market. Sat with patients after their sessions and let them ramble in Romanian he still barely understood. One old woman showed him how to knit. Another tried to set him up with her granddaughter.

Luca took no time to notice the difference.

“You’re pacing,” he said one morning, eyes on his coffee.

“I’m making tea.”

“You’re pacing while making tea.”

Ranma didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned against the counter, fingers drumming lightly against the chipped ceramic.

“I got a letter from my sister,” he said.

“Ah,” Luca replied, with mock gravity. “So the mysterious monk has people. What did she say?”

“That Akane’s still running the dojo. That she looked—” he hesitated, then said it anyway, “—happy.”

“Akane…?” Luca asked, the question open in the air, “The one who got away?”

“Yeah…”

Luca glanced up with an all knowing look. “And that got you pacing.”

Ranma smiled faintly. “Not in a bad way. Just... maybe I’m ready to go home.”

“Back to Japan?”

He nodded. “Not just to visit. To live.”

Luca took a long sip. “You’re not the same person who left.”

“I know,” Ranma said. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

There was a pause. Not heavy, but thoughtful.

“You think she’s waiting?” Luca asked.

Ranma didn’t answer right away. “I don’t think she’s waiting. It’s been a lifetime. But I think she’ll see who I am now.”

Luca stood and clapped him on the back. “Then go. But write, yeah? If only to prove you’ve mastered email.”

Ranma laughed, soft but real. “Deal.”

Luca was quiet a moment. Then he smiled. “You know, we’ve got connections. Dawa’s friend runs a clinic near Kyoto — not big, but stable. You’d have your own room. Salary. Tea breaks.”

Ranma blinked. “Seriously?”

“I’ll write the email and sort that out,” Luca said, already pulling out his phone. “You do the hard part and start packing.”

Ranma sat down across from him. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he was leaving something undone.

They toasted that night with plum liquor. Luca poured too much, and Ranma didn’t stop him.

“So you’re definitely not running, are you?”

Ranma laughed a bit. Maybe it was the alcohol.

“I’m a bit too old for that, don’t you think.”

“No.”

“Well, in that case, no. And I really do feel like some real miso ramen.”

“Good,” Luca said. “Then you’ll walk straight. That’s all anyone can do.”

OOOOOOOO

Before leaving, Ranma carved a small wooden figure — a tiny bird with wings outstretched — and left it on Luca’s desk. A thank-you. For not asking too many questions, but knowing when to push nonetheless. And for giving him a door.

“You dramatic bastard,” he muttered, but smiled as he held it.

And when the train finally came, Ranma boarded with his bag and his letters and a quiet kind of stillness, the kind that sits low in the chest like the hush before snowfall. His hands were steady, but his breath caught slightly when the train pulled away — as if his body knew what his mind hadn’t admitted yet: he was really going back. that was settled deeply in his heart.

The train ride was quiet. The landscape shifted — fields, cities, rivers. Ranma kept his eyes on the window but wasn’t watching. His thoughts drifted like fog, not heavy, just full.

At the airport, he got flustered at check-in. Nearly missed his gate after helping an elderly man with a walker. The flight was long, the food worse than he remembered. But none of it mattered. He was moving forward, not away.

Japan came into view beneath the clouds — orderly, gray, familiar. And as the plane descended, Ranma felt it again: not fear, not hesitation.

Just arrival.

OOOOOOOO

The airport in Kansai was glossy, busy, and aggressively polite — a jarring contrast to the soft, muted life he’d left behind. Bright lights blinked in sterile rhythms, signs barked instructions in multiple languages, and announcements crackled overhead like static in his skull. He drifted through the crowds in a daze, his senses tugged in ten directions at once, like he’d forgotten how to belong in a place that moved this fast. Ranma navigated it with practiced caution, his brain foggy from recycled air and lukewarm tea. He got lost trying to find the right platform for the local train, missed it twice, and accidentally bought a children’s ticket at the machine. He stood in the wrong line for customs. The woman at the kiosk asked if he was okay.

He nodded, smiling awkwardly. “Just... recalibrating.”

Once he found his train — slow, warm, familiar in its hum — he sank into a seat and let the blur of rice fields and apartment blocks wash over him. His bag rested in his lap. He didn’t check his phone. Didn’t text anyone. There would be time for that.

The small-town clinic sat on the outskirts of a place with only one traffic light and two convenience stores. The streets curved gently, the houses low and clean. Everything was quiet in the precise, tucked-in way only Japan could manage.

The NGO had arranged everything: his apartment, his contract, his welcome folder with color-coded tabs. His new coworkers were kind, if a little wary. The nurse who trained him on the system spoke slowly and called him Ranma-san with firm patience.

He learned to bow again. Learned the new vending machines. Bought miso that didn’t taste like saltwater.

His Japanese had softened from disuse, but it came back quickly. He began to remember his mother’s handwriting, the rhythm of neighborhood announcements, the quiet click of slippers on polished floors.

But sometimes, when he bowed too deeply or hesitated at a crosswalk, he caught a glance — not cruel, just curious — and remembered that home wasn’t always seamless. Even here, he was still arriving.

He taught shoulder rehab to retired teachers. Showed elderly farmers how to breathe through stretches. Kept his tone even, his movements light.

At night, he walked.

Down back roads that smelled of soil and charcoal. Past flooded paddies where frogs rasped in the dark. He walked not to find anything, but to feel the shape of being home.

He didn’t contact anyone in Nerima yet.

Not Ranko. Not his mother. Not Akane.

He wasn’t waiting out of fear. He was arriving — piece by piece.

And this time, he wanted to mean it.

OOOOOOOO

It had been almost a year.

Ranma hadn’t counted the months precisely, but he could tell by the way the clinic’s hydrangeas had bloomed and browned twice, and by how easily he now moved through the town without checking signs. He had a rhythm. A futon that didn’t smell foreign anymore. A bike he actually used. Groceries he bought on Thursdays.

The emails with Ranko were sporadic — half-ridiculous, always blunt, sometimes touching. Occasionally, she’d send photos. Street food. Her terrible cat. And once, a flyer from the dojo. He didn’t ask for updates, but she gave them anyway, in her own way.

When she finally announced she was coming to visit, she didn’t ask if he was free. Just texted the train time.

She arrived in early spring, dragging a battered suitcase and scolding the vending machine outside the station.

“You’re tanner,” she said by way of greeting. “Didn’t think they had sun in rural Japan.”

“You’re louder,” he replied, taking her bag.

They ate dinner standing at the kitchen counter — conbini bento, too much mustard in the salad dressing, shared tea. It felt familiar, not nostalgic. Family as function, not ceremony.

Over tea, she told him about the dojo.

“It’s wild now. Full-blown neighborhood hub. Kids after school, women’s self-defense, seniors’ balance classes, you name it. We got certified to run spa services. Akane’s idea. They even renovated part of the back room into a quiet space for recovery days — spa treatments, warm compresses, you know. Akane’s idea.”

Ranma raised a brow. “For patients?”

“For Tofu. Dr. Tofu. He still comes once a week. His back’s terrible but he’s good company.”

She said it all casually, like none of it would matter. But he listened. Really listened.

Ranko watched him.

“Akane’s not married, by the way.”

Ranma didn’t flinch. But the cup in his hand stilled.

“She’s with someone. Steady type. I don’t know much, but they’ve been together a while.” She shrugged. “He’s nice. That’s all I’ve got.”

Still, he didn’t speak.

“Just thought you’d want to know,” she added, then gave him a look. “You’ve got that fogged-over-glasses expression.”

Ranma laughed quietly. “I’m just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

They didn’t say much else that night.

The next morning, she hugged him a little longer than necessary and left him with a warm can of coffee and a quiet, “See you soon.”

Later that week, he walked past the train schedule taped to the clinic’s front door. Read it twice.

And smiled.

OOOOOOOO

When he arrived in Nerima, it was almost noon.

The air felt different here — heavier with memory. Familiar in a way that curled at the edges of his breath. He stepped off the train and paused on the platform, letting the hum of the station wash over him. Ranko was waiting, perched casually on a bench with a rice ball in one hand and her phone in the other.

“Welcome home, world traveler,” she said, rising to meet him. Her grin was easy, not theatrical. She handed him the rice ball wrapped in wax paper. “Eat before you faint.”

He took it, warmth blooming in his palm. “Thanks.”

They walked a stretch in silence. Ranko didn’t pepper him with questions, didn’t rush the pace. She just walked alongside him, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

His mother opened the door almost immediately, as if she'd been waiting just behind it. She looked older — a softness around the eyes, a faint tremble in her hands — but her presence was just as commanding as ever.

They didn’t speak at first. She stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

He let it happen.

They sat in the kitchen with barley tea and quiet between them.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

He thought of mountains, of Lhakpa’s steady hand, of Luca’s ridiculous jokes, of the quiet order of the clinic in Kyoto.

“I think I’ve found peace,” he said. “And that’s all anyone could ever ask for.”

She nodded. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

He left one of his bags in the entryway. She didn’t ask how long he planned to stay. Just told him the old futon was still in the closet.

They didn’t say goodbye.

Ranko waited for him at the gate.

“You ready?” she asked.

Ranma adjusted the jacket over his arm. “Yeah.”

They walked the last stretch together.

The neighborhood had changed — new laundry lines, repainted shutters, unfamiliar cars parked where old bicycles once leaned. But the sky looked the same.

He paused at the corner, heart steady.

The Tendo gate creaked exactly as it always had.

In the yard, Akane stood barefoot on the porch, waving goodbye to a tall man holding hands with twin girls. Her short hair framed her face, just like it used to, simple and neat. Her laugh carried on the breeze.

The gate clicked shut behind them. A child’s laugh echoed, then faded.

She turned just as the man stepped through the gate.

Ranma stood behind Ranko.

Akane’s smile flickered, paused. A beat of stillness.

And just like that, Ranma’s breath caught in his throat. Not with panic — not anymore — but with something old and fast and utterly unguarded. A thrum under the ribs. A flicker of memory. His heart stuttered — the briefest betrayal — and then steadied itself like a runner regaining stride.

Somewhere nearby, an orange cat stretched along the porch rail, making himself at home.

She was there. Real. Not in a photo. Not in a memory softened by time. Her presence filled the space between them like it always had — without trying.

She didn’t look surprised. Just... aware.

"Hey," he said, quiet but certain.

Akane blinked, just once. Her breath caught, only for an instant.

"Hey. Welcome back," she said. Her smile deepened — slow and sure.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Momentum (Part I)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOOOO

It began, not with a bang, but a train ride.

Akane pressed her forehead to the window as the urban landscape shifted outside — the tightly packed blocks of central Tokyo giving way to older rooftops and narrower alleys. Somewhere past Ikebukuro, the lines blurred into the outskirts of Nerima, half-familiar, half-forgotten. Power lines tangled above corner stores, pachinko parlors blinked lazily into the dusk. The train slowed as it pulled into the station. No one was waiting for her.

Which was fine.

She was used to moving without fanfare now. Used to carrying her own bag, her own thoughts. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder, stepped onto the platform, and walked out into air that smelled faintly of gasoline and roasted chestnuts. A gust of early autumn wind caught at her coat.

The apartment Nabiki had helped her rent wasn’t far from campus. Just a short walk past a park and two train crossings, nestled above a quiet stationery store. It was a compact, second-floor unit with a small balcony and a view of laundry lines and slanted rooftops. Nabiki had filled the fridge. Kasumi had left her a pot of sweet red beans and a tiny note in her rounded, careful hand: for strength.

It was, in some small way, enough.

She could’ve gone back to the Tendo house—Kasumi had suggested as much, gently, more than once—but she’d needed somewhere quiet. Not just audibly quiet. Quiet for her soul. A place without the weight of memory embedded in every doorway. The old home was filled with ghosts, and though they were kind, they were still ghosts. Nabiki had understood that instantly, hadn’t blinked once. She'd pulled out her phone and started calling listings before Akane could even finish her sentence.

For all its shortcomings, the place had a balcony. It was tiny and rusted at the corners, but it overlooked a thin strip of river. And in the mornings, when the city was still half-asleep, the wind off the water carried in a kind of damp quiet that reminded her—faintly, imperfectly—of home. Not Nerima exactly. But the dojo. The wide yard. The corridor that creaked when walked on too quickly. The hiss of Kasumi boiling water at dawn. The wash of sunlight through rice paper.

Here, the sun came in through slatted metal blinds, sharp and a bit hidden, painting thin lines across the tatami she’d managed to lay down herself. The light didn’t have the same color, but it still came. With it, warmth. And Akane had started to sit there in the mornings, cup of miso or reheated tea in hand, wrapped in the same faded hoodie she’d been stealing from Nabiki since high school. Kasumi had mended it years ago, embroidering a little piglet near the cuff. It had become a family heirloom of sorts. Wearing it probably warmed her more than the sun did.

The important thing to note was that mornings were hers. Definitely. For now.

They hadn’t been, for the longest time.

After breaking up with Ranma, she’d remained in Osaka to finish the academic year. How had that even happened? The decision felt like a blur now. One day she’d said she needed to stay through finals, and the next it had become a fact. She was alone in a city that had never felt quite hers, living in a shared apartment near the university with four others—Sumire, Tamaki, Takano, and Ryoga.

At first, she'd felt oddly lucky: Sumire had the energy of a runaway festival and made friends with everyone within twenty minutes. Tamaki was flamboyant and opinionated, a wine snob who nonetheless could whip up dinner from instant noodles and make it gourmet. Takano was gruff and dry, always reading something dense or muttering about deadlines, and rarely smiled—but when he did, it felt like a reward.

And Ryoga... Ryoga was Ryoga. Soft-spoken. Polite. Too careful. He had a quiet way of looking after people, bringing them tea when they looked tired, offering to walk them home even when it was five minutes away. At first, Akane had appreciated it. It had felt grounding. Familiar. Safe.

They'd all made an effort. Weekly curry nights. Rotating cleaning duties. Even an awkward but heartfelt birthday cake when she turned twenty-one. She’d joined them on the balcony for beers, let Sumire paint her nails once, watched Takano and Tamaki argue about movie tropes like it was their job. It had worked, for a while.

But slowly, the contrast between their noisy comfort and her unraveling quiet grew sharper. Sumire’s laughter scraped against her nerves. Tamaki’s flair felt exhausting. Takano’s silences mirrored her own in ways that weren’t helpful. And Ryoga—

Ryoga made things worse, somehow.

Not intentionally. He brought her snacks. Left polite notes on her desk. Asked if she’d slept. Told her she looked pale. Watched her too closely. Stood outside her door too long after knocking. Tried too hard to say the right thing, as if she were something broken and precious he didn’t know how to hold.

She didn’t want to be cruel. She knew he meant well. But his presence, his concern, wrapped around her like a net she hadn’t agreed to. And eventually, she began to dread it.

So she began to excuse herself earlier. Stopped coming out for meals. Claimed study hours she didn’t need. Pretended to sleep. Her room became a shell. A retreat.

She still heard them sometimes—laughing in the kitchen, Sumire singing badly over Tamaki’s protests, Takano sighing like a teacher grading a bad essay—and it wasn’t that she didn’t care. She just couldn’t reach them anymore.

The apartment didn’t feel hostile. But it didn’t feel like a place she belonged, either.

She had gone through her days with a kind of mechanical focus: wake, study, eat, breathe, repeat. The seasons changed around her. Rain blurred the windows. Heat settled in and stayed. The cicadas came and left again.

It was hard. Devastating, really. Though "devastated" wasn’t the word she would’ve used at the time. She hadn’t felt like she was breaking. She’d felt like she was empty. Like all her feelings had folded in on themselves and gone somewhere she couldn’t reach. She didn’t cry, not much. Not then. Not until later. She didn’t scream or lash out. She just moved through the world like someone wrapped in gauze. Or under water.

The worst part was that she knew she’d made the right choice. That was the truly awful thing. She knew Ranma had to go. He’d been looking for something neither of them could name. And she couldn’t follow him without becoming someone she wasn’t. That had always been the truth. But knowing it didn’t make her less lonely.

Missing him wasn’t even the problem. She had become used to missing him. What hurt was that this time, she knew he wouldn’t come back. Not for a visit. Not for a few weeks. Not as a surprise at the train station. This time, the missing him part was permanent. But somehow, that made it quieter. Easier to hold. Like a stone she could keep in her pocket. There was no changing that circumstance. And that, ironically, made it tolerable. More so than it had been before.

She’d already started filling out the transfer forms when someone at the university counseling office gently suggested she consider talking to someone. Therapy wasn’t a miracle, but it helped. It gave her space to name things she hadn’t known how to name. And it affirmed what she was already planning: that being closer to home, closer to Kasumi and Nabiki, was what she needed.

To their credit, Osaka University didn’t resist. They coordinated with Tokyo, made sure her grades transferred cleanly, and even helped her apply for a scholarship. Her performance had held. One professor offered to write her a recommendation. Nabiki handled the rest — pushing paperwork in the background with unnerving efficiency.

She was still undecided on a major. Technically, she was listed under general business studies. It gave her room to move. But the truth was, her mind had drifted elsewhere. Toward the dojo. Toward what it could be. Toward how to make it more than just a sentimental legacy. How to make it real.

She and Nabiki had stayed up late one night, not long after she’d come back from Osaka. They’d been eating convenience store onigiri and watching the news with the sound off. And somewhere in the middle of a conversation about plumbing costs, it had clicked.

"You don’t just want to preserve it," Nabiki had said, tapping a pen against her knee. "You want to make it thrive."

Akane had nodded, almost without realizing. And Nabiki, in the most Nabiki way possible, had opened her laptop.

They became business partners that night. Not with a handshake. Just with a dedicated notepad and some very colorful markers.

Her first vision had been classes for children. Self-defense for women. A few advanced classes for dedicated martial artists. Eventually, maybe, a dojo cafe stand where parents could wait with tea and view the lessons from a screen. All ridiculous for now. But they were building something. Slowly. Like placing bricks on sand and trusting the tide to recede.

And for the first time in a long while, she’d started waking up before her alarm. Not because she had to. But because she wanted to.

OOOOOOOO

Classes were still a week away. The University of Tokyo campus—new to her, too big, too polished—felt like another world entirely. But Nabiki—where would she have ended up if her sister wasn’t so meddlesome?—had insisted that she come to an institution that offered absolutely everything she might need or crave. Not with dramatics. Not with sentiment. Just that quiet, blunt way she had: "You're not running away. You're just choosing better."

Akane didn’t feel like she was choosing anything. Mostly, she felt like she had failed something. But she’d agreed. And now, this was Tokyo. The same city as before, but changed. Or maybe she was. Totally and completely changed. Probably both.

The nights were still hard. That hadn’t changed.

At least she wasn’t crying anymore. Not often, anyway. She’d cried so much—though not at the beginning—but after she realized life was moving on, and she had to get on with it or be left behind. Like her father. So that, she decided, was progress. And she’d take all the wins she could get. But she wasn’t sleeping much either. That was something else that was new.

There were noises in this building. Pipes that groaned a bit too loudly. A neighbor who practiced shamisen—badly—on Thursday evenings. The occasional muffled shouting match from two floors down. Once, a child had screamed for so long she’d nearly called someone. But the voice had stopped suddenly, and she hadn’t heard it again.

Sometimes, at 2 a.m., she’d remember the sound of Kasumi stirring tea downstairs, the soft hush of cloth slippers against wooden floor. That sound had never kept her awake before. But now she was aware of every little thing going on around her, like her brain had decided to develop a new kind of miserable superpower.

Still, she wasn’t truly miserable. Not in that falling-through-the-floor kind of way she remembered from Osaka. It was more like waiting. Like standing in a long hallway between two rooms, not quite sure which door to walk through.

At least now, she had a plan. She’d always been best when a plan needed her. That made the waiting just waiting—a bearable pause.

The first thing she’d done—well, the second, after scrubbing the walls—was unpack her books. Martial theory texts. Old high school yearbooks, their corners bent and margins scribbled with notes. A small stack of paper folders filled with dojo registration documents, event flyers, half-finished ideas.

The folder marked "Future Plans" had gone straight onto the table.

It was Nabiki’s suggestion. Of course it was. She’d said it in passing, like it wasn’t a big deal: "You’re going to put all this effort into getting better and getting the knowledge you need. Make it count. Make it practical. Let’s map out what the dojo actually needs."

Akane had nodded. Not because she had energy, but because she needed something to say yes to. And so, she started writing. Not essays. Not letters. Just lists.

Things the dojo needed: new mats. Two repaired windows. A proper storage system for weapons. Resealing of the back corridor roof. A better waiting area for parents. A real class structure. A space for women’s self-defense.

She didn’t know if she could do all that. But she wanted to try.

That, too, felt like progress.

OOOOOOOO

She’d started seeing the new therapist on Wednesdays, during her first week back in Tokyo. It was a direct continuation of the support she’d received in Osaka. The university’s mental health center was small and efficient. No incense. No plush toys. Just a quiet room, two comfortable chairs, and a middle-aged woman with kind hands and no visible judgment.

At first, Akane had talked about logistics. Credits. Housing. Her lack of cooking skills. Then about the transition. Nabiki. A very pregnant Kasumi. The dojo. Eventually, other things.

She never once said Ranma’s name.

But she talked about quiet goodbyes. About not knowing what parts of herself were real anymore. About the way joy had stopped showing up, even when invited. About the exhaustion of always being the one who said, "I'm fine."

One session had begun with a folder—a record of her previous counseling. This therapist was bolder. Called it depression. The word wasn’t shocking. The counselors in Osaka had danced around it, but never said it. And even now, hearing it made Akane wince. Like something weak had been confirmed. Like failure, stamped official.

Still. She kept going. Did the homework. Like she always had.

Breathing exercises. Journaling. The whole annoying, gentle toolkit.

Amazingly, it helped. Maybe not dramatically. But enough that she noticed. Last Thursday, she’d laughed at something Nabiki said and it hadn’t felt like a performance.

That felt like a small miracle. It had almost made her cry.

So she’d marked it down. In the stupid gratitude notebook. With a pencil, not a pen. Just in case she needed to regret it and erase it.

Other entries: "the udon place didn’t mess up my order today." "Slept five hours in a row and only dreamed once." "No one asked me how I was doing and I didn’t have to lie."

Sometimes she flipped back through them. Not because she felt grateful exactly. But because they were proof. Little timestamped pieces of survival.

OOOOOOOO

Campus was nearly empty that week. But Akane went anyway. To walk. To get lost on purpose. The buildings felt colder than she'd imagined. Sleek and square. Too much concrete. But the library was warm. And behind the economics building, a side garden smelled faintly of green tea.

She thought she might go back there. With a book. Or maybe just to sit.

One afternoon, she wandered into the gym complex, following the sound of shouting and the thud of bodies on mats. At first, she only meant to pass through. But the smell—sweat and wood polish—stopped her. That, and the cadence of sparring partners counting out loud.

She hovered in the doorway. Unnoticed. Then someone—maybe a team manager—asked if she wanted to sit and watch.

She did.

And the strangest thing happened: she wanted to move.

Not to train. Not yet. But her body remembered. Her shoulders itched. Her fingers twitched.

For the first time in months, she thought: I love this.

And it didn’t hurt.

She didn’t know what her life was becoming. Not yet.

But at least she was still in it.

And that, maybe, was enough.

OOOOOOOO

The dojo wasn’t in ruins. But it had begun to feel paused. A place more remembered than lived in. The thin windows rattled when the wind hit just right. The floorboards sighed with every step, their joints looser than she recalled. One of the back rooms still carried the faint tang of mildew from the year the gutter collapsed and the rain came in sideways.

Still, it was home.

Even if she couldn’t take it all on yet.

When she visited—quietly, sometimes just once a week—she walked the corridors without switching on the lights. Her fingers trailed the wood rails. Her socks picked up the dust. She memorized creaks like heartbeat patterns. The bones were still good.

Nabiki had mentioned it once—not as judgment, more like weather: "If no one touches it, it’ll rot. Shame, really."

Akane had nodded. She wasn’t ready. But that sentence had lodged in her ribs.

Later that evening, back in her apartment, she’d pulled a spare notebook from her book bag—the plain kind with a squared cover. She didn’t title it. Just started writing: leaking eaves, cracked window slats, rust on the shower fixtures. Next page: beginner classes?—maybe Sundays.

The ideas came slow. But they came.

her father had not changed. And that, strangely, hurt the most.

He still drank his tea on the porch at sunrise. Still played Go on weekends with Mr. Saotome. Still wore the same faded gi like a second skin. But now his grief had grown quieter, more patient. It didn’t announce itself in sobs or sweeping declarations of legacy. It just hung around him like weather. A soft fog.

After Ranma left, it was like someone had outlined him in chalk and walked away. She hadn’t been able to meet his eyes for weeks. Too much of him looked like memory.

But she came anyway.

Not daily. Just... more.

He never brought up Ranma. Not once. But when Mr. Saotome came by with that battered shogi board, pretending not to be out of place, her throat caught. Watching the two men sit again, drink tea like time hadn’t passed—something behind her ribs twisted.

Mr. Saotome looked older, too. Thinner. Still puffed-up in his speech, still full of dramatics, but his edges had worn down. His smile was awkward—almost apologetic. Like a man unsure which mistake she blamed him for.

She didn’t answer the smile. Didn’t trust herself to try. But when she poured the tea, her hands shook a little.

Kasumi hadn’t been by in weeks. She was resting, as she should. Nabiki had arranged for a local cleaner to stop in biweekly—just enough to keep mildew from creeping into the beams. Akane never asked who paid. Didn’t need to.

Her father never asked her to stay. Never suggested she move back in. But when she began showing up more often—checking the gate lock, airing the futons, brushing the dust off the rafters—he watched her in silence. And then, one day, without meeting her gaze, he murmured, "Thank you, daughter."

It was the closest thing to permission he could give.

She didn’t move back. She still kept the apartment. But she began to act as if the house had breath again. Replacing batteries in the wall clock. Scrubbing stains off the floorboards. Straightening the photograph on the family altar.

One evening, as she dusted the altar cloth, her father sat just outside with his tea. Said nothing. Stayed until she was done.

And that night, she called Nabiki.

"Maybe we should make a list."

Nabiki didn’t even pause. “Get on it,” she said.

It was the kindest thing she could’ve said.

Akane wiped her face with her sleeve, let herself laugh once, and got to work.

OOOOOOOO

The campus bloomed with noise once classes began.

Handwritten flyers overlapped each other on cork boards—part-time jobs, language clubs, free bicycle repairs. Students darted between buildings. Laughter echoed from the quad. The library hit capacity by mid-morning. The air buzzed with pencils clicking, books thudding shut, vending machines humming.

Akane moved through it like she had swim goggles on—everything slightly warped, held at a distance.

But she moved.

She went to lectures. Bought used textbooks. Annotated margins with a mechanical pencil. She still preferred to underline with a ruler. It gave her a sense of control, like keeping thoughts in their lanes.

She remembered how to be good at school. Not exceptional. Just the kind of good that goes unnoticed. Hand raised just enough to be seen. Uniform pressed. Quiet bento lunches eaten on sun-warmed benches.

She’d signed up for a small seminar on education. Only six students. The professor used old acetate sheets and a rickety overhead projector that hummed when plugged in. Akane liked the analogness of it. It made her feel like things didn’t have to move fast to matter.

She listened carefully. Let the words fall into her notebook like bricks.

The students were nice, some younger. They passed notes, made plans, swapped numbers on the backs of receipts. She didn’t join. She didn’t own a keitai. Couldn’t afford one, really. And didn’t want to be reachable every minute anyway.

Most days, she didn’t even pick up her landline.

She kept her small blue notebook with her at all times. Gridded paper. Simple spine. She wrote in it when walking, waiting, watching. That afternoon, she sat beneath a gingko tree outside the economics building, knees drawn up, notebook across her thighs.

Today’s entries:

Ask about gym rental fees.
Dojo program: tiered by age? (check example from pamphlet)
Uniform laundry service? (maybe talk to Kasumi)
Offer weekend classes?
Nabiki: budget update due next Tuesday.

And beneath all that, in faint script, pressed lightly into the page:

I didn’t think about him today. Not until just now.

She read it twice.

Then she folded the notebook shut, pressed her hands flat against her knees, and stood.

And kept walking.

OOOOOOOO

The first time she held the baby, it was late afternoon and the whole house smelled like boiled barley, diapers, and cut daikon. Light filtered through the kitchen curtains in strips, catching on floating dust and softening the edges of everything. The radio murmured from the other room. Someone had left the kettle on.

Kasumi had come home just a few days earlier, looking tired but serene in a way Akane had never seen before—like a different kind of quiet had settled in her. Not resignation. Something fuller. Like someone who had stepped through something painful and come out the other side with her feet planted firmly on the floor.

The baby—Rin, short for something longer that Dr. Tofu had insisted on but Kasumi always shortened—was impossibly small and warm, her face scrunched in deep skepticism. She made soft snuffling noises and gripped Akane’s finger with surprising strength, as if anchoring herself to this new world.

They were all there that day. Nabiki in her usual slacks, balancing a tray of store-bought manju and rolling her eyes at their father, who had wept when the baby yawned. Dr. Tofu had disappeared halfway through to reheat something and returned with his shirt inside out. No one said a word. Kasumi didn’t even blink.

Akane sat cross-legged on a zabuton while Kasumi gently guided her hands beneath Rin’s neck. Her arms felt awkward at first, then instinct took over. The baby squirmed once, then went still, a warmth settling between them.

"She likes you," Kasumi said, her smile soft and undemanding—the kind that made people stop apologizing for existing.

Akane didn’t know what to say. Her throat had gone tight.

The baby’s weight was steady in her arms, pressed against the inside of her wrist. Not like a metaphor. Not like hope or healing or any of those abstractions she kept trying to measure. Just a baby. Just a new life that didn’t ask her to perform, didn’t need her to have answers. Only to be careful. Only to be there.

For the first time in weeks—maybe longer—she didn’t feel behind. She wasn’t catching up to anything. She was exactly where she needed to be.

"She’s got your stubborn brow," Nabiki said, walking past with a smirk.

Akane looked down. Rin yawned, an enormous, slow yawn that wrinkled her whole face.

The laugh rose up before she could catch it—sharp, sudden, almost startled—and echoed like a small bell in the stillness. But even as the sound left her mouth, something broke loose inside her. Her chest tightened, and her eyes blurred. The tears welled up hot and full, not from pain, not even sadness, but something deeper—some low, thrumming ache of recognition, of return. Her shoulders shook once. She didn’t sob. The tears slid down the curve of her cheeks in silence, falling as if her body had finally remembered how to let go.

No one made a big deal out of it.

Kasumi passed her a tissue and said, "You’re doing fine."

And Akane believed her.

That night, for the first time in months, Akane slept through without waking. The sleep was deep. Unthinking. Warm like a blanket pulled all the way to her chin.

OOOOOOOO

She started going to the cafeteria again. Not because the food was good—it wasn’t—but because she liked the humming noise. The low murmur of voices, trays clattering, the distant hiss of the coffee machine. It settled over her like a weighted blanket. She found she could breathe more deeply sitting near conversations without being part of them. It made her feel connected without requiring anything. Just people, living. Moving. Laughing. It was like a balm to her nervous system—familiar, but without demands. And for now, that was more than enough.

One afternoon, a boy approached her. Maybe twenty. Hair dyed a little too red. Shirt too crisp. His smile was practiced, but not mean.

He asked her name, then her program, then whether she’d like to grab coffee sometime.

She looked at him for a long moment—not cruel, not angry—just taking stock. Measuring her own heart.

He was nice. Probably.

“I’m not really dating right now,” she said, voice even, spine tall.

He nodded too quickly, laughed, waved it off. "No worries. Had to try."

Akane smiled politely and turned back to her bento. Her shoulders relaxed slightly. She finished eating slowly. Not because she was upset, but because it felt like a small victory. A moment of self-honesty that didn’t sting.

Later that evening, she wrote in the gratitude journal: "Said no. Didn’t explain myself. Didn’t feel guilty."

Underneath it, she added, "Maybe I’ll start wearing earrings again."

The next day, she did.

Not the fancy ones. Just the tiny silver studs she’d nearly forgotten she owned. She caught her reflection in the vending machine outside the library—slightly warped—and didn’t look away. Her own face looked different. Not brighter, just... steadier.

Rebuilding, she decided, was quiet work. Not dramatic. No big speeches. No fast-paced montage with pop music swelling. Just a slow return. To sensation. To appetite. To noticing. The way she now paused to pick a particular brand of tea. Or sat facing the sun in the campus quad. Or felt a bubble of laughter and let it rise.

If her life were a movie, this part would be boring. Long cuts of a woman tying her shoes, rinsing rice, staring at trees. And yet, it was the part she liked best.

One morning, in a seminar, she laughed out loud. The kind of laugh that bubbled up from somewhere low in the belly and surprised her on the way out. Heads turned. A few people smiled.

The girl who always sat two seats from her leaned over and whispered, "You should laugh like that more often."

Akane flushed. Her neck warmed. She nodded without speaking, and then spent the rest of the lecture pressing her lips together to keep from smiling.

Her name was Midori.

They didn’t talk every class, but sometimes after. Short exchanges. Mutual irritation at the vending machine eating coins. A shared groan when the projector flickered again. Midori had short, feathered hair and long hands. She carried her bag crossbody, always with two pens clipped to the strap. Her voice was low, amused, with a dryness that made Akane feel understood before either of them said much.

One day, Midori asked, “Melon pan?”

Akane blinked. “Not really hungry.”

“Neither am I,” Midori said. “Come anyway.”

So she did.

It was never dramatic. Just a slow orbiting. Sharing footnotes. Swapping extra handouts. Once, they both missed class and ended up napping under the same sakura tree—Akane on one end of the bench, Midori on the other. No explanations. Just sun and stillness.

Midori didn’t ask questions. But she listened. When Akane muttered sarcastic things under her breath, Midori laughed—not too loud, not too soft. Just the right volume to feel real.

One afternoon, walking back from class, Midori said casually, “You're not as quiet as I thought you were.”

Akane raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”

Midori shrugged, mouth twitching. “It’s an observation. Compliments come later.”

It wasn’t happiness, not exactly. But it was movement. A thread that tethered her gently to the present. And she didn’t feel stuck anymore.

OOOOOOOO

On Sundays, she started walking along the Kanda River.

It wasn’t intentional at first—just something to fill the time between laundry and grocery shopping—but the habit took. The path curved gently, lined with crooked trees that never bloomed at the same time. Some of them were cherry, some maple, some that dropped seed pods like brittle stars. Birds called from above—one shrill, one warbling—and somewhere deep in the lattice of the concrete bank, a cat always seemed to be watching.

She didn’t track the distance. Didn’t count steps. But the walk became a rhythm. Her body found a pace that matched the water’s pull. The world narrowed to breath, pavement, soft rustling.

It calmed her nervous system. Made the days feel stitched together by something more than obligation.

OOOOOOOO

Sayuri had become her once-a-month call. Sometimes more, depending on how quiet the week felt. Akane had picked up the habit without discussion. Sayuri never made it a thing. She never did.

That afternoon, Akane called from the hallway phone. The cord barely stretched to the narrow windowsill, where she set her mug of barley tea. Her fingers curled loosely around the receiver. The dial tone buzzed faintly in her ear, grounding.

Sayuri picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello? Sayuri speaking.”

“It’s me,” Akane said.

“Akane? Finally! I was starting to think you’d become a monk. You okay?”

“Sort of. Mostly. I’m still figuring it out.”

“You sound tired. Or maybe just... like you’re whispering with your whole body.”

Akane let out a quiet exhale. “It’s one of those days.”

“Yuka and I were just talking about you last week,” Sayuri said, cheerful and familiar. “I told her you were probably holed up in some blanket fort with a stack of textbooks and existential dread.”

Akane huffed. “Not inaccurate.”

“Of course it’s not. I’ve known you since we were twelve. I’m rarely wrong.”

A lull. Soft. Not uncomfortable.

“You know we’re still meeting every second Saturday at the soba place near the station,” Sayuri added. “You should come. Just show up. No RSVP.”

Akane leaned into the wall. The cold of it seeped into her shoulder. “That actually sounds kind of nice.”

“Good. Come. Yuka won’t shut up about her new haircut, and I need backup.”

Akane smiled, for real this time. The kind that lifted from the corners of her chest.

“Deal.”

They talked a little longer—about Kasumi, the baby, Sayuri’s cram school kids, and how Yuka’s Irish boyfriend had brought Marmite to dinner and almost gotten himself banned.

When Akane hung up, she stood there for a moment, hand still on the receiver.

The hallway didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

OOOOOOOO

Then came a point where she found herself trying to date.

Once because she wanted to test her instincts. Once because she thought it might be nice. Once because she was curious if her heart could stretch again.

It was after midterm exams, when things had slowed down a bit. The evenings were still long and the sakura had just started to fall like pale confetti over the riverside paths. Someone from her seminar—Tomo, she thought his name was—asked her out for ramen. Not coffee, not drinks. Ramen. Straightforward. Casual. She liked that.

He was tall, polite, clearly nervous. She said yes before she could overthink it. That felt like the right approach.

The restaurant was warm and loud, all tile and steam. They talked about the class, then about their favorite places to nap on campus. He had a cat named Gyoza and a part-time job tutoring high schoolers. He didn’t ask too many questions, which helped. She didn’t offer too much either.

It wasn’t awkward. Just... distant.

After dinner, he walked her to the station. There was no attempt to hold her hand. Just a quiet, "I had a good time," and a half-bow that was more endearing than romantic.

They went out twice more. The second time was curry and a rainy walk under a shared umbrella. The third was a movie neither of them liked. He made a joke about it in the theater and she laughed too loudly. That was the best part. Everything else felt too much like pretending to be normal.

But by the following Friday, when her phone rang, she felt an uneasiness in her belly and let it ring for a while. When she finally picked up, she excused herself. Told him she’d rather not see him anymore. He said he’d seen it coming, and was grateful for the time they’d spent together.

He wasn’t the problem. He was gentle, warm, and refreshingly earnest. Akane appreciated that.

She just didn’t want to keep pretending. It was unfair to everyone. After she hung up, she lay on the tatami for a long time, staring at the ceiling.

It hadn’t hurt. Not even a little. She only felt relief. And that, in itself, made her incredibly sad.

The whole thing had felt empty. Like playing a role she hadn’t auditioned for.

She closed her eyes and remembered the swelling in her chest when she heard from her windowsill, “Hey, Akane…” That. That had been real.

She didn’t write about it in her gratitude journal.

Instead, she made miso soup, opened the windows, and sat on the floor with her legs crossed, the draft brushing against her toes. She didn’t cry. She didn’t sigh.

Just sat there, letting the quiet take up space.

It wasn’t lonely.

It was hers.

OOOOOOOO

She started bringing her journal sometimes. Not the gratitude one—that stayed on her nightstand—but a different one, thin and blank and still uncreased. In it, she wrote without trying to be insightful. Half-thoughts. Sketches of people on benches. A recipe from a shop window. A line of poetry she remembered from high school.

She didn’t know what she was collecting. But it felt like something worth keeping.

One day, she passed a couple holding hands and didn’t feel anything twist in her chest. No envy. No ache. Just a soft awareness: that she, too, had once held someone’s hand like that. And might again. Or might not. And either way, she would be alright.

She wrote that down, too. Just in case she forgot.

Then she folded the notebook shut, exhaled, and kept walking.

OOOOOOOO

The second time she agreed to go on a date was with a quiet engineering student named Jun who wore flannel in spring and seemed allergic to eye contact. They met in a bookstore—Akane had picked it for its silence. Jun suggested they get coffee afterward, and they ended up in a cramped kissaten with velvet booths that smelled of cigarette smoke and lemon wax.

At some point during his explanation of flood retention walls, she found herself thinking about Ranma—his hands waving when he got excited, how he'd explain things by jumping off benches or pointing with his chopsticks. He never cared whether he was right, just that you understood what he meant. It had always driven her nuts. And made her laugh. Sometimes.

She hadn’t thought of him in days.

She bit the inside of her cheek and smiled faintly, the way people do when they catch themselves mid-memory. Not sadness. Not longing. Just presence. Just the reality of who had once stood next to her and made the world feel slightly less dull.

Akane drank barley tea and tried to think of things to say about structural loads. Jun offered to walk her to the station, and when he said, “We should do this again,” it sounded like a line he had rehearsed in front of a mirror. She bowed politely, said thank you, and went home to wash the smell of old tobacco out of her hair.

That night she wrote in her notebook, not the gratitude one: "You can be alone with someone and still miss yourself. And sometimes you miss someone else too, but not in the way you used to."

That was the end of it.

OOOOOOOO

A few weeks later came Satoru. Satoru wore rings and quoted French films she hadn’t seen. But he seemed interesting, in a way that made her listen. He met her outside the art library and took her to a gallery opening where everyone looked exhausted on purpose. He smoked clove cigarettes and asked her if she believed in reincarnation. She didn’t, but said maybe. He asked all kinds of strange and somewhat personal questions. Perhaps he didn’t really think before speaking—maybe he just had too much on his mind.

Their dates were unpredictable and strangely fun. He was earnest, dramatic, impulsive. He kissed her in a bookstore and bought her a poetry zine with her name misspelled in the dedication.

But after a while, she realized he wasn’t really seeing her. He was performing affection at her, like she was a blank screen he could project longing onto. It wasn’t insulting. Just... tiring.

He asked what kind of movies made her cry. She said she didn’t know anymore. He looked pleased with that answer, like it confirmed something deep. But it didn’t. It just meant she hadn’t cried at a movie in a long time.

After a month, she let the silence grow between them until it swallowed the whole thing.

OOOOOOOO

It started with a flyer on the campus bulletin board for a student karaoke night—tacky design, bold handwritten lettering, and a cartoon microphone with stars around it. Something about it made her stop. Before she could overthink it, she tore off one of the contact tabs at the bottom.

It was held in the basement of a student center that smelled like old rice crackers and air freshener. The carpet had stains, and the karaoke machine was missing its remote, so someone had to press the buttons directly on the console. But the energy was light and ridiculous. Plastic cups of barley tea and discounted snacks. A girl in a panda hoodie sang every song off-key. People clapped anyway.

Her assigned partner for the night, Yuji, was a third-year med student with fluffy hair, a laugh too loud for the room, and a denim jacket with a patch that said “drum & honor.” He handed her the mic with a grin and no expectations.

Someone cued up an old Chisato Moritaka track. She hesitated. Then sang. Badly. He clapped like she was a headliner.

Then it was his turn.

He chose "Take On Me," missed every single high note, and performed like the fate of the world depended on it. Everyone was laughing by the second verse. By the third, they were singing with him.

Afterward, flushed and hoarse, they staggered to a vending machine and shared a Pocari Sweat like conspirators.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said, still catching her breath.

“Neither can I. You were amazing, by the way.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“No. But you looked like you were having fun. That’s better.”

And it was. It really was.

They went on one proper date right after that—ramen and a walk through an arcade where she beat him three times at Taiko no Tatsujin and once at air hockey. He insisted it was because his drumstick was cracked. She pretended to believe him.

At the end of the night, he asked if he could see her again. She told him maybe. She meant it kindly.

She never did.

But the next morning, she wrote in the gratitude journal:

"I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. I was bad at singing and didn’t care. I felt like myself."

And below that:

"I think I’m done for now."

She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t disappointed. She was just—quietly, certainly—ready to be alone again.

Not out of fear. Not out of failure.

Just because there was still work to do. On herself. On the dojo. On whatever came next.

And for the first time in a long while, she was looking forward to it.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Momentum (Part II)

Latest Revision: June/2025

OOOOOOOO

The gymnasium was packed, the ceiling fans whirring ineffectually against the late spring heat. Somewhere behind her, a toddler was wailing. Akane stood in her pressed dress slacks and tucked blouse, smiling for the official photo as the dean handed her a rolled diploma. Her name was mispronounced. She bowed anyway.

Applause. Camera clicks. Then it was over.

The heat clung to her neck as she stepped outside, blazer already draped over one arm. Her shoes pinched. The sidewalk radiated light and noise and too many people saying too many things. Kasumi was waiting with the baby on her hip, her other child tugging at the hem of her floral skirt. Nabiki offered a dry congratulations and passed her a shopping bag. Inside was a new planner, the cover embossed in gold: "DO IT ALL." Akane gave her a look. Nabiki winked.

They took a photo together—Kasumi insisted—and then the children promptly melted down in the sun. Juice boxes exploded in sticky arcs across Akane’s forearm, soaking the corner of a notebook she hadn’t meant to bring. The baby shrieked. A breeze ruffled the graduation pamphlet still clutched in her other hand. She hadn’t eaten.

“Happy?” Nabiki asked, sliding sunglasses into place.

Akane wiped her sleeve with a wet tissue from Kasumi’s bag. “Ecstatic.”

OOOOOOOO

By late afternoon, she was barefoot in the dojo, trousers rolled up, squatting next to a pile of invoices and paint swatches. The air smelled of primer and new wood, tinged faintly with the ghost of old sweat and polish. One of the sliding doors hadn’t been mounted yet. Contractor estimates for electrical upgrades were spread across the tatami, and a sticky note on her phone reminded her to double-check the grant deadlines.

Kasumi’s older child—Rin, now four—was skipping between buckets and half-assembled storage bins, narrating softly to herself like Akane wasn’t even there. Occasionally, she’d stop and watch Akane write something down and repeat it under her breath.

Kasumi’s younger son, Haru, still a toddler, had taken to nesting near the corner with a toy robot and a growing collection of paper cups. Kasumi stayed nearby with a thermos and a cloth sling draped casually over one shoulder, humming under her breath. It had become a sort of routine—Rin came by after preschool on shorter days, and Haru, too young for any program, simply came everywhere.

Akane didn’t mind. She liked the company. And the dojo, large enough to host multiple classes and still house her father and herself comfortably, absorbed the extra footsteps easily.

Midori had stopped by earlier with updated forms and a snack wrapped in wax paper, muttering something about balanced blood sugar. Akane hadn’t argued.

Outside, the yard rustled with early summer wind. A wind chime clinked faintly near the back engawa, and the hum of cicadas wove through the still air.

She set aside the last of the receipts, flexed her hand, and reached for the notebook that had dried stiff from the juice. Scribbled along the margin were ideas for a beginner class schedule. Wednesdays were open. Maybe something for kids under six. Maybe call it "Tumble Tigers" or something equally mortifying that parents would remember.

Somewhere behind her, a stray cat thudded lightly onto the engawa, then stalked off just as quickly. It startled her out of her thoughts for a second.

There was too much to do. The mirrors weren’t up yet. The downstairs faucet leaked. The mats hadn’t been fully rewrapped. And the contractor still hadn’t shown.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked her messages—nothing.

Fine. She’d climb up there herself if she had to.

Her bare heel hit a rogue LEGO and she hissed, hopping up on one foot.

Rin glanced up. “You said a bad word.”

“I didn’t!”

“You almost did.”

Akane gave up. “Fair.”

By evening, the shadows stretched long across the hallway and the phone finally rang. It wasn’t the contractor. It was Midori—checking if Akane needed help with class registration forms. She said no before she thought about it, then immediately regretted it.

“Actually—” she started.

But Midori had already hung up.

She sat back, eyes closed. Her body hurt in that quiet, familiar way she didn’t let herself notice until it was too late. Her toes were paint-dusted. She hadn’t eaten lunch.

In the silence, Rin came to sit beside her with two mismatched building blocks.

“Are you done?” she asked.

Akane looked at the planner still untouched in the shopping bag. A piece of dried persimmon from earlier had stuck to the corner.

“Not even close.”

But she smiled anyway. And for once, the to-do list didn’t feel like failure. It felt like building.

OOOOOOOO

The first class was supposed to be small. Seven kids, ages five to nine. A mix of neighbors’ children, grandchildren of former dojo students, and one walk-in from a flyer Midori had posted in the bakery window.

Akane wore a fresh gi. She’d cleaned the floor twice. There were little colored cones for boundary drills, laminated name cards on a clipboard, and soft instrumental music playing from a mini speaker.

Five minutes in, one of the cones was crushed, two kids were crying, one was pretending to be a dragon under the mats, and someone had already asked if she was really the teacher.

She answered calmly. Mostly.

The kids weren’t mean—just unpredictable. One boy wouldn’t stop spinning. Another kept raising her hand and forgetting why. A pair of twins switched places constantly, claiming to be each other. The eldest, a solemn eight-year-old with impeccable posture, asked detailed questions about pressure points.

Akane blinked. “Maybe later.”

Her clipboard hit the floor and scattered the name cards. Naturally, the kids made it a game. When she bent to help, someone asked if she was their mom. When she said no, they followed up with, "Then are you old enough to have a job?"

She tried to laugh. It came out strangled.

By the third session, she’d started to adapt. The cones were gone. She called them by sock color. She taught them how to fall, how to stand, how to bow. When one girl tripped and burst into tears, Akane crouched and offered a fist bump.

“You fell great,” she said.

The girl hiccupped. “Really?”

“Textbook. I might put you in charge.”

That got a laugh. The next fall didn’t bring tears.

OOOOOOOO

Between classes, Akane kept her usual rhythm: early wakeups, documents open by breakfast, browser tabs cluttered with grant applications, supply orders, and curriculum edits. Her laptop was ancient. She kept the charger connection alive with a wooden spoon and used freezer packs wrapped in cloth napkins as cooling pads.

Nabiki handled the dojo’s online payments and admin from Tokyo. She rarely called, but Akane felt her everywhere—through sharp edits, clean spreadsheets, and emails full of passive-aggressive post-its: Try breathing once in a while.

Akane started watching children’s class videos—taekwondo, dance, even gymnastics—for ideas on pacing. She downloaded free poster software and began uploading photos to a folder labeled "Dojo Media."

Sometimes she forgot to eat. Sometimes she woke up with keyboard lines on her cheek.

But it felt... better. Not easier. Just more real.

The kids kept coming back. Parents lingered after class. Someone brought her muffins. The pressure-point boy asked to attend twice a week. One of the twins handed her a bracelet made of lopsided beads and whispered, “You’re kind of like a ninja mom.”

One afternoon, while she was putting away equipment, a parent lingered near the shoe cubby.

“Tendo-sensei?” the woman asked, tentative.

Akane turned. “Yes?”

The woman stepped closer. “Sorry—my son, Hikaru—he’s never stuck with anything. But he asked me to buy him a new water bottle. With a dragon on it. Because of you.”

Akane blinked. “Because... of me?”

“He said you’re tougher than a dragon. But also nice like a dog.”

Akane made a sound—half laugh, half swallow. “That’s... very specific.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you. He’s happy. That’s rare.”

After she left, Akane stood still for a long time, one hand resting on a stack of foam blocks. The room had gone quiet. Her gi clung damply to her collar. Her hair had mostly escaped its tie.

She opened the window wide and let in the afternoon breeze. Then she sat on the floor with a chipped mug of tea, breathing in tatami and the faint scent of plum blossoms from the yard.

It wasn’t how she’d imagined teaching. Not polished. Not reverent.

But it was hers.

And once, near the end of a Thursday class, she caught her reflection in the half-mounted mirror—barefoot, gi slightly wrinkled, surrounded by children arguing over who got to lead stretches.

She didn’t look like the girl in her university photos.

But she didn’t look tired, either.

She looked like she belonged.

She ran a hand over the back of her neck.

She’d really liked it short, once.

Maybe she’d cut it again.

OOOOOOOO

"Mom said I should come train more often," Ranko said one day, setting her duffel down with practiced ease. "Also, your rice crackers are better."

Akane raised an eyebrow. "We don’t train for snacks."

Ranko grinned. "Speak for yourself."

Akane took a trip down memory lane, and thought of the first time she’d seen her as a first grader.

She was obviously taller now—wiry and strong, with the kind of grace that only came from being raised in motion. She moved through the space with unconscious familiarity, retying her ponytail as she stepped into the center of the room, eyes sweeping over the floor like she was scanning for ghosts of old sparring matches.

Akane handed her a fresh gi and pretended not to notice the scuffed one she brought had Ranma’s name stitched faintly on the inside.

She joined the classes easily, sometimes blending in, sometimes taking over. She had no problem correcting the younger kids when they misstepped, but she never acted superior. Just... confident. Like someone who’d grown up learning to manage chaos with a wink and a sidekick punch.

The students adored her.

Midori, who’d recently started observing some of the beginner classes for scheduling and media notes, kept calling Ranko “the chaos wrangler.”

Akane watched it all quietly, intrigued and just a little off balance. There were things Ranko didn’t say—about her school, about Auntie Nodoka and Mr. Saotome—but she dropped hints. Made a passing comment about a phone call from "Pops," laughed when Akane asked if she ever wanted to move in permanently.

“I like being the cool visitor,” she said. “Less rules. Better food.”

Akane rolled her eyes. “That’s just because Kasumi lets you eat dessert first.”

“Exactly.”

OOOOOOOO

One day after class, they sat outside with barley tea and leftover onigiri. The dojo windows were open, the breeze carrying in the scent of freshly cleaned mats and the distant chatter of kids being picked up.

A calico cat slipped across the engawa, pausing to glance at them before vanishing under the porch.

Ranko watched her go. “Are those cats employed?”

Akane blinked. “What?”

“Do you host feline clientele now?”

“They just show up,” Akane said. “One of them’s been doing it for weeks.”

“Huh.” Ranko squinted at the porch. “She seems judgy.”

“Only when you’re late.”

OOOOOOOO

“Any news from him?” Akane asked. She kept her tone light, almost casual. Not too casual.

Ranko nodded, mouth full. “Got a letter last week... What passes for a letter anyway. He’s still in Brazil. Somewhere beachy. With lots of trees.”

Akane paused mid-sip. “Palm trees?”

“Yeah. He sent a photo. Well—Mom got the photo. This is a copy.”

She pulled out her phone and scrolled with practiced ease, then handed it over.

The image was grainy. The landscape was lush and green. Ranma stood at a distance, holding something that might have been a bundle of firewood, framed by low hills and a clear sky. He looked—

Content.

Dirt-streaked and a little thinner than she remembered, but relaxed in a way that startled her.

“He writes more than once a year now,” Ranko said. “Short stuff. Jokes. One time he sent me a sketch of a frog eating noodles.”

Akane blinked. “Why?”

“No idea. I kept it.”

She handed the phone back and lay down flat on the porch, hands behind her head.

“He’s different now,” she said. “I mean, still dumb sometimes. But... lighter. Like he’s not always waiting to be yelled at.”

Akane sat with that.

She thought of the last time she saw him—edges frayed, words sharp, both of them clawing for something they didn’t have the language for.

“Do you miss him?” she asked.

Ranko didn’t open her eyes. “Yeah. But not the old version.”

Akane nodded. She didn’t know if she meant him or herself.

OOOOOOOO

Later that week, Ranko helped during the kids’ class. She corrected stances, tied belts, spun a small boy out of a panic attack with a ridiculous impression of a ninja turtle.

After class, Akane caught her folding the extra gi pile with careful precision.

“You don’t have to do that,” Akane said.

“I know,” Ranko replied.

There was a beat of quiet. Then Akane said, “You ever think about teaching more?”

Ranko tilted her head. “Like... full-time?”

Akane shrugged. “Or part-time. You’ve got a good sense for it.”

Ranko considered it. “Maybe. I mean... if you asked.”

Akane smiled. “I just did.”

Ranko grinned. “Then I guess I’m on the schedule.”

That night, Akane updated the dojo calendar. Added a new column: Ranko – assistant instructor.

She watched the words settle into place on the screen and let out a long breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

The next day, during class, they ran a warmup side by side.

“Should I lead stretches or do impressions?” Ranko asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Akane snorted. “Stretches first. You can be a turtle later.”

Ranko saluted. “Yes, sensei.”

Akane rolled her eyes, but let her take the front. The kids followed with a surprising amount of discipline. Akane stayed to the side, correcting form, watching Ranko crack one joke for every three reps. The energy in the room shifted—lighter, but still focused.

They made a good team.

After class, Akane lingered by the shoe cubbies while Ranko helped a student find a missing sock. The girl had it tucked in her sleeve the whole time. Akane smiled quietly.

Later that night, alone in her room, she found herself thinking of the photo Ranko had shown her. She didn’t have a copy, but the image was still clear in her mind—Ranma’s shoulders, the quiet look on his face.

She thought about texting Auntie Nodoka to ask for the picture.

She didn’t.

Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the silence of the dojo settling for the night.

When she opened them again, Ranko was still listed in the calendar column as assistant instructor.

She made a mental note to print out a name tag.

When Ranko walked through the dojo the next morning, barefoot and half-tied gi trailing behind her, Akane caught a flash of posture—weight forward, elbows relaxed, alert without tension.

It wasn’t just like him. But it reminded her enough to notice.

And then Ranko tripped over the edge of the mat, laughed, and kept going.

Akane shook her head and smiled.

OOOOOOOO

Then, when the weather started cooling down, the cats decided to start moving in more permanently.

First was the scruffy calico. She hadn’t always been scruffy, though. Akane remembered her from years back — malnourished, dirty, and defiant, crouched under the plum trees and hissing at anyone who came close. She’d stared at Akane for five full minutes without blinking.

When Akane left out a dish of food, the cat didn’t eat. But she didn’t leave either. Something about her—sharp-eyed, proud, absolutely furious—made Akane hesitate. Then, with a muttered, “Fine,” she slid the dining room door open. The cat slipped inside like she’d been waiting, vanished behind a stack of cushions — and stayed.

Akane wasn’t sure exactly when she’d started coming back. But at some point, it became clear that she’d never really left.

Ranko named her Tsuki, after the pale moon-shaped blotch across her shoulder. And maybe because she seemed royal.

Tsuki didn’t like Akane. Or anybody, really. That much hadn’t changed. But she liked the sun-drenched roof tiles and the clean porch steps. She moved through the space like she owned it, brushing past people when she felt like it—or not at all.

“She looks like Habanera’s evil twin,” Ranko said once, watching Tsuki peer down from the roof. “Or eviler twin.”

Then, when spring started to break, they found him curled up by the front steps. He wasn’t shy. The neighborhood kids adored him instantly.

Taro was an orange tabby — cheerful, lopsided, and completely indifferent to the idea of boundaries. He started napping under the laundry bench and never left. Akane named him Taro, mostly because it suited his face.

“I think you live here now, too,” she murmured a few days later, watching him roll belly-up on the stepping stones.

That morning, he was cozying up to Ranko while Akane filled the food and water bowls.

Midori arrived at her usual time, a clipboard under her arm and a bottle of water in hand. She gave both cats a pointed look before stepping over Tsuki, who had sprawled across the engawa like a gatekeeper and let out a low, annoyed grumble.

“I wish they’d at least catch a mouse or something,” Akane muttered. But she still refilled the water dish.

Taro trotted over and rubbed himself along her calves. Her heart melted, just a little.

“Should I be assigning them shifts?” Ranko asked.

“I think they’re supervising,” Akane replied.

They shared a grin.

OOOOOOOO

She didn’t notice how tired she was until Rin looked up from her drawing and tilted her head—slowly, like she was trying to compare what she saw to something in her memory. Her pencil paused mid-sketch, hovering over the edge of a paper sun with lopsided rays.

It had been a very long week. She’d been up late troubleshooting registration form bugs on her outdated laptop, which now crashed whenever she tried to export a spreadsheet. The dojo printer was out of ink. She’d forgotten to order more. A second parent had asked about private lessons that morning, and she’d made a note in her planner, then immediately lost the sticky tab somewhere under the snack bin. The website update she promised Midori still hadn’t been done.

It was a Friday afternoon. The dojo was half-quiet—class over, mats loosely stacked, air still warm from the day’s bodies. Akane sat on the edge of the wooden steps, a paper cup of tea beside her and one shoe dangling from her toes. Her gi jacket was tied around her waist. Her face itched from sweat dried too many hours ago. She hadn't eaten since a quick rice ball at breakfast, and her phone buzzed with a reminder she'd ignored three hours ago. She could smell some things coming from the kitchen where Kasumi was making herself at home. Her stomach growled loudly.

Rin was scribbling intently in a notebook on the floor nearby, brow furrowed. Her little brother had toddled in at some point and was now curled up with a plush turtle, chewing on its corner and humming tunelessly. It was a strangely domestic scene—peaceful, but edged with fatigue she couldn’t quite explain.

Rin glanced up again. "You look like that day you got dizzy."

Akane blinked. “What?”

“You know. When you fell asleep and didn’t mean to.”

Akane set down her tea. Her fingers hovered over the paper cup a moment longer than necessary. “I do?”

Rin didn’t look up again. “It was only for a little while. But you were mad after.”

Akane smiled faintly. “Did I say I was mad?”

The child just shrugged, unbothered. “You were louder.”

Akane let out a breath. It had been on a Friday afternoon as well. Only there’d been deadlines that week, deliverables to hand in to keep the grants that aided in the dojo’s heavier maintenance. Later, she found herself alone in the dojo again. Everyone had gone, except for Kasumi and her niece.

The light outside had shifted from sharp to amber. Her laptop sat open beside her, cursor blinking on an unfinished application form.

Her body ached—not sharply, not from injury, but from habit. A hum in her bones. A throb behind her eyes. She pressed her palm to her forehead and let it sit there.

She sighed, remembering a different time. There had been that other time, as well. When she'd been so tired and consumed, and no one dared challenge her behavior. No one but him.

One nap. One.

She remembered how he’d done it—quietly, almost gently. He’d touched a pressure point on her neck, and her body had folded like a switch had been flipped. No warning. No permission. Just darkness. And blessed relief.

When she’d woken, a couple of hours later, really rested for the first time in weeks, she’d been furious. Accused him of sabotage, betrayal, of not understanding what was at stake. Her exams. Her future. Her pride.

And he had stood there, small and stunned, blinking fast like he was the one who’d been hurt. She’d yelled that he didn’t take school seriously, that martial arts weren’t the real world. And look at the world she lived in now.

She’d broken something in him that day.

And still, he hadn’t left until he was sure she was okay.

Now, there was no one here to argue with her. No one to make her stop.

Just a quiet dojo, some spreadsheets, and a four-year-old’s offhand memory.

Akane closed the laptop. She leaned back on her hands and stared at the ceiling beams.

Her thoughts circled like restless birds close to the ground. Why had she let it get this far again? Was this just how she was wired? Was it nobility or just stubbornness, this compulsion to hold everything up herself until her arms gave out?

She’d spent months rebuilding the dojo’s presence, writing new policies, designing class handouts, re-sequencing warm-ups for different age groups. She even wrote up an incident report system no one had asked for. She was proud of it. She was also starting to hate it.

What if she let someone else print the flyers this time? What if she asked Midori to handle the Saturday check-ins? What if... what if she stopped acting like the entire dojo would collapse without her input on every decision?

She lay down.

Just to rest her eyes.

Just for a minute.

The floor was warm beneath her shoulder blades. The breeze from the cracked window smelled like tatami and dust and the faint, sharp scent of floor polish. The fan in the office had been left on—it clicked rhythmically, just loud enough to remind her the building was still breathing.

She breathed in.

Somewhere in the hallway, a forgotten mop slipped and clattered quietly to the floor. She didn’t move. The dust motes swirled above her in the amber light like lazy constellations. For a moment, the weight of her limbs reminded her of childhood fevers—when she’d lie very still and just listen to the world without having to solve it.

She didn’t fall asleep. But she didn’t get back up for a long while, either.

Later, she would write a note to herself on the back of a snack receipt: Ask Midori about class check-ins. Just that. Nothing more. No apology. No overthinking. A start.

OOOOOOOO

On Monday morning, Akane showed up to the dojo with a new plan. Or rather—no plan. Just one line scrawled in her notebook: "Try not doing everything."

She started small. When Midori arrived to help set up for the women's self-defense class, Akane hesitated. Her hand hovered for half a second over the clipboard before she offered it up. “You’ve got registration today.”

Midori blinked. “Wait—really?”

“Yep. I trust you.”

She said it like a joke, but she meant it. Midori grinned like she’d just been handed a secret weapon.

Then, Akane dug into her bag and handed Rin a plastic folder. “Can you go put these flyers on the table near the door?”

Rin looked up from her coloring with solemn authority. “I’m four and three quarters.”

Akane crouched to eye level. “Exactly the right age for important jobs.”

The toddler nodded once and marched off down the hallway like a messenger bearing imperial scrolls.

Throughout the week, the experiments continued. She left the studio open ten minutes early and let the teens set up the warmups themselves. She stopped fixing every crooked gi. She let Sayuri design the next poster using a questionable font and didn’t override it.

There were moments she almost stepped in. When the warmup music was too loud. When the mats weren’t perfectly aligned. When one kid cried after being tagged too hard in a game of ninja freeze.

But then Ranko stepped in. “Tag’s supposed to be gentle,” she said gently, kneeling beside the kid. “You okay?”

The boy sniffled. Then nodded.

Akane watched it all from the office doorway, arms folded. And she stayed where she was.

Things didn’t fall apart.

Actually, they got better.

The Thursday class was the clearest sign. It was a breezy late afternoon, the kind where the heat lifted just enough to breathe. Akane was finishing a phone call with some overly concerned mother—when she looked through the side window and froze.

Class had already started.

Midori was leading warmups. Three kids were running laps in pairs. Two others were practicing rolls under Ranko’s supervision. Someone had put on music—not the playlist Akane would’ve picked, but upbeat and fun. There was even laughter.

And no one had noticed she wasn’t in the room.

She stood there for a long moment, hand still on the receiver, the dull tone droning quietly.

A week ago, that might’ve felt like failure.