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Chapter Text

“I’m back!”

Akane slipped through the front door of the Tendo residence and shrugged off her blazer. There was a simple joy to be found in the ritual of coming home again; of kicking off her high heels in the entryway after a long day of selling washing machines; of taking a moment to readjust to the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the house she grew up in; of coming face-to-face with a brand new, gaping hole in the wall of the foyer—

Akane knitted her eyebrows and felt a guttural noise bubble up inside her throat. Most people would wonder why there was a hole in their wall. Akane Saotome of the Anything Goes School of Martial Arts (when she wasn’t busy being Akane Saotome of the Yotsukoshi Department Store Down The Street) didn’t wonder why—she wondered who had made the hole in the wall this time.

She didn’t have to wonder for long. On her way to the kitchen to give her husband the third degree, Akane tripped over a martial arts student.

“Perfume? What happened in here?” Akane asked, trying to keep her tone carefully even. She had a creeping suspicion she already knew the answer to her own question, but thirty-one years of jumping to hasty conclusions had taught Akane that she should probably stop jumping to hasty conclusions.

The student—Perfume—eleven years old and rapidly outgrowing her karate gi—slowly lifted her face from the puddle of tears she’d accumulated on the floor. Her lower lip trembled.

“I was trying to make salad,” she said. She pointed to an upturned bowl and a fully intact head of lettuce lying in a pile of crumbled debris by the hole.

Most people would also ask how making a salad could have possibly caused an enormous hole in the drywall. Akane Saotome of the Anything Goes School of Martial Arts And The Yotsukoshi Department Store Down The Street did not.

“Salad again, huh?” Akane said. She squatted down next to Perfume, leaning her cheek on her fist and looking at the ceiling to avoid having to look at the wall. Perfume plunged her face into her hands and sobbed.

Akane struggled to find words—any words—to apply to this situation.

“Well,” she finally said, laying a careful hand on Perfume’s shoulder, “I’m…sure it’s still delicious.”

Perfume’s crying slowly slowed to a drizzle. “You really think so?” she asked.

“Sure. How about this—you help me fix the wall, and I’ll help you fix your salad, okay?” Akane said.

“Oh! Thank you, Sensei!” Perfume said. She wiped her nose on her gi, brightening like the sky after a downpour. Akane hoisted the youngster to her feet.

Then, Ranma Saotome exploded into the hallway wearing a chef’s apron and holding a hand mixer.

“Do not let her make you a salad, kid! Not if you wanna live to see middle school,” he said.

Akane folded her arms over her chest and fixed her husband with a look that stopped him in his tracks. “Nice to see you too, Ranma. My day was fine, how was yours?”

Ranma swallowed and looked around. “Uhhhh, well, I—wait, what the hell happened to the wall?”

***

A few days passed. The hole in the wall was mended. Kenpo classes were held in the designated areas so as to avoid any further structural damage. Akane sold more washing machines. The other members of the Tendo household purposely avoided the topic of salad.

Meanwhile, people all over Tokyo listened intently as the weather forecast called for precautions against an incoming typhoon. A storm was brewing, and everyone in the house could feel it. Monday afternoon rolled around, and as Genma Saotome began nailing boards up to secure the windows, Soun Tendo unexpectedly summoned his youngest daughter and her husband for a family conference.

“Ranma. Akane. We need to talk,” he said. He folded his hands across the dinner table with all the presence of a mob boss confronting his underlings.

Across from Soun, Akane and Ranma gulped.

“What’s he want? Is this about the salad?” Ranma whispered behind his hand to his wife, breaking the weeklong taboo against mentioning salad. Akane suppressed a wince and shrugged.

“As I’m sure you’re well aware, next month will be your tenth wedding anniversary,” said Soun, as though this were a very serious matter and not cause for a medium-sized party.

“Yep. Time flies when you’re having fun,” Akane said. She tried to mask the nervousness creeping into her voice with a smile.

Ranma nodded. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal or nothin’. We’re probably just gonna order a cake or—”

“And yet!” Soun said, pounding his fist on the table, tears suddenly streaming down his hollow cheeks, “I have noticed a distinct lack of grandchildren emerging from this union!”

He pointed in between Akane and Ranma, who both hit the floor spectacularly.

“Whoa, whoa—”

“Dad! That’s really—”

Genma climbed down a ladder, hammer in hand, and cut in. The nails he was holding in between his teeth waggled around as he spoke. “No, he’s absolutely right! Have you two no care at all for the Saotome family name? The entire reason we arranged for you two to get engaged in the first place was so that you could carry on the Anything Goes legacy!”

There was a short, painful silence. Ranma and Akane glanced at each other briefly, had a conversation without talking, and turned apprehensively back towards the family patriarchs.

“We are carrying on the Anything Goes legacy, Mr. Saotome,” Akane insisted.

Ranma agreed. “Yeah—we’re running the Dojo like ya asked us to! And we got our hands full with the students, so—”

“Students? Students?! You only have two!” Soun sobbed into the table, burying his hands in his hair.

Ranma and Akane grimaced. He had them there.

Ranma held up a finger. “Well…well yeah, but come on. You’ve met Perfume. She’s—you know—she needs—”

A shock of seismic proportions shook the downstairs rooms. Something sounded like a great deal of wood snapping in half. A tiny voice in the distance shouted “Sorry! It was an accident!”

“…constant supervision?” Akane offered, trying to soften the impact of however Ranma was about to describe their protégé.

“She needs help. A lot of help,” Ranma said with emphasis.

“Yes, I am acquainted with young Perfume,” Soun said, hugging his arms tightly across his chest and closing his eyes, squeezing out yet more tears.

Genma spat the mouthful of nails into his hand, chuckled, and elbowed his old friend in the side. “Especially seeing as she lives in your house and doesn’t pay for room, board, or tuition, eh, Tendo?” he said. Soun continued to cry uncontrollably.

Ranma slammed his palms down and leaned across the table. “Oh, look who’s talking, Pops! Besides, what’re we supposed to do? Ship her back to China?!”

“We could send her back the way she came,” Genma said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

Everyone stopped to remember the day Perfume came. She’d arrived on the Tendos’ doorstep in a cardboard box shipped express from Joketsuzoku Village in Qinghai with a handwritten note from the village elder that read simply “I give up. You train this one.”

The group heaved a collective sigh.

“No, no, that would be terribly cruel of us,” Soun said. He sighed and picked his head up off the table. “She is just a young girl, after all.”

The room was consumed by a heavy, thoughtful pause.

“Look, Dad; Mr. Saotome—I picked up a second job so that we could all get through this. And we’re going to get through this,” Akane said. “The school’s going to take off—you’ll see! We just need a lucky break or a tournament win or something; that’s all.”

There was another crash. Akane heard Ranma mutter something almost inaudibly through his teeth.

“Or a miracle,” he said, propping his head on his fist.

Thankfully, no one else saw Akane punch Ranma’s foot underneath the table.

Soun sighed. “You’re right, of course, Akane. We’ve been through much worse. It’s just…well, you two aren’t going to be young forever. I would like to live to see the day when my grandchild takes over the Dojo—”

As if on cue, the only paying student of the Tendo Anything Goes School of Martial Arts somersaulted lopsidedly into the room.

“Worry not, Grandfather! I shall prove to you that I, Tomiji Kuno, age seven, am the sole and rightful heir to this Dojo. Behold my swallowtail technique!”

Tomiji Kuno, age seven, swung a toy sword with wild abandon, ripping the rice paper door to shreds. The adults in the room heaved another collective sigh.

Another day, another hole in the Dojo.

Tomiji sheathed her sword and knelt beside Soun. “Are you not pleased with my progress, Grandfather?” she asked, radiating pure seriousness and servitude like the samurai of old. The entire door frame fell down and smashed itself into the floor.

Soun patted his granddaughter on the head. “Of course I'm pleased! You’re doing beautifully, sweetheart.”

Then he leaned closer to Ranma and Akane, his features growing increasingly stormy. “Please, please, I am begging you two—have a baby. A normal baby.”

There was no guarantee of that happening—in fact, the chances were exceedingly slim for a plethora of reasons Akane didn’t want to bring up—but faced with her father’s tearful visage, she bit her tongue. Sensing her discomfort, Ranma changed the subject.

“By the way, Squirt, wasn’t your mom s’possed to pick you up an hour ago?” Ranma asked his niece.

Akane leaned her chin into her hand and blinked. “Now that you mention it, yeah. I wonder what’s taking Nabiki so long.”

***

Nabiki Tendo, President and CEO of the Kuno Corporation, was about to close a very important deal. She probably would have already done so several hours ago if she weren’t also in the process of being kidnapped, but these things just happened sometimes. Either way, the show—or in this case, the acquisition of the Matsutake Plum Company—must go on, Nabiki decided.

“…listen, Mito, do whatever else you can to sweeten the deal, but do not give them more than what I wrote in the initial estimate. If the paperwork for this acquisition isn’t on my desk by eight tomorrow morning, heads are going to roll—”

“Do you mind?!” Nabiki’s kidnapper said.

The CEO, whose hands were bound to the back of a chair by a pair of cheap pantyhose, glanced up briefly from the flip phone she was cradling between her ear and her shoulder. She was not pleased by the interruption.

“Yes, I do mind, actually,” she said to her captor, then turned her full attention back to her phone. “Sorry, Mito, that was just Pantyhose. Yes, I’ll tell him you said hello. So anyway, about the terms of the contract—”

”Enough!” Pantyhose Taro shouted. Using another pair of pantyhose as a grappling hook, he snatched Nabiki’s phone away from her and snapped it shut, then tossed it angrily over the rooftop of Furinkan High School, where he was holding her captive. “My prisoners do not get the luxury of talking to whomever they please!” he said, looking as snide as ever.

Nabiki frowned as she heard the distant sound of her phone hitting the ground. At least it hadn’t fallen into the pool, she thought.

“What, so I have to talk to you now? No thanks,” Nabiki said, rolling her eyes. She noticed the clouds growing heavier overhead.

“Have some respect! Do you not realize that it would take no more than a flick of my wrist to destroy you?” said Pantyhose Taro.

He glared at Nabiki. Nabiki glared back.

“Do you not realize that I could have the pants sued off of you for this?” Nabiki countered. “Or in your case, the pantyhose, I guess.”

Pantyhose Taro was not amused. His eyes squinched shut and his hands contracted into fists.

“Shut up! I ought to crush you to pulp for that remark,” he said.

“Oh, but we both know you won’t,” said Nabiki. “You need me alive to lure Ranma and Akane out here. Isn’t that right?”

“Hah. What would you know of my plans?” said Pantyhose. He turned away from his prisoner and looked over the edge of the roof, gazing haughtily into the horizon.

“Oh, I don’t know; only that you’ve tried to pull this same exact stunt about three times already in the last eighteen months?” Nabiki said. “It’s such a chore. You kidnap me; my sweet baby sister and her husband trounce you; you run back to China with your eel tail and your weird octopus tentacles tucked between your legs—stop me if I’m missing anything here—”

Pantyhose Taro didn’t stop her. He simply chuckled at the clouds gathering overhead.

“This time is going to be different. Just you wait. This time, I’m going to be the one who wins.”

“Well, we’ll just have to wait until Ranma and Akane get here to find out, now, won’t we,” Nabiki said calmly, an ironic smile playing across her sharp features.

“I guess we will,” replied Pantyhose. “And it shouldn’t be long now—I left very clear instructions in my ransom note.”

***

Pantyhose Taro had left very clear instructions in his ransom note. Unfortunately, nobody had actually read it yet.

The aspiring kidnapper had made one fatal mistake: he’d unknowingly handed the ransom note directly to Perfume, who, being unable to read Japanese very well, had mistaken it for a supermarket flyer. Presently, she was using it for origami practice while the adults in the house darted around shuttering and securing things and generally trying to make preparations for the impending typhoon.

As per Ranma’s request, Tomiji was supposed to be keeping an eye on Perfume while Kasumi—the usual babysitter of choice—was preoccupied with preparing dinner. Perhaps if Tomiji had followed orders, she would have been the first to discover what the ransom note said—but her thirst for adventure brought her to an entirely different discovery instead.

“Greetings, my Good Uncle. I have discovered this puppy collapsed in the yard. I humbly request that you allow me to keep it,” she said. She held up a filth-encrusted animal as she stood behind Ranma, who was descending from the roof on a ladder.

“No way,” Ranma said without looking at her. “Sorry, kiddo. We both know your mom’s not gonna let that fly—whoa! What the—?!”

Ranma touched back down to Earth and did a double take—the puppy in question wasn’t even a puppy; it was a pig, for crying out loud. What the hell did Kuno even teach this kid in home school!?

Ranma picked up the poor, battered creature and winced.

“P-Chan?! What in the heck happened to you? You look like crap,” he said.

***

“…and that’s what happened,” said Ryoga. He sighed and put down his cup.

“Oh, my. How terrible,” Kasumi said.

She poured him more hot barley tea. Her face was wracked with care and concern, which her sister shared.

“Oh, Ryoga…I’m sorry. You must be worried sick,” Akane said.

“And you’re sure he ran away from home? He’s not just lost or somethin’?” Ranma asked.

Ryoga stared into his teacup and gritted his teeth.

“He said he hated me—that I was useless as a father and a martial artist. He said he never wanted to see me again—and then he ran off,” he said. He watched his fingers twitch halfway into fists on the table.

“It’s my fault,” he said. “I haven’t been able to train him properly. Not since…”

He grew quiet. So did everyone else.

There was an almost palpable sadness in the room; the kind that clutched at your heart and tried to drag it down through the earth, never to let go. It was plain to see that everyone felt it; not just Ryoga.

Akane knew what it meant to lose the person closest to you—for her, it had happened so long ago, and yet it still hurt. For Ryoga, it was so fresh and raw—she could only imagine what he and his son were going through at home.

Even though she understood how he felt, she knew there was nothing she could say to ease his burden—still, Akane opened her mouth to offer what little she could. “Ryoga…If you need anything—anything at all—”

Ryoga cut her off, changing the subject.

“I thought maybe he’d come here to train with you, but that turned out to be a dead end. So I guess I’ll be off, then.”

He pushed away from the table and stood up. “Sorry for wasting your time. Thanks for the tea.”

Ranma stuck out his leg and intentionally tripped Ryoga on the way out. Strangely enough, the heavy mood lifted somewhat as the perpetual wanderer hit the tatami with a dull thud and turned face-up to look at his rival.

“What was that for?! Haven’t I suffered enough today!?” Ryoga said, bearing his fangs.

“Tch. You idiot,” Ranma said. He grabbed Ryoga by the back of the shirt and started dragging him down the hallway. “You think you can just walk in here with a sob story like that and then expect us to sit here and do nothin’ about it? Get real.”

Ryoga’s eyes shone with hope—and slight confusion. “You mean…?”

Ranma turned back towards his family for a moment. “Akane, take care of things here. I'm gonna go help this blockhead find his kid before the weather gets ugly.”

***

Tatewaki Kuno was on a mission—a sacred, all-important mission to which he was bound by honor and duty and love. Nothing was going to deter him from his destined path today—not even a vaguely homeless-looking boy standing directly in his way riding an unnaturally gigantic pig and challenging him to a duel.

“Stand aside, street urchin! I have no time to tarry with the likes of you!” Kuno said.

“Didn’t you hear me?!” the boy shot back. “I said if you wanna get past me, you gotta fight me!”

“Hmph. Normally, I would be glad to put you in your place—but today, I, Tatewaki Kuno, age thirty-two, must show you mercy, such as it were—”

“Oh, blah blah blah. Sounds to me like you’re just chicken, old man,” said the boy.

Anger flared up in Kuno’s stomach, hot and fierce and ugly. “A chicken?! A chicken?! How dare you compare me to a barnyard animal, you insolent whelp!” He marched up to the unruly child with fire in his eyes.

The boy’s mouth curved into a smug, fanged smile. “Hah! Now we’re getting somewhere—gack!”

The urchin’s taunt was cut short when Kuno pulled him off his pig, seized him by the shirt, and shoved an open flip phone into his face.

“Do you see this?!” Kuno said, pointing to his phone’s wallpaper. It was a digital photograph of a woman in business attire holding up a bottle of expensive wine and sticking out her tongue.

The boy let out a strangled cry of confusion.

“This,” Kuno said, “is my beautiful wife. And this,” he all but roared, pulling up a text message, “is the very last thing she sent to me!”

The message was timestamped about three and a half hours ago. It read as follows:

‘Be back late tonight. Kidnapped by Pantyhose Taro again. XOXO.’

“Wh…what the hell is a Pantyhose Taro?!” the boy choked out.

Kuno dropped the urchin on the ground. The pig lazily sniffed at his master as he hit the pavement.

“Pantyhose Taro,” Kuno began, “is a demon most foul, birthed in the very pits of Hell itself.”

“Cool,” said the boy.

Kuno bent down over him with a megaphone and screamed.

“It is not cool! That villain will stop at nothing until he destroys everything that the good people of Furinkan hold dear—and I am the only man alive who can stop him!”

“O…kay?” said the boy.

Kuno tossed aside the megaphone and harrumphed. “So you see why I must now take my leave of you—good day and good riddance!”

The boy picked himself up and dusted himself off. Kuno pushed past him down the street, only to find that the pig and its rider were now tottering along behind him.

“Hey, so—this Pantyhose Taro guy—he sounds pretty tough,” said the pig-rider.

Kuno nodded without looking back, tightening his grip on the sword at his side. “I suppose if one wanted to describe him in exceedingly simple terms, one could put it that way; yes.”

The pig picked up speed. “Let me help you fight him, then. I’ve been looking for tough opponents,” the boy said.

Kuno scoffed, but did not outright reject the offer for help. The youth was brave, at least—a quality most children these days seemed to lack.

“My name’s Eiko, by the way. Eiko Unryū. And this is Piganosuke.”

Kuno looked back at the lad and sighed through his teeth.

“Very well, then, Eiko Unryū and Piganosuke. If you think you can keep up with me, I will allow you to join me in battle.”

***

Akane peered out of the door for the sixth time in an hour—the wind was picking up, and the sky seemed to grow more ominous with each passing second.

“I sure hope Eiko turns up soon. I’m getting worried about Ryoga and Ranma,” she said, turning to Kasumi with a frown.

“I’m sure they’ll be just fine,” Kasumi said. “To be honest, I’m a bit more worried about Perfume.”

She pointed to the young warrior, who was curled up in a ball in the corner, covering her ears and chanting.

“Rain rain go away, rain rain go away—”

A distant clap of thunder sounded. Perfume nearly jumped out of her skin.

“We’re going to die!” she wailed, prying up a loose floorboard to hide under.

“Perfume, sweetie, leave the floor alone, please—” Akane began, only to have the limelight stolen from her by her niece.

“Fear not, Good Perfume,” said Tomiji. “If lightning strikes, I shall strike it back! Hyah!”

Tomiji posed heroically with her sword. Akane took it away from her.

“Hey! I told you to quit swinging that thing around inside the house,” she said, her expression growing more foreboding than the clouds outside.

Terrified, Tomiji quickly bowed before her, pressing her forehead into the floor. “Forgive me, Good Aunt Akane. Please do not punish me. I will henceforth be most well-behaved, for I wish to partake of many, many cookies—”

Another clap of thunder sounded, even louder this time.

“Ah. The storm draws near. If you will excuse me, my Good Aunts,” Tomiji said. She bowed, then quickly ran sideways and ducked to join Perfume in hiding under the dinner table.

“We are all doomed,” Tomiji whispered, covering her head with her hands.

Kasumi smiled, albeit somewhat apprehensively. “Oh, dear. You know…this reminds me of you when you were little, Akane,” she said. “You were afraid of storms, too, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t that afraid,” Akane said drily, watching her two students clutch one another in fear. The spectacle did not give her much hope for the brave new future of the Tendo Dojo.

“But actually,” Akane said, “That does give me an idea. I’ll be right back.”

She was up and down the stairs in a flash.

“Ta-daa!” she said. She dropped two armfuls of paper, string, cotton balls, and markers on the table.

“Oh, my. What’s all this?” Kasumi asked. Perfume and Tomiji peered out cautiously from behind her skirt at the smattering of supplies.

“Welcome to the Tendo School of Anything Goes Martial Arts…and Crafts,” Akane said.

“We’re training? Right now?” Perfume asked, twiddling her fingers together nervously.

“Very well, Good Aunt. If you insist,” Tomiji said. She raised her sword to strike at the cotton balls. Akane seized Tomiji’s weapon again.

“How did you get that back?!” she asked. Tomiji bowed in submission on the floor again, but refused to answer. Akane took in a deep breath, tossed the sword out into the yard, and tried to quickly move on with the lesson, because Perfume was getting ready to karate chop the art supplies instead.

“Look, we’re not hitting anything. We’re making these,” she said, pulling something out of her pocket. “See?”

It was a lump of cotton draped with tissue paper and tied with string. A crooked but nonetheless happy little face was drawn on it with marker.

“Is that a ghost?” Perfume asked apprehensively.

“Perhaps it is a turnip,” Tomiji said.

“It’s a very lovely flower, Akane,” Kasumi said warmly.

“What? No, It’s a teru teru bozu,” Akane said. She could feel her energy rapidly draining away—but she did notice, with a slight prickle of hope, that the most recent thunder clap outside had gone largely unnoticed.

Perfume crept in closer to get a better look. She placed a finger to her chin and examined Akane’s handiwork. “What’s a teru teru bozu?” she asked.

That’s right, I guess they probably didn’t have them in China, huh? Akane thought. At least Perfume was interested. That was a good start.

“It’s a doll you make when you want good weather the next day—you hang it up outside and sing it a song. Come on, I’ll show you,” Akane said, beckoning her students to sit down with her.

The two girls and their teacher busied themselves with their creations for a while. Kasumi smiled and resumed straightening up around the room.

“Good Aunt Akane, should we not have done this yesterday?” Tomiji asked as rain started to pound against the roof.

Akane’s fingers twitched around her marker. “Well, better late than never,” she said, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.

“Back in my village, if we needed good weather, Elder Shampoo made me stand outside all night with a broom,” Perfume remarked offhandedly.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

“What…? Did I say something wrong?” she said, turning scarlet. Then, something seemed to dawn on her. “Oh. Should I go get a broom now?” she asked meekly. “I’ll go get a broom.”

“No you won’t,” said Akane, holding her face taught. She placed a hand on Perfume’s shoulder to keep her from getting up. “There’s no need for that.”

Seeing Perfume’s posture melt with relief was almost painful to watch. Elder Shampoo was going to be getting another extremely scathing letter very, very soon.

“Okay,” Perfume said, returning to her piece of string. Her eyes teared up a bit. She realized she’d somehow managed to wind the ball of string around her entire left arm and about a fifth of the dinner table. “Uh, Sensei…?”

“Here,” Akane said, readying some safety scissors. “It’s probably better if you cut the string before you tie it on.”

“Thanks. I wasn’t crying about that, though,” Perfume said quietly. “I was just…um, sometimes I wish that…well, never mind,” she said.

Akane snipped the string, put down the scissors, and laid a hand on top of Perfume’s head. “You know you can tell me anything, though, right?”

“Uh-huh,” said Perfume. “That’s why I wanted to make you this. It’s supposed to be a piggy, ‘cause I know you like them—”

She brought forth the origami piece she’d been working on earlier, placing it on the table. It was lopsided and crinkled and hard to decipher, but Akane still found it to be quite beautiful.

“Oh, Perfume, it’s…”

Unfortunately, then she spotted the writing on it.

“Hey, Perfume? Where did you get this piece of paper?” Akane asked cautiously.

“A man wearing pantyhose gave it to me,” Perfume said.

Suddenly, Tomiji seized the origami pig. She unraveled it with due haste, reading it out loud.

“If you wish to see Nabiki Tendo unharmed, come to the roof of Furinkan High School alone, and bring the old man with you—?!” Tomiji said as her eyes bugged out and darted up and down the page like ping pong balls.

Then she leapt up on the table, sending markers and string and paper scattering everywhere. Her toy sword was also in her hand again, despite what all common sense and logic would normally dictate.

“Pantyhose Taro,” Tomiji said, uttering the name like it was a curse. “That fiend! I will end him for this!”

Akane stood up. “Tomiji, wait! Don’t go out in the—”

It was too late. Before anyone could stop her, the seven-year-old charged through the door without even stopping to open it.

“…rain,” Akane groaned, placing her face in her palms.

Perfume and Akane peered past the freshly-made hole in the door to the yard, where one could see that in place of the intrepid little girl, there was now an intrepid little horse, carrying a sword in her teeth and leaping over the fence.

“Tell Dad I’m going out,” Akane said to Kasumi.

Kasumi nodded faintly. “Oh—all right. I’ll get the hot water—”

“I’ll get the urn,” Akane said.

Perfume handed Akane her raincoat and boots. “I’ll start writing out an apology,” she said miserably.

***

“Eggplant.”

“Toast.”

“Tapioca.”

“Applesauce.”

“You already said applesauce!”

Four hours after Pantyhose Taro’s kidnapping plan had stopped making any sort of progress, he was beginning to lose it—which was why Nabiki had roped him into playing the world’s longest game of shiritori. It was kind of like torture, but she knew from experience that it was the lesser of two evils—Pantyhose was really annoying once he went off on a tangent.

“Well, gee, if someone hadn’t tossed my phone off the side of the building, we could have played Snake instead, but no. And this is why we can’t have nice things,” Nabiki said.

Pantyhose Taro bared his teeth at her menacingly. “What did you say?!”

There was a dreadful pause.

“…Asparagus,” Nabiki said flatly.

Mercifully, the door to the school rooftop flew open, hitting the wall with an ear-splitting crack, accompanied by a bolt of lightning. A scowling thirty-two year old man wearing traditional Japanese clothes stood at the top of the stairwell with his shoulders heaving from the exertion of running up four flights of stairs.

“Fiend!” cried Tatewaki Kuno. He pointed his sword at Pantyhose. “Nobody plays shiritori with my wife but me!”

Kuno’s strange new sidekick, a youth riding a giant pig, wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Ew, dude,” he said. “Are you like, some kind of pervert? Keep whatever freaky stuff you do with your wife to yourself. “

“Oh, Kuno-baby—we have got to work on your phrasing,” Nabiki said, her tone fondly and ever-so-gently exasperated. She’d certainly be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t just a little happy to see him.

Thunder shook the rooftop again, and at last the clouds above Furinkan High School opened. A downpour began.

“…and your timing,” Nabiki added, watching her captor transform into a yeti-eel-ox-crane thing with octopus arms and whatever else this month’s model of Pantyhose Taro had stuck to it. The fact that her new suit was now getting thoroughly soaked didn’t do much to improve her mood.

Kuno was none too pleased, either, it seemed. He got ready to charge. “Prepare to meet your maker, demon-beast!” he said.

Nabiki flinched. “Kuno, wait, watch out for the—”

It was too late. Before she could stop him, her tall, dark, handsome, rich, stupid husband ran out into the inclement weather and turned into a tall, dark, handsome, rich, stupid horse.

“…rain,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a sigh.

Pantyhose Taro punted Kuno into the sky.

“Heh,” said the kid with the pig. “So Pantyhose Taro really is strong.” He pulled an umbrella out of his rucksack and joined the battle.

***

Akane caught up to Tomiji inside of the school building and doused her with one of the kettles of hot water she’d brought from home. Then, she hurriedly dressed her in some of her own spare pajamas, so that the grade-schooler turned foal turned grade-schooler again would be spared the embarrassment of running around town without any sort of clothes on. She quickly set to work sopping up water from the little one’s hair with a fresh towel.

“Tomiji, you can’t just run off like that! Especially when it’s raining—are you listening to me?!”

“I will tear Pantyhose Taro to itty bitty pieces. I will crush him between my fingers like so many cookies. I will—”

Akane smooshed her niece’s angry little cheeks in between her palms, letting the towel rest on the girl’s head.

“You need to stay here,” Akane said slowly, “Or there will be no cookies for you at the Dojo. Okay? Nod to show me that you understand.”

Tomiji nodded.

“Good,” Akane said, pulling her into a tight hug. “Wait right here. I’m going to rescue your mom and come back. I promise.”

“Oh, Good Aunt Akane,” Tomiji said with sparkling eyes, pulling back and reaching up to grasp her instructor’s hands. “You are most brave.”

“Tomiji,” Akane said to her niece with a reassuring smile, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “You’re such a good girl.”

She let go of her niece. The instant she did, Tomiji took up her sword and charged ahead again.

“I will break him like a toy! I will turn him into soup!”

She shouted so loudly that even the statue of Ninomiya Sontaku turned to look as she tore down the hall. Akane gritted her teeth, tossed aside the towel, and continued on with the chase.

“Ya know, we might wanna think about raising her tuition,” said a familiar voice next to Akane. “Kuno can sure afford it.”

Akane did a double take. “Ranma?!”

Her husband—no, scratch that, her wife—was running alongside her down the school hallway with P-Chan tucked under her arm, dripping wet from the torrential downpour.

“Yeah, I followed the giant pig footprints here,” Ranma said, sounding very blasé about it. “You ready to kick that Pantyhose freak’s butt back to China?”

***

Nabiki’s prospects didn’t exactly look amazing right now, if she was being honest with herself. Her fate rested in the hands of a preteen boy and a large, muscle-bound pig. Still, they were kind of holding their own against Pantyhose.

The boy slid back across the wet rooftop from recoil, still clinging to his open umbrella for dear life. His back clattered against the protective fence as Pantyhose flew towards him, punching him in the guts again with a hoof. He was only saved from certain death when the pig leaned down and executed an izori move to trip Pantyhose up.

…Okay, so saying that they were ‘holding their own’ might be a little bit of a stretch.

The pig-boy duo were still faring better than Kuno, though. He had landed next to Nabiki after a brief trip through four layers of atmosphere, lying unconsciously on his side. Needless to say, he was also still a horse.

Still bound to the uncomfortable chair, Nabiki prodded him gently with the tip of her high heeled shoe.

“Hey. Hey. Kuno-baby. Wake up; you’re missing all the fun—”

The door to the roof slammed open again. Nabiki dared to hope it would be Ranma or Akane here to save her this time. That hope died very, very quickly.

“Pantyhose Taro!” Tomiji’s voice cut through the sky like thunder as she stood in the doorway. “Listen well, you wicked, wicked puppy! You will rue the day you thought to lay a finger on my honorable mother!”

Very few things existed that could severely rattle Nabiki Tendo—but watching helplessly as a nine foot tall monster born of the stupidest Jusenkyō curse ever turned towards her daughter with murder in its eyes quickly shot to the top of her list. Finding a strength she didn’t know she had, she managed to stand up despite her restraints.

“Don’t you dare touch her! I’ll sue you, do you hear me?!”

Still tied to the chair, Nabiki charged in to rescue her, only to be beaten to the punch by the boy with the umbrella. He scooped Tomiji up in his free arm and leapt out of the way of the charging beast.

Feisty as ever, Tomiji struck at the boy’s chest with tiny, balled-up fists. “Unhand me, you knave! I must defeat Pantyhose Taro! He seeks to destroy my family!”

“Hey, knock it off, Tiny! I’m saving you, okay?!” said the boy.

“You…saved me?” Tomiji asked, dumbstruck, as she looked back at the doorway where she’d been standing just moments ago. Pantyhose Taro’s horns were sunk halfway into the brick structure around the stairwell, while the door had been smashed to smithereens.

“Geez. Stupid kid,” said the boy. “The hell did you think you were—hey!”

The boy stopped talking. Tomiji stopped hitting him and threw her arms around his neck instead.

“I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I’ll die your maid,” she said.

“Huh?!” said the boy, reeling in the face of her utter gibberish. “Listen, short stuff, I just met you—”

Tomiji was undaunted. She squeezed the strange boy even more tightly. “Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”

The pig produced a tissue and dabbed at his eyes, apparently moved by Tomiji’s poetic words.

“Hey! Knock it off, Piganosuke!” the boy cried.

Just then, something else sounded in the doorway.

“Saotome Anything Goes Tag Team Technique! Wings of the Lovebirds!”

Akane and Ranma came flying through the doorway, kicking Pantyhose Taro to the other side of town in unison.

“Take that, ya mangy fleabag!” Ranma shouted.

“Nice kick,” Akane said breathlessly.

“Yeah, same to you. I’ll grab the kids, you grab Nabiki,” Ranma said.

Akane nodded, hurrying to untie her sister.

“Are you okay, Nabiki?” she asked.

Nabiki flexed her wrists painfully as the restraints and the chair that hindered her hit the ground. “I’ve been better,” she said. “What kept you?”

Akane looked down. “It’s a long story—hey, what happened to Kuno?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” Nabiki said. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Ranma tried and failed to pry Tomiji off of the pig-riding umbrella boy.

“I love you more than words can wield the matter, dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty!” the seven-year-old screamed at her savior, refusing to let go of him. Ranma pulled on her niece’s feet, but Tomiji’s hands gripped the bewildered boy’s shoulders like a pair of extra-strength suction cups.

Nabiki finally felt her chest unclench. She squatted down beside Kuno.

“She gets it from your side of the family, you know,” she said, reaching down to pat Kuno on the head. He bleated deliriously in response.

***

Ranma pulled Eiko—and by extension, Tomiji—into the relative shelter of the roof’s covered stairwell, though it lacked a door at the moment.

“All right, listen, you,” she said, addressing Tomiji first. “When someone tells you to stay put, you stay put! You were almost toast out there today! I wouldn’t be surprised if your parents grounded you until you’re old enough to drive!”

Tomiji regarded Ranma haughtily. “They can try to contain my body, but they can never contain my heart, Good Pigtailed Aunt. I am a maiden in love.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” said Ranma. She waved off her niece and looked at Eiko instead. “And you! Worrying your poor Pop sick like that! What kind of lousy kid runs away from someone who loves and takes care of them, huh?!”

Eiko scowled. “I don’t need someone so weak for a father,” he said. “If my old man’s that worried about me, then he can come get me himself.”

“He did come to get you himself! He’s right over—”

Ranma pointed to the last place she’d seen Ryoga, only to find it empty. Damn it, Ryoga! Of all the times to get lost—

The sound of Akane’s voice calling to her from outside interrupted Ranma’s thoughts.

“Uh, Ranma? We’ve got a little problem here—”

Ranma whipped around and assumed an offensive stance. On the other side of the door, Akane was holding back Pantyhose Taro from going after Nabiki, who was trying—with the help of the giant pig—to drag Kuno to safety.

“Damn it,” Ranma said. “As long as it’s still raining, the creep can fly back up here with his wings just as many times as we knock him down.”

“Yeah,” Akane grunted, “and I think he’s got a few more wings than he did last time—rrrrgh!” She slid backwards as the cursed form of Pantyhose Taro shoved her violently away.

“Bwaha…haha—hahahahaha!”

Maniacal laughter echoed throughout the school grounds. It wasn’t Pantyhose—it was Tomiji. Almost everyone turned to look at her, except for Akane, whom Ranma was trying to prop up under her arm.

“The heck’s gotten into her now?” Ranma asked Akane as she tried to set her upright again.

“Behold! My new special attack to stop the rain, so that we may defeat Pantyhose Taro!” Tomiji said. Still bundled in one of Eiko’s arms, she pulled out something small and very, very shiny from her sleeve.

The others shielded their eyes from the radiant glow.

“Wh…what is that?!” Ranma asked.

Akane opened her mouth to answer. “I think it’s a…!”

“—teru teru bozu?!” Eiko finished, wincing in confusion.

Everyone, including Pantyhose Taro, fell over.

Two monks from a temple a few blocks away came running up the stairs, breathless and awestruck. Each had an immaculately bald head.

“That’s not just a mere teru teru bozu!” said the first monk. “It is the ultimate form of the teru teru bozu, which only manifests in the hands of a child every one hundred years!”

“The legendary Teru Teru Teru Teru Teru Teru Bozu!” the second monk said, falling reverently to his knees. “It can stop even a typhoon—oh, I never thought I’d see it with my own eyes!”

The two monks started to weep tears of joy. The clouds over Furinkan High School parted. The sun shone down.

Akane stood up. “Don’t you think that’s a little too convenient?” she asked Ranma out of the side of her mouth.

Ranma stuck out her hand to see if she’d catch any raindrops—but she didn’t.

Nabiki, who had been handing out business cards to the monks, sidled up between Ranma and Akane, oozing with smugness as she gestured towards Tomiji.

“What can I say? She’s good at arts and crafts,” Nabiki said.

“Well, she’s giving us an opening, so whatever!” said Ranma.

She grabbed one of Akane’s hot water kettles and quickly dumped its contents all over Pantyhose Taro, who turned back into a human being.

Nabiki did the same for Kuno.

***

“Nabiki Tendo!” Kuno said, suddenly very fully conscious. He jumped to his feet and wrapped her up in a bone-crushing embrace. “Thank goodness I have rescued you from the clutches of that fiendish Pantyhose Taro!”

Nabiki rolled her eyes.

“You sure did, Darling,” she said dully as he smooshed her soaking wet head against his clavicle. She gave him a pat on the head for his efforts.

Newly invigorated, Kuno let her loose and began searching the rooftop.

“And where is my sweet Tomiji? The apple of my eye; the fruit of our loins?!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Nabiki spied the kid with the pig gagging slightly.

“Again, Kuno-baby, phrasing—”

The pig-rider walked by, trying to shake Tomiji off of his arm.

“Is this thing yours?” he asked.

“Tomiji!” Kuno exclaimed, opening his arms to her. Tomiji looked at him, looked back at the boy, and hopped into her father’s embrace.

“Honorable Father. Most esteemed Mother. This is Lord Eiko Unryū,” she said, pointing to the boy. “I humbly beg your permission to marry him, for he has promised me his very large puppy as a dowry.”

Tomiji pointed to the enormous pig.

“I did not!” Eiko shouted, leaping protectively in front of the animal.

Kuno froze in place, his mouth stuck open.

“Hoo boy. They grow up so fast,” Nabiki said, touching a finger to her temple. She was starting to feel a headache coming on.

Kuno suddenly broke out of his stupor. “You?! And this homeless pig farmer?! I forbid it!” he said.

Tomiji frowned. “I will run away with him, then. Goodbye forever, Father.”

She hopped down and started dragging Eiko away by the arm. In a panic, Kuno latched onto her ankle as she tried to flee.

“Wait! Tomiji, my precious gem! Surely we can talk about this!” Kuno begged.

Nabiki looked on thoughtfully as Eiko attempted to sneak away in the confusion.

“So that’s Ryoga’s kid, huh?” she said.

Funny, though, she mused—she’d thought Ryoga had a girl.

***

Even in human form, Pantyhose Taro wasn’t an opponent who went down easily. While the Kuno family reacted to Tomiji’s sudden declaration of intent to wed Eiko, Pantyhose got to his feet and started fighting Ranma and Akane in a one-on-two battle that would test the mettle of the Saotome School of Anything Goes Martial Arts.

“Why don’t you just give up already?!” Ranma taunted as she sunk a flying side kick into Pantyhose Taro’s side.

“Never!” her foe retorted as he braced himself to land on his back. He grabbed Akane by the ankle on the way down and pulled, setting her on a collision course with the wet rooftop.

“Ranma—!” Akane said. Ranma was already on her way to help.

“Gotcha!”

Just before Akane hit the ground, Ranma was there to catch her. They pulled each other back to their feet as Pantyhose leapt off the ground, looking like he was hungry for more.

“Getting tired?” Pantyhose asked, a sinister smile creeping across his face. “I‘ll just keep coming back until you give me the old man, you know.”

“Sorry, but that’s impossible,” Ranma said, stepping down into a wide fighting stance.

Akane leaned over and whispered into her wife’s ear. “Actually, Ranma, I brought the—”

Pantyhose interrupted. “Then you have signed your death sentence!” he said. Seizing a moment of opportunity while the Kunos were distracted, he did the unthinkable—he stole a doll from a little girl. Tomiji screamed.

“Oh no!” cried one of the local monks, who was still there for some reason. “The villain has the legendary Teru Teru Teru Teru Teru Teru Bozu!”

“If he were to destroy it, its effect on the weather would be reversed!” the other monk said, sobbing into the left sleeve of his robe.

“Heh,” said Pantyhose Taro. “You don’t say.”

“Don’t tell him that, you morons!” Ranma cried, slapping the monks’ shiny heads with her open palm.

It was too late. Pantyhose crushed the handmade doll between his fingers. The typhoon started back up again.

“You fiend!” Tomiji started to say, but it came out as a neigh, because she, like her father, had turned into a horse again. Eiko, having not had the luxury of preparing his umbrella this time, transformed into a piglet.

He and Tomiji exchanged curious glances for a few seconds, but the shadow of Pantyhose Taro looming over them cut the moment short.

“Ooh, look at the time,” said Nabiki, pretending to glance at her watch. I think we’d better be going—”

The demon from Jusenkyō lunged forward and seized Ranma by the neck.

“Ranma!” Akane said. She rushed in, only to be kicked back against the fence by one of Pantyhose Taro’s powerful hooves.

Pantyhose roared a terrible roar. As Akane struggled to her feet, one of the monks translated for her.

“He says if you don’t want to see Ranma Saotome lose her pretty little head, you’d better promise to hand the old man over to him,” said the monk.

His co-monk looked impressed. “I didn’t know you spoke Yeti,” he said.

Akane stood up, soaked and frustrated. Her fists clenched at her sides. “All right, fine—I have no other choice,” she said. She sighed and pulled out the urn she’d brought from home.

Nabiki looked on in mild shock. “Akane…”

“Sorry about this, Master Happosai,” Akane said, setting the urn down before Pantyhose. The beast grunted.

“He wants to know what that’s supposed to be,” said the monk.

Ranma bit Pantyhose’s hand. The demon slackened his grip just enough that she was able to wiggle out of it and kick him in the face.

“I told ya, didn’t I?! It’s impossible to hand the old freak over to you! Those are his ashes! He croaked six months ago!”

Pantyhose Taro sank to his knees.

“Wroaaaaar!” he shouted into the heavens. His tail started to sizzle with electricity. It attracted a bolt of lightning from the sky, which struck him. Some of the rubble by the door caught fire.

Blinded with rage and crackling with electricity, Pantyhose Taro struck out at Ranma again and again and again. Ranma dodged every single time, and the blows hit the fence and rooftop instead, causing considerable property damage.

“He’s going to knock down the whole school at this rate!” Akane said. A large piece of debris barely missed her.

“Not if I can help it!” said Ranma. “Akane, get everybody else outta here. I’m gonna do something crazy—but I think it’ll work.”

Ranma was playing fast and loose, as usual. Trusting her was kind of a reckless thing to do—but Akane did it anyway, just like she always did.

“Okay, everyone,” Akane said to her sister, two monks, a pair of horses, and a couple of pigs. “Are you ready?”

The crowd behind her nodded. Akane led the count.

“Saotome Anything Goes Martial Arts Final Technique! Ready…set…”

“Run away!” they shouted, whinnied, and oinked in unison as they beat a hasty retreat down the fire escape.

***

“This had better work, old man,” Ranma thought as she eyed the urn sitting in a pile of smoking debris.

“Kachū Tenshin Amaguriken!”

She struck out with her fists—but not at Pantyhose Taro. Instead, she plucked flaming bits of the charred building out of the fire. Then—

‘Pressure point in the back—pressure point in the front—and now I gotcha!’

With all the speed her female form granted, Ranma pressed the hot stones into Pantyhose one at a time in rapid succession. At first, he didn’t react—then the pain kicked in as Weakness Moxibustion took hold.

“I didn’t wanna have to do that,” Ranma said as she landed gracefully on her feet, dropping the hot debris and clenching her fists at her side. “I mean, I hate to take a page outta the old freak’s book—but you just couldn’t leave us alone, could ya?! Somebody has to teach you a lesson. So now you can’t hurt a fly—suck on that for a while. I’m outta here.”

The entire time Ranma had been talking, Pantyhose had been punching her.

It didn’t hurt.

Ranma picked up the urn and walked home.

***

The lights flickered off and on. The wind howled. Rainfall assailed the walls like a barrage of bullets. Inside the Tendo residence, a panda, his wife, a father, three daughters, two sons-in-law, two martial arts pupils, a supersized pig, two monks, and a handful of houseguests were crammed around a table that was far too small to accommodate all of them.

Tomiji was busily taking notes.

“So this is how the peasantry behaves during a typhoon. Most educational…I see…”

She dipped her brush into some fresh ink and scribbled ‘people and puppies of many sizes eat from a communal bowl of pickles’ into her composition book.

Nabiki reached over Piganosuke in an attempt to pinch some sliced daikon with her chopsticks and, having done so, leaned back uncomfortably at a forty-five degree angle.

“And to think,” she said, “If Pantyhose here hadn’t come along, she’d be stuck taking notes in our enormous mansion with sandwiches and caviar and four hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets—”

She glared at Pantyhose, who was still fruitlessly trying to punch Ranma in the face while it had no effect.

Kuno looped one arm around Ranma and the other around Nabiki.

“Ah, but is it not a joyous thing to weather out the storm with one’s own relations?” he asked, grinning like a loon.

“Oh, yes, Darling. I’m overjoyed. I’m thrilled to bits,” Nabiki said sarcastically as the panda shed on them and the pig’s rear end nearly hit her in the face.

“We are not related,” Ranma said. He shoved his empty dinner bowl into Kuno’s face.

“And don’t call me Pantyhose!” screamed Pantyhose.

***

Dinner at the Tendos’ house was getting to be a fiasco, and Eiko Unryū wanted no part in it.

“This sucks. I’m going to bed,” he said to no one in particular.

In an attempt to avoid the crowd, he crawled under the table to get to the other side of the room, grumbling as he went. He bumped heads with someone who was already there—a pair of hair buns smacked into his chin.

“Ouch,” the owner of the hair buns squeaked.

“Ow! What the—?!”

Eiko looked down to find a girl in pajamas hunkered down with a box of art supplies. She was jabbing at some paper with a bright orange crayon, which was poking a hole straight through the floor. She stopped her destructive coloring and looked up at him with watery eyes.

“H…hello,” the girl said shyly.

“Uh,” said Eiko. He looked around with shifty eyes and swallowed. “Hi.”

“Are you afraid of the storm, too?” she asked him.

Eiko blinked. “What? No,” he said, folding his arms. “I’m a martial artist. I’m not scared of anything.”

“Oh,” said the girl. Her teary eyes went wide with wonder. “But I haven’t seen you at the Dojo before…”

“Well—I was out on a journey. Training and stuff, you know,” Eiko said. He looked at the floor—he wasn’t used to this kind of attention from people his own age. It was awkward—but it wasn’t too bad.

“Wow,” said the girl. “Are you going to come and train here with us now?”

“What, at this Dojo? I don’t think so. All these annoying adults and stuff—it’s way too noisy—”

The girl looked disappointed. Eiko backpedaled.

“But my old man’s friends with the owners, so…I dunno. Maybe I can visit sometimes or something—eugh!”

He gave a lurch as a tiny pair of arms clamped around his neck.

“There you are, milord! Shall we go forth and pet the puppies together?” asked Tomiji. She had stars in her eyes and rice stuck to her face.

The girl with the buns tilted her head to the side. “Do you two know each other already?” she asked.

“No,” said Eiko.

“Ah, it is my good friend Perfume!” Tomiji said, ignoring him. “Allow me to introduce you to my most esteemed fiancé, Lord Eiko Unryū—”

“That’s it, I’m outta here,” said Eiko. He stormed off, unwittingly dragging Tomiji with him.

“All right,” Perfume said with a pout and a tiny wave of her hand as she watched them go. “You can come visit me under the table again tomorrow, if you want.”

***

The Tendos hadn’t hosted a sleepover of this magnitude in at least a decade. Futons covered the floor of the training hall like a fluffy blanket of snow. The shiny-headed monks were performing a dance for Genma and Soun, who clapped drunkenly in delight. In one corner, Nodoka was brushing Perfume’s hair while Kasumi read Piganosuke and Tomiji a bedtime story. Nabiki was sticking neon green elephant-print bandaids to Kuno while he recited love poetry to her. Eiko was dragging his futon out into the hall to get away from everyone else. And in the center of it all, Ranma and Akane had their heads bent together, carrying on a hushed conversation.

“What I still don’t get is—why’d he do it? And why now? The guy doesn’t bother us for years, and then all of a sudden he’s showing up at the Dojo every other day trying to kidnap somebody,” said Ranma.

“Yeah, it is pretty weird,” Akane said, nodding thoughtfully in agreement. “He seemed so desperate, I almost sort of felt bad for him.”

“Nah, there’s no use feelin’ sorry for him,” said Ranma. “The guy’s a kook. He woulda taken us all out today if he had the chance.”

“Yeah, I know,” Akane said. “But with a name like Pantyhose, can you really blame him?”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” said Pantyhose. He unleashed another barrage of harmless punches against Ranma.

Ranma punched back.

“Then quit hangin’ around already!” Ranma said.

Pantyhose flew across the room. Something fell out of his pockets and fluttered down to the floor—Akane picked it up.

“Persistent, ain’t ya?” Ranma remarked drily as Pantyhose came crawling back on his elbows, cursing him.

“Ranma, take a look at this,” Akane said, holding up the thing she’d picked up off the floor. It was an advertisement clipped from a magazine.

The heading, in bold green letters, read:

‘Looking for a fight? Join the Pantyhose Taro Dojo…’

“The Pantyhose Taro Dojo?” Ranma read off the page in disbelief, wrinkling his nose.

Pantyhose pounded on the floor soundlessly, sneering at his useless hand.

“That’s right,” he said, “I opened a martial arts school! But nobody wants to join a dojo that’s got ‘Pantyhose’ in the name!”

“So change the name of the school,” Ranma said, rolling his eyes.

“Fool! What would be the difference?! Once they found out my name, people would leave anyway! Who wants to learn Wushu from a guy named after underwear!?” Pantyhose Taro said.

“Well, how long has it been since you opened?” Akane asked.

Pantyhose sat up, folded his arms, grunted, and looked away.

“A year and a half,” he said.

Ranma did some mental math. “Which is exactly how long he’s been comin’ around here—”

“Oh, I see,” said Akane. “So that’s why you felt like you needed Master Happosai all of a sudden. You wanted him to change your name—so you could change the name of the school—”

“But it’s impossible now!” Pantyhose Taro said, his eyes filling with angry tears. “Do you know how it feels?! To realize you’re stuck being Pantyhose Taro forever…?”

He scraped at the floor in anguish.

“I can’t really imagine,” said Akane numbly, shaking her head.

Ranma shrugged.

Pantyhose looked up sharply, his eyes narrow and dangerous.

“Heh…well—since I can’t have my revenge on him…I’m going to take it out on you, Ranma Saotome!”

Ranma punched him away again and stood up.

“Yeah, good luck with that, pal,” Ranma said.

Akane looked up at Ranma with curiosity in her eyes. “You going somewhere? It’s almost lights out.”

“We got some more Dojo business to take care of,” Ranma replied. He folded his arms behind his head. “Could you set up one more futon?”

***

‘My Dearest Akari,

Has it really been almost a whole year? Sometimes it feels like only yesterday that I saw your sweet smile, and sometimes it feels like it was a lifetime ago. There’s so much I wish I could tell you, but when I try to put it to paper, my heart feels unbearably heavy. I miss everything about you.

Before I met you, I was lost. After I met you, I was still lost a lot of the time, but—well, I didn’t feel quite so lost, because I had someone to come home to; someone who loved me the way I really was. You’ll never know just how much that meant to me. Now that you’re gone, though, I feel hopelessly lost again. And our son—”

Ryoga paused in his writing, lifting his ink brush with a trembling hand. A few renegade raindrops slipped through his cover and began to blot the page—he leaned over the paper further to shield it from being ruined.

“—our son is lost, too, and sometimes I feel like even if I find him, he’ll just run away again. But I promise to keep looking for him, no matter what. So for his sake, and for mine—please keep watching over me.

Love,

Ryoga.

P.S. I’m sorry to have to ask this, but if you could send me a sign as to which direction I should go next—”

“Hey! Ryoga!”

Ryoga looked up from his letter. Ranma was squatting across from him with an umbrella in his hand, though he seemed to be fighting to keep it from blowing inside-out.

“Ranma?! What are you doing here?” Ryoga asked.

“You’re under my porch,” Ranma replied, pointing up.

Ryoga followed the trajectory of Ranma’s finger with his eyes—and sure enough, the Tendo home stood above him, full of light and warmth and history.

“Oh,” said Ryoga, fidgeting in place. “And…and Eiko?”

“He’s inside,” Ranma said, jabbing his finger in the direction of the Dojo.

Ryoga’s eyes lit up with hope, but they quickly lost their luster when his stomach started to sear with anxiety.

“What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if—what if…? Ranma, I’m not ready for this. Just leave me here a while,” Ryoga said, sinking slightly into the mud.

“Sorry pal, nothin’ doin’,” Ranma said, pulling him back up by the head. “I said I’d get you two back together, and I’m gonna. A martial artist’s only as good as his word, ya know?”

Ryoga bit the inside of his cheek.

“Besides, he’s waiting for you. I’ll never let you live it down if you don’t go in there and fix this—s’not like you to back down from a fight,” Ranma said.

Ryoga snapped at him. Leave it to Ranma to oversimplify things, he thought with a pang of fierce anger.

“This isn’t the same, Ranma! It’s not martial arts! This is…this is—”

“This is life,” Ranma said with a shrug. “Anything’s like martial arts if you look at it long enough. So here. I’m giving you a letter of challenge,” he said, handing Ryoga a folded piece of paper.

Ryoga opened it cautiously and scanned the page.

“This is a job application,” Ryoga said, feeling his eyebrows sink down towards his nose.

“Yep,” said Ranma. “For the Tendo Dojo. We need more teachers if we’re gonna start taking in more students. And you,” he reached out and jabbed Ryoga in the chest, “need a place to stay that’s not somebody’s backyard.”

“But Eiko—”

“He can stay too. You both need to train and get stronger, right?”

Ryoga felt a heavy sigh leave him. “You’re not going to let me say no, are you.”

“Nope,” Ranma said.

Ryoga carefully tucked the letter to Akari and the job application into his shirt, shouldered his backpack, opened his umbrella, and took Ranma’s hand to help himself stand up.

“You can start first thing tomorrow morning,” Ranma said, pointing him towards the door.

Ryoga shook some of the mud off of him as he prepared to step inside the house. But before he did, he looked up at the stormy sky, where surely somewhere beyond the angry clouds, a bright star was watching over him from Heaven.

Chapter Text

The hole in the backyard fence had been a group effort, really. It started when Ranma kicked the panda across the yard during a dispute that involved a popsicle, which damaged the overall structural integrity of one of the fence panels. This was exacerbated when Perfume tripped over a stray roller skate that Tomiji had left lying around. It became more noticeable when Piganosuke collided with the very same stretch of fence while running away from Ryoga, who was trying to give the wayward sumo pig a bath, and finally got to the point of being a huge, gaping, undeniable hole in the fence when Akane punched a mosquito that was annoying her during practice.

…Of course, where some saw a hole, others saw a very convenient window into the neighboring yard.

“Move over, Saotome! I can’t see!”

“I’ll move over if Ranma moves over.”

“Quit it, Pops! You’re the one who’s hogging the hole!”

“Ranma, I thought I told you to fix—wait, what’s going on over there?!”

Zipping in from the veranda, Akane wedged herself between Ranma and Genma’s heads to gain a better vantage point. The two Saotomes and her father were already sitting in front of the hole with bowls of rice and chopsticks in hand, spying on their new neighbor over breakfast. On the other side of the fence, Pantyhose Taro was hanging up the sign for his brand-new dojo.

“Ugh! I can’t believe he’s really doing this,” said Akane, clenching her fists dangerously. “This is so…so…!”

“Stupid?” Ranma said through a mouthful of chopsticks, handing her an extra bowl of rice. Akane snatched it up and took a very angry bite.

“It’s petty, that’s what it is!” Akane said. She started pacing the yard. “Doesn’t he have anything better to do than try to put us out of business?”

“It is a bit worrisome,” Soun said. He stroked his mustache.

“Nah, I’m not worried,” Ranma said, setting aside his rice and folding his arms. “The guy’s a hot mess. If he thinks he’s gonna put a dent in our Dojo by doing this, he’s kidding himself.”

Akane stopped pacing and looked down at Ranma.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked.

“Check it out,” said Ranma. He shuffled over to give her more room, pointing at Pantyhose Taro through the gap. Presently, Pantyhose was standing halfway up a stepladder, struggling to drag his dojo’s sign up the rungs.

“I said move, you stupid piece of wood!” Pantyhose screamed as he redoubled his efforts. His arms, still weak from the effects of moxibustion, did not cooperate. The sign fell and bounced off the ground.

“He’s been tryin’ to pick that sign up all morning,” Ranma explained.

Akane blinked.

“He has, huh…?” she said thoughtfully, taking a moment to experience the taste of plain white rice and the sight of Pantyhose kicking the ladder only to hurt his own foot.

Then she noticed that the face on her watch read a quarter past nine.

“Oh no, now I’m gonna be late!” she said, shoveling the rice into her mouth double time. Ranma handed her her briefcase without looking away from the hole.

“Have a nice day!” Akane’s three housemates said in unison.

***

Ryoga had somehow gotten lost on the way to his job, which was quite impressive considering he lived and worked in the same building. He remembered making a left turn at the bathroom when perhaps he should have taken a right, but the rest of the details as to how he’d ended up in the middle of a busy shopping plaza instead of the Tendo Dojo were a bit fuzzy.

“Excuse me, sir, am I…am I still in Tokyo?” Ryoga asked a passerby, only to be met with a very judgemental look.

Ryoga hung his head and sighed. Everything was going wrong. There was only one person he could turn to in times like these. He folded his hands together in the middle of the road and prayed towards the sunlit sky.

“My sweet Akari,” he begged. “I’m sorry to do this again, but please, please, if you’re listening…could you send me another sign? Because I—gmmph—”

A piece of paper blew into Ryoga’s face. It was a coupon flyer with a map to Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki.

Ryoga crumpled it up and tossed it behind him, folded his hands together, and kept praying while he walked.

“Like I was saying, Akari, I’m very, very lost, and I need—ow! Darn it—”

Ryoga stopped abruptly, because he had walked into a billboard. It had a huge red arrow on it and large printed letters that read ‘THIS WAY TO UCCHAN’S OKONOMIYAKI.’

The wandering martial artist paid it no heed. He hastily stuffed a couple of tissues into his bloodied nose, praying with his eyes shut as he kept walking.

“Please, please, please, Akari—I need your help! Give me something—anything!” Ryoga cried out to the heavens in anguish.

That anguish intensified when he was suddenly run over by an okonomiyaki cart.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, you jackass!” said a voice. The cart skidded to a halt.

“Eunnngh,” Ryoga replied faintly, no longer able to detect his bones. His body felt like it had been sliced in two—the wheel of the cart had made a sizable indent running directly through the middle of him.

A fuzzy, blobby thing bent over him. It spoke. “What’s the big idea, standing in the middle of the street like that, huh!? You’re lucky I wasn’t driving the food truck, for crying out—wait, Ryoga?!”

The fuzzy blob knew Ryoga’s name. That was strange. He reached up an arm towards the sky, but promptly dropped it when the effort became too much.

“Urrrgh,” he groaned as the world around him did cartwheels. He closed his eyes—a bright light was calling to him—it was so warm—this was finally it—

“Akari…I’ll be with you…soon…” Ryoga grunted, feeling himself let go of all his worldly pain.

A series of slaps to his face brought it all back.

“Hey—hey! Don’t you dare die on me, buddy!” said the blob. It had Ryoga’s shirt balled up in its hands, and it was shaking him. This felt familiar somehow.

“Oogh…Uk…yo…?” Ryoga said—no small feat, given his swollen cheeks.

The blob took a step back, apparently surprised that Ryoga remembered. She let him go. He dropped back onto the asphalt.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”’ she asked, shoving a hand in his face. Looking at it made him dizzy.

“…twelve?” Ryoga answered.

“Oh, this is bad,” Ukyo said, pressing her hand into her forehead. “Should I take him to the hospital…?”

“T…ten…” Ryoga wheezed out. Ukyo grabbed his shirt again.

“Ten…?” she repeated with quadruple the intensity.

“Te…n…” Ryoga said.

“Ten what? Tenth Street? Tendinitis? Ten orders of okonomiyaki?!”

“Ten…do…Do…jo,” Ryoga finally said.

The world faded to black.

***

“Oh. So he’s staying with you, huh?” said Ukyo. She leaned into her palm and grabbed another rice cracker from the bowl in the center of the table.

“Yep, that’s the deal,” Ranma said.

“Sounds like fun,” Ukyo said, letting her rice cracker dangle out of her mouth. “Maybe I’ll join the Dojo, too.”

She turned towards the sliding doors that opened into the yard, where the leaves were just starting to turn. Nearby, Ryoga laid on the floor. Ranma tended to his wounds, keeping a giant bag of ice balanced on his friend’s face by way of a string tied to a stick.

The trees rustled as the wind blew through the stone lanterns. The bamboo deer scare bobbed up and down in the pond. There was a moment of peace.

Then, a giant pig burst into the room, carrying a boy.

“Hey, pigtail guy! Are we having lunch or what?! Piganosuke’s getting hungry!” the boy said.

The panda held up a sign that said ‘Me too.’

Ranma stood up. “Pipe down, will ya? Kasumi’s still out shopping for the ingredients,” he said.

On the floor by the veranda, Ryoga groaned. The bag of ice drooped off the corner of his face.

Soun ran into the room, holding his head and crying. “It’s terrible!” he said. “Call a doctor! And a plumber! Perfume’s got her head stuck in the dishwasher!”

“Sorry! It was an accident!” said an echoey, muffled voice from the kitchen.

Ukyo hopped off the porch.

“On second thought,” she said, “I think I’d better get back to work.”

***

“Ugh,” Pantyhose Taro said to himself. He staggered into his newly-purchased home adjacent his newly-purchased dojo and closed the door. Then, he collapsed into an aching heap on the floor of the entryway, cursing Ranma Saotome with every fiber of his being.

“Blasted sign…stupid ladder—I’ll make Ranma Saotome pay for this with his blood!” he screamed at the ceiling.

The doorbell rang.

Pantyhose ignored it.

It rang again.

“What do you want?!” he said. Rigid with irritation, he crawled up the wall towards the doorknob and twisted it. The door swung open.

Kasumi Tendo was there, smiling at him and holding a donabe.

“Hello, Mr. Pantyhose. I hope this isn’t a bad time,” she said pleasantly.

Pantyhose looked down at the woman and her ceramic bowl and said nothing.

‘This is a plot,’ he thought. ‘Ranma Saotome has sent one of his flunkies here to destroy me, the coward. The moment she strikes out at me, I’ll be prepared to pay her back tenfold—’

“…but since you’re still getting moved in and all, I thought you might need something to eat…”

‘‘But wait…what is this…? She has no detectable battle aura. Is she masking it somehow…? Or…’

“It’s oden,” Kasumi continued. “I thought it might be nice, since the weather’s starting to turn chilly.”

‘Is she just trying to poison me, then?! Yes, that must be it—’

Kasumi pushed the donabe into Pantyhose Taro’s hands while he contemplated his next move, forcing him to take it. It was warm and smelled of fish broth.

“I’ll come back tomorrow to pick up the dishes. Have a nice night!”

She waved and excused herself, leaving Pantyhose with the clay dish in his hands. He kicked the door shut. After he was sure he was alone again, he sat down and cautiously lifted the corner of the lid. A savory smell enveloped his nostrils.

“Feh,” he said. “Only a fool would fall for such an easy trap.”

His stomach growled.

…maybe one bite wouldn’t hurt.

***

It was Eiko’s turn to look after Ryoga, and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Useless old man,” he muttered, dropping a fresh ice bag on his father’s face. “Can’t even walk downstairs without getting lost.”

Ryoga stirred, brought out of his stupor by the cold sensation biting at his skin. Then, Piganosuke was suddenly directly over his face, oinking faintly. His snout burrowed into Ryoga’s hair, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Hey, boy,” Ryoga said. He patted the sumo pig gently on the cheeks. “Were you worried about me?”

Eiko folded his arms and looked away. “He’s not worried. He says you smell like okonomiyaki,” he said.

“Oh,” Ryoga said. He pushed himself halfway up off the floor and rubbed his head. Piganosuke sat back on his haunches, watching him eagerly. “Guess that part wasn’t a dream, then.”

Ryoga paused to take in his surroundings. His eyes sought out his son’s, and his heart clenched in his chest.

“Eiko…you came to help me?” Ryoga said. He offered his boy a slight smile, which Eiko did not return.

“They made me. You think I wanna sit here and waste my time looking at your pathetic face? Get over yourself.”

Eiko had been hostile ever since he’d lost his mother, and the move to the Tendos’ home hadn’t changed that. Ryoga knew that the two of them shared the same pain—but no matter how he reached out, nothing seemed to soothe the sorrow that his son cloaked in anger. Every day, Eiko seemed to slip further and further away from him.

Silence fell over the room. Ryoga tried to fill it with something; anything—

“Eiko—”

“I wanna leave,” Eiko said. “This place sucks.”

Ryoga straightened his posture, looking at the boy who refused to look back at him. He sighed.

“I’m not used to any of this, either,” Ryoga said. “But I think…if you’d just give it a chance—”

“Why should I?” Eiko said. His fingertips dug into the floor. “This dojo is falling apart, the adults are all idiots, and there’s nobody good to spar with. I’ll never be a champion at this rate! Is that what you want?”

“Of course not—”

“Then stop holding me back! I made a promise to mom, in case you forgot! And unlike you, I keep my promises.”

“Eiko, I—”

“Forget it. I’m gonna go train,” Eiko said. “Let’s go, Piganosuke.”

He stood up and stalked out of the room. Piganosuke looked torn for a moment. He plodded over to Ryoga slowly and touched his snout to his head. Ryoga slouched over.

“It’s okay, Piganosuke. I’m used to it. Go watch over Eiko for me, okay?” Ryoga said.

Piganosuke squealed in understanding and nodded. He nudged Ryoga one more time before he tiptoed out of the room.

It was unbearably quiet.

“Akari,” Ryoga whispered into the ether. “I’m losing him again, and I don’t know what to do. Isn’t there anything that can change his mind about this place…?”

Perfume hobbled in with a plastic cone around her neck—the kind dogs usually wore. She walked into the wall by accident, then stumbled over Ryoga.

“Oh. Hi, Mr. Hibiki,” she said, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She glanced over him curiously. “You look sad. Did you get your head stuck in the dishwasher, too?”

***

“So, Weakness Moxibustion, huh? Haven’t seen that one in a while.”

A bespectacled doctor was poking and prodding at Pantyhose Taro with an annoyingly chipper expression on his face. Pantyhose sank his palms deeper into the cushions of the exam table. He was growing impatient with being treated like a science experiment.

“Can you fix it or not!?” Pantyhose said.

The doctor looked thoughtful. “It’s a pretty rare technique. Actually, there’s only one person I know of in the whole world who has the instructions for the cure,” he said.

Pantyhose scowled.

“Oh, but I’m sure he’ll help you! He’s a great guy,” the doctor continued. “Here, I’ll give you his phone number.”

The doctor scrawled a name and number on a notepad, tore off the page, and handed it to him.

“There you go. Ranma Saotome. He’s a teacher at the Tendo Dojo—”

“Ranma Saotome?!” Pantyhose exclaimed, feeling rage erupt in his stomach like a geyser. It hurt him everywhere to stand up. He fell back onto the table.

“That’s right,” the doctor said with a sunny, idiotic smile. “He’s a good friend of mine. Now, let’s get to work on those arms of yours, shall we? You really did a number on them.”

Pantyhose grumbled as the doctor started popping his joints back into place. So, Ranma Saotome had the cure—there had to be some way for Pantyhose Taro to get his hands on it. And once he did, Ranma would pay for this disgrace. Pantyhose would bathe himself in every cursed spring in Jusenkyō if it meant making him suffer—

“Hello?”

His thoughts of sweet, sweet vengeance were interrupted by a knock on the clinic door.

“Dr. Tofu, are you in?” called a familiar voice. Ranma’s housemate Kasumi Tendo stepped into the room.

“Oh! It’s you, Kasumi!” the doctor said with a strange look in his eyes. His glasses fogged up.

“I’m just here to return the book you lent me,” Kasumi said. She pulled a novel out of her tote bag.

“Oh, yes, a book! I love books,” said Dr. Tofu. “Now, which one was it, again?”

One by one, he started pulling encyclopedias off his shelf and tossing them onto the floor, singing to himself. “La di da do dee da…let’s see—was it this one? Or maybe this one?”

Kasumi smiled. “Oh, no, Doctor; I’m giving a book back to you,” she said. She placed the paperback gently into his hands.

“Haha, of course! It’s one of my very favorites. See?” said Dr. Tofu. He opened the book and wore it on his head like a hat.

Pantyhose felt his face twist up. Something very strange was going on here. The doctor hadn’t been this highly strung until—

Kasumi giggled softly. “You’re so funny, Doctor.”

‘It’s her! She’s…she’s got some strange power over him!’ Pantyhose thought, gripping the edge of the exam table in fear. His stomach turned to ice when she looked at him.

“Oh, Mr. Pantyhose!” Kasumi said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m not—don’t call me—”

In his panicked state, Pantyhose Taro struggled to form words.

‘Damn! She’s caught me off guard—’

The doctor handed the book to a plastic skeleton in the corner and grabbed Pantyhose’s arm, twisting it backwards in a circle.

“Oh, yes! He’s one of my newest patients,” the doctor said with a jovial lilt in his voice. “Hard at work setting up a dojo, isn’t that right?”

Pantyhose couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to. The doctor was tying his arms in a knot behind his back. He suppressed the urge to scream.

‘She’s using him against me! And yet…there’s still not even a hint of a battle aura! Kasumi Tendo…just what on earth are you?’

Twelve minutes later, Pantyhose Taro limped out of the Tofu Clinic in worse shape than he’d arrived.

Kasumi Tendo was a fearsome, fearsome opponent indeed.

***

With the exception of Ryoga’s convalescence, business went on as usual at the Tendo Dojo. It was almost time for classes to begin, but Ranma had other priorities to consider.

“I’m tellin’ you, Akane, I’ve got this year’s Miss Martial Arts Pageant in the bag. Am I a knockout or what?”

Ranma struck a pose. Her bright yellow dress poofed out behind her. Akane folded her arms and frowned.

“I’m not so sure about this, Ranma. We’re supposed to be entering the students in these things now, aren’t we?” Akane said.

Pulling out a hand mirror, Ranma adjusted her bangs. “Eh, what the judges don’t know won’t kill ‘em. I’ll just pretend to be a student, clean up at the awards ceremony, and then you and me can sit back and watch people line up to join the Tendo Dojo. Financial crisis solved.”

Akane picked up the flyer for the pageant and read off the page. “Accepting applicants ages fourteen to eighteen,” she said flatly.

Ranma tossed the mirror aside and scowled. “Hey! I look good for my age!” she said. “Tell her, Perfume!”

Perfume frowned at her feet despite the hindrance that was the plastic dog cone. “Gee, I wish I was old enough to enter,” she said. She wiggled her toes morosely.

“Oh, come on,” Eiko groaned. “What kind of lame martial artist runs around in a party dress? It’s pathetic,” he said.

“Hah! Shows what you know, kid. I’m a four-time Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing champion and I could kick your butt any day of the week,” Ranma said.

Perfume’s eyes went wide. “Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing?” she asked.

“It’s a long story,” said Akane.

“…You wanna spar right now, then, twinkletoes? I’ll take you on,” said Eiko. He leapt to his feet, leaning into a cat stance.

Perfume and Piganosuke clamped their hands over their mouths in shock and horror.

“He’s going to spar with Sensei…?” Perfume said, turning pale.

“You got guts, kid,” Ranma said to Eiko. “We can go for a few rounds if ya want. But don’t think you’re gonna land a hit on me anytime soon!”

Eiko rushed her. She sidestepped him. Eiko stopped, turned, and ran at Ranma again—Ranma dodged and did a backspring into a handstand.

“See, Perfume? I’m not gonna hurt him; he’s just gettin’ a little exercise—”

Akane covered Perfume’s eyes. “Ranma, your dress!” she exclaimed, turning maroon.

Ranma realized that gravity was not her friend.

“Oh yeah. Whoops.”

She flipped herself right side up again.

“Honestly,” Akane grumbled under her breath.

The rest of the match continued in much the same way, although Ranma exercised a bit more modesty for the kids’ sake. Finally, Eiko, breathless and frustrated, made a valiant last stand, only for Ranma to dodge again. The boy crashed into the wall and fell backwards.

“All right, that’s enough of that,” Ranma said. “You need some ice or somethin’?”

“No,” Eiko said. He clambered back to his feet and put on a brave face, but it looked like his rendezvous with the wall had hurt both his head and his pride.

“You’re strong, kid,” Ranma said. “But strength don’t mean a thing unless you can hit your opponent. So for your first lesson, we’re gonna work on your reflexes—hey! Where are you going?”

Eiko had hopped on Piganosuke and started to ride out of the room.

“You’re not bad, old-timer. But I never said I was gonna join your crummy old dojo, now, did I?” he said.

“Oh, come on!” Ranma called after him. “Just suck it up and admit you want me to teach ya, ya pig-headed kid!”

Perfume looked at Akane, her face twisted up with worry.

“Don’t worry,” Akane said. “He’ll come around.”

Perfume nodded and stood up. “Um, Eiko?” she said.

Eiko and Piganosuke stopped, just for a second.

“What?” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her.

“Will I still see you at dinner?” she asked.

Eiko looked down and fidgeted. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Okay. I’ll save you a spot under the table,” Perfume said.

***

Pantyhose Taro’s course of action was clear: the only way to recover his true strength was to steal the manuscript containing the cure for the Ultimate Weakness Moxibustion from Ranma Saotome—which meant a visit to the Tendo household was in order.

Luckily, he had the perfect excuse. At least, it had seemed perfect up until about thirty seconds ago.

“I’m returning this,” he said awkwardly as he stood before Kasumi Tendo at her front door, holding the donabe in his hands. She smiled at him. He was struck with a sudden urge to run away.

“And, uh…goodbye,” Pantyhose said, twisting around to go.

“Oh, wait a moment. Wouldn’t you like to come in for some tea?” she asked.

Slowly and somewhat painfully, he ratcheted himself around to look at her again. Her hands were folded up prettily in front of her. Her hair was tied back in a perfect ponytail with a crisp white ribbon. Her head was tilted just slightly to the left.

She was the scariest thing Pantyhose Taro had ever seen.

But this was his chance—perhaps his only chance—to walk freely through the doors into the headquarters of the neighboring dojo. Even if it was probably a trap.

“Yes,” Pantyhose muttered to himself, curling his fingers into a quivering fist in front of him. “I must.”

“Oh, wonderful!” said Kasumi. “I’ll get some hot water started.”

***

The song of a sweet potato vendor and the babbling of a koi pond intermingled with the murmur of a variety program on television. Steam rising off the top of a cup of green tea and the earthy scent of tatami mats swirled in the air. Pantyhose Taro was in the middle of it all, fighting with everything he had to stay calm while Kasumi Tendo asked him questions.

“How are you adjusting to life here in Japan? It’s not too difficult, I hope?”

Pantyhose gave a start.

‘She’s…she’s trying to pry into my mind and learn my weaknesses! But I’m far too powerful to fall under her sway—I’ll show her I’m not such an easy target!’

“It’s fine,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Oh, good! I’m sure you’ll start to feel right at home in no time! You know, Mt. Fuji is really lovely in the fall…”

She kept talking. Pantyhose tried to size her up without letting her know that he was onto her.

“…but there’s plenty to see in Tokyo, too, of course,” she said. “A lot of foreigners and tourists have trouble with the subway, but I’d be happy to give you some advice.”

She smiled at him. Pantyhose’s palms started to sweat. His heart was suddenly racing faster than a Shanghai maglev train.

‘This…this is…! The same power she used on that doctor! No, it can’t be! I refuse to be defeated!’

Pantyhose grabbed his head and stood up, screaming in agony.

“Oh, my. Are you all right?” Kasumi asked.

“I need to use the bathroom!” Pantyhose said. He took off like a cannonball through the wall.

“Oh, all right,” Kasumi said. “It’s down the hall and to your right.”

***

Clutching at his chest and breathing heavily, Pantyhose Taro leaned against the outer wall of the Tendos’ house.

“That was close—too close,” he said to himself. “I can’t let my guard down again—”

The sound of voices coming closer stopped him in his tracks. Pantyhose leapt up and clung to the side of the house to avoid detection.

“…a technique to defeat Ranma, eh? Bit of an ambitious request.”

Ranma’s father was strolling around the corner, accompanied by the pig-rider who’d attacked Pantyhose on the rooftop during his last confrontation with the Tendos.

“Ambitious is my middle name, old man. I may have lost to that pigtailed show-off today, but I’m not gonna lose again.”

“Hm,” the old man said. “Well, you’re a bit young to master the Cradle From Hell now, but I suppose it’s never too early to start training…”

“Yeah! Let’s do it, then,” said the boy.

“All right. Watch what I do very, very carefully.”

The old man jumped into the pond, turned into a panda, and started hugging a tire.

“…You know what? Never mind. Forget I asked,” said the boy.

He rode his pig back into the house. The panda didn’t budge.

Pantyhose snuck away.

***

In the dojo, danger was lurking. It wasn’t because Pantyhose was hiding in the shadows, trying to find Ranma’s secret cure for Weakness Moxibustion. It was because Tomiji had brought a stray cat to practice.

“A fine specimen of puppy, wouldn’t you agree, my Good Pigtailed Aunt?”

“Not a puppy! Not a puppy!” cried Ranma. Quivering like a leaf, she hid behind Akane when the chubby four-legged animal was suddenly plopped down before her. The cat sat down and licked its hindquarters.

“What’s its name? Can I pet it?” Perfume asked.

“I think I shall call him Nobunaga,” said Tomiji.

The cat edged closer to Ranma.

“Call it anything ya want, just get it outta here!” she screamed. She climbed up Akane’s back like a monkey climbing a tree and clung to her wife’s head, wrapping her arms all the way around Akane’s face.

“Tomiji, sweetie, take Nobunaga outside,” Akane said blandly, as though she had been through this sort of thing many, many times before.

Tomiji reached down to scoop Nobunaga up.

“Come, Nobunaga. I will show you to the backyard,” she said.

Nobunaga, however, was not a fan of being grabbed from above. He bounced off of Tomiji like a pinball and landed on top of Ranma.

“Wait!” Tomiji cried. “Come back, Nobunaga—”

Ranma hissed.

“Oh, now you've done it,” Akane said.

Ranma’s hair poofed out threateningly. She leapt down and arched her back, knocking Nobunaga from his perch and fixing him with an intense stare.

Akane started barking orders to the students. “Tomiji! Go to the kitchen and get a saucer of warm milk! Perfume, grab a cat toy!”

“The one with the feathers or the catnip mouse?” Perfume asked.

Ranma started yowling.

“It doesn’t matter!” Akane said. The students scattered like flies.

“Here kitty; nice kitty…”

Akane bent down, trying to distract Ranma from the impending cat fight. Nothing seemed to grab her attention.

“Come on! Pspspspsps…”

Ignoring Akane’s masterful cat summoning skills, Ranma leapt forward into battle—but she didn’t go for Nobunaga. She jumped clear over the stray, going after something behind a nearby punching bag instead.

Whatever it was, Ranma’s Cat Fu sent it flying into the backyard.

“What the…?”

Akane tried to figure out what had just transpired. Ranma rubbed her face on the punching bag to mark her territory. Then she happily plodded towards Akane on all fours, curled up at her feet, and fell asleep.

***

Fresh from his kerfuffle with a feral Ranma, Pantyhose landed in the koi pond. Nobunaga watched the cursed beast rise from the rippling waters, licking his paw nonchalantly.

‘Well, it wasn’t in the dojo,’ Pantyhose thought as he shook himself dry. ‘It’s got to be in the house, then!’

He eyed the upstairs windows. Surely he could reach one of them if he flew.

Pantyhose Taro spread his mighty wings. He made it an inch off the ground before he plunged unceremoniously back down to Earth. The moxibustion had sapped even what strength he needed to simply fly.

Pantyhose growled and climbed up the drain pipe instead.

***

Soun Tendo stood in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and a scrub brush gripped in his hand. He waved it around like a sword, striking poses and flexing in the mirror.

“Hah! Take that! I am Miyamoto Musashi!” he said.

Something made a noise in the bathtub. Soun slowly turned around to see that Pantyhose Taro had been watching him.

Pantyhose looked at Soun.

Soun looked at Pantyhose.

“…this never happened,” Soun said.

Pantyhose nodded.

***

Dripping with warm water, Pantyhose staggered down the hallway.

“This one—this has got to be the room,” he said, panting as he approached another one of the upstairs bedrooms.

And so it was. There was a duck-shaped decoration dangling from a peg on the door bearing the name “Akane,” but just under it, a sticky note that had been tacked on as an addendum read “…and Ranma.” Yet another piece of paper stuck up onto the door with tape read “Keep out or else.” Pantyhose ignored it and pushed open the door anyway, eager to discover what secrets lie within.

Unfortunately for Pantyhose Taro, someone had beat him to discovering those secrets.

“…Crouch of the Wild Tiger? Lame. Howl of the Demon Dog?! Stupid. Parlay du Foie Gras? Looks useless.”

The pig boy—sans pig—was squatting by the bedside. Having picked the lock to a small paulownia box, he was tossing its contents left and right, clearly rooting through them in search of something.

“The heck’s this thing? I can’t even read it,” the pig boy said.

Pantyhose almost choked. “That’s…that’s—”

No sooner had Pantyhose Taro realized that the pig boy was holding an ancient manuscript that read Cure for Ultimate Weakness Moxibustion at the top in hànzì lettering, the pig boy looked up to see that Pantyhose Taro was attempting to read it over his shoulder.

“What the hell, Pantyhose Jiro?!” the boy said, folding the paper in half. He stuffed it into his shirt. “Don’t you knock before you just waltz into somebody’s room like that?”

“It’s not Pantyhose Jiro, it’s Pantyhose Taro!” Said Pantyhose Taro.

“Okay, Pantyhose Taro,” the pig boy said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t call me Pantyhose Taro!”

“But you just said—”

Pantyhose Taro gripped the boy by the throat and tried to shake him. The boy didn’t seem to feel a thing.

“Look, it doesn’t matter! Just hand over that manuscript if you want to live,” Pantyhose said. “Even if you are just a child, don’t think I won’t try to take it by force—”

The pig boy shoved the heel of his hand into Pantyhose’s face. He flew across the room from the impact.

“Yeah? You and what army? Your dumb dojo still has zero members,” he said. He didn’t look up from the scroll he was perusing. “Carp On a Cutting Board Technique…? You’ve got to be kidding me with this crap. Where does he keep his good moves?”

Pantyhose Taro bounced back, crawling across the floor sideways like a crab.

“…I had two visitors come in for a tour of my dojo this morning, for your information!” he said. “They were very interested!”

It was actually the truth—there had been visitors, and they had been interested. At least until they’d found out that The Pantyhose Taro Dojo was, in fact, a dojo and not a gentleman’s club. But omitting a few details from the story didn’t hurt. Pantyhose went on.

“And why wouldn’t they be? My dojo is state-of-the-art. The equipment alone is worth more than Ranma’s house and his shoddy dojo combined,” he said.

The pig boy’s ears twitched a bit. He looked at Pantyhose with the air of a guy who was trying a bit too hard to look like he didn’t care.

“You don’t say. Well, it’s not like you got any decent teachers, though,” he said.

Pantyhose folded his arms and glowered. “I’m going to be the teacher! It’s my dojo, you imbecile!” he said.

Appropriately, the pig boy snorted. “That’s a good one. Ranma turned you into a wet dish cloth, pal. You really think you’re gonna teach martial arts when you can’t even kick a rock down the street?” he said. He pretended to look at another scroll.

Pantyhose forcibly inserted his face between the boy and the piece of paper.

“Ranma Saotome only sapped my strength, not my mind! I’ve defeated him in battle countless times before—so why should this be any different? I’ll bet I could train even a weakling like you to defeat him.”

The pig boy tossed aside another useless scroll and smiled, bearing his pointy incisors. “All right, then. Let’s make this interesting,” he said.

Pantyhose leaned back and made a sour face. “In what way?” he asked.

“Easy,” said the pig boy. “If you’re really that great, then prove it. Train me and Piganosuke at your fancy new Dojo—and if you can actually teach me how to beat Ranma in a fair fight, I’ll give you that scroll you wanted so bad.”

The boy was a smarmy, despicable little person, Pantyhose thought. Training him would almost certainly prove to be a headache. But the scroll he held was the only one of its kind—and once Pantyhose had his hands on it, his vengeance on Ranma would be swift and sure.

He stuck out his hand. The boy shook it.

“All right. You’re on,” Pantyhose said.

***

Six o’clock the next evening found Ukyo once again standing on the Tendos’ doorstep, only this time she was toting along some food for delivery instead of an unconscious martial artist. She rang the buzzer. What appeared to be a tiny mummy opened the door—one of Ranma’s students, if Ukyo had to guess by size alone. Twin hair buns poked out from the top of a head that was not only stuck in a dog cone, but thoroughly wrapped up in gauze bandages—as was the rest of her.

“Hi,” Ukyo greeted her. “I have a delivery here for…uh, hey, are you okay, kid?”

“I was trying to help Sensei bake a cake,” she said. Her buns seemed to droop a bit.

“Oh. Right. I see,” said Ukyo, feeling a bit lost for words. “Well…better luck next time, I guess.”

The kid nodded. “Thanks. If you’re looking for the Saotomes, they’re out back,” she said. “You can come in if you want.”

And so, without much fanfare, Ukyo followed the somewhat mummified martial arts student straight through the house—where a terrible rubbery smell was emanating from the kitchen—and into the yard, where everyone besides Akane seemed to be piled in front of a hole in the fence and making a huge commotion.

“Betrayal! This is a betrayal!” said Soun, crying into a microphone. “How could he?!”

‘I sure didn’t see this coming,’ the panda scrawled on a sign.

“Hey, Ranma-honey. What’s going on?” Ukyo asked, somewhat mystified by the display.

Ranma turned around. His arms were folded in front of his chest. “It’s Ryoga’s kid. He joined the rival dojo.”

Ukyo’s forehead crinkled. “What rival dojo?” she asked.

“That rival dojo,” Ranma said, jerking his thumb towards the fence hole.

Ukyo nudged her way in to take a look at whatever everyone else found so shocking. The pint sized pig-rider she’d seen at Ranma’s earlier was being shown around an adjacent dojo by a slender, pretty-looking man she’d never seen before. She glanced up at the sign above the door.

“The Pantyhose Taro Dojo?” Ukyo read, raising an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

She turned back towards Ranma. “Anyway, can you pass this along to Ryoga for me? I thought I’d give him some food on the house since I hit him with the cart earlier and all.”

“Maybe you should try giving it to him yourself,” Ranma said, scratching the back of his head. “Poor guy could probably use some cheering up right about now.”

He pointed down towards his feet, where Ryoga was curled up into a fetal position, rocking back and forth and crying.

Ukyo looked back up at Ranma, a deeply concerned expression etched on her face. Ranma shrugged. Ukyo squatted down to talk to Ryoga.

“Uh, hey, Ryoga,” Ukyo said as gently as she possibly could. “I brought you some food...”

She removed a box from her delivery bag and opened it. It was a piece of okonomiyaki. A message written in sauce on top read ‘Sorry I Ran You Over.’

Ryoga looked at her with soft, wobbly eyes. “Thanks,” he said tonelessly, “But I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again.”

Ukyo craned her neck up to look at Ranma. “He’s being a little dramatic, don’t you think?” she asked.

“I have every right to be dramatic!” Ryoga said, clasping his skull between his hands. The sudden change in his volume nearly knocked Ukyo backwards. “My son hates me so much he’d rather take martial arts lessons from a monster like Pantyhose Taro than from me! What am I going to tell his mother now?!”

Sobbing, Ryoga produced a lovely black and white photograph of his late wife and pointed at it. Ukyo felt uncomfortable.

“Okay, all right. Everything’s going to be fine,” she told him, although she had no basis for making such a bold statement. “I’m sure you and Ranma-honey can figure this out, right?”

“Yeah, no problem,” said Ranma, sounding equally unsure of himself. “You wanna go throw eggs at Pantyhose Taro’s house, Ryoga?” he offered.

Kasumi arrived to deliver some bad news. “Actually, I’m afraid we’re out of eggs,” she said. “After we paid for all of Perfume’s hospital bills, we didn’t have enough left for them in the budget.”

‘Yikes,’ Ukyo thought to herself. ‘This dojo situation is a lot worse than I thought.’

“Aw, nuts. Sorry, buddy,” said Ranma.

He paused a moment. “Wait, does that mean Akane’s bakin’ a cake without eggs in it right now?” he asked.

“Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that,” said Kasumi.

Back by the fence hole, the drama seemed to be ramping up. Nodoka was handing the panda a box of tissues.

“What will become of Ryoga and his wayward son? Will the Tendo Dojo buckle under the weight of this dishonor? And will anyone survive eating Akane’s cake!? It’s a tragedy in the making!” Soun said as he continued narrating like a soap opera announcer into the microphone.

Ukyo shifted her weight awkwardly. “I think I’d better go,” she said. She waved at Ranma, flashed a sweaty smile, and tried to leave.

Ranma stopped her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, Ukyo, can I ask you a huge favor?” he said.

Ukyo had a terrible, sinking feeling.

***

Seven and a half minutes later, Pantyhose Taro opened the door to his dojo to find a delivery girl standing there. She reeked of cabbage.

“I didn’t order anything,” he said.

The visitor sighed heavily.

“I’m not here to make a delivery,” she said. “My name’s Ukyo. I'm here to apply to your dojo.”

Chapter Text

‘My Dearest Akari,

Hello. It’s me again. I’m not sure if I'm in Sapporo or Asahikawa right now, but either way, I wish you were here. Ranma told me to take a day off so I could clear my head. I don't know if it's working, because I have no idea what a clear head is supposed to feel like. If anything, I think being alone makes my head feel worse, which is why I’m writing to you. I hope you don’t mind.

It hasn’t exactly been a terrible day, though. For instance, I happened across a beautiful farm somewhere in Shiribeshi—at least, I think it was Shiribeshi. Seeing it made me think of you, because I’m sure you would have loved it there. All the animals looked so happy, and the harvest looked so bountiful. I couldn’t help but smile at all the people who passed by. But even then, I felt crushed inside. I wanted to share this day with you so badly it hurt. It all made me wonder if moving to the city was the right choice for Eiko. He still seems so unhappy there most of the time.

I don’t mean to make you worry, though. I’m doing the best I can for you and Eiko every day, because I know you would want that. Thank you for everything you’ve given me, truly. I promise I’ll keep trying to become someone who’s worthy of you.

Love,

Ryoga

P. S. I know this may be asking a bit much, but if you’re not too busy up there, could you find a way to let Ranma know I’m all right? He did give me a day off, but that was a week and a half ago. I got lost trying to find a ferry back to Honshu, and—’

“Yo, Ryoga! If you’re gonna sit on top of the food truck all day, at least order somethin’, will ya?”

An extremely familiar voice broke Ryoga’s concentration. He lifted his pen and crawled to the edge of the floor he was sitting on, only to discover that it wasn’t a floor at all—it was the roof of a large, parked vehicle that reeked of hamburgers. A pigtailed person clad in a paper hat was sticking their head out of the window and staring at him.

“Ranma?! Why are you in Hokkaido?” Ryoga asked. He almost slipped off the roof in astonishment.

Ranma leaned his head sideways against his palm, elbow resting firmly on the countertop that jutted out of the vehicle’s side.

“This is Shibuya, pal,” he said.

“Oh,” said Ryoga, turning slightly pink. “Are you sure…?”

Ranma muttered something under his breath about the station being right there, for cripes’ sake.

Now that Ryoga thought about it, that would probably explain the dog statue he’d walked in front of sixteen different times. But hindsight was twenty-twenty. He decided to shift the subject away from his wretched sense of direction.

“I didn’t know you had a food truck,” he said.

Ranma let out a single, mirthless chuckle and gazed out at the crowd of commuters and shoppers who were ignoring him. “It ain’t my truck. I just sell the burgers,” he said. Still slouched over, he reached out with his free hand and gently flicked the top of a jar of mustard without looking at it. It wobbled in place. “Not that anyone's buyin’ em. You want one?”

Ryoga nodded slowly. He hadn’t had a bite of hot food in about three days. Ranma disappeared into the truck for a few seconds. Then he tossed Ryoga a greasy bundle wrapped in bright yellow paper. Ryoga caught it, unpeeled it, and took a bite.

“This tastes terrible,” Ryoga said through a mouthful of food. He kept eating anyway.

“You’re tellin’ me,” said Ranma. “Maybe I shoulda tried for a job at the ice cream parlor instead.”

He handed Ryoga a cup of soda. Ryoga gulped it down in a matter of seconds and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“But I thought you were running the Dojo. Why are you working part-time?” he asked.

Ranma’s mouth puckered into a tight frown.

“I am running the Dojo! I just need a little extra cash, all right?!” he said. He planted his forehead on the counter. “Man, this sucks.”

Ryoga leaned over the roof’s edge, peering upside-down into the window of the truck. Curious as to why his greatest friend and rival felt the need to sling burgers for pocket change, he prodded just a bit further.

“What are you going to buy?” he asked.

Ranma picked up his head, resting it in both hands. His cheeks sagged between his fingers. “I dunno yet.”

Ryoga slipped down a few centimeters. He almost fell off the top of the truck for a second time. “What do you mean, you don’t know? What’s all of this for, then? Some kind of training…?”

Ranma straightened up, pressing his fists against the countertop.

“Look, I gotta get Akane somethin’ for our anniversary, okay? She says it don’t need to be anything fancy, but…geez, I dunno. Ten years is sort of a big deal, right?”

Ryoga nodded.

“It’s a very big deal, Ranma,” he said. “You only get one chance at a tenth anniversary.”

Ranma absorbed this information. Then, something went off behind his eyes, as if he suddenly had an idea.

“Hey—what’d you do for your tenth anniversary?” he asked.

“I bought Akari a solid gold statue of a pig,” Ryoga said.

Ranma slouched over again. “Okay, well I’m not stealin’ that idea,” he said.

“And I took her out to dinner,” Ryoga said.

“Yeesh,” said Ranma. “You tryin’ to make me look bad? I can barely even afford flowers right now.”

Ryoga thought about this. The dojo had been failing even before he’d arrived, but the financial strain on the Tendo family had only increased since he’d moved in. He felt partially responsible for Ranma’s predicament.

“Well…what if I helped you pick out a restaurant that fits your budget?” Ryoga said. It was the least he could do after all the pains Ranma had gone through for him and Eiko.

“You know any place that’s free?” Ranma asked. He didn’t look too optimistic.

Ryoga mulled it over.

“Give me a couple of days. I’ll see what I can do.”

***

“Mistress Ukyo, you seem stressed out today.”

Ukyo looked up from her grill and grimaced at the well-coiffed waitress leaning over the counter.

“What makes you say that, Konatsu?” Ukyo asked.

“…well, it’s just that you’ve flipped that same piece of okonomiyaki forty-six times now,” Konatsu said, wiping the sweat from her brow with a karakusa-patterned handkerchief.

Ukyo looked down. The thing she was flipping wasn’t so much a piece of okonomiyaki anymore as it was a piece of charcoal. Staring into the lump of burnt batter, she realized something very profound.

“You know what…? I think I am stressed out!” Ukyo said. She confirmed her discovery by stabbing the burnt okonomiyaki down the middle with her spatula. It sizzled out a terrible swan song.

“Oh, dear! I began to suspect something was wrong when you tried to grill a chair last night,” said Konatsu.

“Uh-huh,” Ukyo said. She grunted and flipped the burnt food behind her, where it hit the bottom of the garbage can audibly.

“I also thought something might be troubling you when you stormed down the stairs this morning shouting ‘why did I get involved in this idiotic plan,’” Konatsu said.

Ukyo’s forehead started to throb.

“Uh-huh,” she said again.

“…and then I was almost sure something was bothering you when you forgot to flip the sign in front of the restaurant from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ this afternoon,” said Konatsu.

Ukyo grew rigid and tense. “You mean that’s why we haven’t had any customers all day?!”

Konatsu leaned back on her stool, tapping her chin. “Hm, now that you mention it, that would explain the lack of clientele. And I prepared all these hot towels, too…such a shame,” she said. She shook her head daintily. The flower petals on her hairpin shook with her.

Ukyo pointed at the door, feeling her blood pressure rise exponentially. “Just go flip the sign, Konatsu!” she said.

Konatsu bundled her hands under her face and smiled. “Right away, milady!” she said. She scampered off to do as she was told, then came back to the grill like a boomerang.

“There, all better,” Konatsu said. “Hot towel?”

She offered up a warm, white cloth in each of her hands. Ukyo took both, scrubbed at her face, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

“Look, I’m sorry my temper’s been wearing a bit thin. I’m not mad at you; it’s just that this whole thing with Ranma-honey’s dojo rivalry is driving me up a tree,” she said.

Konatsu looked interested. “Oh?” she said, leaning forward on her forearms.

Ukyo indulged her with an explanation.

“I’m a fully-grown woman with my own business to run, and he just expects me to drop everything I’m doing to spy on this Pantyhose guy—it’s so juvenile!”

Konatsu offered another handful of hot towels and a smile. “It’s nice of him to want to include you in all of his adventures, though, don’t you think? Oh, to have a thoughtful childhood friend!”

Ukyo finished wiping down her face and gave the pile of towels back. “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, can I count on you to run the restaurant for two nights a week until I figure out a way to fix this mess?”

Konatsu responded enthusiastically.

“Mistress Ukyo, nothing would make me happier than to aid you in your time of need!” she said. “It is my life’s calling, after all!”

Ukyo’s enthusiasm, on the other hand, was severely lacking. “Thanks,” she said to the floor.

Konatsu looked thoughtful again, curling a finger into her long ponytail. “Although…if this is an espionage mission, milady, don’t you think I should be the one to go? I may be a waitress first and a kunoichi second, but I haven’t stopped training, you know.”

Ukyo considered this. If she wanted an easy way out, this was it. She could conceivably foist all of her undercover informant duties off on Konatsu and forget about Pantyhose Taro and his stupidly-named dojo forever. But it just didn’t feel like the right thing to do, somehow.

Concerned by the silence, Konatsu leaned closer, arching over the grill like a cat.

“Mistress Ukyo…?”

Ukyo looked down at the spatula in her hand. Her grip around the handle tightened.

“You know what Ranma-honey said to me?! He said ‘Pretty please, Ukyo, do it for Ryoga!’ For Ryoga! And how am I supposed to say no to that? The poor guy’s having the worst year of his life, and then on top of that, Ranma knew I felt guilty for running Ryoga over with the okonomiyaki cart—”

Ukyo gritted her teeth. She knew the answer to Konatsu’s question, but she didn’t like it.

“Ugh. I guess I have no choice. They’re my friends—sort of—so it’s my responsibility. I have to do this.”

Konatsu sat back properly on her stool again and pulled out her handkerchief again, this time to dab at her eyes. “Oh, Mistress Ukyo! You’re just so…so noble! So selfless! I do so admire that about you,” she said. Her mascara was running.

Ukyo didn’t feel very noble or selfless, but she appreciated the sentiment, anyway. She picked up a hot towel off the tray and offered it to her friend. Then she took four more for herself.

***

Perfume leaned forward, watching intensely while Nabiki Tendo finished the longest math problem she’d ever seen in her life.

“All right, and then…let’s see. Put down the four, carry the two…oh,” Nabiki said. “Well, here you are. Enjoy.”

The CEO handed Perfume back her spiral notebook, pointing out the solution circled in pen. Perfume looked at it, screwing her nose up in confusion.

“What does the minus sign here mean?” she asked, pointing to a marking to the left of the answer.

“That means the answer is negative,” Nabiki said. “It’s less than zero.”

Perfume had never heard of such a thing. She felt her mind race and her eyes grow wide. “Less than zero? But…but that means…”

There was a long pause as the cogs in her head spun out into nothingness.

“…what does that mean?” she asked.

“In layman’s terms? The Dojo is broke,” Nabiki said.

Perfume’s heart sank. She seemed to be the only one in poor spirits, however.

“Then we must fix it!” said Tomiji, punching the air. At least, she had probably meant to punch the air. She punched another hole in the rice paper door instead.

Nabiki patted Tomiji’s head, although she didn’t exactly seem to be bursting with the same can-do attitude. “Ooh, love that enthusiasm, Pumpkin. Easier said than done, though, I’m afraid.”

Perfume bit her lip and shook the contents of her piggy bank onto the tabletop. A handful of five, ten and fifty-yen coins rolled around aimlessly and clattered to a stop, forming a somewhat sad-looking constellation against the grainy wood.

“Will this help?” Perfume asked.

Nabiki looked languidly at the sorry pile of change. “No,” she said. “You want my professional advice?”

Feeling her mood lift slightly, Perfume nodded. “Yes, please,” she said.

“Give up. It’s a lost cause,” Nabiki answered with a smile.

Perfume pouted. Tomiji joined her.

“But that is unfair!” Tomiji said. “Will my Good Aunt Akane and Good Uncle Ranma not have the funds they require for the upcoming celebration of the tenth anniversary of their nuptials? Shall they not feast upon lobster and vacation in the Swiss Alps?!”

“Probably not,” Nabiki said.

“How tragic,” Tomiji said. She looked at the floor, stunned and dismayed.

Suddenly feeling very lost, Perfume looked sideways at her friend and whispered. “Who’s this Swiss Alps person…? Are they a martial artist?”

“They are not a person. They are mountains,” Tomiji explained.

“Oh, mountains. We had those in China, too,” said Perfume.

Tomiji nodded. “Indeed! I can show the Swiss Alps to you, if you would like. Behold, a sacred treasure of the Kuno Family which has been passed down to me!”

Reaching into her backpack, Tomiji pulled out a framed photograph of her family. They were on a steep hill with a lot of snow. Each of them had a hat, gloves and a heavy jacket. The man Perfume recognized as Tomiji’s father was lying sideways on the ground, his face blue and his nose dripping from the cold. He had very long shoes on for some reason, and it seemed like he had dropped some poles in the snow. He looked stunned. Nabiki was crouched over him, smiling, with one hand on his arm and the other making a peace sign. Tomiji, who was bundled in a hood with rabbit ears, held up a tiny snowman in the foreground. Her expression was just as deadly serious as it always was, but the gleam in her eyes was unmistakably proud. Her nose and cheeks were rosy.

“Oh,” Perfume said, pulling thoughtfully on her hair. “That looks like fun.”

“It was most enjoyable,” said Tomiji.

“So that’s where my favorite picture frame disappeared to,” Nabiki said, regarding Tomiji with a suspicious glance.

Caught in the act, Tomiji slammed the picture frame in question against her chest and hugged it close to her. “I have decided to keep it, and I will never, ever give it back to you. Not even for a hundred billion million yen,” she said. She looked up sharply. “But perhaps…if you were to offer me a puppy in exchange for it—”

“No deal,” said Nabiki.

Tomiji frowned. “Curses. Foiled again.”

Watching listlessly as Tomiji scampered back to where she’d stashed her backpack, Perfume scooped her coins into her hand again. They felt heavy, even though Nabiki said they weren’t worth enough. That didn’t seem right somehow—but then again, a lot of things here in Japan were confusing like that.

“I wish I could give both of my Sensei a beautiful mountain like that, too,” she said, resting her cheek on the table.

Nabiki smiled faintly. “That’s sweet of you. You know, it might be possible.”

Perfume picked her head up. “Really?” she asked.

Nabiki’s grin grew broader. For a moment, she reminded Perfume of a shark.

“I could help you out just this once. You are Tomiji’s best friend, after all—you’re practically family. Now, I’m not running a charity, of course, but let’s say you wanted to take out a personal loan to cover the costs of a trip, for example—”

Ranma Saotome exploded into the house wearing a chef’s apron and holding up a brown paper bag full of terrible cheeseburgers.

“Do not let her lend you any money, kid! Not if you wanna be able to afford college someday, anyway.”

Perfume blinked.

“Oh. Is that why you didn’t go to college, Sensei?” she asked innocently.

Nabiki smiled dangerously and leaned her cheek into her palm. “Yes, Ranma, tell us all about that.”

Ranma dropped the bag of cheeseburgers on the table. “Those exams were rigged!” he said. The air around him crackled with intensity.

“Oh! My Good Uncle’s battle aura is quite spectacular today,” Tomiji remarked, awestruck.

Apparently uninterested in anything pertaining to battle, Nabiki opened the bag, took out a cheeseburger, unwrapped it just slightly, sniffed it, and then put it back.

“Are college entrance exams really that scary?” Perfume asked. Worry started to pinch at her stomach and clutch at her throat. She felt cold inside.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” said Nabiki, pretending to whisper. She held up a family picture identical to the one Tomiji kept in the stolen frame. Then, she pointed to the silly-looking blue man lying on the ground in the photo. “You know what? Kuno-baby here passed the college entrance exam on his first try.”

Hope dared to sprout in Perfume’s heart again. With a cheeseburger in hand, she retreated to her favorite spot under the table. She decided right then and there to save all of her coins for college.

Meanwhile, Ranma said a string of words she’d never heard before and stomped into the kitchen to get a glass of tap water. Pots and pans crashed together. Nabiki ordered sushi and played Snake on her flip phone. Tomiji ate the rest of the cheeseburgers.

***

“All right, the rules of this exercise are simple,” said Ukyo. “You try to take this spatula off the table, and I try to stop you. We’ll go for ten minutes.”

Eiko put his hands behind his head and laughed.

“That’s it? If I wanted to play stupid games, I’d go to the arcade,” he said.

“Hey, your pig’s doing a better job of listening to me than you are right now, you know,” Ukyo said. She pointed across the dojo to Piganosuke, who was fighting over another spatula with Pantyhose Taro and winning spectacularly.

“Yeah, yeah. Where’d you say you studied martial arts again?” Eiko said.

“Osaka! So you’d better quit messing around and take me seriously,” Ukyo replied. A sharp glint of hometown pride danced in her eyes.

“Hmph. I shoulda known. You’re way too loud to be from around here,” Eiko said. He stretched his left hand across his chest, then switched to his right. “But just so you know—”

He suddenly lunged for the spatula.

“I’m not from around here, either!”

He almost succeeded in stealing it, but Ukyo plunged yet another spatula into the table just in time to block him. Fearing for his fingers, Eiko shrunk back.

“How many of those things do you have?” he asked.

“Keep trying and maybe you’ll find out,” Ukyo said. She smirked. Eiko smirked back.

Then, Pantyhose screamed. “Hey, you! Put that down! Stop stealing the sign! Come back here!” he said. “Oh, damn it all—”

“What’s eating him?” Eiko asked, keeping his eye on the spatula.

“Beats me,” said Ukyo.

Pantyhose jumped in the middle of their table.

“Hey, what gives?! Get your own spatula!” said Eiko.

“Playtime’s over,” said Pantyhose. “I’ve got an assignment for you.”

***

“What’s the big deal?” Eiko asked Pantyhose as they dashed down the street on Piganosuke after an apparent dojo sign thief. “Can’t you just make yourself a new sign?”

Pantyhose growled. “No, you fool!”

Rolling his eyes, Eiko steered Piganosuke around a corner.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because…because! That’s not how dojos work!” Pantyhose replied. “Can’t this thing go any faster?!”

Feeling defensive, Eiko held tighter to Piganosuke. “Hey, he’s built for sumo, not racing, okay?! You should see him in the ring—he can flip a guy twice his size! Oh, wait—he flipped you, didn’t he…?”

Pantyhose refused to answer that. It didn’t matter much, because Eiko definitely remembered that happening—and also, the sign thief was within reach. She was somewhat hard to miss, given she was wearing a hot pink polka-dot dress and an oversized hair bow. She also wasn’t running anymore.

“Oh, my Bernice! My sweet little Bernice! You’re so soft and nice,” said the thief, rubbing her face against the painted wooden sign that spelled out ‘Pantyhose Taro Dojo.’ The sounds coming out of her mouth could only reasonably be described as baby talk. “And you’re so cute, so cute, so cute! Azusa wants to hold you like this forever and ever!”

Staring at the thief from atop his trusty swine, Eiko made a face that he hoped fully expressed his disgust. “Yeah, I dunno what her deal is, but we should definitely just make a new sign,” he said.

Pantyhose crossed his arms. “You coward,” he said.

Eiko whipped around faster than a tornado. “What did you just call me?!”

“I called you a coward,” Pantyhose said. “What kind of martial artist gives up before the fight even starts? Your enemy is right here in front of you—are you going to just turn around and go home?! You act tough, but you’re constantly making excuses so you can run away! You are pathetic.”

Eiko looked at his hands. His pupils dilated. “I..I’m not running away. I'm not. Am I?”

He curled his fingers into shivering fists. Pantyhose said nothing—he only twisted his mouth into a triumphant smile.

“Have…have I been acting like none of this matters and that I’m not interested because I’m just too scared to face the reality that I’m actually too weak to fight? Am I running away from my true enemy…? Or am I my true enemy?”

“She’s your enemy. By facing her, you can face yourself,” said Pantyhose. It made sense in a roundabout sort of way as long as no one thought too hard about it. He pointed to the thief.

Eiko stood up on top of his pig and shouted at the sky. “Yes! I will face my enemy!” he said. Piganosuke let out a mighty squeal of encouragement.

“Hey! Excuse me,” said the enemy in question. “Bernice and I would like to be alone. Go away.”

“Who the hell is Bernice?! I’ll kick her butt, too!” said Eiko. He puffed himself up to look intimidating.

“Yes! Threaten her! Make her cry!” said Pantyhose. He laughed like a maniac. Much to Piganosuke’s discomfort, Pantyhose joined Eiko in standing up on top of him.

The enemy pouted. “This is Bernice,” she said, pointing to the ‘Pantyhose Taro Dojo’ sign she was cradling in her other arm. “And you can’t take her away from me!”

“I can, and I will! I’ll show everyone I’m not a coward!” Eiko said. He launched a jump kick off the top of Piganosuke, hoping to knock the sign loose. Instead, the sign came swooshing up to hit him in the face. He slid down it with all the grace of a glob of jelly falling off a plate. Then he hit the pavement.

The enemy cooed gently at the sign. “Oh, my poor, sweet Bernice! Did that icky bully hurt you?”

“I am not icky!” Eiko said. He sprang back to his feet, clutching a bump on his forehead. “And you’re the one who’s being a bully here! Haven’t you ever heard of picking on someone your own size?!”

The enemy wasn’t listening. “Oh, Bernice, Bernice! You belong to Azusa!”

“Stop ignoring me, lady! And who’s Azusa?!”

“Azusa is Azusa,” said Azusa.

Eiko tried to make sense of that. Then he wished he hadn’t.

“Ugh, my head hurts,” he said.

“Quit complaining and fight! If you can’t even finish her off, you’ve got no chance of defeating Ranma Saotome!”

Azusa blinked.

“Oooh, did you hear that, Bernice? They want to defeat Ranma Saotome, too,” she said.

Eiko pointed at her. “Yeah, we do! We’re gonna make Ranma eat crow with a slice of humble pie for dessert! So you’d better watch out!”

Azusa giggled. “Hey, that sounds like fun. Can we come, too?”

“I dunno,” Eiko said. He turned back to Pantyhose Taro. “Can she come, too?”

Pantyhose Taro shrugged. “As long as she’s an enemy of Ranma’s, she can’t be our enemy, because Ranma is our enemy, which makes her our ally.”

“But then how am I supposed to defeat Ranma if I can’t defeat myself by defeating her?” asked Eiko, pointing to the woman in the polka dot dress. She was jumping up and down with the sign and laughing.

“Who cares,” said Pantyhose. “Just tell her to get on the pig.”

***

“Pantyhose Taro recruited who now?” Ranma asked. The slice of tangerine she was about to eat fell out of her mouth.

“Azusa Shiratori. She’s some kind of figure skating genius—not that you’d know it if you met her,” said Ukyo. “If you ask me, she’s got a few screws loose.”

Akane and Ranma looked sideways at one another while the panda scooped another five tangerines out of the bowl in the center of the dinner table.

“Oh, we’ve met her, all right,” said Akane.

“And she’s got more than a few screws loose—hey, what the hell, Pop?! Save some food for the rest of us, ya hairy jerk!”

Ranma jumped on the panda’s shoulders and tried to wrench some of the tangerines away from him. Ukyo kept talking to Akane over the sound of the ensuing scuffle.

“I think she and Pantyhose are planning on challenging you or something. I’m just not sure when it’s gonna happen,” Ukyo said.

Ranma beaned the panda over the head with the empty tangerine bowl and leaned down, inserting herself back into the conversation.

“Well, when it does, we’ll be ready—right, Akane?” Ranma said.

Akane placed her chin in her hand.

“I wouldn’t go that far. When was the last time we had a figure skating challenge again?” she said.

Ranma delivered a final, crushing blow to her father and hopped down with all five tangerines bundled tightly up in her arms like precious cargo. She handed one to Akane and slid one under the table for Perfume.

“I dunno. Ten, Maybe twelve years? But c’mon, it’s not like I’ve lost my touch or anything. I bet it’s just like riding a bike,” Ranma said.

***

“What was that you said about riding a bike?” Akane said dully as she skated slowly across the floor of the Furinkan Municipal Sports Center. Ranma was squatting down on the ice, grabbing onto Akane’s shin for balance.

“Nobody said anything! Now slow down so I can stand up, okay?” Ranma replied tearfully.

“Don’t be scared, Sensei!” Perfume said to Ranma. “I think we can do this.”

“Who’re you calling scared?!” Ranma said. She shot a glance at Akane’s other leg, which Perfume was holding onto for dear life.

“I’m really getting the hang of this. I might even be a great Martial Arts Figure Skater!” Perfume said reverently to the ceiling. Her eyes sparkled with dreams and aspirations. She was starting to get choked up.

“You do realize that you’re not supposed to be following Ranma’s example here, right?” Akane asked Perfume as she slowly glided to a halt.

Eiko sped past them on hockey skates. He quickly executed a stop, spraying ice all over Ranma in the process. Ranma shook the snowy white crystals out of her hair and glowered.

“What’s up, chumps?” Eiko asked. “Still lagging along back here?”

“Why’d you have to tag along, ya pint-sized traitor?” Ranma asked. She wrinkled her nose and looked away from him.

Eiko shrugged. “My old man dragged me along. Kinda glad he did though. It’s fun watching you fall on your face.”

Much to Akane’s relief, Ranma finally stood up. Teetering on wobbly knees, she pointed a mittened hand at Eiko.

“Listen, you—!” Ranma said.

Eiko skated a circle around Akane and stopped again in front of Ranma. “So, you wanna have a rematch? Bet I could clobber you at Martial Arts Figure Skating,” he said.

Ranma laughed. “That’s what you think,” she said. “Get a load of this. Saotome School Special Technique! Embrace of the Wicked Snow Woman!”

“Embrace of the what now?” Eiko asked.

Ranma reached over the side of the rink, grabbed Tomiji, and threw her at him.

The seven-year-old was wearing her bunny rabbit hood and ski jacket, apparently delighted to fly through the air and collide violently with the object of her affections. She tackled Eiko to the ice in a fierce hug while Ranma slowly stumbled away. Akane followed, taking Perfume with her.

“Oh, there you are, my darling! Come and skate with me!” Tomiji said.

“No way! Get offa me!” said Eiko. He tried to stand up, only to hit the ice again when Tomiji snuggled closer to him.

“Speak low if you speak love,” she said, sighing happily into Eiko’s sleeve.

Eiko screamed at the ice. “I don’t wanna speak to you at all!”

***

Back behind the wall of the rink, Kuno was observing the proceedings with a heart full of slowly simmering rage. He gripped the edge of the partition so hard that it started to crack.

“Eiko Unryū—that wastrel! That cur! How dare he plot to steal my precious Tomiji away from me!? I must stop him at all costs!”

He stomped into the arena, only to slip and fall on his face immediately.

Nabiki, who up until just then had been happily holding up a camcorder in the middle of the chaotic skating rink, looked down wearily at her husband as he involuntarily ate ice.

“Oh, let her have her fun with him,” she said. “She’s seven. It’s probably just a phase. You know, like the thing with the giant trampoline or the time she wanted to move to Madagascar? She’ll get over it.”

Kuno sat up, rubbing his swollen head. He glanced plaintively at his daughter as she smothered the poor boy. “Hmph. Perhaps you are right,” he said.

Nabiki offered Kuno her hand. “I’m always right,” she said. “You know this.”

He took it and staggered to his feet. They stood hand in hand on the ice for a few seconds, saying nothing.

“Wait a moment—how old were you and I when we first met!?” he asked her, his eyebrows suddenly contracting in worried bursts. He tried to grasp her shoulders, but he leaned in so fast that he started to fall over—Nabiki put both hands up against his jacket and caught him.

“Seven and a half,” she said. She smiled, kissed Kuno on the nose and skated away.

Kuno lost his balance again.

***

Two cups of hot cocoa sat on a table by the rink, half-drunk and rapidly falling victim to the laws of thermodynamics. The man and woman they belonged to looked equally drained. Ryoga aimed a furtive glance at Ukyo’s tightly-pursed lips and tired eyes, then looked back down at his drink.

“So…how is he doing?” Ryoga asked her.

Ukyo picked up her cup and took a swig of lukewarm hot chocolate.

“He seems fine. Pretty enthusiastic about training, I guess,” she said.

“I see. Does…does he ever mention me at all?” Ryoga asked.

Ukyo’s stomach twisted up into a knot as she set her cup back down on the tabletop. Ryoga was already kind of pathetic as it was—she hated to rain on his parade. But she couldn’t exactly lie to him, either.

“Not much. He sure talks a big game about wanting to defeat Ranma-honey, though,” she said.

Ryoga smiled, but it was bittersweet. “Heh. Takes after me in that regard, I guess.”

Ukyo nodded and took another sip of her drink.

“Yeah, he’s one stubborn kid, all right. Can’t imagine he gets it from anyone but you.”

Ryoga chuckled quietly at his cup and then frowned. Silence fell over the table like a shadow.

Ukyo leaned back in her seat, placing her hands behind her head to gaze up at the high ceiling. A banner above the ice rink read ‘Now’s Your Chance!’ She frowned at it.

‘Yeah, right. I missed my chance ages ago,’ she thought bitterly. Another wave of discomfort shot through her stomach. She dismissed the thought of having a chance at all as quickly as it had come.

“There’s something else I wanted to ask you,” Ryoga said.

The thought returned like a boomerang. Ukyo straightened her posture awkwardly and looked across the table at Ryoga—he was leaning forward, fists clenched; an earnest look in his eyes.

“Uh—yeah?” she asked, trying to control her voice. She smiled uneasily—the left corner of her mouth twitched involuntary, and all of a sudden she was painfully aware of the fact that her hair was a mess.

“It’s about Ranma and Akane,” he said.

“Oh,” Ukyo said. Her heart stopped doing gymnastics. She leaned in slightly. “What about them?”

“Well—it’s their anniversary tomorrow, and they can’t afford to go out to dinner or have a party or anything, so—I was sort of hoping—”

“You want me to let them rent out the restaurant for free, right?” Ukyo said. Her voice and her expression radiated exhaustion. Typical, she thought. Everyone wants a favor from me these days.

“Could you?” Ryoga asked, leaning in further. “Please?”

“I’m trying to make a living here, you know. If I closed down for this anniversary party of yours, I’d be sacrificing a lot—Fridays are usually my busiest nights,” Ukyo said. She stood up and shoved a finger in Ryoga’s face. “So what are you gonna do to make it up to me, huh?”

Ryoga looked taken aback. He shot up out of his seat, matching her intensity. “If anything, you’d be doing this to make it up to Ranma and Akane! You still owe them!”

Ukyo crossed her arms. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she said.

“How many times did you try to break them up? Be honest,” Ryoga asked her, pointing in Ranma and Akane’s general direction.

Feeling a burst of defiance in her chest and a rush of embarrassment heading straight to her cheeks, Ukyo looked pointedly away from Ryoga.

“I don’t know. Why does that matter?” she said.

“Remember the time you tried to set me and Akane up on a date? Or that hot springs obstacle course race?”

“The obstacle course race was your idea, sugar,” Ukyo said.

“What about the Tunnel of Lost Love, then, huh?”

Ukyo scowled.

“Hey, I may have come up with the plan, but you were all for it! But since we’re reliving ancient history—what about the Fortune Telling Stones? Or that Martial Arts Couples Contest? Valentine’s Day during our second year of high school!? And don’t get me started on their engagement party! Face it, you’re as guilty as I am, Buster.”

Ryoga was keeping calm somehow despite the barrage of accusations. He sighed and ran a hand through his unkempt hair.

“You’re right—I am guilty,” he said. “But at least I’m willing to admit it—and I’m trying to do better. When are you going to stop carrying a torch for Ranma and make amends? It’s been ten years. You need to move on.”

Ukyo looked at Ryoga again, and for a split second she no longer cared if he saw how red her face was. She growled, slammed her palms down on the table and leaned forward.

“You jackass! Ranma’s not the one who I—”

Ukyo caught herself, biting her tongue before she said anything she’d regret. There was a tense silence, but Ryoga seemed none the wiser—he was looking across the table at her with confusion in his eyes. He blinked in concern and consternation.

“Ranma’s not what…?” Ryoga asked, looking just as stupid as Ukyo felt.

This wasn’t the right time for that. It was probably never going to be.

“Look, just…never mind. I’ll do it, okay?” Ukyo said.

“You will?” Ryoga asked, looking like he’d just been hit over the head with a washtub. The fingers of his left hand twitched.

Ukyo exhaled and twisted her head towards where Akane and Ranma were standing side by side on the ice, leaning over Perfume, who had fallen on top of a safety cone.

“I guess we both owe those two a favor. And anyhow, if I don’t agree to it now, you’re just going to keep pestering me about it, right?” Ukyo said.

Ryoga looked down at the table and scratched the side of his face.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Pretty much.”

“Fine. But you’re in this too, Ryoga. If I’m gonna pull off a whole anniversary party in one day, I’ll need a lot of help,” she said.

Ukyo stuck out her hand. Ryoga shook it.

“Okay,” he said, his face breaking into a genuine smile for the first time all day. “You’re on.”

***

“Perfect,” said Pantyhose Taro. He was sitting underneath a table adjacent to the one where Ukyo and Ryoga were plotting an anniversary party.

“Tomorrow, we strike during Ranma’s party—he’ll never see it coming,” he said.

Azusa grabbed Pantyhose by the shirt. “Hey, this is boring! Azusa wants to skate,” she said.

Pantyhose punched the top of her head. She didn’t feel it. “Quiet, you!” he screamed.

Eiko, who was under the table for an entirely different reason, punched Pantyhose in the mouth.

“You’re the one making all the noise, Pantyhose Taro,” he said. “Now shut up before that maniac finds me again!”

“I thought I told you to call me Sensei,” Pantyhose said while Azusa tugged on his arm.

“I’ll call you Sensei when you start acting like one,” said Eiko. “Here we are planning to attack Ranma tomorrow and you haven’t even given me any training to do. How am I supposed to beat him like this?!”

“Come on, come on! Let’s go skating now!” Azusa said, ignoring them both.

Pantyhose crawled towards Eiko. “This is part of your training,” he said. “Learning when your enemy will be vulnerable is just as important as knowing where to hit them!”

Eiko looked up at the tabletop above him, wincing when he noticed how much gum was stuck to it.

“Okay, so now we know when to strike,” Eiko said. “What next?”

Pantyhose thought about this.

“Go and get me a coffee from the snack bar,” he said.

“What the heck kind of training is that?!” said Eiko.

“…let’s see if you can do it without being caught by that idiotic girl with the rabbit ears,” Pantyhose added. “You need to work on your dodging.”

Eiko reluctantly backed away, swallowing hard. “Okay, okay, fine. I’m going. But don’t blame me if the coffee’s cold or whatever.”

Eiko left. Azusa leaned in towards Pantyhose, her oversized puppy dog eyes watering in anticipation.

“What about Azusa?” she asked.

Pantyhose pulled a piece of cheese out of his pocket.

“Here. Play with this,” he said.

Azusa gasped. “You had my Julien?!” she said. “Give him back!”

Pantyhose hissed. “I don’t care what its name is!” he said. “Just—”

“I want my Julien, Julien, Julien—!”

Azusa reared back, hit Pantyhose with a mallet, and made a desperate grab for the cheese. Pantyhose let her have it.

“It’s okay, little Julien. You’re Azusa’s again. Let’s go and train!” Azusa said. Giggling like a loon, she took the cheese and scampered off to join Eiko.

“Fools,” Pantyhose said to himself as he crawled out from his hiding place and dragged himself by the arms towards the door. He’d had about enough of his students for today. It was time to plan his revenge against Ranma—quietly.

A pair of pristine white ice skates stopped him where he stood—or where he crawled, anyway.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Pantyhose,” said the voice attached to the skates. “What brings you here?”

Pantyhose froze. It was Kasumi Tendo.

‘That witch! She figured out my plan and came here to stop me!’ Pantyhose thought as panic squeezed at his innards. ‘I should have known she’d be one step ahead of me.’

“You—you…!” Pantyhose stammered.

Kasumi squatted down and looked at him.

“Oh, my. You’ve got quite the bump on your head. Did you fall on the ice….?” she asked, indicating the spot where Azusa had pummeled Pantyhose over the head. Kasumi reached out as if to touch the swollen protrusion. Pantyhose feared for his life.

“This is nothing! It doesn’t even hurt!” he said, quickly moving to cover the exposed bump with both of his hands.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right,” Kasumi said. She tilted her head to the side. “But you still really ought to have it looked at, you know.”

Her eyes were radiating care and concern. Bright lights installed in the ceiling illuminated her soft brown hair, giving the impression of a halo surrounding her delicate facial features. Her perfect lips drew themselves down into a worried frown. Pantyhose started to sweat again.

“Uh—right,” he mumbled into the floor.

At this, Kasumi’s eyes brightened, and her frown quickly reversed itself.

‘Wait, why am I agreeing with her?! What’s that look on her face? Is this her mind control attack?! What’s happening to me!?’ thought Pantyhose.

“Good!” Kasumi said. “Come on, then, I’ll take you to the first-aid station,” she said. She gripped him gently by the hand and pulled him to his feet. “There we are!” she said.

Pantyhose’s jaw went slack. “But—”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m on my way to get some bandaids for Perfume right now, so it’s really no trouble at all,” said Kasumi as she started walking towards the opposite side of the rink with Pantyhose Taro in tow. Weakened as he was, there was nothing he could do to wrench himself away from her.

“Hey! Stop that! What do you think you’re doing?! You’ll never take me alive!” Pantyhose howled as she dragged him away.

***

Friday hit Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki like a hurricane, and Ukyo found herself scrambling to get a hundred different things finished before noon. Thankfully, she had someone in her corner who was just a tad more reliable than Ryoga.

“Floors have been mopped?”

“Check!”

“Grills have been wiped?”

“Check!”

“Table settings are in place?”

“Double check!”

“And I’ve got the ingredients ready,” Ukyo said. She looked around her restaurant, noting that everything was pristine.

Konatsu looked up from her checklist. “Now all that’s left to do is wait for Ryoga to bring us the decorations.”

“Sure,” Ukyo said. “If he can remember how to get here. I’m not holding my breath, but it’s not like there’s anything else we can do right now. Take five, Konatsu.”

Konatsu threw her checklist off to the side and started to bawl dramatically. “Not one, not two, but five?! Your generosity knows no bounds, Mistress Ukyo—”

“Just take a break before I change my mind,” Ukyo said, slumping over the counter.

“Aye-aye, mon capitaine!” Konatsu said with an animated salute. She skipped out the back door.

Ukyo sighed. Her to-do list was finally out of the way, but she still felt uneasy. Maybe it was because planning a party with only a day’s notice felt like suddenly being thrown into the middle of a triathlon. Or maybe it was because this would be the first time Ryoga would be coming to the restaurant since—

Well, since the last time he’d been here.

Ukyo could remember it like it was yesterday, but it had actually been about fourteen years ago—it was the night their plan to ruin Ranma and Akane’s engagement party had gone horribly wrong. She replayed it in her head for what felt like the millionth time:

They laid sprawled out on the floor, tired and defeated and covered in confetti and glue. Ukyo pulled a squid out of her hair and tossed it aside. Ryoga pulled off his snorkel.

“That was a disaster,” she said to him, panting and out of breath.

“I’ll say it was,” he said back. He was equally winded.

Ukyo rolled over onto her side to face him. “Listen, sugar. Do me a favor. The next time I have a brilliant idea to break those two up…talk me out of it.”

Ryoga rolled over on his side to look at her, too. They landed about ten centimeters apart from each other on the tiled floor, sharing each other’s misery.

He nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “But only if you’ll do the same thing for me.”

He smiled then, just a little, and miserable though they both were, she couldn’t help but think he looked cute. She wondered if she looked cute, too, but in all likelihood she probably looked like a mess. Ukyo blew a stray strand of damp hair out of her face. It swung back to hit her squarely on the cheek. She grunted in irritation, but the feeling faded quickly—then she sighed and melted into a puddle of embarrassment.

“We really blew it this time. I feel like such an idiot,” she said.

Ryoga’s smile vanished, and his eyes trailed past the wall towards something neither of them could see.

“Yeah. Me too,” he said.

Ukyo tried to think of something else to say. There was a long stretch of silence. The moon outside climbed in the sky. The squid flopped away towards the nearest body of water. Something about the way it refused to lay down and die helped Ukyo find her resolve.

“You know what, though?” she finally said, sitting up. She slapped her thigh with an open palm. “I’m not gonna sit around and regret it.”

Ryoga sat up, too, clenching his hands around his knees. “You’re not…?” he asked. He looked at her as though she had gone crazy. Maybe she had.

“I mean…yeah, we’re definitely the losers here. But so what? We went down swinging. Right? At least we can say we gave it our all.”

Ryoga was quiet. It felt like there was still something left unsaid, though. Ukyo swallowed, feeling something hot and tense prickle in her chest.

“And…hey, it was still sort of fun. You know? We had a good run,” she said.

“I guess so,” he said. “So…what now?”

Whatever was building up inside Ukyo’s heart popped like a bubble, opening the floodgates for something else she was almost afraid to give a name to. Her heart ached, and for the first time in a long time it didn’t really have anything to do with Ranma.

Were the two of them done here? Was there anything left now that their plans had been foiled for what was probably the last time? Trying to shake off the feeling of melancholy, Ukyo sat up straighter, slapping her fist into her palm.

“Right! So, listen, I was just thinking. There’s gotta be another girl out there for you besides Akane, right?” she asked him.

Ryoga’s frown deepened. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said.

Ukyo leaned forward on her hands.

“Well—think about it now, okay?! What if there’s another girl besides Akane who’s totally perfect for you—a-and another guy besides Ranma-honey who’s perfect for me, and…well, what if, maybe—”

Ukyo stopped, not sure if she was about to make a complete fool of herself for the second time in a row that night. She inhaled slowly, deciding that it would be worth it.

“I mean, if Akane and Ranma really do get hitched, then—well…you know—maybe…maybe you and I should just—”

“Give up?” Ryoga said. He looked puzzled and twice as exhausted as when he’d come in.

“No!” Ukyo said, feeling herself turn a vibrant shade of red. She grabbed his hand and pulled it in towards her. “Listen—what I’m trying to say here is—I won’t have Ranma anymore, and you won’t have Akane, but, well—you know—what if there’s…someone else who really likes you? Someone else you could maybe fall in love with?”

Ryoga looked at his hand encased in hers.

“Oh,” he said, a creeping realization finally dawning on him. “I think I get what you mean.”

“You do!?” Ukyo asked. Her face grew warmer and her heart raced faster.

“I really, really do. Thanks, Ukyo,” Ryoga said. “I think I needed to hear that.”

He smiled at her. She smiled at him. It felt like warm, brilliant fireworks were bursting in her chest.

Then Ryoga stood up. “You’re absolutely right! There’s got to be a girl out there somewhere who actually likes me!” he said. “I just need to keep looking. Maybe I’ll find her while I’m out shopping for souvenirs for Akane—”

He shouldered his pack. Ukyo scrambled to her feet.

“Hey, wait a minute! You’re going now?! Didn’t you hear a word I just said, you stupid jackass?!”

…He hadn’t heard her at all, because he was already halfway down the street in search of souvenirs. He came back a month later with a girlfriend who knitted him cute sweaters and wrote him cute letters and wore cute clothes and loved pigs more than anything in the world. Ukyo realized then that maybe she herself had not been quite as cute as she’d previously thought. But she was happy for Ryoga—and she had at least been half right. There was a girl out there who was perfect for him.

Which left Ukyo all alone.

Which was fine.

She had a business to run, after all. Naturally, because of that, she’d been too busy to go to the wedding. She had, however, attended the funeral, and then regretted not attending the wedding.

…If she was being perfectly honest with herself, Ukyo regretted a lot of things.

The phone rang just in time to stop her unfortunate train of thought. Ukyo picked it up.

“Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki. How may I—you’re where?!…Are you kidding me right now?…All right, all right. Don’t move. I’m coming to pick you up.”

***

Seven hours and two bullet train rides later, Ukyo returned. She kicked down the door to her own restaurant, chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. Dragging along behind her was a very limp Ryoga, whose arm was gripped so firmly in her dominant hand that his whole body was starting to go numb. His pack was overflowing with decorations.

“All right, we’ve got fifteen minutes to hang all this stuff up, so let’s get a move on!” Ukyo announced to Konatsu as she pushed Ryoga through the door. She plopped Ryoga’s pack down on a table.

Konatsu looked up from the tea party she was having with the Tendos and Saotomes—minus the two guests of honor—and pulled a roll of bright green streamers out of the pack. She paused, pinching her lips together.

“Do you think these would look better by the grill or over the door…?” she asked.

The panda shrugged, reached into the pack, put on a party hat, and went back to drinking his tea.

Frazzled, Ukyo grabbed Konatsu by the shoulders. “It doesn’t matter! Just put them up somewhere before Ranma-honey and Akane get here!” she said.

Konatsu nodded. “Your wish is my command!” she said.

With that, Konatsu busied herself with the decorations as promised. Kasumi and Soun pitched in, too. Nodoka gently coaxed the panda away from where he was sitting.

“Come, now, dear, you don’t want to be in the way when Ranma arrives—”

Meanwhile, Perfume tugged on Ryoga’s sleeve as he struggled to blow up a balloon.

“Is Eiko going to come?” she asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Ryoga accidentally let go of his balloon. It swirled around the room as it deflated, then hit the floor.

“You mean he’s not with you?!” he asked.

Perfume shook her head. Ryoga’s face froze in a panicked state.

Camcorder in hand, Nabiki poked out from behind the kitchen door. “Everyone hide! I think I hear them coming!” she said.

Soun accidentally hit his finger with a hammer as he rushed to finish nailing a banner that read ‘Happy Anniversary’ to the wall. The panda caught him as he fell off the ladder and quickly attempted to shove the patriarch of the Tendo family under a table while he howled in pain. Kasumi followed them, trying to fan her father with a menu. Konatsu grabbed Nodoka and used a smoke bomb to disappear. The smoke made Perfume sneeze so violently that she accidentally knocked over a chair which in turn knocked over the punch bowl, soaking Ryoga and turning him into a pig. She tripped over him on her way to hide in a cabinet. Ukyo picked up P-Chan and dove behind the grill. Tomiji turned out the lights.

Then, the room went eerily silent. Everyone held their breath until the door opened. Finally, a sliver of light from the street lamps shone in from outside and the sound of quiet footsteps sounded in the entranceway.

Tomiji hit the lights. Everyone popped out of their hiding places.

“Surprise! Happy Anniversary!” they all shouted, blowing party horns and throwing confetti.

Pantyhose Taro stood in the doorway, flanked by Eiko and Azusa. He pointed straight ahead.

“Ranma, I challenge you to—hey!”

A cork hit him in the face.

“Oops. Sorry. My mistake,” said Nabiki, who was holding the offending champagne bottle. She didn’t look sorry at all. She turned around to address the crowd, oozing with apathy.

“False alarm, everyone. It’s only Pantyhose.”

The Tendos and Saotomes groaned. Konatsu grabbed a dustpan and started trying to sweep up the confetti.

“What do you mean, it’s only Pantyhose?!” said Pantyhose.

“We’re here!” Ranma said. He kicked Pantyhose to the floor as he walked in the front door, leading Akane by the hand. He stopped in the middle of the mess and did a double take.

“What’s the surprise, Ranma?” Akane asked. “Can I open my eyes now?”

Pantyhose Taro bounded up off the floor.

“Ranma, we challenge you and your dojo—right here, right now!”

“Yeah! We challenge you!” said Eiko.

Pantyhose looked annoyed to be interrupted. “Shut up. I’m the master of the Dojo and I get to issue the challenges,” he said to Eiko out of the corner of his mouth.

Eiko rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, helping himself to a slice of cake.

Ranma stepped in front of Pantyhose, his posture menacing. “Look, buddy, if you wanna challenge me at my dojo, challenge me at my Dojo. I got plans tonight.”

Pantyhose smiled in Ranma’s face. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid you’ll lose?”

“Not to you, Pantyhose Pushover,” Ranma said.

“Hah. Well, that’s fine—I won’t be your opponent tonight. My disciples are the ones you’ll be fighting,” Pantyhose Taro said, gesturing behind him.

Ranma leaned over to look at the opponents Pantyhose was referring to. Eiko was the only one there.

“What disciples? All I see is a runty pig-headed kid.”.

Akane was starting to look irritated. “Can I open my eyes now?” she asked. Her fists twitched at her sides.

Pantyhose Taro whipped around. “Shiratori! Where the hell are you?!” he said.

Azusa was no longer behind him—she had lunged over the countertop and grabbed hold of P-Chan.

“Oh, Charlotte! Azusa missed you sooooo much!”

Ukyo leaned her chin in her hand and eyed the piglet with derision as the strange woman snuggled him. “So—who’s this? Your old girlfriend or something?” she asked.

P-Chan screamed and thrashed around in protest.

“I’m opening my eyes,” Akane said to Ranma.

“Yeah, okay,” Ranma said, shrugging his shoulders. “But you’re really gonna wish you hadn’t.”

***

Things escalated rapidly. The Tendos and Saotomes rearranged the furniture to make room for a fight under the waitstaff’s careful supervision.

“Welcome, one and all, to the second ever Charlotte Cup! Tell them what’s at stake, Daddy,” said Nabiki. She and Soun were seated behind the counter, speaking into the microphones from the karaoke machine.

Soun put down the okonomiyaki he was eating and cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Azusa Shiratori and Eiko Unryū of the Pantyhose Taro Dojo have issued a challenge to Akane and Ranma Saotome of the Tendo Training Hall. The winner of the match gets prestige, honor, and of course…a pig,” he said, pointing to P-Chan, who Konatsu was cradling in her arms.

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing! Maybe I’ll try to win you for myself,” Konatsu said.

P-Chan kicked and screamed. Konatsu giggled and hugged him even tighter.

Ranma slammed his hands on the counter.

“Hey!” he said. “What happened to my anniversary party?!”

Nabiki took a bite of cake. “Are you kidding me? Forget the party; this is way more entertaining,” she said. She washed the cake down with a sip of champagne.

Before Ranma could question why Nabiki was eating his dessert, Soun jumped to his feet, microphone still in hand.

“You’ve no other choice but to accept this challenge, son! Anniversary party or not, the Tendo Dojo’s reputation is at stake! All of us are counting on you!”

“Yeah, but—”

Ranma leaned back, making a face that made him look like he’d just swallowed a bug. Behind him, the panda was trying to hand Akane her ice skates. Ranma and Akane’s backs collided as their family members cornered them.

“Now wait a minute—how are we supposed to do that in here?” Akane asked.

The panda held up a sign that said ‘Anything’s possible if you believe.’ Then he pointed to Nodoka, who was mounted on a Zamboni off to the side.

“Mom?!” Ranma exclaimed.

“I’ve always wanted to try riding one of these,” Nodoka said, flashing a sheepish smile.

In the challenger’s corner, Pantyhose Taro stood on top of a stool, looking down at the ongoing chaos with a megalomaniacal smile plastered to his face.

“Yes, all according to plan,” he said. “Soon the members of the Tendo Dojo will regret the day they ever crossed paths with me.”

Then he turned to Ukyo, who was taking out the garbage. “You’ve done well to lure Ranma here for me. Just what I’d expect from one of my followers.”

Ukyo muttered under her breath. “Listen, buddy, I just work here—”

Pantyhose tossed her a pair of figure skates. “Take these,” he said. “You can be a substitute for our team if anything goes wrong.”

Ukyo looked at the skates in disbelief. “You mean…?”

“That’s right,” Pantyhose said, addressing the crowd. “The form of combat we choose is—”

“Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing!” Azusa said.

Pantyhose fell off his stool.

“Martial Arts what?!” said Ukyo.

“What are you doing?! That wasn’t the plan!” Pantyhose said, desperately trying to climb back up on his seat.

Azusa leaned down over him as he grasped one of the stool’s lower rungs.

“Azusa thinks Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing would be more fun!” she said.

“But we didn’t practice that!” Pantyhose said.

Ukyo rolled her eyes. “You hardly practiced skating, either. What’s the difference?”

“Let Azusa do Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing!” Azusa said. Her high-pitched shouts filled the room as she picked up the stool and repeatedly hit Pantyhose with it.

Eiko threw his hockey skates on the floor. “Oh, uh-uh. No way, José. I am not dancing,” he said.

Having thoroughly clobbered Pantyhose, Azusa turned to Ukyo. “All right. You can be Azusa’s partner, then,” she said.

***

“Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing—a dangerous form of fighting wherein two combatants from each team battle together as a pair. The couples must dance continuously while trying to knock out their opponents,” Soun said into the microphone. “This requires teamwork, grace, strength, and coordination—”

“Not to mention extravagant outfits,” Nabiki said. She turned her camcorder towards her face. “Speaking of which, Akane and Ranma’s wardrobe for this evening was made possible through a generous grant from the Kuno Corporation.”

Beside her, Kuno was looking at the bill for the outfits he’d just brought in, perplexed and annoyed. “But why did you order twenty different dresses?!” he asked her.

Nabiki shrugged, picking up a royal purple ball gown from a large pile. “Sorry. It was a family emergency,” she said.

Then, she turned to Sasuke. “I’m keeping this one, too. Could you put it in my closet?” she asked him.

“Right away, Madam!” Sasuke said.

***

Akane stepped into the kitchen, struggling to knot her bow tie.

“Ooh, why do I always have to dance the boy’s part?” she grumbled to herself.

Ranma, still in her undershirt and shorts, was toweling off her hair after a quick plunge into the kitchen sink. She turned around.

“Because,” Ranma said. “You’re better at brute strength and I’m better at the technical stuff. Here, let me do that—”

Ranma picked up the ends of Akane’s bow tie and finished tying it. She stepped back and nodded in approval at her wife’s sequined tuxedo—Akane frowned at the floor. Pausing for just a moment, Ranma grabbed a stray spatula and held it up so that she and Akane could both see their reflections in it.

“Hey—check us out!” Ranma said. “All these years and we still make for a pretty good-lookin’ couple, huh?” She elbowed Akane in the side.

Akane bit back a smile. “I guess so,” she said.

“You guess so? Is that it? Huh? Huh?” Ranma said. She prodded Akane in the ribs until the suppressed smile had broken its way out across her entire face.

“All right, fine. We look good,” Akane said, her reluctance all but evaporating.

“You know it!” Ranma said, puffing out her chest. Then she swiveled away from her reflection to look at Akane. “Now c’mon—quit mopin’ around and zip me into my dress. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can eat cake.”

***

“Oh, Mistress Ukyo! You look simply divine!” said Konatsu, gushing over Ukyo’s royal blue jacket and red velour cape. “You’re just like a fairytale prince! Isn’t that right, little guy?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Konatsu held P-Chan up higher to give him a better vantage point. Ukyo imagined it was probably difficult for the piglet to see her outfit through all the tears that were pooling in his eyes and dripping down his snout. Taking pity on the poor creature, Ukyo bent over him and whispered in his ear.

“Listen, Ryoga, don’t panic, okay? Ranma-honey’s a champ at this stuff. And even if Pantyhose’s team wins, I’ll figure out a way to get you out of this—all right?”

P-Chan nodded and tried to stop bawling. His ears flattened against the side of his head. He snorted in reply and flopped down in Konatsu’s arms, already exhausted.

“Aw, I think he likes you!” said Konatsu. “Do you love Mistress Ukyo too, little fella? I know exactly how you feel—”

Konatsu smooshed the black piglet against her face and sighed in contentment. Ukyo turned away, her shoulders shaking and her fists balled up at her sides.

“Would you cut that out?!” she said, trying to hide the fact that her face was turning just as red as her cloak.

***

“The competition is getting underway! Both pairs of combatants are taking to the floor,” said Soun. Turning away from his microphone, he signaled Perfume, who nodded and moved the needle on the ancient record player that someone had dug out of Ukyo’s attic. A jaunty jazz number started to play.

“Okay, so here’s the plan. Get ready to dodge anything Azusa throws at us—I’ll try to get a read on her moves so we can come up with a good counter-strategy,” said Ranma.

“Got it,” said Akane. They took their first steps together in unison.

Nabiki leaned forward, observing the dancers from her makeshift commentator’s seat behind the grill. “Looks like Ranma and Akane are doing the steps to the Foxtrot—the most complex of all ballroom dance styles. Let’s hope they’re not too out of practice…”

Ranma turned towards Nabiki while Akane bent her into a plié.

“Hey! Who’s out of practice?! I could do this with my eyes closed!” Ranma said.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Azusa stomped on Ranma’s foot as she passed by.

“Ow! What the hell?!” Ranma exclaimed.

Akane twirled Ranma in towards her, preventing any further mishaps.

“I think you’d better keep your eyes open anyway,” Akane said.

The panda wrote out a sign that said ‘Pay attention, stupid!’

“Yeah, yeah,” Ranma replied.

Azusa giggled. “Hehe! This is great! Dip Azusa, dip Azusa!” she said to a very frazzled Ukyo.

Ukyo did as she was asked and dipped Azusa. Azusa swung at Akane with a mallet on the way down.

“Miss Shiratori seems well versed in swing dancing,” Soun said to his captive audience. “And she certainly is coming out swinging!”

“Not sure which style Ukyo’s attempting to pull off here, though,” said Nabiki. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say either this is some sort of secret technique, or she’s never danced with a partner before—”

Konatsu grabbed the microphone from Soun and shouted into it. “Don’t let her make you feel ashamed of it, Mistress Ukyo! There’s nothing wrong with being married to the job!”

Ukyo grumbled. “See if I ever let them use my karaoke machine again,” she said.

“Naturally, Ranma and Akane have dodged Azusa’s advance with a flawless three-point turn,” said Nabiki. “It’s a classic way to get out of trouble on the dance floor.”

“Okay, now lift Azusa up from under her arms!” Azusa commanded. Ukyo grudgingly obliged, and as Azusa took to the air, she fanned out her legs in a mighty kick.

“Saotome School Special Technique! Dance of the Mountain Goat!” cried Ranma. She and Akane hopped up onto a stool together to avoid being hit again.

Azusa stuck her tongue out at them.

“Bleh! Stay still and let Azusa hit you!” she said.

“So,” Akane said as she and Ranma clung to one another, dancing precariously in a circle on top of the stool, “Do you have a plan yet?”

“I think so,” said Ranma. “I mean, I hate to say it, but Ukyo’s the weakest link here. Whenever Azusa’s striking out at us, Ukyo’s a sitting duck—we might just wanna take her out if we wanna do this the easy way.”

“Yeah, but is Ukyo gonna be okay afterwards…?” Akane asked.

Their gazes shifted towards their mutual friend, who looked like she’d rather be literally anywhere else.

“Pick Azusa up again!” Azusa said. Ukyo groaned.

“I dunno. Kinda looks like she wants us to put her out of her misery,” Ranma said.

“I can hear you, you know!” Ukyo said. “Just go ahead and do it already, then!”

She picked up Azusa, who lashed out at the stool with her feet.

“Okay,” Ranma said. She and Akane did an elegant side step onto the counter to dodge as the stool shattered to splinters. “Ready to give Azusa a taste of her own medicine?” she said to Akane.

Akane blinked. “You mean…?”

“That’s right! The Pair Pulverizer!” said Ranma.

“But we’ve never done that move in a competition before!” Akane protested as they danced back and forth on top of the grill.

“So what?” Ranma replied.

“No way, Ranma. I don’t want you getting hurt—”

“It seems like there’s some dissent among the representatives of the Tendo Dojo,” Soun said to the crowd as Akane and Ranma foxtrotted past him on the countertop. “Hopefully, they can come to a consensus before—”

No one heard the end of Soun’s sentence, because Akane accidentally stepped on his mic stand and knocked it over. There was a deafening screech of electronic feedback. The crowd covered their ears.

“Sorry, Dad!” Akane said quickly as she and Ranma changed direction again.

“Do you two mind? Some of us are trying to eat,” Nabiki said, watching in disgust as Ranma stepped in her second helping of okonomiyaki. No longer hungry, Nabiki slid her plate over to Kuno. He eyed the footprint in the food with mixed apprehension.

Ignoring the rapidly deteriorating situation around the counter, Ranma shouted at Akane. “Stop worrying and throw me!” she said.

“But Ranma—” Akane began, only to be cut off again.

“Come on! Pretend you’re mad at me or somethin’! Go nuts!”

Akane grunted her dissent, maintaining the rhythm of her steps nonetheless.

“Hey, you know what?” Ranma said. “I was the one who left the toilet seat up on Thursday! And I left the milk out on the counter overnight last night! I fed all the cake you made to the pig ‘cause I didn’t want any! I let Tomiji eat candy for breakfast when she slept over and I let her watch that cartoon you said she wasn’t allowed to watch!”

Akane raised an eyebrow. “You what?” she asked.

Kuno stood up from his seat and screamed. “You what?!”

Ranma kicked Kuno over.

“And guess what else?” she said. She unexpectedly took the lead and dipped Akane. “I used your toothbrush last week!”

Everyone on the sidelines gasped. The record player scratched abruptly and the music stopped. Everyone looked at Perfume, who was guiltily fumbling with the needle.

“Oops. Sorry,” Perfume said. She started up the music again.

“Seriously, Ranma?” Akane asked, completely deadpan, as she righted herself and led Ranma in a reverse spin.

“Damn. That used to work,” Ranma said under her breath.

Akane sighed. “Listen, Ranma. I’m not mad,” she said.

“You’re not?” Ranma asked. She wasn’t sure if she should be proud or worried over this development.

“No,” Akane said. The room suddenly turned cold.

“I'm just disappointed!”

Akane picked Ranma up over her head and threw her between Ukyo and Azusa at precisely the right moment.

“Yes! I knew you could do it, Akane! I always had faith in you!” Ranma said, wiping a sentimental tear from her eye as she sailed through the air like a homing missile in a long red party dress. “Now here it comes—the Pair Pulverizer!”

Ukyo made a half-hearted attempt to lift Azusa again. Ranma karate chopped at her hands. Ukyo dropped Azusa. Akane hopped daintily off the countertop to rejoin Ranma.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Are you kidding?! That was amazing!” Ranma said, taking her hands again.

“If you say so,” Akane said.

On the floor, Azusa rubbed her sore backside and pouted. “Hey! That’s Azusa’s move! You just stole the Couple Cleaver and gave it a different name! You’re a criminal!”

“Ironic, ain’t it,” said Ranma.

The irony was lost on Azusa, but it didn’t matter.

“Now it’s time for the coup de grâce—Saotome Dance School Finishing Attack! The ‘Really Sorry About This’ Sugar Push!” Ranma said.

Her feet moved like petals in the wind. Ranma’s dress billowed gracefully as Akane pulled her in and let her out again. As she stepped backwards, she swept Ukyo’s leg and knocked her over.

“Ow!” Ukyo said as her back smacked against the floor. “Take it easy! I give up!”

“So…you forfeit?” Ranma asked Ukyo, offering a hand to help her stand up.

“Yep,” Ukyo said. “I’ve had about enough of Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing for one lifetime.”

She took Ranma’s hand and stood up painfully, then limped away from the dance floor.

“Oh, Mistress Ukyo! You were so brave!” Konatsu said. Her mascara was running again.

“Well, folks, I’d say that about wraps things up here,” Soun said. “As Miss Kuonji has forfeited, the winner of the Second Charlotte Cup is—”

“Hold it!”

Pantyhose wrenched the mic away from Soun. A series of collectively disappointed noises sprung up from the crowd.

“We’re not finished yet! The Pantyhose Taro Dojo is calling in a substitution!” Pantyhose said. He pointed to Azusa, who was texting someone on her sparkly pink flip phone.

“Azusa wants to keep dancing,” Azusa said. The very instant she hit the send button, Mikado Sanzenin slid through the door, holding a phone of his own.

“Excuse me, but I understand this is where the Furinkan Single Ladies’ Auxiliary Club meeting is being held?” he asked. His eyes and teeth sparkled handsomely as he ran his fingers through his hair. Then he looked around the room. A panda, a handful of children, and two pigs were staring at him. His face suddenly became eighty percent less handsome and forty percent more contorted in irritation.

“What the—you! I ran four blocks for this?!” he said, pointing at Azusa. “You tricked me!”

Azusa tittered with laughter and stuck out her tongue, absently placing a fist to the side of her head while she wiggled her phone in her other hand. “Whoopsie! Little Azusa told a little white lie,” she said. “Now come on! We’ve got a challenge to win!”

***

“Welcome back to yet another round of the Second Charlotte Cup,” Nabiki deadpanned into the microphone. “It’s a quarter past eleven in the evening and I’ve got plans for tomorrow, but here we still are.”

“That’s right. The Pantyhose Taro Dojo has called in a replacement dancer, and it’s none other than former high school figure skating champion Mikado Sanzenin,” said Soun.

“Who are you calling a former champion?” Mikado asked, annoyed, as Azusa tightened his tie a little too much. “Gah! Let me do it myself, you overbearing harpy!”

Tomiji was doing laps around the room. “Haha! I am up past my bedtime and there is nothing any of you can do about it! I am free to do as I please and no one can stop me! Come, good Perfume, let us consume even more cake!”

“Huh? Whuh happun?” Perfume replied. She was laying on top of the record player in a tiny pool of drool, half-asleep. Sitting up to rub her eyes, she looked around the room, dazed and groggy.

“Play the music, Perfume!” Ranma said. Startled, Perfume snapped to attention and turned the record player back on.

Perfume wasn’t the only one shaken awake by Ranma’s outburst. Mikado turned towards the source of the noise and gasped.

“It’s you! Your voice—your pigtail—you’re every bit as charming as I remember!” Mikado said. He took Ranma by the hands and began to dance with her.

“Hey! Hands off, you creep!” Ranma said. Mikado drew her in closer.

“Shall I grace your lips with a kiss for old times’ sake…?” Mikado asked.

He was answered by a suede shoe to the face.

“Stay away from my wife, you pervert!” said Akane.

Mikado merely blinked down at Akane in response. He tossed Ranma aside and took Akane by the shoulders instead.

“Oh, Akane. So the two of you are married now…”

He leaned down.

“Shall I kiss both of you as a wedding gift, then…?”

Akane and Ranma punched him across the room simultaneously.

***

Despite Mikado’s injuries, the dance competition continued into the night. Having retired from the contest, Ukyo once again took to the grill to feed the hungry masses.

“All right, Konatsu, listen very carefully. While everyone else is distracted, I need you to go upstairs and give that pig a hot bath,” she said to her assistant, who was dressing up P-Chan in a tutu.

“But why…?” Konatsu asked. “He’s already squeaky clean! Aren’t you, baby?”

Konatsu picked up P-Chan and made him do a little dance on the counter. P-Chan’s head wobbled sleepily—he looked even more worn out than Perfume, who was using the record player as a pillow again.

Ukyo’s knuckles turned white around the grip of her twin spatulas. “Just do it. You’ll understand later,” she said.

“Oh, all right then,” said Konatsu. “Off I go!”

She squeezed her way behind Soun, who was still determined to commentate on the match, and Nabiki, who had resorted to staving off drowsiness by playing Solitaire on her flip phone. Beside her, Kuno was lying face-down on the counter and snoring. Someone had drawn on his face with purple marker.

Leaning forward to give Konatsu some room to scooch by, Soun continued using the microphone.

“Well, everyone, I’d say Ranma and Akane have their work cut out for them now. Ms. Shiratori and her partner seem to be as graceful on the dance floor as they are on the ice,” he said.

“Looks like they’re doing a pretty complicated waltz,” Nabiki added without bothering to tear her eyes away from her phone. “Akane and Ranma are doing everything they can just to keep up.”

Mikado’s dance lifts were certainly more effective than Ukyo’s. Azusa’s feet struck out with all the intensity of hungry cobras, higher and faster than before. Ranma was quick enough to dodge out of the way every time—and Akane kept a wary eye on Mikado, who kept ogling her—but the representatives of the Tendo Dojo seemed unsure about an offensive strategy just yet.

“If this keeps up much longer, I don’t think there’s going to be any cake left for Ranma and Akane,” Nabiki said. “I’m starting to feel sorry for them.”

“If you feel bad about the cake, then stop eating it!” Ranma retorted mid-spin.

***

“This is boring,” Eiko said to Pantyhose as they sat on the floor watching the match. “I wanna go home.”

Pantyhose, who was sitting with his legs crossed and his chin propped up against his fist, scoffed.

“Spoken like a true coward. I set up a perfectly good challenge for you, and yet you’re sitting on the sidelines complaining instead,” he said. “You’re an embarrassment to the Pantyhose Taro Dojo.”

“Hey!” said Eiko. “You’re the one who’s embarrassing, Pantyhose,” he said, emphasizing the name. “Besides, I told you I don’t dance! You should’ve just let me fight Ranma normally!”

“Idiot!” cried Pantyhose. “It’s ten years too soon for you to defeat Ranma in a fist fight. You’ve got to start thinking outside the box!”

Eiko brooded about this for a minute. He watched the dancers with growing contempt. Then, he spied Kasumi serving tea to Mr. and Mrs. Saotome across the room. He suddenly had an idea.

“Hey, lady! Can we get some tea over here, too?!” he shouted.

Pantyhose blanched. “What are you doing?! She’ll kill us both, you fool!”

Eiko looked at Pantyhose as though he had lost his mind. “Who’s gonna kill us?” he asked, screwing up his face.

Kasumi smiled and waved at them. Pantyhose hid behind Eiko.

“Oh, who’s a coward now? You afraid to talk to girls or something?” Eiko asked.

Pantyhose started punching Eiko repeatedly, which of course had no effect whatsoever. “You don’t understand! That woman is—she’s…she’s not human!”

Eiko rolled his eyes. “Looks human to me. I think you need to get your eyes checked, man.”

Kasumi arrived, carrying a tea tray. “Hello, Eiko. How are you enjoying the party?” she asked.

Pantyhose shrank down behind Eiko in what seemed like an attempt to make himself invisible. He gripped the boy’s arms, ready to use him as a shield. Eiko ignored his instructor’s highly abnormal behavior.

“Eh. It’s okay, I guess,” Eiko said, shrugging. “I’m not really into all this dancing stuff.”

“Oh, I see. Well, maybe you will be when you’re older,” Kasumi said. “It’s more fun when you have someone to dance with.”

Eiko made a face to indicate how grossed out he was at the thought of dancing with a partner. Kasumi laughed—but it was sweet and good-natured and gentle. Eiko, at least, recognized this, because his mother’s laugh had always had a similar quality to it.

He scratched the back of his head. “I mean…yeah, I dunno. Maybe,” he said.

Kasumi paused thoughtfully, a knowing smile on her face.

“Now—didn’t you say you wanted some tea?” she asked. She offered him a cup.

Eiko grabbed the entire teapot instead. “Yeah, thanks! Gotta run,” he said.

“Where are you going?!” Pantyhose said, scrambling to hide somewhere as Kasumi tried to hand off the cup to him instead.

“I’m thinking outside the box!” Eiko answered.

***

“Things are getting interesting here, folks. Yet another pair from the Pantyhose Taro Dojo has joined the fight! Eiko Unryū and his pet pig have stepped onto the dance floor, doing what I can only assume is a samba—though I’m not entirely sure about that,” said Soun.

“Eiko’s feet aren’t even touching the ground,” Nabiki commented. “His partner’s just carrying him around. It’s less of a samba and more of a cop-out, if you ask me.”

She picked up a blue marker and started coloring in one of the abstract shapes that were already scrawled on Kuno’s sleeping face.

“Either way, now it’s a four-on-two fight! I’d hardly call that fair—but you know what they say! All's fair in love, war, and Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing,” Soun said.

“Does anyone actually say that, Daddy?” Nabiki said.

Soun pretended not to hear her.

Even without the ongoing commentary, Ranma found it hard to miss the enormous pig creeping onto the dance floor in a blue evening gown and parading around with a runty, disheveled boy in its arms.

“Well, well, well—look who finally decided to show up to his own challenge! Couldn’t find a girl to dance with you, huh?” Ranma said, gleefully taunting Eiko.

Eiko scowled as Piganosuke twirled him around. “Piganosuke’s still cuter than you are,” he said. “And he dances better, too!”

“Oh yeah?!” Ranma retorted. “Watch this—”

“Ranma, look out!” Akane said, promenading Ranma away from another one of Azusa’s nasty kicks.

“Geez! That one almost took my head off!” Ranma said.

Akane furrowed her brows and scolded her. “You can’t let them distract you like that!” she said.

“Come on, can you blame me? I’m tired and I’m getting sick of this—hey, watch it, stinky!” she said to Piganosuke, who had unexpectedly executed a double reverse spin in Ranma’s direction.

“You know what? Maybe the pig is a better dancer than me,” Ranma said, only half joking.

Akane frowned. “Get serious, Ranma. We need to go on the attack or we’ll never get anywhere!”

“Okay, okay. Quickstep fishtail?” Ranma asked.

“Sounds good to me!” Akane replied.

Ranma counted them off. “A five, six, seven, eight—slow, quick, quick, quick, quick, slow—”

Their steps perfectly matched, they changed directions, rising with their feet and flexing with their knees, building up momentum and power as they intentionally crashed themselves into Azusa and Mikado.

“Hey! No fair!” Azusa said, clearly jostled.

Without missing a beat, Ranma jive kicked her in the shins. Mikado spun Azusa out for a counterattack, but Akane spun Ranma back in just as quickly. Ranma prepared to repeat the maneuver.

“Okay! And again! A five, six, seven—”

Unfortunately for her, that was when Eiko put his master plan into action. Piganosuke lifted the boy over Ranma’s head, and before Ranma could take a swipe at him, she found herself being inundated with hot tea, which Eiko was happily pouring out over her.

“Yeowch!” Ranma shouted as he transformed. The elaborate red ball gown suddenly pinched him in all the wrong places.

“Uh-oh,” Akane said.

Before she could react further to the sudden change in her partner, however, Azusa lashed out again. Ranma ducked, but didn’t account for the change in height from his transformation, and Azusa caught him by the pigtail. Mikado lifted Azusa up into the air and started to spin around at an agonizing speed. Ranma and Akane were dragged along for the ride.

“We call this one the Goodbye Waltz!” said Azusa.

“Oh, that’s original!” Ranma said through his teeth.

“Now what?” Akane asked him.

Feeling like he’d been swept up in a tornado that was determined to rip his hair out, Ranma tried to ignore the pain searing at the base of his skull and think on his feet—or off his feet, as it were. Maybe it was the pressure on his head or the intense spinning that was causing his brain to kick into overdrive, but he suddenly remembered something—

“Akane! Use the thing!”

Holding fast to Ranma’s wrists, Akane looked up at him in confusion. “What thing?!”

“The thing in your pocket!” Ranma said.

“Oh. That thing,” Akane said. She continued to hang onto her husband with her left hand while pulling a candy wrapper out of the front pocket of her gaudy tuxedo jacket with her right. The wrapper crinkled and gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

Azusa gasped. She stopped, kicked Mikado to the curb, and dove for the iridescent piece of trash.

“Oh, it’s my Delphine! Delphine, Delphine!” she said.

Ranma staggered to his feet. He could feel the blood start circulating to his head again.

“Whew! I feel better now,” he said.

“That’s great, Ranma, but I don’t!” said Akane. She was still on the floor, being tackled and clawed and punched by Azusa as she vied with her for possession of the wrapper.

Ranma picked up Azusa by the collar and pulled her off Akane.

“Hey. Take the stupid wrapper and get a room, why don’t ya,” he said to his opponent.

“You’re the one who’s stupid, stupid!” said Azusa. She blew a raspberry at Ranma. He rolled his eyes and deposited her on the ground again.

“Ah. Ranma Saotome,” Mikado said. His hair was tousled and one of his teeth had been chipped, but he was still very much conscious despite having been thoroughly pummeled. “Come to settle the score with me?” he asked.

“I wasn’t keeping score, but I’m pretty sure I was kicking your ass anyway,” Ranma replied.

“We’ll just see about that,” said Mikado. He picked Azusa up off the floor, and they took up a tango stance, rushing at Ranma.

Ranma managed to dodge and get back into position with Akane—but just barely.

“Damn. I can hardly move in this thing now,” he said, looking at his dress in annoyance.

Eiko let out a battle cry. He and Piganosuke rushed Ranma from the opposite side of the floor. Mikado and Azusa followed his lead, closing in together for an improvised pincer attack.

“Is this even ballroom dancing anymore?” Nabiki said into the microphone.

“Er…maybe. I’m not sure,” said Soun. “But it’s probably still Martial Arts!”

“Okay, so I can’t move from side to side too well, but I can still turn in place,” said Ranma. “You ready to go back to basics?”

Akane nodded, and they stood back to back, linking arms.

“Dual Jetstream Raging Waters Attack!” they shouted in unison.

Spinning like an out of control pinwheel, Ranma and Akane flipped forwards together over and over. The spiked heels of Ranma’s shoes pulverized Mikado’s remaining teeth the second they made contact. The force of Akane’s suede soles speeding across the floor repelled Azusa and even the sturdy Piganosuke, who suddenly decided to quit while there was still some cake left and take Eiko with him. The attack left Ranma and Akane’s other two competitors sprawled out on the floor, flattened in defeat.

“Such magnificent form! Such graceful teamwork!” Soun said in between sobs. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?!”

Kasumi handed him a handkerchief.

The panda held a sign over his head that rated Ranma and Akane’s performance a perfect ten out of ten points. Nodoka apparently agreed, holding up an identical sign of her own.

“We…we did it!” Akane said, panting heavily as she surveyed the damage.

“Finally. I think I just pulled a muscle or something,” Ranma said. “Anyway, looks like we saved your hide again, eh, P-Chan?”

He turned to where the pig had been located at the start of the competition. P-Chan, however, was nowhere to be seen. Akane wiped her brow and frowned, coming to the same realization as Ranma.

“Wait a minute…where is P-Chan?!”

***

Another round of okonomiyaki for the party also meant another round of garbage to take out. Ukyo dragged a bag into the back alley, feeling the crisp autumn air turn her sweat cold. She sighed, knowing the party was going to go on with or without her.

She paused for a moment when she realized the trash can she was heading for was in the middle of talking to itself.

“…and I can’t say I wasn’t grateful, but I could have done without the tutu. Anyway, thinking about how it’s Ranma and Akane’s anniversary made me think about you. I wish you could’ve been here tonight, even if it did turn out to be a fiasco—”

Ukyo lifted the aluminum lid of the can to find Ryoga sitting among the garbage.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked him, her eyebrows shooting up towards the cloudy skies.

Ryoga gave a start and tried harder to blend in with the trash. There was silence in the alleyway except for the sound of a lone cricket and a rat making off with a piece of pizza.

“…I really do need to use this trash can, y’know,” Ukyo said after about a minute.

“Oh. Sorry. I guess I just…wanted to be alone,” Ryoga said.

Ukyo bent her neck down over him, feeling secondhand embarrassment for him.

“Hey, this party was all part of your big plan to help Ranma and Akane. Aren’t you even going to make an appearance? You’re being kind of rude,” she said.

Ryoga started to panic and get angry at the same time. “You don’t know what I’ve been through tonight!” he said.

Ukyo dropped her garbage bag on the ground and rolled her eyes.

“You got lost on the way here, you had a bad case of motion sickness on the bullet train ride back from Osaka, Perfume doused you with punch, you turned into a pig, Azusa tried to steal you, Akane and Ranma got into a dancing competition to win you back, Konatsu treated you like a baby doll and put a tutu on you, and then you got thrown in my bathtub. Did I forget anything?”

Ryoga shrank back, pressing his forefingers together.

“Oh. Right,” he said. “I guess you do know.”

“Uh-huh,” said Ukyo. “You know what else I know? I know that Ranma and Akane probably want to know about how you went through all that trouble just to give them a nice anniversary party.”

Ryoga snapped his head up and pointed towards the restaurant. “That’s not an anniversary party! It’s a hopeless mess!”

He had a point. Ukyo scratched behind her ear.

“Yeah, well. It’s the thought that counts,” she said.

“But—!”

“They’re your friends. They’ll appreciate it,” Ukyo said. “And another thing—!”

She gripped the edge of the can. Ryoga squatted down even more, increasingly becoming one with the garbage.

“You mean you’re not done yet…?” he asked. His voice was starting to break up.

“I know there’s a kid in there who’s probably missing his dad right about now,” Ukyo said.

Ryoga winced and said nothing.

“Why are you always avoiding him?! I know he’s a hopeless smartass and all, but he still needs you.”

“You hardly even know him! How can you be so sure?” Ryoga shot back.

Ukyo sighed. “Because,” she said. “All kids need their parents.”

Ryoga looked down. His voice was quiet. “He needs his mother. Not me,” he said.

Ukyo folded her arms.

“Yeah? Well, you’re all he has right now, so pull it together and go talk to him anyway,” she said.

“I…I don’t think I can,” Ryoga said.

“Why not?” she asked him, leaning in further.

Ryoga gulped and turned red.

“My legs are stuck in the trash can,” he finally replied.

***

Eiko sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Piganosuke…? What happened? Did we win?” he asked.

Piganosuke nudged him in the side and oinked.

“Yeah, probably not, huh,” Eiko said. He sighed and buried his head in his hands.

The sound of metal hitting the floor snapped him out of his funk. He looked up to find Ukyo slamming an aluminum garbage can down right in front of his face.

“Here you go. One family reunion on the house,” she said. Then she walked away.

“The hell…?” Eiko said.

He screamed when he witnessed his father’s head emerging from the trash can with a greasy banana peel adorning his hair.

“Jeez, old man! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!” Eiko said, clutching at his chest.

“No,” said Ryoga. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Oh,” said Eiko. He looked at the floor. A few seconds passed.

“How’d the end of the dance competition go…?” Ryoga asked.

Eiko grumbled. “Oh, because of course you weren’t there. You’re never there.”

There was another painful pause. Eiko thought about getting up and leaving, but he was too tired to move. Piganosuke began trying to dig Ryoga out of the trash can, but got distracted by the banana peel. He started to chew on it.

“I’m here now. Aren’t I…?” said Ryoga. He looked at the wall. His voice was quiet and full of a sadness Eiko felt like he recognized.

Eiko leaned his head in his hand, still refusing to look his father in the eye. “Ranma wiped the floor with me,” he said simply.

“Oh. You fought Ranma, huh?” Ryoga said. His eyes almost met Eiko’s before they darted away again.

“I mean…yeah. Sort of. Not exactly,” said Eiko, turning red with embarrassment as he re-lived his defeat in his head. “But I decided—I’m gonna keep training with Pantyhose until I can fight Ranma for real,” he said.

Disappointed though he was, Ryoga cracked a smile. “Well…if that’s what it takes to beat Ranma, I guess.”

“Really?” Eiko said. His eyes went wide. He had expected more of a fight.

“Yeah. Really,” said Ryoga. “And I’ll keep training at the Tendo Dojo so I can get stronger, too. Deal…?”

Eiko finally found the strength to stand up again. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever,” he said. He stretched and looked around the room.

“I…I’m gonna go tie Old Man Kuno’s shoes together. See ya,” Eiko said.

For some reason, Ukyo flashed him a thumbs up. Piganosuke followed Eiko to the counter. Eiko felt a little bit less like a loser.

***

“Honorable Father! What manner of monster has done this terrible, terrible deed to your face?!” Tomiji said, lamenting over the scribbles that covered her father’s noble visage.

Kuno, still half asleep, swiped at his eyes and looked around the room, disoriented. Nabiki stopped taking pictures of him with her phone and turned towards Tomiji with her fingers laced together, the very image of deep concern.

“Ooh, it was a horrible monster. I think it went that way,” Nabiki said to Tomiji, pushing the markers off the table before anyone could accuse her of doing the thing she had very obviously done. She pointed in a random direction.

Tomiji grabbed the karaoke microphone that lay dormant on the counter and shouted into it. “NO! Father! I shall avenge you!” she cried.

“What ho?!” Kuno said, now fully awake. The noise from the microphone had startled him so badly that he stood up, only to immediately fall over onto the floor, because someone had tied his shoes together. Nabiki bent over him to admire the double knot that had done him in.

“Oh. Now that one actually wasn’t me,” she said. “Nice craftsmanship, though.”

“Where am I? What’s going on? What happened to my shoes?!” Kuno asked, flopping against the floor like a freshly-fished carp.

Nabiki took a moment to look back down at Kuno.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Darling—Tomiji says she’s going to avenge you,” she said.

She failed to resist the urge to take just one more embarrassing photo of him as a keepsake.

***

“So this card’s from you, Perfume?” Akane asked. She was taking a water break near the record player, examining a construction paper creation while Ranma squatted down trying to figure out how exactly to detangle Perfume’s hair from the record needle after she’d spent the better part of an hour asleep on top of it.

“Uh-huh,” Perfume said. She seemed content enough to be there despite not being able to move her head much. “It’s a picture of you and me and Tomiji standing on top of a mountain.”

“I can see that,” Akane said, smiling at the carefully crafted image of four stick figures holding hands. “Look, Ranma, I think this one’s you.”

Ranma leaned over to look at the tall stick figure on the end sporting a lopsided pigtail.

“Yeah, that’s me, all right. You even got my good side—nice job, kid.”

Perfume smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m happy you like it even though my hair hurts right now.”

“What’s this thing over here? A mountain lion?” Ranma asked, pointing out a polka-dotted creature standing on an adjacent mountain.

“Oh. That’s Nobunaga. Tomiji wanted me to draw him, too, but I put him on a different mountain than you so you wouldn’t get scared,” Perfume said.

“Yeesh,” said Ranma, returning his attention to the puzzle of Perfume’s hair. “Thanks a million.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Perfume,” Akane said. She wondered for a moment if her mother had felt the same exact surge of pride every time she tacked a new drawing up on the refrigerator.

“Yep,” Ranma said. “Hey, not to change the subject or anything, Perfume, but how would you feel about getting a haircut?”

***

The party started to wind down. Ukyo wiped the counter while Ryoga searched through his rucksack for some manju that had not yet expired. Kuno was still struggling to untie his shoes, growing increasingly frustrated as Eiko laughed at him uproariously. Perfume was looking at her new haircut in Nodoka’s compact mirror while Konatsu helped her try on some different barrettes. Kasumi was very gently explaining to Tomiji why it wasn’t polite to use a sword in a restaurant, even if it was to avenge someone. Soun and Genma were draining the last dregs of sake and singing a ballad with Piganosuke. And Nabiki took a break from the family drama du jour to go congratulate her sister and brother-in-law on their outstanding achievements in the field of being married.

“So, ten years of marriage. How does it feel?” she asked Ranma and Akane, grinning snakishly at their exhausted faces.

“Like I got run over by a truck,” Ranma said, rubbing his lower back and wincing.

Akane shot him a look. “Really? That’s how you feel?” she asked.

Ranma backpedaled.

“What?! I mean, you know what I mean—we probably shoulda stretched before we did that Dual Jetstream thing, is all—anyway, yeah. Best ten years I ever had. I could probably go for at least ten more.”

“Ooh, nice save, Ranma. Very smooth,” Nabiki said. “Let’s hope you actually live that long.”

She handed him a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Ranma asked. Akane craned her neck over his shoulder to examine what was in his hands.

“An anniversary present from me,” Nabiki said. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“It’s an address,” Akane said, blinking down at it in surprise.

“Take the elevator to the 55th floor,” Nabiki said. She looked at her watch. “If you leave now, you should be able to catch the next train downtown.”

***

There was a private table for two on the top floor of the Citz-Rarlton Hotel in Akasaka, complete with a candelabra, a three-course meal, and napkins that were fancier than just about anything Ranma had ever seen. There was also a note on a very expensive piece of stationary—replete with gold foil—in an envelope addressed to him that read as follows:

Ranma—

I called in a few favors with my friends at the Matsutake Plum Company. Have a nice night!

-Your favorite sister-in-law.

P. S. Now you owe me.

Ranma swallowed as he pocketed the card. “Geez. Is this thing supposed to be a greeting card or a threat…?” he wondered aloud. Maybe following directions from Nabiki had been kind of a bad idea.

“Wow! Ranma, I think I can see our house from up here!” Akane said.

She stood with her face and hands pressed to the glass casing that surrounded them at the top of the skyscraper. She turned around to smile at him, leaving prints and fog on the window. It was painfully cute.

…then again, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, Ranma thought. He shoved his hands in his pockets and ambled over to join her.

“Oh yeah. And there’s Tokyo Tower, huh? Looks different from this high up.”

“Mhm,” Akane said. She leaned comfortably into his side. They stood together quietly for what felt like hours, both taking in a view they’d never seen before. The Nerima ward almost looked peaceful from this distance—quaint, even. It was a lovely, fragile, momentary illusion—and that was fine. They’d start to miss the chaos of their daily lives if they stayed away from it for too long.

Eventually, Akane yawned, her head drooping onto Ranma’s shoulder.

“Hey, you’re not too tired for another dance, are ya?” he asked her, looking casually up at the chandelier of the penthouse suite.

Akane turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “You still feel like dancing after all that…?”

Ranma shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I thought maybe I’d let you dance the girl part for a change,” he said.

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny,” Akane said, punching him softly on the arm.

He held out his hands, standing poised to take the lead position.

“I’m serious, okay? But, I mean, hey, I’m really good at being the girl. It’s a tough act to follow. So if you don’t wanna—”

Akane took his hands, her eyes tinted with light and laughter. “I never said I didn’t want to,” she said. “Come on.”

He led her around the room until he realized that she was leading him around the room.

“You’re leading again,” he told her.

“Whoops. Force of habit,” Akane said, her face reddening in embarrassment—which was also cute.

“Geez. Thirty-one years old and still a hopeless tomboy, huh?” he asked her. “Guess there’s no cure.”

“Oh yeah? I heard you like tomboys,” Akane said. She dipped him.

Ranma scrunched up his nose. “Who told you that?!”

She leaned down and kissed him.

“You did,” she said.

For once, Ranma didn’t have a snappy comeback, because Akane was right.

Chapter Text

“Ready, Tendo?”

“Ready, Saotome.”

In the darkened hallways of the Tendo homestead, two old men were hatching a diabolical scheme. The plan called for a bass drum, a scuba suit, a pair of stainless steel pots, a megaphone, a washtub full of freezing cold water, and the cooperation of Perfume, who was sitting in between the two aforementioned men with an anxious look on her face.

“Okay, Perfume. We’re ready. Open the door,” Soun said. He narrowed his eyes, which glinted with simmering determination in the half-lit passageway.

“Are you sure this is a good idea…?” the girl asked.

Gemma nodded.

“Positive,” he said. “Trust us, we’re experts.”

“Okay.”

Perfume stood up, took a calming breath, and nodded back. With a trembling hand, she turned the doorknob to the upstairs guest bedroom. The men picked up their gear and embarked on their mission.

Soun played the drum with one hand and shouted “RISE AND SHINE! IT’S EIGHT O’CLOCK! TIME FOR SCHOOL!” into the megaphone with the other. Gemma banged the cookware together. Eiko Unryū leapt up in his futon at the cacophony, afraid for his life.

Soun Tendo and Genma Saotome were not, in fact, experts, but they were both fathers—so naturally, the act of waking up a child for his first day of school was something both men felt they could pull off with aplomb. Unfortunately for the child in question, their methods were highly dubious.

Gemma threw the contents of the washtub at the boy, splashing him with a tiny tidal wave and turning him into a pig. Some of it also hit Soun, but his scuba suit kept him dry.

“I’m sorry about this, son, but it’s for your own good,” Soun said. He dropped his other equipment and picked up the struggling piglet in his hands.

“Well done, Tendo! Now hurry up and throw him in Perfume’s backpack before anyone else notices!” said Genma, shoving the girl forward by the shoulders.

Of course, Genma had said this so loudly that several people noticed. For example, Ranma came flying in behind him, alerted by the noise. He kicked Genma in the head—the old man and his empty washtub hit the wall.

“Cut it out, Pops! It’s too early in the morning for your crap!” Ranma said.

Nodoka trailed into the room after Ranma, looking mightily concerned.

“Goodness, dear, what’s all this racket?” she asked Perfume.

Perfume turned to look at the matron of the Saotome family, hands tightly clinging to the straps of her backpack. “Mr. Tendo and Mr. Saotome told me to take Eiko to school,” she said.

She pointed to Eiko, who was still a piglet. He seemed to be snarling and trying to bite Mr. Tendo.

“Ahaha…Easy now. Down, boy…you wouldn’t bite an old man, would you?” Soun said.

As it turned out, Eiko would.

***

Fifteen minutes later, a family meeting of sorts was called to order. Kasumi bandaged her father’s bite wounds as he lay moaning in pain on the floor. Akane, dressed for work as usual, was staring at Soun over her bowl of rice, a look of annoyed disbelief clouding her features. Beside her, Ranma slouched his head into his hand. Perfume was holding Eiko, because no one else had the guts or the inclination to pick up a feral baby pig that had nearly bitten Soun’s hand off. Gemma sat with his arms folded in thoughtful meditation beside his wounded friend as Nodoka looked on, worried. Ryoga, who had miraculously made it to breakfast without ending up in the wrong house this time, still looked like he was lost anyway.

“Give me the stink eye all you want, boy! You know I’m right,” Gemma said, firing off an accusing glare at Ranma.

“Right about what?! Ranma asked. “Wakin’ up everybody in the neighborhood with your stupid screaming? Or are you talkin’ about the part where you tried to get Perfume to help you kidnap someone?!”

Gemma slammed his fist on the table. “That boy is a delinquent, I tell you! He needs schooling! Discipline! He can’t just hang around the house all day!”

Ranma rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. Because hangin’ around the house all day is your job.”

Genma stood, rolling up his sleeves. Ranma sprang up to meet him.

“Listen, you—” said Genma.

Akane stood up between them. “All right—quit it, both of you! Dad, Mr. Saotome; I know this has been hard on you two, but try to put yourself in Eiko’s shoes, okay? He’s been through a lot this year. Maybe he’s just not ready for school yet.”

“Oh, he’s ready all right,” said Genma.

“Says who?” said Ranma.

“Says me! Yesterday he filled up my shoes with toothpaste!” Genma said.

Soun rolled over and uttered something into the floor that sounded like “Superglue…on the toilet seat…cheats at…shogi…”

“You see?! He’s a menace to society, I tell you!” Genma said, clutching his fist and crying along with Soun.

“So what if he is?! You still got no right to barge into his room like that!” said Ranma, leaning in.

Genma matched his son’s posture as they stood toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye. “I’m a guest, so any guest room in the house is technically my room!” he said.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Ranma said.

Ryoga clutched at his head and screamed. “Doesn’t anybody care what I think?!” he said.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. Gemma adjusted his glasses and looked at Ryoga.

“Who are you again?” he said.

Ryoga’s head nearly hit the table.

“I’m his father!” he said, pointing to Eiko.

Genma squatted down beside him. “Oh, I see,” he said, nodding along as he laid a hand on Ryoga’s shoulder. “Sorry to hear that.”

Ranma kicked Genma into the koi pond.

“All right, Ryoga. What do you think?” Ranma asked, grunting more from frustration than exhaustion as he watched his father transform into a panda.

Ryoga grew quiet for a moment, watching his son bury himself defiantly in Perfume’s sleeves. Then he glanced at a framed picture of Akari he held in his palm.

A group of kindergartners walked past the hole in the backyard fence, laughing and smiling and holding hands. An adorably decorated school bus drove by. A commercial for after school snacks played on TV.

Ryoga made up his mind. So did Eiko.

***

The next day, the Tendos and Saotomes gave Eiko a proper send-off for his first day of school—sort of.

“Here,” Ryoga said, catching Eiko as he edged awkwardly towards the front door. “I packed your lunch.”

He handed his son a lumpy bundle wrapped up in a furoshiki. Eiko hooked his finger into the opening and peered inside.

“This isn’t lunch,” Eiko said. “It’s just five boiled eggs!”

Ryoga pressed his fingertips together.

“Boiled eggs are the only thing I know how to make,” he said to the floor.

Everything went still for a moment. Eiko hesitated to leave, as though sensing something else Ryoga was going to say. Ryoga tried to work up the courage to actually say it.

“Eiko, you…”

He trailed off, straining to swallow. Eiko looked the other way. Ryoga drew in a shaky breath and tried again.

“…your mother would be proud to see you dressed and ready for school like this.”

Eiko’s fingers trembled slightly at his sides. He clenched them into fits to hide it. “Yeah. I know,” he said.

He turned to leave, but Ryoga wrapped him up in a hug before he could reach the doorknob.

“And I…I’m proud of you, too,” Ryoga said.

Eiko froze. He didn’t hug back, but he didn’t pull away, either.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not that big of a deal. Stop getting all worked up,” he mumbled.

A few meters away, Akane pumped her fist quietly in the air.

“Yes! You can do this, Ryoga!” she said in a hushed tone as she, Nodoka and Kasumi peeked at him from around the corner. Ranma was there too, eating an apple and pretending to look bored.

Kasumi dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, my. This is so touching,” she said.

Nodoka nodded, patting her own eyes dry with a tissue. “It certainly is,” she said. “There’s truly nothing in this world that can overcome a parent’s love for their child, you know.”

The impact of Ryoga’s heartfelt farewell to his son was somewhat lessened, however, by Soun and Genma holding hands and dancing around together in a circle singing “He’s leaving, he’s leaving!”

“Shaddup, will ya?!” said Eiko.

He whipped his head around towards the two old men. They kept skipping and dancing. Eiko turned his attention to the other alleged adults in the room instead. “And nobody asked all you weirdos to be here, either!”

Ranma tossed Eiko a small, shiny object. Eiko caught it. His nose crinkled in confusion when he opened his clasped hands and discovered a 500-yen coin resting there.

“Here, kid. Buy yourself some bread at the school store,” Ranma said.

For some reason, Ryoga started to cry a little.

***

Tatewaki Kuno stared down his opponent with an icy glare that would unnerve even the most seasoned warriors. His hands gripped the hilt of his bokken as steadily and lightly as his lungs breathed air, ready for a fight at any moment. He stood with his back to the front door, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“You shall not pass!” he said.

His opponent matched his intense gaze with a steely resolve of her own.

“Father. I do not wish to harm you, but if you refuse to step aside, then I will be forced to strike you down where you stand,” she said.

Kuno’s opponent—his seven-year-old daughter—stepped back into a fighting stance, holding her toy sword. She was the spitting image of Sasaki Kojiro if he’d been a three-foot-tall girl with a cute purple blouse and a backpack full of chocolate cookies.

“It is a thousand years too early for you to challenge me!” Kuno replied. “Now go to your room!”

Each combatant waited for the other to move. Sasuke stood with his hands clasped together, not sure who to help. Next to him, Nabiki Tendo looked at her watch.

“One of you needs to get out of the way. I’m late for work,” she said.

Kuno looked at her. His eyes were wild and desperate. His mouth trembled for a moment before words exploded out of it.

“Tell her to turn around and stop this nonsense, then! No child of mine is going to… to—”

Kuno breathed in so hard, the edges of his two nostrils rippled around like a pair of swimming sea slugs. He spoke his next words as though he were uttering a curse.

“—to public school!” he said.

He pointed at Tomiji. Tomiji pointed back at him, swiveling her head towards Nabiki.

“He is wrong. I am going to public school, for I wish to join my good friends and be educated amongst the peasant folk,” Tomiji said.

Kuno twisted his gaze towards the seven-year-old samurai and thundered back at her. “That is preposterous ! There is no teacher on Earth who could educate you better than I have!”

Nabiki pondered his words for a moment. There was a brief pause.

“Tomiji, what’s seven plus four…?” Nabiki asked.

“Seventy-four,” said Tomiji.

“And the capital of Japan is…?”

“Edo.”

“And this animal is called…?”

Nabiki held up a postcard with a photo of a rhinoceros on it.

“A puppy,” Tomiji said.

Nabiki set aside the postcard and folded her arms deliberately across the front of her maroon blazer. She looked levelly at her husband without saying anything. She didn’t need to.

“What?!” Kuno said to her, suddenly defensive. “We’re getting to animals—right after she finishes memorizing the Heike Monogatari!”

“Mmm. I’m sure you are. But let’s just handle this democratically, shall we?” Nabiki said. “All in favor of Tomiji going to public school from now on, raise your hand.”

Tomiji raised her hand. Nabiki did, too. So did Sasuke.

“You don’t get to vote!” Kuno said to Sasuke, scandalized.

Sasuke slowly put his hand down.

“…And all in favor of Tomiji staying in homeschool?” Nabiki said.

Kuno was the only one who raised his hand. He picked up Sasuke and shook him.

“Why aren’t you voting, man?!” he asked him.

It didn’t matter whether Sasuke voted or not, because while Kuno was busy reprimanding him, Tomiji opened the front door and started skipping down the street towards Furinkan Elementary School.

***

“What’re you so happy about?” Eiko asked Perfume. They walked beside the river, following the sidewalk that led towards school.

Perfume blinked down at the pavement.

“Oh. Um, I was just thinking that this is the first time anybody ever walked to school with me,” she said, smiling at her shoes. “It’s nice.”

Eiko looked away from her and up at the clouds. “Tch. You’re such a baby. What a weird thing to get excited about,” he said.

No one had ever walked to school with him before, either, he realized. He shifted his gaze back down towards the river and then looked at Perfume again, just for a second.

“But it’s not that bad, I guess,” he said.

Perfume nodded.

“Should we hold hands?” she asked.

Eiko turned scarlet.

“Look, I’m not four, okay?!” he said. Perfume looked disappointed.

“Okay,” she said.

Her mouth tightened and her eyes grew droopy. Eiko felt himself go even redder as he internally kicked himself for making her make that face. A thought crossed his mind.

“Uh, besides—I know something cooler we can do,” he said.

“Like what?” Perfume asked.

“You ever ride a sumo pig before…?”

***

And so it came to pass that Eiko Unryū rode his enormous pet pig to class on his first day at Furinkan Elementary School, as did his housemate, Perfume. When the ride was over, Piganosuke happily parked himself by the bicycle rack and started eating crumpled paper off the ground while Eiko and Perfume climbed the stairs to their homeroom.

“Ready? Okay! Class, we have a new transfer student today! Please give a big Furinkan Elementary School w-e-l-c-o-m-e to Eiko Unryū! Do you want to write your name on the b-o-a-r-d?”

Eiko threw a sideways glance at his new teacher, who was smiling and waving a pair of pompoms in his face. He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote his name without comment.

“Mr. Unryū recently moved to Tokyo from the Chiba Prefecture. Don’t be shy, now, Eiko—say h-e-l-l-o to your new classmates!” the teacher said.

Eiko frowned. “Do I have to spell it?” he asked.

“Not if you don’t want to,” said the teacher, pouting slightly.

“Uh, okay. My name’s Eiko Unryū. I’m training to be the best martial artist in the world. That’s about it, I guess,” he said. He bowed.

A girl with long, straight hair and a headband sitting towards the back of the room raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Tamano?” the teacher said.

“Ms. Konjo, there’s an empty seat behind Goro,” the girl replied. “He can sit th—”

The proceedings were interrupted when someone climbed through the second story window. A head of curly brown hair pulled back in a bun poked above the window ledge. Perfume gasped slightly as Tomiji hoisted herself up and in, then rolled onto the floor and popped back up like a prairie dog.

“Greetings, fellow children! I am here to transfer into your class,” Tomiji said.

The students stared at her. Perfume, still a bit confused, waved politely to her friend. Eiko picked up a book and tried to hide his face behind it. Ms. Konjo put down her pompoms and picked up a clipboard. She flipped through a packet of paperwork, perplexed.

“What…? They didn’t tell me there’d be two transfers today.”

***

“You don’t look old enough to be in the fifth grade,” said a boy with a bowl cut and freckles.

A group of students had gathered around Tomiji in the schoolyard. She stood on top of a milk crate passing out chocolate cookies in an attempt to get into the good graces of her peasant peers.

“It matters not,” said Tomiji. “My family is very rich and I can be in whichever grade I choose.”

The boy with the bowl cut turned to a friend and raised his eyebrows. “How rich do you need to be for that…?” he asked.

Tomiji did not answer his question.

“And furthermore, I am destined to be in the same class as my fiancé. He is spying on me from beneath yonder bench because he is in love with me,” she said.

Tomiji pointed to the ground under the bench where Eiko was hunched over next to Perfume, trying to eat his croquette bread and five boiled eggs in peace. A group of girls giggled and oohed and aahed.

“I am not spying on you and we are not engaged!” Eiko shouted through a mouthful of yolk.

Perfume frowned and looked up at him, setting aside her half-empty lunchbox. Piganosuke sidled up to her, sniffing around a discarded apple core, which she fed to him.

“Aren’t you going to try making friends, too?” she asked him.

Eiko wrinkled his nose. “What for? The kids around here all seem like losers.” He peeled another egg. “Besides, what about you…?”

Perfume shifted her weight awkwardly. “I always eat under here. It reminds me of home,” she said.

“You mean the table at the Tendos’ house?” he asked her.

Perfume shook her head.

“No, the one in China. I wasn’t allowed to eat with the other warriors, so I used to sit under Elder Shampoo’s chair and wait for someone to drop something on the floor.”

Eiko looked horrified.

“What the hell kind of village do you come from, anyway?!” he asked. He handed her the peeled egg.

“Well—”

Perfume’s story was cut short by the girl with long hair and a headband from homeroom, accompanied by two more of her classmates. She knocked on top of the bench.

“Yoohoo, anybody home?” the girl asked.

Perfume poked her head out. “Hi, Yukimaru,” she said.

“Oh, Perfume! Is that really you? What happened to your pork buns…?” Yukimaru asked. She placed her fists on either side of her head in a crude mimicry of Perfume’s former hairstyle.

One of the girls behind Yukimaru looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Maybe she got hungry and ate them,” she whispered to her neighbor, who snickered behind her hand.

Yukimaru whipped around, her arms folded across her chest.

“Stop it, Chiyo. You’ll hurt her feelings,” Yukimaru said. She turned back towards Perfume, glancing down with a pitying look on her face.

“I just got a haircut, that’s all,” Perfume said. Her cheeks flushed pink as she stared steadily at her feet.

“A bad one,” Chiyo said behind her hand.

“Oh, never mind her, Perfume. Did you bring something for me today?” Yukimaru asked sweetly, holding out her hand.

Perfume offered up her lunchbox, which had some sliced carrots and a few pieces of hot dog left.

“Hmm…I want that,” Yukimaru said, pointing to the boiled egg in Perfume’s other hand.

Perfume pulled the egg closer to her chest. “Sorry. This is…um, the egg was a gift, so I can’t—”

“Oh,” Yukimaru frowned. “That’s too bad. I thought you wanted to be friends with me, but I guess not,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Let’s go, girls.”

Yukimaru and her friends started to walk away. There was a distant sound of giggling. Perfume looked at the egg, her face growing increasingly distressed. Words burst out of her like air exploding from an overinflated balloon just before Yukimaru turned the corner.

“Wait! You can have it,” Perfume said.

Yukimaru came back, smiling from ear to ear again. “Aw, thanks, Perfume. You’re the best.”

Yukimaru reached her hand down to take the egg. Eiko sprang up in front of it, blocking her.

“Back off. I gave her that egg,” he said.

Yukimaru pulled away, stunned.

Perfume looked mortified. “Eiko, don’t…she’s my friend,” she said quietly.

“Friends don’t do stuff like that, Perfume. She’s full of crap,” Eiko said.

Regaining her bearings and her confident aura, Yukimaru smiled at Eiko.

“Oh, it’s the new boy. Well, I was going to invite you to play kickball with our team, but I just realized something—you stink like a pig. Go home and take a bath before you talk to me,” she said.

Eiko stood up. “You’re the only thing that stinks around here! Besides, we don’t need an invitation. We’re gonna start our own kickball team—a martial arts kickball team!”

He grabbed Perfume by the wrist and pulled her up off the ground. She squealed involuntarily.

“We are…?” Perfume said.

“Yeah!” Eiko said. “And we’re gonna play her team and win,” he said.

Yukimaru smirked and tossed her hair. “Sounds amusing. Want to meet us Saturday at Johoku Central Park? If my team wins, you have to do all of my classroom cleaning duties for a month.”

“You’re on. And if we win, you have to give Perfume food from your lunch for a month.”

Eiko stuck out his hand. Yukimaru shook it. Perfume crawled back under the bench, ate her boiled egg, and tried not to cry.

***

Three o’clock came. The walk home was somewhat of a tense, broody affair for Eiko, Perfume, and Piganosuke, but Tomiji didn’t seem to notice. She strutted down the sidewalk like she owned it.

“…and tomorrow I shall count to a thousand in front of all my new fans, and the day after that I think I will jump over three wooden vaulting horses at once. Perhaps in time, I may even be elected President of the school,” she said.

Perfume smiled through her clouded thoughts, which were swirling a mile a minute in her head. “That’s good, Tomiji. I hope you win.”

Tomiji nodded very solemnly. “I will be counting on your vote, Good Perfume. Of course, I shall make you my Vice President when the time comes.” She turned her attention to Eiko. “Now then, milord, shall we discuss our strategy for the kickball game?” she said.

Eiko looked like he was about to pass a kidney stone. “Who said you could play, shrimp?” he asked Tomiji.

Perfume frowned. “We can’t do it without her, Eiko. Even with you, me, her, and Piganosuke, we only have half a team right now…”

The four of them stopped walking when they noticed a small crowd of children at the street corner. They seemed to be watching some sort of show—there was a street magician wearing a mask in the center of the small crowd.

“…And for my next trick, I will make flowers appear from out of thin air!” said the magician. “Alakazam!”

He waved his arms around. A duck egg appeared in his hand.

“That doesn’t look like flowers,” one of the kids said.

“Huh…? What do you mean…?” the magician said. He picked up a pair of glasses and held them over his mask to examine where he had gone wrong, but unfortunately the egg—which was actually a bomb—exploded in his face.

He dropped the glasses. The crowd laughed.

“Wait, that wasn’t supposed to happen!” the magician said, grabbing a nearby wall to keep his balance. “Where’d those flowers go, anyway…?”

He reached into his sleeves and pulled out a teddy bear, a small cactus, a whole mess of multicolored handkerchiefs, fifty-two playing cards, and a couple of rabbits.

“Darn it, I just had them,” he said to himself through his teeth.

“I guess he’s done. I’m gonna go home,” said one of the spectators.

“Me too.”

“Me three.”

One by one, the crowd thinned out until only Perfume and her companions were standing there. The street magician started to panic.

“Wait! The Mysterious Moussini isn’t finished yet! Don’t you want to see me breathe fire? Hey!”

He picked up a swan-shaped training potty.

“At least leave some coins in here first, you ungrateful kids! I need to eat, too, you know!” he shouted.

Perfume tugged on the magician’s arm. A rotary phone and a half-eaten bag of potato chips fell out of his sleeve. He turned to face her.

“Aren’t you Mousse…?” Perfume asked.

The magician lifted his mask, revealing a very handsome but confused face underneath.

“Huh?” the magician asked. He picked up Perfume by the armpits and held her half a foot away from his face, squinting.

“Grandma? Is that you…?!” he asked.

Perfume shook her head. “No, it’s me—Perfume.”

Mousse’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh, Perfume! You’ve gotten taller. I think,” he said, still regarding her like she was a very blurry cantaloupe at the grocery store.

Perfume handed him his glasses. He set her carefully back down on the pavement and put them on.

“Wow, it really is you! It’s sure been a while,” Mousse said. “What are you doing in Japan?”

“Training,” Perfume said. “What about you?”

“I’m…also training,” Mousse said.

He looked away and scratched the side of his cheek with his index finger. A bead of sweat ran off the side of his face. There was a thoughtful pause. Perfume tilted her head to the side.

“Did Elder Shampoo kick you out of the village, too…?” she asked.

Mousse took a step back. His glasses nearly fell off his face again.

“What?! Wh-why would you even insinuate such a thing? My beloved Shampoo, kick me out of the village? That’s insane! Shampoo would never…never…”

Mousse sank to his knees and started to sob into his hands. Eiko and Piganosuke looked at one another and shrugged. Tomiji leaned in, interested yet clueless. Perfume gently patted Mousse on the head.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she said.

“No it’s not! I’ll never be whole again! How could she do this to me…?”

Perfume handed him one of the neon green handkerchiefs that had fallen out of his sleeves. “Come on, don’t cry—she’ll take us back if we train really hard. Right?”

“Train for what?” Mousse asked. “I mean, sure, I thought if I came back to Japan I could get rich performing and impress her, but no one comes to my shows—even the circus turned my act down! I have no idea what to do now!”

He blew his nose and cried continuously. Perfume scrunched up her mouth in thought.

“Well…you can train with us if you want,” she said. “Do you want to join our kickball team?”

***

Laying face-down in his wife’s lap, Kuno shed bitter tears of remorse in the middle of the foyer.

“Oh, grief fills the room up of my absent child!” he wailed, grabbing two fistfuls of his own hair.

Nabiki—who had reluctantly taken the day off work when Kuno broke down sobbing on the floor and begged her not to leave him too—played Snake on her phone while she absently stroked the back of his head.

“You do realize she’s at school and not dead, right?” she said.

Kuno lifted his head just slightly. His eyes were red and puffy and wet.

“But…but what if she hates it here now? What if she elopes with that foul-smelling mud-encrusted swineherd?! What if she never returns? Most lamentable day, most woeful day that ever, ever I did yet behold!” Kuno screamed up to the ceiling. Then he dropped his head back down into Nabiki’s lap and resumed his bawling. “I may never know joy again!”

Tomiji walked through the front door.

“Good afternoon, esteemed parents. I have returned from a most fruitful day at school,” she said.

Nabiki looked up. “That’s nice, sweetie,” she said.

Kuno, meanwhile, bounced off the floor like a rubber ball.

“Tomiji, my radiant angel! You did miss me!” he cried, opening his arms to her.

She walked past him. A large pig, two children, and a fully-grown man filed in behind her.

“I am very busy now, Father. My companions and I must train in the ancient art of kickball. I shall see you at dinner,” she said.

Stunned, Kuno sank back to his knees.

***

Ranma Saotome entered the house to wash up after his daily training, only to suddenly find himself on the receiving end of a very unpleasant phone call from his sister-in-law.

“Okay, I’m confused, here—what did I do wrong, exactly?” he asked.

There was an irritated sigh on the other end, accompanied by what sounded like a giant pachinko machine being smashed to bits and Sasuke letting out a blood-curdling scream.

“Look, here’s the thing, Ranma. My job is running a company, and your job is keeping your students and pigs and ducks and whatever in your dojo. Do you have any idea how much the vase Perfume has her head stuck in is worth…?”

Ranma scratched his head.

“Well, no, but—wait, back up a second. Did you say ducks?”

“Five hundred million yen, Ranma. And if you don’t want me to send you the bill for it, I suggest you get here very, very quickly,” Nabiki said.

She hung up. A cold chill ran down Ranma’s spine. He turned around and started running.

It was an arduous journey, but Ranma made it home with all his students—plus two pigs and a singular duck—safely in tow. His heart was slightly heavier and his wallet was slightly lighter, because Nabiki was very insistent that he needed to order her a sushi dinner to make up for the crack in the five hundred million yen vase; and even though he managed to talk her down to just pizza, it still hurt a little.

***

Akane arrived home to find an impromptu pizza party in progress. She was happy to see her sister Nabiki among the usual throng of people who inhabited her house, although she was somewhat curious as to why Kuno was lying face-up on the floor, hugging a slice of pepperoni to his chest and mumbling something about an accursed fatal hand contriving woeful tragedy.

“Is he okay?” Akane asked.

Nabiki smiled.

“No,” she said, laying a hand on Kuno’s forehead. “He’s being completely unreasonable.”

Ranma leaned over to Akane and said “He’s just all bent outta shape ‘cause Tomiji ditched him to go to school with Perfume.”

“Oh,” Akane said, taking a seat next to him. She took a slice of cheese pizza. “Well, that’s not so bad.”

Kuno bolted upright.

“Don’t you understand, Akane Saotome?!” he said. He leaned across the table, his eyes simmering with intensity. “Our Tomiji is in the gravest of all dangers! Those schools are full of degenerates and hooligans and perverts!”

Nabiki pulled him back towards his own side of the table and put her slice of pizza in his mouth to quiet him down. “We know that, Kuno-baby. After all, you went to school.”

While Kuno chewed food and mulled that statement over, Ranma turned back towards Akane. “Yeah, and that’s not the only weird thing that happened today.”

He pointed under the table. Akane looked down to find Perfume—who had a conspicuously vase-shaped red mark around her neck—consoling a depressed-looking Mousse.

“Oh,” Akane said absently. “Hi, Perfume. Hi, Mousse.”

A few seconds passed. Akane looked down again so fast she almost hit her face on the table.

“Wait, Mousse?! What are you doing here? I thought you and Shampoo moved back to—”

Perfume caught Akane’s eye and made a cross-handed gesture which Akane somehow managed to correctly interpret as don’t mention Shampoo.

“Uh, I mean—I thought…you moved back to China,” Akane finished, even more confused than when she’d started asking.

Mousse swooped between Akane and Ranma, pulling them in for an uncomfortable hug. “Ranma, Akane—I just can’t thank you enough for letting me stay here with you,” he said. “You two are…true friends.”

He started crying into his oversized sleeves. Ranma looked at Akane over the top of Mousse’s head.

“Did you tell him he could stay here?” Ranma asked, his mouth barely budging an inch. Akane subtly shook her head.

“It’s news to me,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

Ranma sighed and looked down. “Look, Mousse, I dunno what gave you the idea we're runnin’ some kinda free boarding house here, but—”

As if to drive home the fact that Ranma was, in fact, running some kind of free boarding house, the panda charged in—and Ryoga, who had ridden in on top of the panda’s head, lowered his binoculars.

“Has anyone seen Eiko?! He should’ve been home from school by now!” Ryoga said.

‘I’m just here for the pizza,’ the panda wrote on a sign.

“Eiko went next door to see Mr. Pantyhose,” Kasumi answered, calmly handing the panda his designated slice. “They’re practicing for the Martial Arts Kickball Match on Saturday.”

Ryoga received his own slice of pizza from Kasumi and dismounted the panda, looking concerned. “Since when is kickball a martial art?” he asked in earnest.

Ranma leaned his cheek in his hand and took another bite of his food. “Since this afternoon,” he said levelly through a mouthful of pizza.

Ryoga blinked. “What…?” he asked.

Ranma scarfed down the rest of his meal and stood up. “Grab some of those leftover balloons from the party and meet me in the dojo in ten minutes. If we can win this martial arts kickball thing, maybe people’ll start taking us seriously.”

***

Eiko wasn’t really training for Martial Arts Kickball so much as he was being lectured by Pantyhose Taro about it.

“…and you can’t just make up a martial art!” Pantyhose said, clutching at a segmented Chinese staff.

Eiko looked at the opposite wall. “Yeah? And why not?” he asked.

Pantyhose’s grip around the wooden weapon tightened. His neck veins puffed out as he spoke. The metal that held the three segments of the staff together rattled crankily.

“You need to start mastering existing martial arts before you start pulling new ones out of thin air, you dolt! As a student of my dojo, everything you do reflects on me. And ‘Martial Arts Kickball’ makes it sound like all of my students are just playing around and goofing off!”

“They are,” Ukyo said, buttting into the conversation. She pointed to Azusa, Mikado and Piganosuke, who were playing poker a few feet away, then looked back at Pantyhose. “Now, are you gonna teach this kickball class or what?” she asked him.

Pantyhose growled and tossed aside his staff. After exerting much effort, he produced a bowling ball and set it in the middle of the floor. Ukyo and Eiko blinked in unison.

“What’s this for?” Eiko asked.

“You want to kick a ball? Well here you are,” Pantyhose said. He folded his arms.

“That’s a bowling ball, stupid,” Eiko said.

Pantyhose punched Eiko so uselessly that his fist bounced right off of the boy’s head.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Sensei?” he said, wrinkling his brow and glaring at his fist in annoyance. “Besides, it makes perfect sense to use this for practice.”

“How do you figure?” Ukyo asked.

A smirk encompassed Pantyhose Taro’s face.

“If you can kick a bowling ball, you can kick a kickball.”

***

Back at the Tendo Dojo, practice wasn’t going much better.

“All right, Perfume, here ya go—you gotta be able to catch stuff, so we’ll start with balloons. Ready?” Ranma said.

Perfume nodded, reached up, and readjusted the Yomiuri Giants baseball cap she’d borrowed from Soun until its brim was perfectly angled across her brow. Her eyes burned with focus and determination.

Ranma tossed the balloon in a slow arc directly towards Perfume. Expelling a ferocious kiai, she jumped up in the air, did an impressive front flip, and missed the balloon completely, crashing into the wall instead. The wood made an ominous crackling sound, and a piece of framed calligraphy fell off its hinges.

Ranma picked Perfume up off the floor and set her back on her feet.

“Okay, yeah, that…wasn’t bad,” he said, lying impressively. “Let’s try focusing less on the jumping and more on watching the balloon, though.”

“Okay.”

This time, Ranma very slowly dropped the balloon into Perfume’s outstretched hands. She held it between her palms and smiled.

Then, an array of chains and ropes shot past Ranma on the left, wrapping the balloon in a death grip which ultimately resulted in its sudden, violent demise.

“Mousse, you’re supposed to catch it, not pop it!” Akane said, burying her head in her hands.

Mousse dropped his gear and looked at his fingers.

“Sorry. I guess I don’t know my own strength,” he said. “It’s the curse we masters of weaponry must bear!”

Akane picked up a model airplane and a medium-sized harpoon that lay in the pile of Mousse’s things and made a very tired face.

“I don’t think that’s the problem here,” she deadpanned.

***

Meanwhile, in the Tendos’ backyard, Ryoga was supposed to be training Tomiji, but she was completely preoccupied with recruiting new members to the team. The two of them were crawling on their stomachs across the grass.

“Ah, yes, my good companion, Nobunaga. Will you take up arms with us in the struggle against the kickball players of the noble house of Tamano?” she asked the cat who was lurking under the porch. The cat yawned and turned around.

Tomiji turned to Ryoga. “Quite the favorable response,” she said. “I am pleased.”

Then, a bowling ball ripped a fresh hole in the fence and landed in the grass. Ukyo poked her head through the newly-created opening, did a slight double take when she realized it was somehow bigger than the other hole—which Ranma had still not fixed—and shrunk back slightly.

“Oops! My bad. Could you get that for me?” she asked.

Ryoga picked the bowling ball up. He ambled towards the sound of Ukyo’s voice, but hesitated to hand the ball back.

“What’s this for…?” he asked mildly, trying not to make it obvious that he was looking past her in an attempt to find Eiko.

“Kickball practice,” Ukyo said.

Ryoga looked down at the twelve-pound metallic blue urethane ball, turning it over in his hands to quadruple-check it for finger holes. It had three of them. He looked back at Ukyo, confused.

“But this is a—”

Ukyo ripped the ball out of his hands. “Don’t you think I know that?!” she said.

Several meters further back, Mikado screamed “Arghh! I think my foot’s broken!”

The sun disappeared behind a meandering cloud. A few cars passed by. Another chunk fell out of the fence. Ukyo unconsciously took a slight step to the left so that she was directly in Ryoga’s line of sight. His eyes swam awkwardly up towards her, then stopped like a pair of goldfish bumping their heads against a glass aquarium.

“Someone should probably take Mikado to a hospital,” Ryoga said.

Ukyo looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, someone should!” she shouted at Pantyhose. Then she looked back at Ryoga.

“I swear, this stupid dojo’s just one big lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Ryoga rubbed the back of his neck, looking unsure of himself.

“Is Eiko going to be all right…?” he asked.

Ukyo huffed, twisting the bowling ball around between her palms. “That’s the whole reason I’m here, remember? Could you at least pretend like you trust me with this?”

Ryoga shuffled backwards. “I didn’t say that I don’t, it’s just that—”

He was interrupted by the sound of Tomiji shouting orders to a cat.

“Courage, Nobunaga! You must approach the ball with intent!”

Ukyo knitted her eyebrows. “What’re you up to, anyway?” she asked.

Ryoga looked at his toes.

“Kickball practice,” he said.

Some of Mousse’s chains flew across the yard, accompanied by a shout of “Pitch of the White Swan!” Another balloon popped. A tea kettle whistled. Inside the dojo, Ranma shouted something that sounded muffled but distinctly impolite.

“…Right,” Ukyo said. She looked at the bowling ball, paused to think, then handed it back to Ryoga.

“You know what?” she said. “On second thought, keep the stupid bowling ball. I’ve got a better idea.”

***

“You’re gonna be our coach?” Eiko said, draping his entire upper body irreverently over the Tendos’ dinner table and leaning on his elbow. He looked up at Ukyo, cocking an eyebrow.

Ukyo placed her hands on her hips.

“What other choice do you have?” she said in reply, bending down to look Eiko in the eyes. “The only teacher at the Pantyhose Taro Dojo besides me is…well, Pantyhose Taro. And he’s busy driving Mikado to the hospital right now.”

Ranma scoffed. “That hack got his driver’s license?” he asked.

“What, like it’s hard?” Nabiki remarked, smiling cattishly as she leaned back against the wall. Ranma suddenly looked like he’d swallowed a cactus and declined to comment. Akane shot Nabiki a look that said ‘Don’t even go there.’

Willfully ignoring the weird tension in the room, Ukyo straightened, blinked twice, and looked at Ranma. “I mean, I sure hope he did, since he’s driving and all—don’t make me worry about this any more than I already have to, okay? The point is, we need to come up with a unified strategy if we want Eiko and Perfume’s team to win, which means that our two dojos—“

She gestured with her pointer finger, waving it back and forth between the general locations of the two aforementioned dojos.

“—are going to have to work together.”

Ranma leaned his cheek into his left hand, obviously still a little upset about something. “Fine by me. As long as it’s you we’re working with and not that Pantyhose jerk.”

Eiko looked in the opposite direction. “Yeah, sure—I’ll work together with you Tendo Dojo weirdos just this once,” he said. “But I’m only doin’ it to help Perfume—don’t think I won’t come back and kick your butt later, Saotome!”

Kasumi entered the room with a tray and smiled. “That’s the spirit!” she said, completely unironically. “Now, who wants some tea?”

***

When teatime was over, the newly-formed alliance wandered one by one into the Tendo Dojo—except for Ryoga, who walked into a coat closet by mistake. Ukyo pulled out a large pad of blank paper and a pen, sketching out a baseball diamond. She placed the drawing in the center of the floor.

“All right. Here’s what we’re dealing with. Does anyone have any ideas?” she asked.

Tomiji raised her hand. “We arrive on the battlefield at dawn, conceal ourselves in foliage, and when the enemy arrives, we ambush them,” she said, pounding a fist against her open palm.

Sasuke—whom Tomiji had apparently conscripted to the team during dinner—applauded enthusiastically. “A most worthy strategy, young mistress!” he said.

Ukyo frowned. “Does anyone else have an idea?”

“Kick the ball really hard?” Eiko said, drumming his fingers impatiently against the floor.

Ranma scoffed.

“Yeah, sure—if ya got two or three people on base and no outs, that’ll buy you some time to score a few runs. But if you go all out and accidentally kick the ball straight up? Somebody catches it, and bam—you’re outta there before you can say fly ball,” he said.

Eiko stood up. “Hey, who died and made you a kickball expert?” he asked.

Ranma folded his arms. “I was a kid once, too, ya know. I used to beat your Pop at kickball all the time,” he said.

“You did not!” Ryoga’s voice sounded from somewhere deep in the coat closet.

“Ranma-honey’s a coach just as much as I am,” Ukyo said to Eiko, unwavering in her authority. “And if he’s got something to say, it wouldn’t kill you to listen, would it?”

Eiko glowered. “But I didn’t—!”

He started to protest, but Perfume intervened. She tugged at his sleeve, eyes pleading.

“Eiko, I want to know what Sensei thinks, too. Please…?” she said.

There were a few moments of quiet uncertainty in the crowd. Eiko didn’t look pleased, but surprisingly, he decided not to argue.

“Fine,” said Eiko. He sat back down. “But maybe he could say it like he’s an actual coach instead of some know-it-all jerk.”

Ukyo folded her arms. “Fair enough, I guess. Go ahead, Ranma-honey.”

Ranma looked a little put out at being called a know-it-all jerk, but he didn’t feel like wasting time bickering any more, either.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Hang on a second,” he said. He picked up Ukyo’s sketch pad and a pencil, squiggling some crude stick figures on the baseball diamond to represent the players.

“So, these are all the kids who are gonna be trying to stop you from scoring runs, right? You gotta get ‘em outta your way when you’re runnin’ the bases—so you can’t just bank on one kicking technique to do it. The best thing to do is bunt when you’re getting established so that the fielders end up here—”

He drew arrows going towards the inner part of the baseball diamond with the upside of the pencil.

“…but then you’ll want to kick the ball as far as you can when you’re trying to actually score runs—to keep ‘em away from home base. ‘Course, you don’t wanna be too predictable about how you do it. You gotta keep the opponents in the field guessing.”

He doodled a few question marks above the outfielders’ heads for emphasis.

“Long story short, it’s all about mastering at least two kicking techniques and learning when to use ‘em—at least as far as I can figure it,” he concluded.

“Hmph,” Eiko said, trying to pretend he wasn’t looking at the drawing.

“But hey,” Ranma said, “That’s just if you’re playin’ regular kickball. This is Martial Arts Kickball, right?”

Akane looked at him. “Right. And Martial Arts Kickball is different from normal kickball…how, exactly?”

“I got no idea,” Ranma said drily. “Ask the guy who invented it.”

Everyone looked at Eiko. Bursting with energy, the boy shot up like a piston, holding his fists up to his ears.

“Well—obviously we’re gonna use weapons! And our fists! And do cool poses! And channel our ki into the ball and stuff like that!” he blurted out.

“Oh,” Perfume said, her eyes shimmering with awe. “But can we really learn how to do all that in just a few days?” she asked. She leaned forward, absently fiddling with the flower-shaped barrette Konatsu had given her.

Mousse picked up Ukyo’s sketch pad and squinted at the drawing. “And why is there a bathtub in the middle of the kickball field?” he asked.

Looking exhausted, Akane reached over and grabbed Mousse’s long-forgotten spectacles.

“Put your glasses on,” she told him bluntly, handing them to him. He did.

“Oh. Right. No further questions,” Mousse said, sitting back on his feet again.

“As long as you take practice seriously, I think you’ll be able to at least master the basics,” Ukyo said to the team. “But that means coming here every day after school. Got it?”

The players nodded.

“Can we have a sports training camp, then?” Perfume asked, squeezing her knees and sitting up straighter. “I always wanted to try one.”

“A most excellent idea, Good Perfume! What say you, my Good Aunt and Uncle?” Tomiji said, looking at her relatives expectantly.

“I’ve got a late shift tomorrow—but if it’s all right with Ranma, then it’s all right with me,” Akane said. She looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “It’s not like we’re really using the Dojo for anything else right now, anyway.”

***

The next day, the Martial Arts Kickball Afterschool Training Camp held its inaugural practice at the Tendo Dojo. Ukyo lined her pupils up like soldiers and paced back and forth in front of them.

“All right, team. The first thing we need to do is warm up. Ranma-honey, you go ahead and lead the players in some stretches while I set up the equipment—”

“Get that thing outta my dojo first!” Ranma said, shrinking away from Nobunaga.

“But my Good Uncle, he is a member of the kickball team,” Tomiji insisted.

“Hey, I thought Piganosuke was gonna lead the stretches!” Eiko protested.

“When do we get to eat the okonomiyaki?!” asked Mr. Saotome. “I was told there would be batter at practice.”

“Mr. Saotome, I said it was batting practice,” said Perfume.

Sasuke bumbled through with a rather large bundle in his arms. “Mistress Tomiji, where shall I set up your tent for camp?” he asked.

“You may place it by my wardrobe, Sasuke,” Tomiji replied.

“You brought a whole wardrobe…?” Perfume asked, awestruck. She tried to peek at the wardrobe in the backyard.

Meanwhile, Mousse was ignoring orders and having a side conversation with Ryoga. “I call it the Pitch of the White Swan. Once Shampoo finds out I’ve pioneered a winning strategy, there’s no way she won’t be impressed—”

Ukyo reached for the whistle she’d hung around her neck and blew into it. Everyone stopped what they were doing—except Nobunaga, who continued licking his paw.

“All right, that’s enough! Everyone drop and give me twenty!” she said.

The team groaned and got down on their hands and knees to start doing push-ups. Looking up at the rafters, Ukyo tried to enjoy the momentary silence—but something told her it was going to be a very long week.

***

Pantyhose Taro frowned at the letter in his hands—if one could even call it that, really. It was more of a simple note, or perhaps merely a memo:

‘Training for Martial Arts Kickball. Be back Monday. Signed: Ukyo, Eiko and Piganosuke.’

He crumpled the letter up and tossed it onto the floor. “Those nincompoops! Wasting their time on a made-up martial art and fraternizing with the enemy—it’s disgraceful. And what’s worse…”

He turned around and looked at his remaining pupil.

“…with Sanzenin still in the hospital, that leaves me stuck babysitting you. Again.”

Azusa Shiratori looked up from the pages of her adult coloring book and smiled. “Oh, don’t worry! We’ll be having lots and lots of company soon! Azusa made sure of it!” she said.

Pantyhose scoffed. “What? More things from your stupid collection? Please. Spare me.”

There was a knock at the dojo door.

“What in the…? Who could that be?” Pantyhose asked.

He walked to the door and slid it open. A grown woman in a cheerleading outfit was standing on his doorstep, holding a large purse.

“G-o-o-d evening!!” she said—or rather spelled—in greeting. “Is this the new training facility for Martial Arts Cheerleading?”

“Martial Arts what?!” Pantyhose said.

The woman didn’t seem to notice his immediate distaste for her. She looked from his very irritated face to a piece of brightly colored paper in her hand and back again.

“Well, I think this is the right address,” she said, holding the paper out to show him.

Pantyhose would have shown her the door if she hadn’t already been standing in front of it. “I assure you, it is not. Now please take your leave of—”

“Oh! That’s it! That’s Azusa’s little flyer! Come on in!”

Pantyhose felt a pair of tiny, greedy hands shove him against the doorframe. Azusa ushered the cheerleader woman inside.

“Now wait just a minute!” Pantyhose said, but his cries went unnoticed. The instant the words left his mouth, in fact, he found himself face-to-face with a disturbingly glib-looking horse.

“Hello! We’re here for the free seminar on Martial Arts Tea Ceremony,” said a man on the horse’s back, motioning to a woman and boy in matching kimonos sitting behind him.

Pantyhose frowned. “We’re not having a—”

“Come in, come in!” Azusa said in a fit of giggles. She stomped Pantyhose to the ground to make way for the family. They rode into the Pantyhose Taro Dojo, horse and all.

“But this isn’t a—”

Pantyhose didn’t have time to complain. A trio of gymnasts walked in behind the horse.

“I’m so stoked, dude! Finally, a place to practice Men’s Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics!”

Furious but unable to get up off the floor, Pantyhose grabbed Azusa by the ankle. “Wh…what did you do?!” he asked her.

“Hm?” Azusa said. She dropped a flyer. It fluttered gently down into Pantyhose Taro’s face, nearly smothering him. He blew it away from his mouth and gathered it between his trembling hands.

“The Bernice Dojo Free Everything Special Open House?!” Pantyhose roared, reading the title out loud. It was written in crayon.

“Yep! Azusa was advertising! You’re welcome,” Azusa said. She smiled down at Pantyhose the way a preschooler might smile at an ant before ruthlessly stomping on it.

Pantyhose’s eyes flew down the page. “Martial Arts Calligraphy Expo? Martial Arts Shogi Demonstration? Martial Arts Gift Wrapping?! That’s not even a real thing!”

Azusa shrugged. “Azusa knows that; it just seemed like it would be fun.”

“We’re not here to have fun! We’re here to—”

“Excuse me,” someone interrupted, “But is this the right place for the Martial Arts All-You-Can-Eat Buffet?”

Pantyhose Taro screamed into the night.

***

“Did you two hear something just now?” Eiko asked. He poked at a campfire in the Tendos’ yard with a stick. Curled up behind him, Piganosuke was sleeping soundly in a pile of leaves.

Tomiji, who was sprawled out on her stomach, looked up from the calligraphy set she was using.

“I did not. I am engrossed in writing a letter to my esteemed parents,” she said.

Perfume leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “A letter…?” she asked.

“Correct. It is a formal letter of invitation to the kickball game. Naturally, Mother and Father will both be eager to witness my tactical victory over the Tamano Clan—and I am confident that they shall deem my performance worthy of a puppy,” Tomiji said. Concentrating intensely, she stuck out the tip of her tongue and dabbed another kanji onto the paper with her brush.

“Oh,” said Perfume. She couldn’t really read the words, but she was impressed with how fancy they looked. “That’s a pretty good idea. Maybe we can make some for Miss Konatsu and Mrs. Saotome and everyone else, too.”

“I concur, Good Perfume! It would only be proper, after all,” Tomiji said.

Eiko grunted softly and dropped his chin into his hand.

“Must be nice to have your parents show up for everything, huh, Short Stuff?” he asked. His eyes drifted restlessly past the koi pond.

Tomiji nodded in earnest, missing the caustic notes in Eiko’s voice. “Indeed! And they shall become your parents, too, once we are wed. We are both most fortunate, milord.”

“Bleh,” Eiko said with a wince. He stuck out his tongue and whirled around to face the other wall. Tomiji was unhampered by Eiko’s lack of enthusiasm at the prospect.

“I will ask Sasuke to fetch us some more ink posthaste. I shall return!” she said. Her feet pattered across the grass as she momentarily left Eiko and Perfume behind.

Perfume looked at Eiko, whose back was still turned.

“Um…we can make an invitation for your dad, too,” she said.

“Eh, don’t waste your paper on him,” Eiko said. “It’s not like he’s coming to the game either way. He’s useless,” he said. He put his hands behind his head in a grand show of nonchalance.

Unconsciously, Perfume drew her eyebrows together, her mouth squeezing itself into a frown. “Really? But he’s one of our Sensei. And he seems so nice,” she said.

Eiko laughed, but he didn’t sound happy.

“Nah, none of that matters. He’s never shown up to a single match I’ve ever been in. Not ever. Not once. He always gets lost somehow. So I don’t see how this time would be any different.”

Perfume wove her fingers together anxiously. “But—”

Eiko tossed aside his stick, stood up, and walked towards his tent.

“Like I said—my old man’s useless,” he repeated.

“Oh,” Perfume said. She pulled her legs up close to her chest and hugged them, pressing her cheek against her knees.

‘At least you have one,’ she thought.

***

Not ever. Not once.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d just sort of overheard. But those four words wounded Ryoga like a kunai sinking slowly into his chest.

They didn’t just hurt because they were harsh. They hurt because they were true.

It wasn’t for lack of trying—but somehow, somehow Ryoga had just…never ended up at the right address. Never arrived on time. Never been there for the person he loved most in the world when it really mattered; not for a single class play or pig sumo tournament or school sports day.

And then, on that terrible night one year ago, when Eiko needed him most of all—

No, Ryoga decided. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

He packed up his things and started walking. If he left now, he thought, surely he’d make it to his son’s game on time.

***

The next day’s training camp proved just as challenging as the last—frustratingly so, in fact. With no sign of Ryoga, the staff was woefully short handed. Ukyo put Ranma in charge of Perfume, who had a penchant for kicking everything but the ball. She also paired off Mousse and Tomiji to practice pitching, which Tomiji seemed to think required a sword—Ukyo let it slide. Pick your battles, she thought to herself. Nobunaga was batting at Piganosuke’s tail while the pig did push-ups beside Sasuke and Mr. Saotome. And Ryoga and Eiko were nowhere to be seen.

Like father, like son, Ukyo thought—but when she stepped out into the yard for some fresh air, she found Eiko practicing alone.

“Hoof of the Zebra!” Eiko cried. He got a running start, then sent a kickball hurtling against the side of the house—it bounced back and hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“Damn it,” the boy cursed, clutching at his sides. “It’s no good.”

“What’s no good?” Ukyo asked. “It looked like a great kick to me. Just kind of unfocused, is all.”

Eiko whipped around, startled.

“Ukyo?! What the hell—don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“That’s Coach Ukyo, remember? What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” she asked.

Eiko grumbled something under his breath. “…stupid old man,” it sounded like.

Somehow, Ukyo understood. “He disappeared again, huh?” she asked.

Eiko drew in a ragged breath.

“He’s such a moron!” he said—the words burst out of him, exploding like an aerosol can under pressure.

Ukyo folded her arms. “Yeah. I know,” she said. “But it’s not like he’s gone forever, right…?”

Eiko looked up at the roof. He didn’t say anything.

“Well, when he comes back, I’ll yell at him hard enough for the both of us,” Ukyo said.

Eiko looked at her, a question forming behind his eyes. “Why do you care whether he’s here or not, anyway?” he asked.

Ukyo’s mouth tightened into a thin line.

“Personal reasons,” she said. She subconsciously reached for her spatula, which started to bend slightly under pressure from her iron grip.

Intimidated by Ukyo’s battle aura, Eiko swallowed his curiosity and declined to ask any further questions.

Ukyo sighed and let go.

“Anyways, you should quit running so much. You can get all the power you need into the kick in two or three steps. Maybe try something that’s a little more grounded,” Ukyo said.

Eiko blinked at her, placing his hands behind his head. “Oh, yeah? Well, are you gonna keep flapping your gums about it, or are you gonna show me?” he asked.

Ukyo tossed her spatula aside and prepared to demonstrate.

***

That Friday, the schoolyard at Furinkan Elementary School was abundant with student activity as usual. The crisp autumn air was made lively with the sounds of games and laughter—and for the first time in their lives, Eiko, Perfume and Tomiji were taking part in recess, playing a game of their own instead of sitting off to the side.

“Come on, Perfume, you can do it! Kick the ball just like we practiced at camp!” Eiko said, cupping his hands around his mouth. Piganosuke let out an encouraging squeal. They stood side by side with their backs to the fence, flanking Perfume, who was wearing Soun’s baseball cap again.

“Well…I’ll try,” Perfume said. She stepped forward and looked up at Tomiji, who was ready to pitch the kickball a few meters away.

“Prepare for the Kuno Clan’s Special Technique! Demon of the Western Province Pitch!” Tomiji shouted at the top of her lungs.

Tomiji rolled the ball forward. Perfume reared back.

“Eeyah!” she cried out, closing her eyes and kicking with all her might. Her leg shot straight up in the air, reflecting three thousand years of tradition and remarkable flexibility.

Unfortunately, she also missed the ball completely. Her shoe, on the other hand, made quite a journey, soaring magnificently across the sky and landing on the school rooftop.

***

Up in the classroom, Chiyo watched Perfume’s shoe as it flew over the building. Her eyes watered with tears of laughter as she steadied herself with her palms against the window. “Oh my god, she’s such a klutz,” she said, wiping her left eye with a finger. “I cannot wait for tomorrow. It’s gonna be a disaster.”

Beside her, Yukimaru observed the schoolyard quietly, her mouth curled up into a thoughtful smile.

“It’s kind of cute how hard they’re trying, though,” Yukimaru said.

She flipped open her bright yellow phone, skillfully writing out a text using the number pad:

‘Change of plans. Come tomorrow. Johoku Central Park. 2 p.m.’

It wouldn’t hurt to have a little insurance policy, she thought. Just in case.

***

Evening came to the Tendo Dojo, and so did the final day of Martial Arts Kickball Afterschool Training Camp. It started with Piganosuke leading the players and coaches in a calisthenics routine and ended with Perfume accidentally kicking a stone lantern through the side of the house. Then, everyone ate the heartiest meal the Tendos could afford—bowls of white rice with miso-pickled vegetables—to keep up their strength. The only thing left to do was wait for the day of the game to arrive.

Akane returned from the bath to find Ranma peering out of the window and down into the backyard, tapping his fingers against the desk. She paused in the doorway, observing him for a moment as she toweled off her hair.

“Still no sign of Ryoga?” Akane asked.

Ranma winced and swiveled the desk chair around. “Nope. When is that knucklehead gonna learn not to wander off?” he said.

On quiet feet, Akane walked into the room, stopping behind Ranma to have a look into the yard for herself. Piganosuke and Eiko sat pressed together in the grass, looking up at the moon.

Ranma leaned back, jabbing his thumb towards the boy in the garden. “He said he didn’t care whether his old man showed up to the match or not, but I can tell he’s lyin’ about it,” he said.

The corners of Akane’s mouth turned down thoughtfully. “Yeah, I know. He’s trying to put on a brave face, but…deep down, I think he’s still sad. I feel sorry for him.”

The two of them went quiet, but worry still hung in the air like the lingering scent of a bonfire. Ranma seemed uncharacteristically deep in thought.

“Man. I know Ryoga doesn’t do this stuff on purpose or nothin’, but it's still kinda ticking me off, you know? Every time he disappears like this, it’s hurting his kid,” he said. “No wonder things between them are so messed up right now.”

Akane dropped her towel in the laundry basket and sat down on the bed, sharing Ranma’s concern. “Yeah. I mean, I can tell Ryoga’s been doing his best, but…it’s still not ideal. Maybe there’s no helping the way things are, though. Families are just sort of complicated like that sometimes.”

There should have been a profound silence, but instead, the sound of Mr. Saotome kicking down the door and bursting into the bedroom with the karaoke machine pierced the quiet of the night.

“You’re absolutely right, Akane!” Genma said tearfully. “After all, I never meant for Ranma’s personality to become so warped that he’d refuse to share his secret stash of chocolate with his own father, but this is what it’s come to! Oh, Ranma, you must understand! I never took your food out of malice! It was all for a greater purpose—one you could never truly understand!”

“Eugh!” Akane shouted reflexively. Disturbed and startled, she picked up the bedside table. Ranma stood up and cracked his knuckles.

“Tell it to someone who cares!” Ranma said, punching Gemma back out of the room.

Before Ranma could close the door, Mousse entered in a panic.

“Ranma, it’s an emergency! Cancel the kickball game—I can’t find my glasses!” he cried, grasping at Akane’s shoulders. Akane dropped the table in surprise.

“I’m over here, you moron! And how is that my problem?!” Ranma shot back.

Mousse turned around and addressed an adjacent lamp.

“Oh, good evening, Mrs. Saotome—have you seen my glasses?” he asked it.

Ranma and Akane’s faces fell into their hands in unison when they both noticed Mousse’s glasses were sitting on top of his hair.

“Should I tell him…?” Akane asked Ranma.

“Nah, I’ll do it,” Ranma said, unpeeling his palm from his forehead. “Hey, Mousse—have you tried looking on top of your head…?”

Mousse looked doubtful. “What? Why would I do that…?”

Akane reached up and pulled the glasses down over Mousse’s eyes.

“It’s a miracle! I can see again!” Mousse proclaimed.

Ranma slammed the door shut behind Mousse as he sashayed out of the room. “And next time, use those things to read the sign, will ya? It says ‘keep out,’ for cryin’ out loud!”

Down in the yard, Eiko started tossing rocks at Ranma and Akane’s bedroom window. Ranma opened it, impatient and somewhat disoriented.

“Yeah? Whaddaya want?” Ranma shouted down into the yard.

“Keep it down, loudmouths! Shouldn’t all you old geezers be asleep by now?” Eiko snapped.

Ranma leaned against the windowsill and narrowed his eyes. “Shouldn’t you?” he asked.

“Lay off! I’m tryin’ to think about my kickball strategy!” Eiko said.

Akane popped her head out of the window next to Ranma’s.

“Say, Eiko—can’t you think about your strategy inside?” she said. “It’s getting pretty cold out there.”

“Yeah—and besides, you’re not even gonna make it to the field tomorrow if you don’t get a good night’s rest first,” Ranma added.

Eiko wrinkled up his nose. “That psychology stuff won’t work on me, you chumps! Nobody tells me what to do!”

Ranma and Akane turned to look at one another, puzzled.

“Eiko, it’s time to come in! I drew you a bath,” Kasumi’s voice called out from somewhere on the other side of the veranda.

Eiko stood up and turned around.

“Coming!” he said, running into the house. Piganosuke followed him.

Ranma’s eyebrows nearly stitched themselves into a knot.

“Well, that’s that, I guess,” Akane said tonelessly.

“Yep,” Ranma said. He shut the window.

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Doesn’t anybody in this house know how to read?!” Ranma said, grunting through his teeth.

“Sensei…? It’s me,” the voice on the other side all but whispered.

Turning away from the window, Akane and Ranma looked at each other again, coming to an unspoken agreement. Ranma opened the door.

“Hey, what’s up, Perfume?” Ranma asked, looking down at his pupil. She was in her pajamas, a kickball clutched tightly to her chest.

Perfume looked up at him, her big eyes wracked with guilt and anxiety. “I don’t think I trained hard enough, and now the team’s going to lose and it’ll be all my fault,” she said. “Can we practice some more…?”

Ranma scratched the side of his face with his index finger. “Hey, we all trained the same amount, remember? Don’t sweat it,” he said, offering a reassuring smile.

It had the opposite of the intended effect—Perfume looked down at her kickball and started to cry.

“But I’m different from everyone else. I’m no good,” she said, pressing her forehead against the textured rubber ball. “I made a hole in your house.”

Ranma felt his voice catch in his throat. “Uh—well…”

He looked like he was drowning when he turned to Akane for help. She was at his side in an instant, kneeling down to lay a hand on top of Perfume’s head.

“Hey, you know what? Ranma’s made lots and lots of holes in the house, and he’s a great martial artist!” she said.

Perfume sniffled and looked up at Ranma. “You have, Sensei?” she asked.

“Well, sorta, but, uh…”

Still caught somewhat off guard, Ranma found himself at a loss for words until Akane elbowed him firmly in the side.

“I mean—yeah! Ya know what they say—can’t make an omelet without breakin’ a few eggs and all that,” Ranma said. Under his breath, he added “…even though most of those omelets happened ‘cause somebody else started it.”

Perfume blinked back her tears. “I’m still worried about tomorrow, though,” she said.

“Yeah? Well, don’t be. You got the rest of us to back you up. And even if we don’t win the first match, it’s no big deal. A martial artist’s never really defeated unless they give up,” Ranma said.

Perfume tilted her head to the side. “They’re not?” she asked.

Ranma picked her up under the arms, kickball and all, and put her down in the desk chair.

“Nope. Sit down, kid. I’m gonna tell you about the time I mastered the Chestnuts Roasting On an Open Fire technique.”

***

“And then—I reached into the tank, and wham! I pulled out all the fish—just like this! Kachū Tenshin Amaguriken!” Ranma said, demonstrating his signature move on an open sock drawer.

Akane clapped, painfully slowly, as an argyle knee sock flew out of the drawer and alighted on her head. Perfume blinked a few times and joined in the clapping. A pink ruffled ankle sock landed in between her two palms, which were sticky with chocolate shared from Ranma’s secret stash. She looked down at the knitted footwear in awe and contemplation.

“So that’s why you gotta just keep tryin’ until you get it,” Ranma said.

Perfume leaned forward. “But what about the Phoenix Pill? How did you take it from Elder Cologne?” she asked.

Ranma puffed out his chest. “Hah! Well that’s—”

“—a story for another night,” Akane interrupted, pointing at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was almost eleven o’clock.

Ranma deflated. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow,” he said.

Perfume’s shoulders hunched forward. “Oh. That’s fine,” she said, trying and failing to mask her disappointment.

They all bid each other good night. Perfume climbed out of the chair and ambled towards the open door, but stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed how dark it was in the hallway. She swallowed hard and turned back towards Ranma and Akane.

“Sensei…? Can I stay in here tonight?” Perfume asked.

Ranma looked at Akane, who shrugged.

“I’ll get a sleeping bag,” said Akane.

“I’ll go get the night light,” Ranma said.

Perfume shook her head. “That’s okay. I’ll be fine without them,” she said.

Much to the bafflement of her two favorite Sensei, Perfume crawled under the bed and immediately fell asleep.

***

It was Saturday morning. Shoppers flocked to Nerima Station, ready to make their rounds. An odd man out stood among the throngs of usual customers, his yellow bandanna soaked with perspiration.

“Excuse me, miss—is this Johoku Central Park?” Ryoga asked. He looked desperately towards a young girl on the street who was handing out coupon flyers for the local pharmacy.

The girl frowned. “No,” she said. “That’s the third time you’ve asked me.”

Ryoga sank to the ground, slumping over in defeat. “Oh,” he said miserably. “I see.”

He folded his hands together and looked up at the clouds that were swirling forebodingly overhead, swallowing his tears.

“Hello, Akari. It’s me again,” he said to the sky.

The pharmacy girl looked down at him. “My name’s Reiko,” she said bluntly.

Ryoga did a slight crab walk backwards on the ground. “I—I wasn’t talking to you!” he said, flushing with embarrassment.

Reiko’s mouth flattened into a terse line. She stared at him.

“Uh…would you mind not looking at me…?” Ryoga asked her. “This is sort of a private conversation.”

“Whatever,” Reiko the pharmacy girl said. Her cheeks puffed up with air as she looked pointedly in the other direction. “Weirdo,” she added under her breath.

Ryoga pretended not to notice. He cleared his throat.

“Akari. I know I can always turn to you when I need guidance, and right now, I need it more than ever. Eiko has a match coming up, and I really want to be there for him this time—to prove I’m not worthless as a father and all that. And…well, I sort of hate to admit it, but I left my wallet at home, so I can’t call a cab, and I’m running out of time. If there’s any other way—any way at all—”

Ryoga didn’t have time to finish asking for help, because someone abruptly tripped over him, spilling a bag of groceries everywhere.

“Oh—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”

Fumbling for an apology, Ryoga picked up a large leek and a bag of fresh noodles, handing them hastily back to the person who’d lost them. Their eyes met over a winter melon that was rolling around on the sidewalk.

“Oh, good heavens!” the owner of the groceries exclaimed. She was wearing a familiar waitress uniform and smokey purple eyeshadow. “Aren’t you…?”

Ryoga recoiled. It was her—the waitress from Ukyo’s restaurant who’d watched him transform in the bathtub during the Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing debacle. He froze in place as she looked him up and down. Ryoga suddenly wished he could disappear.

“Oh, yes, it is you! Why, I’d recognize that panicked expression just about anywhere!” said the waitress, flashing a friendly smile. “You’re that adorable little Charlotte, aren’t you?” she asked. She clasped her hands together.

Ryoga blanched, suddenly stricken with several unpleasant memories of being shoved into a tutu and toted around like a lapdog. “No! I mean, yes, but—please don’t call me—”

Ukyo poked her head out from between the flaps of the cloth noren that adorned the entrance to her restaurant, which was apparently two doors down from the pharmacy.

“Konatsu, what’s taking you so long?” she asked. Her eyes followed Konatsu’s bent back and trailed down towards the pavement, where Ryoga was holding a plastic container full of pickled ginger.

Suddenly sensing a means to escape this predicament, Ryoga sprang to his feet.

“Ukyo, it’s an emergency! I need to get to Johoku Central Park right away!” he said, his eyes pleading as he shoved the container into Ukyo’s hands.

Ukyo set the container aside and regarded Ryoga coolly. “Oh, look who finally decided to show his face again. You’re a little early, though. The Martial Arts Kickball match doesn’t start for another four hours,” she said.

“I left three days ago!” Ryoga cried in anguish. “Please, you’ve just got to help me. Otherwise, Eiko might never forgive me…!”

Ukyo had been fully prepared to yell at him, but Ryoga was so pathetic right now—it would be like kicking a helpless animal when it was down. She sighed and relented.

“All right, fine—I guess you’d want to start out from the station, then go left on Masakubo, and hang right on Sakuradai until you get to the walking path.”

“Got it,” Ryoga said, nodding jerkily. “Thanks, Ukyo. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Ukyo said. She waved at him blankly as he trampled down the street. Then, her face fell like a line of dominoes.

“Wait a minute, where are you going?!” she shouted. “The station’s that way!”

***

Before Ryoga could fully process what was happening, Ukyo was pulling him down Masakubo Street by the back of his oversized rucksack. He couldn’t quite see Ukyo’s face, but Ryoga couldn’t help but notice she was grumbling to herself as she went.

“I’m lucky Konatsu agreed to cover for me again—how does anyone have this bad a sense of direction?” Ukyo wondered aloud.

Ryoga slumped over like a wilted celery stalk, his pace slowing until Ukyo was all but completely dragging him down the street.

“I’m sorry,” Ryoga said, his eyes trained on the sidewalk as his heels scraped across it. “I thought if I left early enough, it would all work out this time.”

Ukyo released a heavy sigh and stopped walking. She seized Ryoga by the shoulder, twisting him around to face her.

“Did it ever occur to you that if you hadn’t wandered off all by yourself—if you’d just stuck with the team the whole time—that we could’ve all gone to the game together?” she said.

It took a few moments for comprehension to dawn on Ryoga. Then, he suddenly came to the realization that Ukyo was absolutely right. It was as though he’d been struck in the head by a bag full of bricks.

“I…I guess it didn’t,” Ryoga responded faintly.

Ukyo slowly let go of his shoulders, looking up into Ryoga’s eyes with a piercing stare.

“See, that’s your problem, Ryoga,” she told him. “You get so worked up about things that you don’t stop to think before you run off. And it’s kind of messing with my whole plan here.”

“But I…”

Exhausted from three days of nonstop walking , Ryoga failed to come up with a way to defend his actions. Then, something else struck him—it was like a second sack of bricks straight to his skull.

“Wait, what plan?” he asked her.

Ukyo stood on her tiptoes, fists balled up at her sides, staring at him even harder. “The one to get the two dojos to work together so you could spend more time with your kid, obviously!” she said.

Feeling faint, Ryoga took a single step backwards.

“You…you were doing that to help me?” he asked.

Ukyo sighed, sinking back down onto her heels and pressing her forehead into her hand. “You really are thick, aren’t you,” she mumbled, and Ryoga got the feeling he wasn’t meant to hear it.

Then, she looked back up at him. “Come on, Ryoga. You don’t really think I volunteered myself as a coach because I love playing Martial Arts Kickball or something, do you…?” she asked.

Ukyo held him in place with an uncomfortably penetrating gaze, albeit not an entirely hostile one. There was a softness around her eyes Ryoga couldn’t quite figure out.

“Then…then why…?” he said.

Ukyo folded her arms slowly across her chest and tilted her head to the left. “Well…Ranma-honey did ask me to help you two out back when this all started,” she explained. “You know, as a favor between friends…”

“Oh,” Ryoga said. He felt his heart sink a little, but he didn’t know why.

He looked at the pavement again—but Ukyo bent down, shoving her face under his so that he couldn’t look away.

“But I’m not just doing this for him, you know!” she said.

“Huh…?” Ryoga responded, startled and completely confused.

He straightened up again. So did she. They looked at one another without speaking for a few long, agonizing seconds. A number of pedestrians stopped to stare at the pair, who were staring at each other in the middle of the crowded sidewalk.

Ukyo broke the silence.

“Ryoga…” she said. “I told you to trust me, didn’t I…?”

Slowly, Ryoga nodded.

“Okay. I…I do. Trust you, I mean,” he said, running his fingertips through the side of his wind-tossed hair. “And I’m sorry about before.”

The annoyance that had wrinkled her brow and creased her mouth disappeared, and just for a moment, everything about Ukyo’s expression relaxed itself.

“Okay,” she said, letting out a held breath slowly. “Well, then—come on, what are we waiting for? We’ve got a game to get to, don’t we?”

She smiled so slightly he almost missed it—but Ryoga was glad he didn’t.

“Right!” he said, curling his hands into fists in front of his chest. “Today’s the day I make it to Eiko’s match on time! To the park!”

With newfound confidence, Ryoga started walking again—in the wrong direction.

“Uh, Sugar? Other way,” Ukyo said, taking him firmly by the backpack again.

“Haha…right. Thanks,” Ryoga said, looking at the ground again. Embarrassment stained his cheeks, but even so, he couldn’t help but smile at the sidewalk.

Despite everything that had happened, it was going to be a good day.

***

The spectator stands around the baseball field filled up quickly that afternoon. The Tendos and Saotomes sat among a sea of familiar faces, ready to cheer for the two rising stars of their martial arts school—and the rest of the Martial Arts Kickball Team, which consisted of a stray cat, a panda, a smallish ninja, a nearsighted weapons master, and a boy riding a pig.

“That foul Eiko Unryū—forcing my daughter to play in the dirt like some kind of commoner!” Kuno muttered darkly. He held Tomiji’s handwritten invitation to the game with the grip of a coconut crab, studying it fiercely. “And yet…and yet! I can’t help but notice that Tomiji’s calligraphy is flawless,” he said, unable to keep a note of smug satisfaction out of his voice.

Beside him, Nabiki was peddling programs, t-shirts and snacks from a cart and talking on the phone at the same time. “That’s right, Mito, another family emergency—it’s very urgent,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to cancel all my afternoon appointments.”

Covering the receiver, she addressed a boy from the other team who was drooling over a hot dog. “Those are five hundred yen each, sweetie.”

Nodoka placed a hat gingerly on the panda’s head. Akane handed Soun one of Kasumi’s homemade rice balls. Kasumi waved Pantyhose Taro over, motioning to an empty seat next to her. Pantyhose hesitated and got run over by the Daimonji family’s pet horse, Moonlight, instead.

“Well, now, if it isn’t Akane!” Sentaro Daimonji said. His horse left hoofprints all over Pantyhose’s face. “I’m so touched you came all the way here just to see me!”

Akane leaned her chin in her hand and looked the other way. “Give me a break,” she said.

Meanwhile, Ryoga was all but glued to the fence, shouting and leaping and waving and otherwise making his presence known.

“Eiko! Eiko, it’s me, your father! I…I made it on time! I came here to see you! Eikoooo!” he called out to his son, who was warming up with the rest of his teammates on the field. Passerby stopped to gawk at Ryoga’s rumpled clothes and the very intense dark circles under his eyes—no doubt a side effect of his three arduous days of walking.

“Eiko, your dad made it after all,” Perfume said. Aglow with wonder, she turned towards her teammate. “Aren’t you happy…?” she asked.

Eiko ducked down behind her and covered his head with his hands. “Ugh,” he said. “Just pretend we don’t know him.”

***

“May the best team win,” Yukimaru said.

She shook Eiko’s hand with a smile on her face that seemed a bit too self-congratulatory for someone who hadn’t even started to play ball yet.

Ukyo leaned over towards Ranma and whispered to him under the brim of her baseball cap. “Is it just me, or does the other team seem kind of…weird to you?” she asked.

Ranma looked at the other team. Four of the players were regular grade schoolers. The rest of them looked like bodybuilders who had been stuffed into expertly tailored dress suits.

“Yeah, now that you mention it,” Ranma said.

Nabiki slid up behind them, holding a corn dog on a stick. “You know, I’ve heard rumors that the Tamano family has ties to the mob,” she said. “And I’m starting to think they might be true.”

“Whah?” Ranma and Ukyo said as they turned around to look at her.

Nabiki took a bite of her food and shrugged. “I mean, they're still just rumors—but I’d play nice with them if I were you.”

She slapped Ranma on the shoulder and smiled. “Have fun!”

***

Meanwhile, one of the gigantic, thuggish-looking players on Yukimaru’s team leaned towards one of her enormous cohorts and whispered.

“Hey, Tanaka. Is it just me, or does the other team seem kinda…weird to you?” she asked.

Tanaka looked from the spotted cat to the humongous pig to the panda with a hat. He scratched the stubbly skin just under his lip.

“Yeah…they kinda do,” he replied.

***

The game began. Chiyo was playing catcher, and took the opportunity to quite literally laugh at Perfume behind her back. Eventually unable to resist the urge to turn around, Perfume looked behind her—just in time to miss the pitcher bouncing the ball towards her.

“Strike One!” called the referee.

Chiyo laughed harder, falling over onto the ground. Perfume swallowed and faced the pitcher’s mound, determined to do better next time. She tried to remember Ranma’s advice like a mantra.

‘Watch the ball—watch the ball, just like Sensei said—just watch the ball…”

“Strike Two!” the referee said.

“What?” Perfume said. Her arms prickled with goosebumps as she realized she’d been thinking so hard, she’d failed to notice the ball whizzing past her and into Chiyo’s waiting hands.

“Don’t let her psych you out! Just kick it, Perfume!” Eiko said, standing up to shout at her from the bench.

The next time the ball rolled down the field, Perfume remembered to put her foot out in front of her. With great concentration, she stuck out her toe—the ball bounced off it just slightly.

Delighted, Perfume turned towards her coaches. “Sensei, I did it! I kicked the ball!” she said.

Ranma smiled a very tense smile. “That’s great, Perfume—now RUN!”

Perfume hadn’t really considered that she might actually make it far enough into the game to have to run anywhere—but despite the late start, she managed to get safely to first base. This was largely due to the fact that when the fielders started towards the ball, they all tripped and fell over simultaneously, because someone had tied their shoelaces together.

Back on the bench, Eiko gave Sasuke a covert high five.

***

Predictably—but much to Tomiji’s disappointment—Nobunaga the cat struck out. So did Mousse, because he forgot to put on his glasses. But the crowd cheered jubilantly when Tomiji took to the plate, using her sword to both hit the ball and fend off anyone who tried to tag her out with it.

“Is she allowed to do that…?” Yukimaru asked the referee.

The referee looked at the giant panda going up to bat and started to sweat. “I dunno, kid. They don’t pay me enough for this.”

***

Despite being an incredibly slow runner, the panda made it to first base, because even the most muscular of the infielders seemed too terrified of him to tag him out. Eiko was up to bat next.

“Ew, what smells like a barn?” Chiyo remarked. Eiko ignored her, stepping back into a bow stance. His battle aura raged, which promptly terrified Chiyo into silence.

The pitcher wound up and unleashed the ball.

“Hoof of the Zebra!” Eiko said, pivoting forward. His foot met the ball explosively in mid-air. It shot across the field like a comet.

“Ha—eat that, losers!” Eiko taunted as he started to run.

Then, the ball suddenly deflated in midair and lost altitude. One of the burly outfielders caught it and chucked it at the third baseman, who tagged out Perfume. Perfume slinked back to the bench.

“What the—?! What happened to the ball?” Ranma said. “It’s like it just fell straight outta the air for no reason.”

Ukyo poked him in the shoulder.

“Uh, Ranma-honey? I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about,” Ukyo said. She pointed to Mr. Saotome, who had fallen asleep halfway between first and second base. Tomiji was pounding on the panda’s back with both fists.

“Live, you wretched puppy! You need to live, do you hear me?!” she shouted dramatically into the heavens.

Ranma stomped over to his father. “What’s your problem, old man? Can’t even stay awake for one lousy—”

Then, something caught Ranma’s eye. There was a slight protrusion of feathers and something silvery—he pulled a needle out of the panda’s backside and held it up to his face, crossing his eyes to get a better look at it.

“Tranquilizer darts?!” he exclaimed. “Who did this?!”

He looked up to find Yukimaru near second base, crying to one of the men in dress suits.

“That’s right, Tanaka! That horrible bear was going to attack me!” Yukimaru said, pretending to cry into a handkerchief.

“There, there, Lady Yukimaru,” Tanaka said. “I took care of it for ya, so don’t cry.”

He sheathed his tranquilizer gun and patted Yukimaru on the head. The girl glanced up at Ranma briefly and stuck out her tongue.

Ranma fumed. “Why that little—!”

“Careful, Ranma-honey. We don’t wanna mess with these guys, remember?” Ukyo said through her teeth. She held Ranma back with both hands, trying to prevent him from getting into any fights with the competition.

“What?!” Ranma said. “C’mon, I could take ‘em!”

“They have guns, you jackass!”

As the coaches argued, the rest of the Martial Arts Kickball players soaked the panda with hot water and dragged the unconscious Genma off the field. The second half of the inning was about to begin.

***

Less than two minutes into the bottom of the first inning, there was already one out on the board.

“Come on, Goro! Avenge me! You’re not gonna let that ugly old man beat us, are you?!” Chiyo said. She pointed at Mousse as he prepared to throw the ball at an elementary school boy who was up to bat.

“Old man?! I’ll show you who’s an old man! Pitch Of the White Swan!” Mousse said. He pitched the ball—but no sooner had Goro kicked it, Mousse pulled it back towards him with chains at a speed faster than the eye could see, catching it.

“You’re out!” said the referee. Goro walked back to the bench.

“Whatever. He’s still old and ugly,” Chiyo muttered.

Mousse turned towards the Tendos in the stands. “Did you get that on film?! I want Shampoo to see it!” he said, flailing his arms around.

Akane flashed Mousse a half-hearted thumbs up. Mousse stuck up his chin and gloated.

“Haha! No one can stand against me now! I’m doing this for true love!” he proclaimed.

“Big talk for a dude who plays sports with grade schoolers,” Eiko muttered to Piganosuke as they stood in the infield, guarding third base.

Piganosuke oinked his assent.

“Looks like our team’s gonna win as long as he keeps pitching, though,” Eiko said.

“Don’t be too sure of that yet,” Yukimaru said. “We’ve got a martial artist on our team, too!”

As if on cue, a boy with delicate features and a pristine blue kimono stepped up to the plate—or rather, he scooted up to it in a seiza position, kneeling on the ground as he chugged forward like an adorable locomotive.

“Arata Daimonji, heir to the Daimonji School,” said the boy, placing his hands before him and bowing. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Tomiji mirrored the bow from the infield. Perfume panicked.

“U-uhm, likewise,” she said, bending forward awkwardly.

“And now, a haiku,” Arata said. “How swiftly the ball, cutting through the autumn chill, reminds us of tea,” he said. He started whisking matcha around in a ceramic bowl.

In the stands, Sentaro stood up and whooped for joy.

“That’s my son!” he said, throwing an arm around Akane. Beside him, his wife Satsuki and their horse sipped tea quietly.

“Gee, I never would have guessed,” Akane said, looking largely unimpressed as she peeled Sentaro’s arm off her shoulder and dropped it.

“Whatever! This ain’t no tea party! Pitch him the ball, Mousse!” Eiko said.

Mousse nodded. “Right! Pitch Of the White—hey!”

An antique ivory tea scoop blocked Mousse’s chains from reaching the ball. The chains twirled themselves into a knot and hit the ground. Without standing up, Arata swept out his foot, kicking the ball gently forward. He sped towards first base on his knees.

Perfume ambled over to the bouncing ball and tried to pick it up, only to find that Arata was in her way.

“Might I humbly offer you a sip of tea?” he said to her. He tried to pass her a finely-crafted tea bowl.

Perfume hesitated. “Well, actually, I have to…”

She trailed off, her eyes frantically darting between the bowl and the ball.

“The ball, Perfume! Throw it to second!” Eiko urged her.

The sound of Eiko’s voice snapped Perfume out of her daze. Unfortunately, she was still somewhat mixed up about what she was supposed to do in this situation—which was why instead of picking up the ball and throwing it to second base, she picked up the bowl and threw it instead.

As it hurtled through the air, Sentaro stood up in a panic, chomping on his fingernails and looking as though his life was flashing before his eyes.

“That’s a family heirloom! Oh, Grandma’s gonna kill me if it breaks—”

With a dull clang, the tea bowl landed upside-down on the tip of Tomiji’s sword. Sentaro collapsed into Satsuki’s lap, clutching at his chest as he tried to remember how to breathe.

Arata rounded all of the bases and scored a run.

***

The first inning ended with one run on the board for Yukimaru’s team —and they managed three more in the second, thanks to the efforts of Yukimaru’s large and muscular companions. The total score was now four to zero in Yukimaru’s favor, and the Martial Arts Kickball team was starting to feel demoralized.

“I just don’t get it!” Eiko said, punching the fence. “Every time I use my special kick, something weird happens to the ball! What am I doing differently now from when we were practicing?!” he said, shouting at his clenched fingers.

“You’re not doin’ anything differently,” Ranma replied. His back was against the fence and his arms were folded. “The other team’s just playin’ dirty, is all.”

“So, how do we get them back?” Eiko asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” said a voice behind them.

They both turned to look. It was Pantyhose Taro.

“What’re you doing here, Pantyhose Taro?” Ranma asked him. “Last I checked, you ain’t on the team’s roster—so turn around and mind your own business, will ya?”

Pantyhose tried to play it cool, but he was clearly boiling under the surface.

“First of all, do not call me Pantyhose Taro,” he said, holding up a finger. “And second of all—”

He held up a second finger.

“Three of my disciples are involved with this stupid kickball team, which means that any failures of theirs are failures of mine! And I will not just sit around while you’re out here soiling the good name of the Pantyhose Taro Dojo!” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ranma said flippantly. “Sorry for soiling your pantyhose or whatever—”

Eiko snickered in spite of himself.

“But in case ya hadn’t noticed, half the other team’s made up of yakuza goons,” Ranma finished.

“Well, that might pose a problem for you, Ranma Saotome—but I doubt they’d be any trouble for me if I had my full strength back,” he said. “So, if you two don’t mind, I’ll just be taking the cure for the Weakness Moxibustion—”

Ranma and Eiko both stomped Pantyhose into the dirt before he could finish the thought.

“Nice try, pal,” Ranma said.

“You’re not gettin’ it that easy,” Eiko added. He and Ranma shared a brief, quizzical glance, surprised that they were somehow on the same page.

Exerting tremendous effort, Pantyhose stood back up and spit out a mouthful of rocks he had almost swallowed by accident.

“Fine,” he said. “Luckily for you simpletons, I had the foresight to come up with a Plan B.”

“Oh, boy. I can’t wait to hear it,” Ranma said, the very picture of sarcasm.

“Yeah, don’t leave us hangin’, man,” Eiko said, only slightly less mockingly than Ranma.

Despite the lukewarm reception, Pantyhose smiled in the most self-congratulatory manner possible. A chuckle rumbled deep in his throat.

“All right. Unryū, you’ll be in charge of Phase One,” he said.

“Sure, fine,” Eiko said with a shrug. “What’s Phase One?”

“You use this,” Pantyhose Taro said.

He handed Eiko a bowling ball.

***

Mariko Konjo sighed very, very audibly to herself, clasping her hands over her aching heart as she gazed up into the dreary skies above Johoku Central Park. It was the second weekend of many that she would be spending alone and companionless, without a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone—a handset with a pink cover and about five different charms dangling off the top—and let her finger hover over the contact information of the man who’d broken her heart.

Mariko’s thumb trembled as it floated just above the delete button; then she almost backed out and called him—but she remembered his parting words to her, which had been “stop smothering me,” and her countenance grew more pitiful.

“I just don’t understand, my darling. All I ever wanted to do was cheer you on with all my heart, Ichiro! Why did you leave me? W-h-y?” Mariko said. A tear spilled over onto her cheek and sparkled. She clutched the phone so tightly its case started to crack.

Yes, all she’d ever wanted to do was make her boyfriend Ichiro happy. That was why she packed him lunch every morning. That was why she cleaned his toilet every weekend. And that was also why she foregone most of her prep periods at work—to attend Ichiro’s most important office meetings with her batons in hand, ready to wipe out his rivals by any means necessary. But every time she’d clobbered a businessperson until they bled, she’d done it for love—for him. Yet somehow, all her efforts to win his heart had been completely in vain.

“Oh, what will become of poor, lonely Mariko? Will she crumple in defeat?! I say…I say…I say N-O! I will give myself completely to the only other passion I have in this life: Martial Arts Cheerleading! And that is why I am here today! To cheer!”

Mariko ripped off the dull salmon-colored suit jacket and skirt she was wearing, revealing the cheerleading uniform that she had on underneath. A four-year old boy who was walking a giant mastiff stopped to gawk at her.

“Mommy! Daddy!” cried the boy, “That lady’s crazy!”

The dog nodded.

“Don’t stand so close to her, dear,” said the boy’s mother. She picked up her husband, the boy, and the gargantuan dog, hoisted them into her arms, and ran away.

***

Ranma looked at Mariko, who was standing alone in the middle of an open field and shouting nonsense at the clouds as she stripped down to her cheerleader uniform, scaring away a family with a very large dog.

The Anything Goes Martial Arts instructor turned to Pantyhose Taro, wondering if he was at the butt of some huge joke.

“This is Phase Two your big plan? A has-been cheerleader who’s havin’ a midlife crisis?” Ranma asked.

A baton hit him in the head.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?!” Ranma asked, glowering as he rubbed an extra large bump forming on top of his skull.

Mariko was very suddenly upon him.

“You have the nerve to call me a has-been, Ranma Saotome?” she asked. “You want a midlife crisis? Why don’t you take a good look in a mirror sometime, you washed-up old fuddy duddy!”

Ranma’s hair bristled. “Listen, Little Miss Pep Squad—”

Sensing a pointless argument coming on, Pantyhose inserted himself into the conversation before things could escalate any further.

“Konjo, that’s enough. Stand down,” Pantyhose said.

Mariko pouted. “But Pantyhose Taro-sensei! He’s—”

“Just ‘Sensei’ is fine!” Pantyhose interrupted. “Now, normally, I would encourage you to keep hitting him until he stopped moving—but today, our plan hinges on the two of you working together,” he said.

Ranma looked at Pantyhose, flabbergasted. “Wait, what do you mean, the two of us!?” he said, pointing at Mariko as though she were a hairy spider on the ceiling of his bedroom.

“Yes, Sensei—what do you mean?” Mariko echoed, sharing Ranma’s contempt.

Pantyhose sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He touched a finger to the middle of his forehead.

“Listen. I really hate this. It’s bad enough that my students are just playing around like this—but if they lose the match on top of that, that’ll be the last nail in the coffin for both our dojos’ reputations! You and I will be laughingstocks!” he said.

“Yeah, I get that,” Ranma said, annoyed. “But what exactly do ya expect me to do about it?!”

Pantyhose responded to the question by dousing Ranma with a bucket of cold water.

***

“Are you sure this is the ball you want to use?” Akane asked Eiko. She’d taken it upon herself to step in as a substitute coach while Ukyo went to the bathroom, because Ranma had mysteriously taken off for some reason.

“Pantyhose told me my Zebra Hoof Kick’ll work if I use this thing,” Eiko said, looking down at the freshly-polished bowling ball in his hands. “And I don’t wanna mess it up in front of everybody again,” he added. He gripped the ball more tightly, smearing dirty fingerprints across its shiny surface. It squeaked a little.

“Well, okay, but…just be careful,” Akane said, still concerned about whether this plan was going to work out the way Eiko thought it would.

“Eikoooo! I believe in you!” Ryoga shouted from several meters away. His hair was wild and his eyes were still red from lack of sleep. Ukyo had chained one of his feet to the fence so he wouldn’t wander off and miss the rest of the game.

“Whatever, old man! Take a chill pill! And a shower!” Eiko shouted back.

Akane adjusted her baseball cap and frowned.

“Hey, Eiko…could you be a little nicer to him?” she said. “I understand that he hasn’t been around as much as you’d like, but…I think he’s at least doing his best.”

Eiko shrugged. “He’s not off the hook yet. Just ‘cause he got lucky and managed to show up to one game, I mean….”

He trailed off. He only allowed himself a brief moment to feel his feelings. Then it was time for action.

“Anyway, I’m up next. See ya,” he said. He left Akane alone with her thoughts and handed the bowling ball to the pitcher.

***

“You can’t even kick a kickball, and now you’re going to use that?” Chiyo said.

“Shut up. I’m about to blow your tiny mind,” Eiko retorted.

Exerting titanic effort, Goro rolled the bowling ball down from the pitcher’s mound.

“Hoof of the Zebra!” Eiko said. Concentrating all of his ki into his foot and transferring it to the ball, he sent it careening into the air in a beautiful arc over the field, just as he’d done with the kickball before—only this time, nothing knocked it out of the sky.

“Told you it’d work! Have fun catching that, losers!” Eiko said, sticking his tongue out and blowing a mighty raspberry as he sped past second base.

It would have been easy to miss, but something struck the bowling ball in midair. It hit its mark, bounced off the surface of the polished sphere, and landed at Akane’s feet. She bent down to pick it up.

“A rubber bullet…?” Akane said. Her fist clamped shut around the offending piece of artillery. “Who’s doing this?!” she asked.

On top of the nearby concession stand, the Tamano family’s best sniper panicked and tried very hard to conceal himself behind an advertisement for yakisoba.

***

There was finally a single run on the board for the Martial Arts Kickball Team. Piganosuke was up to bat next, and while he lacked the finesse to perform the Hoof of the Zebra maneuver on a bowling ball, he did a respectable enough job of bunting it with one of his back legs. The swine started to tromp off towards first base while several fielders made a beeline for the ball. Chiyo and her companions found the bowling ball cumbersome to lift, but Tanaka picked it up like it was nothing.

“Send that stinky pig back to the bench, Tanaka!” Yukimaru cried.

“I’m on it, Miss!” Tanaka said. He whipped his free hand into a salute, sunglasses and gold tooth sparkling despite the overcast weather.

Piganosuke could run at a moderate speed, but Tanaka was faster. The bodyguard caught up to the sumo pig with ease, but just before he could tag the oversized hog out, a baton came flying in quite literally out of left field. It smashed the bowling ball to smithereens.

Tanaka looked down at his hands. “What the—?!”

He looked back up. A redheaded woman was standing on the field, wearing an extremely loud neon orange leotard laden with rhinestones, with a layered mesh skirt and bright green leg warmers.

“Two, four, six, ace! Get that pig to second base!” Ranma screamed, shaking a pair of pink pompoms with wild abandon.

Beside Ranma, Mariko caught her baton and sighed. “Is this what it’s really come to? Cheering for farm animals? With you? Where’s the love…?” she lamented.

“Quit complaining!” Ranma snapped at her. “The sooner we win, the sooner we can go home and forget this ever happened!”

Eiko leaned over the fence and squinted.

“Hey, Saotome! Nineteen eighty-seven called, and they want their outfit back!” he shouted.

Ranma looked down at her cheerleading uniform and gritted her teeth. Then, she curled her fists tighter around her pompoms. Her hands snapped down to her sides and her shoulders shot up in indignation. “I’m wearin’ this thing for you and your kickball team, ya little loudmouth! Show some appreciation!” Ranma shouted back.

Eiko turned his attention to the other cheerleader instead.

“And ain’t you a teacher?” he asked.

Mariko pretended to look the other way. “Uh, quois? ¡No hablo japonés, little boy! I’ve never seen you before in my life,” she said.

Eiko rolled his eyes.

“Never mind,” he mumbled.

***

It was Sasuke’s turn to bat, but he had a lot weighing on his mind—and a lot weighing on his arms. He struggled to keep a large pile of scrolls from spilling over onto the ground, barely able to see anything else in front of him. He sighed in dismay.

“Mistress Tomiji, I’ve searched through all the ancient texts from Sarugakure Village, but I just can’t find anything about how to kick bowling balls,” he said.

Tomiji regarded her steward with a stern and thoughtful gaze.

“Then there is but one place left to search for wisdom,” she told him.

“And where would that be…?” Sasuke asked, bracing himself for a long journey.

Tomiji pointed her sword at the sky.

“Leave the scrolls with me. You must instead search your heart for an answer!” she said.

Sasuke was moved to tears. “Oh! Such an inspiring piece of advice, Young Mistress!” he said. He dropped the scrolls on the ground and swabbed at his eyes.

“Of course, Good Sasuke. This is the secret wisdom I have obtained from watching animated television programs with my Good Pigtailed Aunt. Now, go forth—and meet your destiny!”

Sasuke gulped, nodded, and crept up to the plate. Goro pitched him a fresh new bowling ball. Sasuke closed his eyes, trusted his heart, and kicked the ball with all his might.

It hurt like crazy.

“Ouch! I think I sprained my ankle!” Sasuke cried.

Kuno stood up in the middle of the bleachers. “Run, you fool! Run!” he exclaimed.

“But Master, I—whaagh!”

Before Sasuke could make his case, he was swept up into a pair of petite yet muscular arms.

“What’s going on?” he asked in a panic.

“You’re running! Duh!” came the familiar voice of the Pigtailed Girl—although given the passage of years, Sasuke supposed she was more of a Pigtailed Woman these days. Either way, she was carrying him around the bases, barely masking her presence with an extra large pompom and dodging Yukimaru’s hired goons left and right. In the infield, Mariko was fighting off more of them with her batons, trying to keep anyone from reaching the ball while Piganosuke got to third.

***

The oddly-matched pair of cheerleader and ninja had just about made it to third base themselves when they both hit the dirt unexpectedly.

“What in the hell…?” Ranma exclaimed, rubbing her lumbar. Something had tripped her up. She looked down to find her ankles tied together with a fukusa cloth.

“I do beg your pardon, Miss, but I’d be delighted if you joined me for tea,” said Arata Daimonji, who had tied the offending knot. Ranma whipped her head to the side to glare at him. He offered her a cup of thin green tea.

“Invite someone else, kid! I’m busy!” Ranma said. Despite the inconvenience of having her feet tied together, she reared back and kicked the boy’s teacup into the sky. It sparkled as it disappeared into the clouds, which were growing darker and heavier by the minute.

“Not another one!” Sentaro said as he watched helplessly from the bleachers. He teetered on the edge of his seat. His face resembled Edvard Munich’s The Scream more and more with each passing second.

Ranma started to untie her feet and stand up. Arata frowned.

“But I’ve already prepared some sweets,” Arata said, putting forward a tray stacked high with dango.

Ranma tried to ignore them.

“Like I said. I don’t have time to—yeowch! Let go of my face, Sasuke! What the heck are you doing?!” Ranma said. Sasuke was kicking and screaming and trying to pull her cheeks off her face for some reason.

“Put me down! Put me down, please!” Sasuke said. “I want to eat the sweets!”

“No you don’t!” Ranma screamed in frustration, trying to smack Sasuke with a baton. However, the slippery little ninja was too close to hit—and far too wiggly for a man his age. The baton whiffed and struck air.

“Let go, ya little barnacle!” Ranma said. “Man, where the hell’s that stupid Mariko when you need her?”

“I’m doing what I do best! C-H-E-E-R!” Mariko shouted at Ranma from across the field.

And so she was—it looked like she was cheering for Piganosuke as he closed in on home plate. More accurately, Mariko was riding on the pig’s back, dangling a carrot tied to a baton in front of his snout to encourage him to run faster. Piganosuke flattened an infielder in the process.

By then, one of Tanaka’s coworkers had caught up to Sasuke and Ranma with the ball. She was about the same size as Tanaka, but her movements seemed quicker. Ranma squirmed so that she and Sasuke were out of her reach—but it was just barely enough to keep them safe.

“Okay, that’s it! I’ve had it with you!” Ranma said. She ripped Sasuke off of her face and threw him over home plate, scoring the Martial Arts Kickball Team another run.

Yukimaru started pretending to cry again. Ranma stood up and cheered. “You may be good at football, you may be good at track; but when it comes to kickball, you’d better watch your—”

The woman in the suit pointed a gun at Ranma.

“Get off the field,” she said, her voice dead and emotionless.

Ranma held her pompoms under her chin and wiggled them a little. Her eyes watered.

“Aw, c’mon, lady. You wouldn’t shoot a defenseless cheerleader, would ya?” she asked.

***

Ukyo returned from the bathroom to find Ranma running away from the baseball diamond in a cheerleader uniform while the well-dressed infielders assailed her with a hailstorm of rubber bullets.

“Really?” Ukyo said to Nabiki, who was rapturously filming the entire incident with her handheld video camera. “I leave for five minutes and this happens?!”

Nabiki turned to Ukyo with an almost convincing look of sympathy on her face.

“Oh, don’t beat yourself up over it,” Nabiki said. Then, she lost interest and turned back toward the kickball game in progress. “The internet’s going to love this.”

***

Geki Kougasaka had one purpose in life, and one purpose only: to hide out on rooftops and shoot his illegal firearm at things that were very, very far away. Sometimes, he took out car tires to ensure his boss made a clean getaway. Sometimes, he took out his boss’s enemies. Today, he was squatting on top of a concession stand that sold yakisoba, shooting rubber bullets at kickballs to make sure his boss’s daughter would not lose a match against three animals, a ninja, and a handful of kids.

(He took a moment to pause and wonder if perhaps his boss was punishing him for something.)

The score was three to four, and Yukimaru was still winning—but not by much. As if to make things worse specifically for Geki, the other team had switched to using bowling balls, which couldn’t be popped so easily with rubber bullets.

He could try switching to real bullets, he thought, but then Tanaka would probably give him hell for endangering Lady Yukimaru. Not like she’d ever get hurt—Geki’s aim was flawless—but he didn’t feel like having that argument again. Maybe he’d just have to get creative with how he used the rubber bullets instead.

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind him. He turned his head around and found himself nearly nose-to-nose with a woman he’d never met before. She had short bluish hair and a strangely placid look on her face.

Geki Kougasaka was not used to being interrupted while he tried to shoot things. It was kind of unnerving, and quite frankly, the fact that a stranger was staring at him at close range made him feel very, very awkward.

“Uh, yeah? You need something, lady?” he asked her. He began to feel sweaty—a fresh reminder that he’d never been good at talking to women.

She held out her palm towards him, face-up. It had a rubber bullet in it.

“Did you drop this…?” she asked sweetly—but her right eye twitched, just a little bit.

Geki rubbed the back of his mostly bald head. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. That’s mine,” he said without thinking.

The woman smiled harder.

“I thought so!” she said. She tilted her head to the side and laughed. Nervously, Geki laughed with her.

Then, she seized him by the collar and shook him.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? There are kids down there!” she screamed.

Geki was both extremely startled and somewhat offended.

“Whoah—ow! OW! Relax, lady! I got really good aim!” he choked out.

The woman pulled him into a headlock.

“Oh, and THAT’S supposed to make me feel better?!” she exclaimed. Her grip tightened around his neck dangerously.

“Ack—o…okay, uncle, uncle! I’ll stop shooting, all right?”

Apparently, the woman wasn’t satisfied with that.

“Call the rest of your friends off, too!” she demanded. “They’re shooting at my wife!”

She pointed Geki’s head over the edge of the roof, aiming at a cheerleader who was just barely dodging a barrage of foam and rubber projectiles.

“I can’t! Those guys don’t listen to me! I got the lowest rank in the whole gang!” Geki protested.

“Yeah? Well maybe they’ll listen to me, then. Let’s go,” the woman said. She clonked him over the head with her fist and started dragging him down the side of the building.

Whoever this lady was, Geki thought, she could probably give the boss of the Tamano clan a run for his money.

***

“Uh…thanks for that, Akane,” Ranma said to her wife just four minutes later.

The members of the Tamano Crime Family—who had earlier comprised half of Yukimaru’s team but were now rightfully disqualified from the kickball match—sat cowering under the bleachers while Akane wrapped the golf-ball sized welts on Ranma’s arms, legs and head with gauze bandages.

“Don’t mention it,” Akane said, although she sounded like she was very much irritated at this turn of events. “What in the world were you trying to do, anyway?” she added, giving Ranma’s uniform a very doubtful once-over.

“I was cheerleading! Pantyhose Taro said that if we—ugh, you know what? Never mind. I don’t wanna think about that jerk anymore,” Ranma said with a heavy frown.

A drop of something cold and liquid struck her eyelashes. Then she felt another drip trickle down her nose, and a few more on her arms and legs.

“Rain…?” she said dully, holding out her palm to check. It had indeed begun to drizzle. The drops picked up momentum quickly, wetting the sand beneath her feet.

Ukyo approached, holding P-Chan by the collar so that he wouldn’t wander off.

“Hey, Ranma. The referee thinks we should start packing it in. Sounds like there’s gonna be a downpour,” Ukyo said.

“That doesn’t leave us with much of a team, does it?” Akane said listlessly.

As if to prove her point, Mousse—now very decidedly a duck—wandered past, flapping and quacking his way across the dugout. Then the panda staggered by, still dizzy from the tranquilizers. He had scribbled out a sign to try to convey his feelings, but his vision must have still been blurry, because the writing on it was completely unintelligible and contained what looked like a crude drawing of a disassembled fruit salad. Tomiji the foal trotted along behind him, carrying Sasuke while he feasted on dango, and Nobunaga—who was not at all a fan of getting wet—was hiding grumpily under the bench.

“Tch—seriously?! After everything I went through, they’re just gonna call off the game now?!” Ranma said. Her pride was starting to hurt just as much as her bruised and swollen ankles.

***

On the field, Yukimaru was already celebrating her victory.

“Looks like I win, then. You’re still behind by a run,” she said to Perfume, who was watching Eiko the piglet stomp around angrily in the dirt.

Perfume thought for a moment. She looked behind her at where Ranma was squatting and scowling on the bleachers.

“We still have a chance,” Perfume said. “Before we go home…it’s my turn to kick the ball,” she said.

Chiyo looked amused. “What’s the point of that? You might as well just save yourself the embarrassment and go home now,” she said.

Perfume shook her head. “I can’t. A martial artist isn’t defeated until they give up,” she said. “And I don’t give up yet.”

Chiyo tried so hard not to laugh she had to grab onto Yukimaru’s shoulder for balance. “Guess I’d better get out my camera,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Make way, everybody! The martial artist wants to kick the ball!” she said.

Yukimaru looked thoughtful.

“All right. You’ve got one more chance, Perfume,” she said, twisting the brim of her baseball cap around to shield her eyes from the rain. She turned to the referee. “Let her have her turn first.”

***

Perfume stepped up to the plate. Everyone else scrambled to get into their positions. Goro looked glad to be pitching kickballs instead of bowling balls again. He bounced the ball to Perfume.

Perfume concentrated with her whole heart and soul—through the rain, the taunts from Chiyo, and the voice of self-doubt that constantly tugged at her mind. The cold, wet raindrops numbed her senses to everything but sight of the ball and the words that flashed across her mind as she leaned into a kick—

“Saotome School Kickball Technique! Shell of the Evening Cicada!”

Perfume kicked with the strength of a warrior twice her size, but her foot just barely glanced the surface of the ball. Her right shoe, however, felt the full momentum of the mighty technique, and it flew high over the field.

“Did you teach her that move?” Akane asked Ranma as they stood watching under a shared umbrella.

“Nope,” Ranma said. She lowered one of her eyebrows and swabbed aside her wet bangs. “I think she just made it up.”

Without looking back, Perfume started to run. She was so single-minded in her pursuit of first base, she ignored the squishing sensation of her right sock sloshing through the mud and flew straight past Arata, who was trying to distract her again. It was as if she couldn't even hear the words he was saying to her. She stomped on his tea bowl by accident as she plowed ahead, smashing it to pieces.

***

“Why is this happening?!” Sentaro screamed as he witnessed yet another priceless family heirloom reduced to rubble. His wife and his horse patted him on the back.

***

Perfume moved past first base and onto second. The spectators—or what was left of them—had started to cheer, but even that didn’t distract her. She tore through the baseball diamond like a girl possessed. Nothing could stop her now—nothing, that is, except Yukimaru, who had seemingly caught the ball and was closing in on Perfume as she kicked off the ground ceaselessly, one leg at a time, like her life depended on it.

Finally, everything caught up with her at once. The noise, the fear; the freezing rain. Panic struck Perfume like a series of hammers to her stomach, and she suddenly found it hard to catch her breath. Home plate somehow seemed further away than ever, and with Yukimaru nipping at her heels, there was one thing left to do:

Perfume leapt forwards to avoid getting tagged, sliding on her stomach through the mud towards home plate. Her hand groped for the base and found it—but not before Yukimaru tagged her.

Yukimaru smiled, although she was panting heavily. “You’re out,” she said. Perfume felt her heart sink. Then—

“Safe!” said the referee. The crowd broke into a round of applause.

Yukimaru straightened up and glared at the referee. “What do you mean, safe? I tagged her before she got to home base!”

The referee pointed to Yukimaru’s outstretched hand.

“That’s not the ball,” he said. “It’s a shoe.”

And so it was. Confused by the rain and Perfume’s improvised cicada technique, Yukimaru had, in fact, lost sight of the ball and caught the wrong item entirely. She realized it now—but she was too shocked to even pretend to cry.

The game ended in a tie.

***

The afterparty at the Tendo Dojo was a sight to behold. Never before in the storied history of the Anything Goes School had such a large gathering of people, animals, and yakuza members occurred. Never before had saké and tea flowed so freely from the Tendo family’s earthenware. Never before had Ranma been so annoyed at not being able to walk from one end of the room to the other without tripping over someone.

“Did you invite all these people?” she asked Akane, having sidestepped a portable okonomiyaki grill, a piglet, and a fully-blown Martial Arts Tea Ceremony to get to her wife.

“No. They invited themselves,” Akane replied.

Geki Kougasaka popped his head out of the crowd and waved at her.

“Hey, Boss Lady! Can I pour you somethin’ to drink?” he asked Akane.

“Show us how you got Geki into that headlock!” Tanaka chimed in.

“Akane! Forget them, come and sit with me!” Sentaro implored.

Nabiki approached her sister, smirking from ear to ear. “Lucky you, Akane. Still popular as ever with the boys, I see,” she said.

“Yeah, you’re famous,” Ranma said blankly.

“I’ll sign an autograph for you later,” Akane said exhaustedly. She watched as Ranma swatted away one of the Tamano family’s female bodyguards, who was trying to approach Akane with a love letter.

“Oh, but not as famous as you are, Ranma,” Nabiki cut in. “It’s only been a few hours, but the views on your cheerleading video just crossed over into quadruple digits.”

She whipped out a laptop and replayed the footage of Ranma throwing Sasuke. Ranma and Akane watched it over her shoulder, stunned.

“Don’t you have CEO stuff to be doin’ right now?” Ranma asked, irritated, as she glimpsed the comments.

Nabiki shut the laptop and set it aside.

“Oh, Ranma. I’ve always got time for family,” she said airily. She took out her digital camera and started flipping through photos of the game. “And besides…life’s no fun if you don’t have a side hustle.”

***

Meanwhile, at the dining room table, Mousse sat with his sleeves rolled up, brandishing the Tendos’ very best pen to write a letter to his love. Tomiji and Arata leaned forward to look at the paper, puzzling over the flowery hànzì that filled the page.

“Might you be so kind as to mention my prowess with the sword?” Tomiji inquired politely. “I should like to be recognized for my achievements internationally.”

“I’m sure he’d rather write about how I stopped his attack with my tea scoop,” Arata said, puffing out his chest. Tomiji frowned at him.

“Can you tell her about how I kicked the ball with my new technique?” Perfume asked, lifting a broken orange crayon off her own paper to glance up at Mousse from her usual spot beneath the table. “I want her to be proud of me, too.”

Mousse nodded.

“I’m still getting to that part,” he said, adjusting his glasses and twisting up his brow, thinking about how to phrase the next few lines of the letter. He peeked eagerly at Perfume’s drawing of the kickball game. “Hey, could you make sure you make my arms look really muscular? I want her to swoon a little when she sees me,” he added, pointing to the disembodied smiley face Perfume was doodling over the pitcher’s mound.

“Okay,” Perfume said, adding a pair of lumpy forearms to her masterpiece.

Chiyo crinkled up her nose. “Who are they writing to, anyway?” she asked Eiko.

Eiko shrugged. “Mousse’s girlfriend, I guess.”

Chiyo looked up at Mousse and snickered. “You have a girlfriend? I have a hard time believing that,” she said. “I bet you made her up.”

Mousse smacked the table with his palm. “She’s real! And she adores me! She just lives in China, that’s all!”

Kasumi floated into the room with a tray of snacks and a perfectly polished copper kettle. Everyone looked up, the debate momentarily forgotten as the smell of cookies wafted into their noses.

“Oh, Eiko. I'm glad I found you,” Kasumi said. She set down the plate. “If you see your Sensei, could you give him this hot water for me?” she asked, handing him the kettle. “Mr. Saotome and the others have already changed back, but I can’t seem to find Mr. Pantyhose anywhere.”

Eiko shot a look at Pantyhose, who was in his beast form and attempting to hide behind the Tendos’ television set.

“Yeah, sure,” Eiko said, staring pointedly at his alleged Sensei. “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

"Seriously, dude, what is your beef with her?!” Eiko asked Pantyhose. He poured hot water over his hairy, winged teacher as they stood together on the veranda in secret. The rain had finally stopped as evening crept over the sky, leaving the yard damp and muddy.

Pantyhose shrunk back into a human body. Eiko tossed him a set of dry clothes to wear. Far from being grateful for the help, Pantyhose was in a strange, surly mood. He started buttoning up his shirt the wrong way.

“Don’t you see that you’re playing right into her hands?!” he said, looking around shiftily like he was afraid of being overheard. “Using you to turn me back into my weaker form so she can use her witchcraft on me later—it’s diabolical!”

Suppressing the urge to scream, Eiko buried his fingertips in his hair. “What witchcraft?! She’s trying to help you, you moron!” he said.

Pantyhose squinted at Eiko.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she had you under her mind control,” he said.

Eiko’s fingers all but disappeared into his mop of messy hair.

“Look, man, has it ever occurred to you that maybe she just likes you?” he asked.

“Ha! Impossible,” Pantyhose said. He folded his arms across his chest and looked the other way.

There was a painfully stupid pause.

“Yeah, you know what? You’re right,” Eiko said. “You’re such a butthead that it’s literally impossible for girls to like you,” he said.

Pantyhose whipped around, snarling like a bear. “That’s not the reason!” he said. “The reason is—”

Eiko walked away.

“Figure out your personal problems yourself, dude—I got other stuff to do. I’ll see you in class,” he said.

Pantyhose scowled and stomped off towards his own dojo.

“See you in class,” he mumbled grumpily under his breath.

***

No sooner had Eiko rounded the corner towards the Dojo, he found himself being paralyzed by a hug from his father.

“Eiko! You were amazing!” Ryoga cried, crushing Eiko up against his heart and crying fatherly tears of pride.

Consumed by the three-day-old stench of whatever sewer Ryoga had walked through to get to the ball game, Eiko gagged. “Ugh, you still stink, old man! Seriously, why haven’t you taken a bath yet?!” he said.

Ryoga let his son go, holding him at arm’s length.

“Sorry,” he said, looking at the grass for a moment. His smile refused to fade. “I just…I wanted to congratulate you first, I guess.”

Eiko raised an eyebrow. “Congratulate me for what? We didn’t even win,” he said.

Ryoga rubbed the back of his head. “Well, no, but you didn’t lose, either. And I think you were the reason the Martial Arts Kickball Team was able to do as well as they did. Because of all your training, I mean,” he said.

It was Eiko’s turn to look at the grass. “Yeah, well. I had a good teacher,” he said.

Ryoga’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really, Eiko?! You really mean that? I…I don’t know what to say…”

Eiko’s head snapped up towards Ryoga. “I wasn’t talking about you, ya big-headed geezer! I meant Ukyo! Geez.”

Ryoga’s posture shrank a bit. “Oh,” he said, retreating into his thoughts. “Well…I guess she did do a pretty good job.”

“Yeah, she’s a decent martial artist. And she actually knows how to cook. You could probably learn a thing or two from her,” Eiko said. He shrugged his shoulders and gazed past Ryoga into the yard. “Anyway, I got some homework to do, so…”

Ryoga nodded. “Right. Okay. Well…good job out there today,” he said.

“Yeah. And, uh…you know,” Eiko said, turning his gaze back towards his shoes. It felt like his mouth was fighting to form the words he wanted to say. “Thanks. For showing up.”

Ryoga smiled again—Eiko hadn’t seen his father look this happy in a terribly long time. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Ryoga to be happy or not. Without his mother around to make his father smile like that anymore…was it even okay?

It was a complicated feeling—too complicated for a ten-year-old boy, perhaps. He decided not to dwell on it. Eiko started to walk away.

“Eiko, wait!” his father’s voice rang out in the night. “Next time you have a match—I’ll be there for that one, too. And the one after that, and the one after that. I promise,” Ryoga said.

Eiko stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around. Hope bubbled up inside him, but he squashed it back down.

“Heh,” he said. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

***

On a mission to find a postage stamp for her letter to Shampoo, Perfume walked the halls of the Tendo household—carefully, so as not to break anything this time. She was surprised to find Yukimaru alone in the kitchen, hunched down in the corner with her phone cradled to her ear.

“…he’s still in a meeting…? Is everything okay?” Yukimaru asked the person on the other end of the line.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just…I wanted to tell him about my day…”

There was a long pause.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t bother you again.”

Yukimaru closed her phone and started to cry softly, scrubbing at her eyes. Perfume tried to turn around and leave quietly, but somehow the fabric of her sleeve got caught on a colander. It clattered to the floor. Yukimaru shrieked. So did Perfume.

“You—you were spying on me!” Yukimaru said. She opened her phone again. “I’m calling Tanaka!”

Perfume started to panic. This caused her to knock over the cutting board and a set of spatulas.

“No, don’t! I didn’t mean to, I—I was leaving! I just wanted to get a—um, are you okay?” she said.

Yukimaru looked at Perfume like she was from another planet. She lowered her phone.

“What?” she asked.

“I asked if you were okay. You were crying.”

“No I wasn’t,” Yukimaru said. “You’re the one who’s a crybaby, Perfume. Always sniveling and hiding under things—you’re completely pathetic, you know that? I really, really hate you,” she said. She turned away from Perfume, determined to look at the refrigerator.

“Oh,” Perfume said. Her stomach dropped like a stone. She looked at her shoes.

“And all those people who showed up to the game today—your family—they came just to see you? A useless crybaby like you? I won’t accept it! You don’t…you don’t deserve…”

Yukimaru’s breath trembled in her throat.

“It’s not fair!” she said.

Perfume’s eyes started to prickle with tears, but she didn’t let them spill over. She wove her fingers together in front of her stomach, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

“My real family’s in China. They don’t want me,” Perfume said quietly to her feet.

Yukimaru turned towards her, narrowing her eyes. “What? I thought your mother was that weird cheerleader,” she said, looking as though she had tasted something terrible. “You’re lying.”

Perfume shook her head. “No, that was my Sensei. One of them, I mean. I’m training here with them until I’m allowed to go home—but I can’t go back until I’m a really great martial artist. And…that might take me forever,” she said glumly. Her mouth and shoulders slumped lower as she picked at one of her fingernails.

Yukimaru balked. “What about your mother and father? They don’t want you to come home…?” she asked.

Perfume swallowed. “My parents, they…um, they didn’t want a girl. So, when I was born…they left me with Elder Shampoo. In Nyuchiehzu—the Village of Warrior Women,” she explained.

Yukimaru snorted. “Now I know you’re making this up,” she said. But when she looked at Perfume, her face softened. “Why are you telling me this…?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest, the flip phone in her fist all but forgotten.

“Well, because…because you’re my friend,” Perfume said, finding the courage to look Yukimaru in the eye.

Yukimaru smiled a wicked little smile. “We’re not friends, Perfume. We’ve never been friends,” she said.

Hurt pooled in Perfume’s stomach like acid.

“We’re not…?”

Yukimaru pointed at her.

“Duh! Of course not! We’re rivals!”

Perfume took a step backwards, almost losing her footing.

“R…rivals?” she asked numbly.

“That’s right,” Yukimaru said, growing haughtier by the second. “We didn’t get to finish our match today—but we are going to settle this. Mark my words,” she said.

Perfume felt her eyes go wide. “Oh. O-okay. Are we going to play kickball again…?” she asked.

Yukimaru tossed her hair over her shoulder and departed the kitchen.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I’ve got something else in mind.”

***

A few days later, Soun Tendo walked into his home to find that it had somehow been transformed into what could only be described as a tropical war zone. Plants and flowers filled every nook and cranny of the hallway. He rounded the corner into the living room to find Akane trying to rescue Ranma—who was wearing a formal women’s kimono—from the jaws of an enormous Venus flytrap while Perfume struggled to get her head out of yet another vase.

In his disbelief, Soun failed to watch where he was stepping—his foot met with the sharp, pointy embrace of a very large block of spiky brass needles. It was a flower frog—the kind normally used in ikebana—only it was much, much bigger.

“Yeowch!” he cried, grabbing his foot in pain. “Will someone please explain to me what’s going on here?!” he asked.

Kasumi walked in, wearing a huge, floppy hat and a sundress, blithely toting a watering can.

“Oh, hello, Father,” she said. “Everyone’s helping Perfume practice for her Martial Arts Flower Arranging competition with Yukimaru next month. Don’t you think it’s turning out lovely…?”

Ryoga burst through the wall, wrestling with a giant dandelion. Nodoka handed Mousse smoke bombs to throw at the Venus flytrap. Eiko rode in from outside on Piganosuke, holding up a giant pair of scissors and screaming “I got the shears!”

Soun fell to his knees and cried.

“My house…my beautiful house,” he said.

The panda held up a freshly-written sign.

“Here we go again,” it said.

Chapter Text

FIVE - Such a Mad Marriage Never Was Before

“Thank you, come again!”

The last of the lunch crowd filed out of Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki. Konatsu waved goodbye with a smile on her face, ever the cheerful and adorable mascot of the finest casual dining establishment in northwestern Tokyo. There had never been a more perfect day to be a waitress, she thought. The sun was gleaming like a topaz in the clear winter sky, the grill was firing at exactly 176.6 degrees Celsius, and Konatsu’s makeup was—if she did say so herself—perfect.

But something wasn’t right. Konatsu could feel it. There was an evil presence lurking nearby that threatened to ruin everything she’d worked for.

Fortunately, Konatsu had trained all her life for this moment.

“Goodness, is it time to dispose of the garbage already?!” she said to no one in particular.

She threw a lit match into the trash can and closed the lid, then clapped her hands together in prayer.

“Rest in peace, filth,” she said.

The trash can got very, very angry.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, you crazy broad?!” it said, seething and spouting smoke. It sprouted feet and began running around in a circle, desperate to stop itself from burning. “Hot, hot, hot!”

It plunged itself into the sink, and the fire sizzled out and vanished like a bad dream. A ponytailed head of hair wrapped up in a silken ribbon emerged from under the faucet, spitting out a mouthful of water.

“Eek, a cockroach!” Konatsu said. She reached for a fly swatter. “Don’t worry. I’ll grant you a quick and painless death, little one,” she said, preparing to strike a fatal blow.

The inhabitant of the sink grabbed hold of her wrist before she could properly smash it.

“You know damn well I’m not a bug!” it protested.

Konatsu looked down, perfectly feigning shock.

“Why, Tsubasa, dear! Is that you? What a surprise! Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to visit?” she said.

Tsubasa Kurenai lifted himself over the edge of the counter, the guise of the trash can discarded. He jumped out of the sink in a white tank top and shorts. His long, luxurious hair bounced along perkily behind him in a way that secretly made Konatsu seethe with jealousy.

…She’d find out what products he used someday, she vowed.

“Very funny,” Tsubasa said. He stuck out his bottom lip and leaned forward, fixing Konatsu with an accusing glare. “You’re a menace to society, you know that? You’re lucky my dearest Ukyo has such a kind heart, taking in gutter trash like you!”

“Oh, dear, I think you must be unwell,” Konatsu said, laying her palm across Tsubasa’s forehead. “You’re the one who was dressed up like garbage a minute ago, darling. Shall I call you an ambulance?” she said.

Tsubasa smacked her hand away. “Don’t get all cutesy with me! Where are you hiding her?!” he asked.

Konatsu leaned her elbow lazily upon the counter, plopping her chin into her hand and tilting her head to the side. “I’m not hiding anything. If you’re looking for Mistress Ukyo, I’m afraid you’ve missed her. She’s at her part-time job right now.”

Tsubasa took a mighty step back and gasped. “Part-time job?! Oh, my poor, dear Ukyo!” he said, lacing his fingers together and crying out to the heavens. “Has she really fallen on such hard times? Don’t worry, Ukyo—your knight in shining armor is here to save you!”

Konatsu couldn’t take it anymore. She slapped Tsubasa across the face with a spatula.

“How dare you doubt Mistress Ukyo’s business sense like that! I’ll have you know she’s doing perfectly well for herself—she’s only working at the Pantyhose Taro Dojo out of the goodness of her heart—for the sake of her dearest friends!” Konatsu said.

“Phantyhoshe Tharro Dhojo?” Tsubasa asked, his tongue protruding from his swollen jaw.

Realizing her mistake, Konatsu drew back and splayed her delicate fingers across her mouth. “Oh, dear, but I’ve said too much,” she said.

The phone rang.

“Coming!” Konatsu said, all but singing as she dove for the receiver.

“Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki. Konatsu speaking. How may I help you?…Oh…? Yes…yes, I understand. I’ll let her know right away…mhm….yes. All right…of course. Bye, then!”

Konatsu hung up. Her cheerful expression dissolved into utter seriousness.

“So,” she said to herself. “The day has finally come.”

“What are you on about…?” Tsubasa asked.

Konatsu shoved a spatula into her nemesis’s hands.

“No time to explain! Watch the restaurant for me!” she said.

She burst out of her waitress garb to reveal the ninja armor underneath and took off running into the shopping district, leaving Tsubasa to tend to the grill in his underwear.

***

“I hope you’ll forgive the strange timing of my visit, Mr. Hibiki. Normally, of course, I go to my students’ homes in the spring, but since your boy was such a late transfer…”

Mariko trailed off, letting the circumstances speak for themselves. She watched Eiko’s father—a Mr. Ryoga Hibiki—squirmed slightly as he sat across from her at the Tendo family’s kotatsu. After a moment, their eyes met—he was actually quite handsome under his mop of messy hair, she realized.

“Yes, I understand,” he said. He had a quiet seriousness to him that she hadn’t expected from the parent of such a loud and unfettered child as Eiko Unryū. “Please, ask anything you’d like.”

Mariko nodded. There was one very obvious matter that she wanted to address, at least. Normally, one might say it was the elephant in the room—but in this case, it was more like a panda and six other adults sitting behind Mr. Hibiki.

“Well, I have to say, I didn’t realize that Eiko had such a…large family,” she said through a strained smile. A woman wearing an apron produced a tray with several teacups on it. Mariko took one, then looked around the room again at the sea of expectant, all-too-familiar faces looking back at her. “Now…which one of you is Eiko’s mother…?”

All six of the adults behind Mr. Hibiki—and the panda—suddenly looked away. For a room full of people, it was terribly quiet.

“Have I…said something wrong…?” she asked.

Ryoga Hibiki looked up at Mariko again, a thoughtful, repressed sadness shimmering in his soulful brown eyes. Mariko’s heart caught in her throat when their gazes met across the table for a second time.

“N…no, It’s just that…well, she’s no longer with us. She…passed away. About a year ago,” he said.

“Oh,” Mariko breathed. “I’m…so sorry. Truly. I had no idea. My condolences.”

Mr. Hibiki—Ryoga—shook his head. “It’s all right—you couldn't have known. It's just…I’ve never had to do one of these conferences without her before.”

He stopped to scratch the side of his cheek.

“But…thank you,” he said. The woman in the apron placed a teacup in front of him, and he took the opportunity to drop his gaze back down, fiddling with the warm beverage.

“So…how is Eiko doing with his schoolwork?” he asked.

“Well, his grades are passable, but there’s still some room for improvement in his—huh?”

Mariko reached for her briefcase to take out one of Eiko’s assignments to use as an example, only to find that someone else had beaten her to it.

“Wow, he’s actually not too bad at math,” said a man with long hair and glasses.

“Yeah, but his handwriting sucks,” Ranma Saotome said, peering over the bespectacled man’s shoulder.

Ranma’s wife saw fit to intervene.

“Hey, quit it, you two! You can’t just—”

Ranma held up a paper to show her.

“Oh, yeah. I see what you mean,” she said. “Wait a minute—”

“Is he getting along well with the other children…?” asked the woman with the apron. “I do worry about whether he’ll be able to make new friends…”

“Oh, yes—is he popular with the girls? My Ranma was always popular with the girls,” a woman in a kimono added, smiling a gossipy smile.

A mustached man leaned forward, squishing Ryoga’s head into the tabletop. “Never mind that—how’s his behavior in the classroom?!” he demanded.

Meanwhile, the panda wrote out a sign that said ‘And how is he at sports?’

Under ordinary circumstances, Mariko might have beaned all of them over the heads with a baton to get them out of the way. But as she considered resorting to violence, she glanced at Ryoga Hibiki—who was struggling to pull himself upright on the other side of the heating apparatus—and had a change of heart. She decided, for once in her life, that maybe she ought to show some restraint—for his sake. The poor man had already been through enough, it seemed.

“Um…one at a time, everybody! Form an orderly line!” Mariko said through a forced but sparkling grin.

***

The home visit ended. Mariko leaned against the outer wall of the Tendo family’s fence, clutching her briefcase tightly to her chest. She looked up at a passing cloud, in which she could somehow make out the faint shape of a face—the face of Mr. Ryoga Hibiki.

“R-Y-O-G-A….” she spelled out dreamily, writing his name out in the air with her index finger. “That dear, tortured man. If only I could find a way to soothe his ailing soul…to take him away from all this misery…”

She sighed and slumped down a few centimeters.

“Oh, Mariko, you fool,” she chided herself. “You’ve gone and fallen in love again. When will you learn that it can only ever end in tragedy…? Besides, he lives with that awful Ranma. There’s no way I could ever, ever—”

“Who are you talking to?” asked a voice.

Feeling jumpy and disoriented, Mariko looked down to see who had interrupted her monologue. It was Eiko Unryū, who was coming home from a practice at the Pantyhose Taro Dojo, accompanied by his pet pig. Overcome with emotion, Mariko bent down to look at the boy with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, sweet little Eiko,” she said, tossing aside her briefcase and daintily folding her hands together under her face. “You poor, darling child. I know I could never replace your mother, but…but maybe if you thought of me as a big sister, instead…”

Eiko’s face twisted up into a knot. “Uh…what?”

“Yes, I’d be delighted if you called me ‘big sister’ from now on! Now…”

Mariko drew closer, her eyes reflecting back the light of the gleaming December sun. She pulled out a notepad and paper.

“What are your father’s favorite foods…? Does he have any hobbies? What’s his blood type? His zodiac sign? Favorite colors…?!”

“Sorry. I’m busy,” Eiko said. He walked away.

“Wait…!” Mariko cried. “Come back! I’ll buy you a sundae! I’ll buy you a soccer ball! I’ll buy you anything…! Please!”

She was so desperate to call out to him, she hardly noticed the kunoichi blowing past her like a gust of wind, scuttling into the Tendos’ front gate.

***

“So, what’s all this about, Konatsu…?” Akane asked. She leaned forward on her arms, her expression one of contemplation as she poured tea for her unexpected guests.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Ukyo asked. “It’s a little out of the ordinary for you to call a secret meeting at Ranma’s place.”

Konatsu sighed and shook her head. “Oh, I wish I didn’t have to, Mistress Ukyo—I know it isn’t right to impose on Ranma and Akane like this. But this matter is of grave importance,” she said.

“So spill it already! What’s goin’ on?” Ranma asked.

Konatsu looked at Ukyo. “Mistress Ukyo, it’s…it’s your father. He’s coming to visit,” she said.

Ukyo’s face sank into despair. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to the table.

“Oh. Oh no,” she said.

She looked liable to melt into a puddle if she kept sinking towards the floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong with that?” Ranma said. “I thought you and your old man got along fine.”

“Yeah, what’s the matter? Did you two have a fight or something…?” Akane asked, her face clouding over with concern.

Ukyo peeled her face off the tabletop, wearing an utterly wretched expression as her hands clung to the fringes of the kotatsu. “Not exactly,” she said, her voice heavy with an unspoken apology. “It’s just that I might have…sort of…told him I was married. To you, Ranma.”

Ranma jerked away from the kotatsu, spilling his tea.

“You told him you were married?!” he said.

“To Ranma?!” Akane added. She looked livid.

Konatsu was in front of Akane in an instant, trying to soothe her.

“Oh, please don’t be too hard on Mistress Ukyo! You don’t understand what kind of pressure she was under!” Konatsu said, weeping slightly at the thought.

“Whaddaya mean by that?” Ranma asked, shooting Konatsu a quizzical look.

Ukyo stood up and started pacing the floor.

“It all started about fourteen years ago. It was around the end of our last year of high school—all of a sudden, he was calling me every day, asking if I was making progress on our engagement, telling me to come home if it wasn’t going to work out so he could set me up with someone else—that sort of thing. You know how parents can be.”

“Oh,” Akane said, a look of sympathy flickering through her eyes. “I guess I can sort of relate. But still—you lied to him?”

“Of course I lied!” Ukyo said, balling up her hands into fists. “I mean, what else was I supposed to do when he started sending me photos of guys he wanted me to have marriage meetings with? No way was I gonna give up my restaurant here in Tokyo just to get hitched to someone I’d never met! So, one day, he called me to ask what I thought of this monjayaki chef from Yokohama, and I just kind of…blurted it out.”

“Blurted what out, exactly?” Ranma asked.

Ukyo reddened and folded her arms, swishing her head around to look away from him. “I told him that we’d already eloped,” she said. “And…that you were helping me run Ucchan’s.”

Akane pressed her head into her hands. “But Ukyo, that was years ago. How have you managed to keep lying to him all this time…?”

“Oh, that was easy,” Ukyo said, although her stance grew uncharacteristically rigid. “I just kept making up excuses about why we couldn’t visit. There was the time you had a family emergency in Greenland…the time you had chicken pox…the bus accident…”

Ranma looked confused. “Wait a minute. I’ve never had chicken pox or been in a bus accident—and I don’t even know where Greenland is!”

Ukyo sighed and turned back to look at Ranma. “Well, yeah, but my Dad thinks otherwise,” she said. “And now he’s already on his way to see me, and I don’t have an excuse. So, um…”

She pressed her hands together in front of her face, wincing so hard that one of her eyes closed.

“Can I borrow you for about a week…?” she asked Ranma.

Ranma looked from Akane to Ukyo and back again and frowned. “Look, I feel sorry for ya and all, Ukyo, but…I got a dojo to take care of.”

Ukyo’s sheepish expression soured. She lowered her hands, pressing them into one another so hard that they shook. “And I have a restaurant to take care of, but I still spy on Pantyhose for you three times a week! Come on, Ranma—please,” she begged.

Ranma looked at Akane, fully expecting her to offer up a counter-argument or throw something. Instead, she looked angry in a way that was a lot more thoughtful than usual—like she was quietly having an argument with herself. Her eyes were closed, her brow was creased, her fists were taught in her lap, and her mouth was pressed into a deep frown.

“Uh…Akane?” Ranma asked, waving a hand in front of his wife’s face.

Akane let out a breath, relaxing her posture just slightly. She opened her eyes, which flicked over to Ranma’s anxiously.

“Actually…Ukyo might have a point. She’s been helping us out a lot,” Akane said. “Maybe we should return the favor.”

Ranma leaned back, stunned. “Wha…? You mean…?”

Akane placed a hand on Ranma’s shoulder. “I’m just going to have to trust you, Ranma,” she said. Her grip tightened, ever so slightly. “Don’t make me regret it.”

***

Eiko stood alone in front of a mirror, holding a mawashi cloth in his hand. It was too small for a boy his size—it was, in fact, handmade by his mother to fit a piglet instead. Once, it had belonged to Piganosuke—but that had been a very long time ago. The sumo pig had long since outgrown it. But now…

“Yeah,” Eiko said, looking at himself in the mirror. “I’m ready. I’m finally ready.”

He looked at himself harder, his eyebrows furrowing and his jaw growing tense.

“I said I’m ready!” he shouted.

“Ready for what?” asked a voice behind him.

Eiko screamed and turned around. Perfume was standing in the doorway, tilting her head to the side and looking at him quizzically.

“Perfume?! What’re you doing here?” Eiko asked.

Perfume blinked. “This is my room,” she said.

And so it was. The room that had formerly belonged to Nabiki was now hers; all the amenities included. It was also the only place besides the bathroom where one could regularly access a mirror; hence why Eiko was standing in front of it to give himself a pep talk.

“Uh. Sorry. I just had to borrow the…thing. I gotta go now. Here,” Eiko said. He rushed by Perfume, stuffing a piece of paper into her hand as he went.

***

Perfume looked down at the flyer. She couldn’t read it very well, but there was an illustration at the bottom—two pigs in sumo attire were wrestling with one another.

“Oh,” she said as she studied it, tracing one of the kanji with her fingers. She nodded to herself.

“Good luck, Eiko,” she said to the empty room.

***

“A junior pig sumo tournament…?” Ryoga asked, his eyes flickering up and down a flyer. He lowered it to look at the boy who’d handed it to him.

Eiko stared expectantly up at his father, his eyes as keen as a pair of embers. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s this weekend.”

Ryoga swallowed, and a deep understanding welled up in his throat—one that thankfully needed very few words for him to fully express.

“You’re keeping your promise to your mom,” Ryoga said. His voice was all at once warm and sad, shaking with pride and reverence and a deep, lingering sense of regret. He fought to keep his expression neutral.

“I am,” Eiko said, mirroring his father’s stance. There was a pause as something else almost unspoken bloomed between them; a presence felt that they had both missed.

“So…maybe you could try to keep your promise, too,” Eiko said.

Ryoga nodded.

“Right,” he said. “I will. I promise.”

***

The next morning, Ryoga found himself lost once again on the way to eat his breakfast. He’d gone down the stairs and made a right, yet somehow, somewhere between the downstairs hallway and the kitchen, he’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Now, he was lost in the shopping district again, and it was very nearly lunchtime.

He started to pray.

“Hi, Akari. I'm…back here again. Kind of funny, right…? Only…only it’s not funny, because…well, what if I can’t get back to Eiko in time for the match? He’s really going for it—he’s entering the junior sumo pig tournament. He’s gotten so strong since that day he promised you he would, and I…I want to be there for him, more than anything in the world—but I’m so hopeless, I can’t even make it to breakfast. I don’t want to disappoint him again. I can’t. It would break his heart. And also…”

Ryoga’s stomach growled.

“I’m really, really hungry. So, if you could please—”

“Here,” a voice interrupted him. The sound of crinkling cellophane snapped Ryoga out of his fervor. He gave a small start and looked up to find Reiko the pharmacy girl hovering over him, holding a wrapped package of melon bread out in front of his face.

“Uh…what’s this for?” Ryoga asked.

Reiko glared down at him and frowned. “I thought that if I gave you something to eat, you might stop talking. Besides…” She looked somewhere off to the left. “My family’s store has a ton of these things. Once they start to go stale, nobody wants them. So you can have it.”

“Oh,” said Ryoga, feeling slightly numb from shock. “Uh, thank you,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah. Quit loitering around here so much or my parents are gonna call the cops,” Reiko said.

“Um—right,” Ryoga said, rubbing the back of his head. He looked awkwardly down at his reflection in a puddle from last night’s rain, preparing to unwrap the bread. Then, something struck him. “W—wait a minute. This is…the pharmacy?!” he asked.

Reiko raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah? I mean, It’s sure not the Imperial Palace,” she said.

“Then that means Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki is—?!”

“Right over there,” Reiko said, pointing to the restaurant a few doors down. “Did you hit your head or something…?” she asked.

Ryoga sprinted towards Ucchan’s, holding up his bread and skipping and yelling at the sky. “Oh, thank you, Akari! I’m saved!” he shouted.

***

“Huh. Such a weirdo,” Reiko the pharmacy girl muttered to herself. She watched lazily as the strange, nomadic man who plagued her family’s storefront several times a week tore off down the street towards Ucchan’s. “But still…”

She looked left and then right, checking carefully to make sure no one else was coming towards her on the street. She closed her eyes and folded her hands.

“Hello, Akari. We haven’t met, but I could really, really use a boyfriend,” Reiko said. She took a moment to keep her eyes tightly shut.

When she opened them again, there were no cute boys anywhere to be found.

Reiko sighed.

“Oh, well,” she said to the puddle at her feet. “It was worth a shot.”

***

“Geez, I’m freezing!” Ranma complained. She stomped down the street towards Ucchan’s, leaving a trail of cold water dripping behind her. “Does that old lady never take a day off?!”

She sneezed into her hands, then instantly regretted it. Akane handed her a tissue to wipe her hands with.

“You know, I’ve gotta hand it to her, though—she sure is healthy. Still washing her own walkway, even at her age—I’m kind of impressed,” Akane said.

“Yeah, great, good for her,” Ranma grumbled. “Meanwhile, I’m out here catching my death of pneumonia.”

Akane looked like she was going to laugh, but she held it in.

“Come on, Ranma, it’s not that bad. We can get you into the bath once we get to Ukyo’s place. We should have about an hour to get you ready before her dad shows up.”

Ranma stuffed her hands into her pockets, walking along with her head bent down. She kicked a rock down the street as she went.

“Tch…okay. You sure you’re fine with all this, though?” she asked.

“Well…it won’t really be the same around the house without you,” Akane said thoughtfully, looking up at the sky.

“Akane…”

“For one thing, there’ll be less dishes to wash after dinner,” Akane said. “And there won’t be any of your clothes mixed in with my laundry…”

Ranma nearly exploded.

“Oh, who cares about all that stuff?! Just admit you’re gonna miss me already, huh?!” she said.

Akane laughed, giving Ranma a sideways smile. “Only if you admit you’re going to miss me first,” she replied.

Ranma made a face. “Yeah, yeah…fine.”

She took Akane’s hand and crept along the sidewalk in silence for a few minutes, pouting as they walked together down the street.

“Hey, Ranma…?” Akane said as they passed the station, breaking the long stretch of silence.

Ranma straightened her posture, her expectant gaze trailing towards her wife’s. Their eyes met.

Akane took Ranma gently by the shoulders.

“Did you remember to pack a toothbrush…?” she asked.

Ranma turned pale.

“…Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll go get you one at the pharmacy,” Akane said.

***

Ranma lifted the flap of the noren that led into Ukyo’s restaurant and ducked inside, glad to finally be out of the cold.

“Yo, Ukyo! I gotta use your bath—”

Ryoga pushed past her before she could properly acclimate to the change of scenery.

“Ukyo, I need your help! Can you tell me how to get back to—”

He stopped in his tracks and looked down at Ranma.

“Do you mind? I was here first,” Ranma said.

Ukyo stood up from her seat to look at them. “Ranma!” she exclaimed—then covered her mouth suddenly, as if realizing she’d made a huge mistake.

Perhaps she had.

A bearded man Ranma vaguely recognized, who was seated on the stool next to Ukyo’s, jumped up with all the energy of a piece of popcorn that had just burst. He pulled Ryoga into a fierce, bone-crunching embrace. Ranma watched it happen, feeling as though she were helplessly witnessing a train wreck in slow motion.

“Ranma, my boy! Oh, how long it’s been! I can’t tell ya how grateful I am to know how well you’ve been takin’ care of my little girl all these years—haha!” said the man. He had a thick Kansai drawl.

“I…what…?” Ryoga stammered.

The bearded man pulled back, holding Ryoga by the shoulders.

“And you’re lookin’ so well after your bus accident, too,” he said, nodding heartily.

“B…bus accident? Uh, I think you’ve got the wrong—”

Ukyo cleared her throat. Ranma and Ryoga turned around to look at her, both nearly jumping out of their skin at the sound.

“Uh, Ranma, honey?” she said pointedly to Ryoga. “Can I see you in the kitchen for a minute?”

She seized Ryoga by the wrist and dragged him into the next room, ignoring the absolutely clueless expression on his face. Ranma started to follow them. Ukyo snapped around and pointed at her.

“Not you! You wait here!” she said, pointing aggressively at the redhead.

Ranma stopped in her tracks, feeling mildly offended at being given the brush-off.

“What the hell?” she muttered under her breath.

The bearded man—clearly Ukyo’s father—looked at her and stroked his mustache.

“Have we met…?” he asked her.

Ranma smiled her cutest smile, though her teeth were tightly clenched in her jaw. “Uh…I don’t think so! My name’s Ranko,” she said.

She turned around and flounced towards the door, preparing herself to brief Akane on whatever the hell it was that had just happened.

“Oy vey, this schtick never gets old,” she grumbled.

***

Ryoga looked at Ukyo as though she’d gone absolutely crazy.

“You…you want me to pretend to be Ranma?!” he said.

“Just for a week,” she said. “I’ll pay you back somehow—you can have all the okonomiyaki you want! Please!”

Konatsu looked up from the dish she was scrubbing with a twinkle in her eye.

“Ooh, we get to keep Charlotte for a whole week?” she asked. She displayed a piglet-sized bumblebee costume with a flourish.

“You stay out of this!” Ukyo shouted.

Even before he factored in Konatsu’s determination to dress him up in costumes meant for a chihuahua, Ryoga felt terribly nervous about what was transpiring.

“I still don’t understand why you need me to do this,” he said.

Ukyo shrank back a bit. “Well, it’s a long story, but…I think my dad really likes you…?” she said.

“What’s that got to do with it?” Ryoga asked.

“He thinks I’m married to Ranma. But, also…now he thinks that you’re Ranma,” she said, making a bombastic hand gesture.

Ryoga took a few steps backwards. “That’s insane! Just go in there and tell him the truth!” he said.

Ukyo shook her head with reckless abandon.

“No way, José. If I do that, it’ll be five minutes before he tries to make me close up shop and marry some nasty old kushikatsu chef!” she said.

“Oh, no,” Konatsu gasped. “Not the kushikatsu chef…!”

“You don’t like kushikatsu?” Ryoga asked numbly.

“That’s not the point!” Ukyo snapped back, advancing on him and shaking him by the shoulders. “I like my life here, okay?! And I do not want him to mess that up—which is why I need a temporary husband. Come on, it’s not like pretending to be married to me for a week is the worst thing that could happen to you, right?”

Ryoga looked away.

“Right…?!” Ukyo repeated, shaking him harder.

“It’s…it’s not that! I’m sorry—I just can’t!” Ryoga said, shrinking back. It was meant to be an apology, but it didn’t quite seem to hit its mark. Ukyo looked almost hurt. She let go of him.

“Why not…?” she asked, looking a bit more fragile than he was comfortable with.

Ryoga grabbed the back of his head and looked down. Ukyo had asked him to trust her—and he’d said he would honor that request. She at least deserved an explanation, he realized.

“Well, because Eiko’s got a pig sumo match on Sunday—and it’s probably the most important one of his life. I can’t afford to miss it. He…”

Ryoga struggled to find his own voice for a moment, but an image of his wife flashed through his mind, vivid and gentle and beautiful, accompanied by a bittersweet memory. It gave him the strength to pick up where he left off.

“He promised Akari,” he said. “Four years ago.”

***

It had happened so long ago, but he remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday:

He’d sat at the table beside Akari, warmed by the light of her smile as she put the finishing touches on her New Year’s calligraphy.

“There! I wrote the kanji for ‘pig,’” she said dreamily, laying her work out to dry. “May we be blessed with their great strength and wisdom in the coming year. What about you, Ryoga dear?”

“I wrote ‘victory,’” he said.

Akari clasped her hands together. “Oh, it’s perfect! I just know we’ll win our fifteenth yokozuna title this year. Don’t you agree, Piganosuke?” she said, turning to the pig who sat with them at the table.

Piganosuke looked up from the hearty New Year’s meal he was enjoying and squealed in agreement.

“Your turn, Eiko—what did you write?” Ryoga asked.

Without a word, Eiko laid a scroll on the table, on which the kanji for ‘glory’ and ‘light’ were written—still a bit childish in their execution, but crafted with a lot of care and attention.

“Oh—very nicely done!” Akari said.

A question lingered in the air, and Ryoga thought perhaps to ask it—but following Akari’s lead, he stayed silent and attentive, encouraging Eiko with a gentle smile. Eiko sat uncomfortably, looking at a pair of ink-stained palms that rested on scabby knees. Two brown eyes finally flickered upward when Piganosuke pressed his snout into Eiko’s side.

“Mom…Dad…this is how I wanna write my name from now on,” Eiko said. “So that I can be…a really, really great martial artist. The strongest in the world.”

Ryoga scratched his head, reading off the paper slowly. “Ei…ko? It’s almost the same name, but it’s written differently. It looks like—”

Eiko’s head was suddenly pressed against the floor in a bow.

“Yeah! I…I wanna be a sumo pig, too. I want Mom to train me. And I promise—I swear! I’ll become a great yokozuna—a champion, just like Katsunishiki!”

Ryoga looked at the framed photo of the late, great Katsunishiki that hung on the wall, forever watching over them.

“But to do that…to become a sumo pig, I mean…I gotta be…I decided that I…”

Eiko pushed off the ground with fists curled against the floor and looked up, fierce and determined and desperate.

“Please—! I want you to raise me as your son from now on! I…I wanna be a boy!”

Akari’s eyes teared up and her hands flew to her mouth, but there was only a moment of silence before she swept Eiko up into her arms.

“Oh, my little Eiko! Of course I’ll train you. You’re strong and handsome and brave—just like a pig,” she said. “I suppose that makes you your father’s son, doesn’t it.”

She looked to Ryoga, and all his apprehension melted away.

“I guess it does,” he said. He joined in the hug.

***

“…and that’s why it’s so important to him,” Ryoga said.

Konatsu wept into her dishtowel.

“Oh, Charlotte! That’s the most beautiful story I’ve ever heard!” she sobbed. “Such loving parents—just like my own dearly departed mother and father!”

She blew her nose.

Much more reluctant to wear her emotions on her sleeve, Ukyo stood off to the side, curling her hand over her mouth in contemplation.

“Wow…I had no idea,” she said.

“So, um…you see why I’ve gotta get going, then. I need to be at that tournament no matter what,” said Ryoga.

Interpreting Ukyo’s silence as permission to take his leave, he turned and started to exit, but she seized him by the wrist again.

“Wait—Ryoga. I—”

He turned to look at her, confusion blossoming in his eyes. Ukyo suddenly felt uncomfortably warm and slightly dizzy. She pushed through it.

“If you help me out with this—if you pretend to be my husband this week—I…I’ll make sure you get to the sumo match on time. I’ll get you a front row seat, even. I’ll make sure you never miss one of your kid’s matches ever again.”

Ukyo had just blurted it out—and it was kind of crazy—but she’d meant it.

Suddenly moved to tears at the notion, Ryoga took Ukyo by the other wrist. They stood in the middle of a messy kitchen, almost holding hands, while Konatsu looked on and wept even harder into her towel.

“Do you really mean that…?” Ryoga asked, peering down at her with cautious affection.

“I swear it on my honor as a chef,” Ukyo said.

Ryoga turned around. “Well, then—”

He closed his eyes, breathed, and formed a fist over his heart.

“For Eiko’s sake, I’ll…I’ll…! I’ll do it! Yes! Father! It’s me, Ranma!”

He ran out of the kitchen and prepared to embrace his fake father-in-law in earnest.

***

Within the hour, Ukyo, Ryoga, Ranma, Akane, and Konatsu were huddled together in the apartment above the restaurant, dining on homemade tofu and mushroom hotpot with Ukyo’s father.

“More mushrooms, Mr. Kuonji?” Konatsu said, offering a plate to the guest of honor.

“Don’t mind if I do!” Mr. Kuonji said, sliding them into the donabe full of broth that rested on a portable burner in the center of the table.

“Here, Dad. Have another drink,” Ukyo said, pouring her father a saucer of saké.

“Well, now! I’ll drink if Ranma will join me,” Mr Kuonji said.

Ryoga forgot that he was supposed to be Ranma for a moment, giving an uncomfortable lurch at the saucer that Ukyo was holding under his nose.

“Don’t worry—I know what he looks like, but he can’t hold his liquor,” Ukyo whispered to him. “One or two more of these things, and he’ll be passed out on the floor snoring like a bear.”

Ryoga nodded slowly and took the saucer, hoping Ukyo was right. “Cheers,” he said, tossing back his head and taking a sip.

“Ranma, I must say—you’ve really grown up since the last time I saw you,” Mr. Kuonji said, a sentimental, drunken tear sparkling in his eye. “Say, whatever happened to that pigtail of yours…?”

Ryoga straightened up and laughed nervously. “Oh, that old thing? Haha—I cut it off years ago. I mean…can you imagine? A grown man with a pigtail? That would look ridiculous,” he said.

He and Mr. Kuonji shared a hearty chuckle together—until a plate of chrysanthemum leaves hit Ryoga square in the mouth.

“Whoops! Clumsy me,” Ranma said, even as she continued to shove the ceramic dish against Ryoga’s skull.

“And this is your kid sister, eh? No wonder I felt like we’d met somewhere before! She’s the spitting image of you when you were a young’in,” Mr. Kuonji said, regarding Ranma warmly while she force-fed Ryoga a fistful of salad greens to make him stop talking.

“Gee, that’s pretty funny, isn’t it!” Ranma said, nodding adorably.

“Hilarious,” Akane said absently, poking her chopsticks into a dish of ponzu sauce.

“And…you are…?” Mr. Kuonji asked, turning to look at Akane.

Akane suddenly grew nervous. Her whole body froze up, working against the already strained smile she had plastered on her face.

“W-who, me…? I-I’m, uh…I’m Ranko’s…wife?” she stammered out. “Ahaha.”

Ranma gripped Akane urgently by the sleeves, whispering into her ear so hard that she was spitting a little.

“What’re you gettin’ all weird about? You are my wife!” she said.

Akane whispered back, shaking Ranma by the collar. “Yeah, I know that! But this whole situation is just kind of weird, okay?!”

“Well!” Mr. Kuonji said, clearing his throat. “That’s certainly very, uh…modern of you. Will you two be staying the night at Ukyo’s as well…?”

Still somewhat preoccupied with shaking Ranma, Akane snapped her head up towards Mr. Kuonji, smiling politely.

“Oh, no—we couldn’t impose like that,” she said, looking mildly soothed at the thought of leaving soon. “We’ve got to get home right after dinner.”

“That’s too bad,” Mr. Kuonji said, nodding politely. Then, he looked at Ryoga, talking to him behind his hand. “Lucky for you, though. Your sister seems like kind of a handful.”

Ryoga clapped Mr. Kuonji on the shoulder and nodded. “I’m so glad you understand,” he said.

Ranma threw a spoon at his head.

***

Just as Ukyo predicted, her father lay sprawled out on the floor, snoring heavily after only three drinks. Konatsu scurried to clean up dishes while Ranma and Akane gathered their things to leave.

“Listen, Ryoga. I know you didn’t ask for this, and I know you’re just tryin’ to do Ukyo a favor,” Ranma said. “But as long as you’re pretending to be me…” She placed her hands on Ryoga’s shoulders and stood on her tiptoes, exhaling sharply. “Do not do anything to make me look like an idiot, okay?!”

“Uh…I’ll try,” Ryoga said. “Sorry about this, Ranma.”

Ranma took a step back. “Wh—what are you apologizing for?! Now you’re really freakin’ me out!” she said, grabbing her hair.

“Come on, Ranma—time to go,” Akane said. She gave Ranma a sympathetic pat on the forearm.

Ranma grumbled and reached into her pockets, fiddling around in an attempt to find something. Finally, her hyperactive hands surfaced with the toothbrush Akane had purchased for her at the pharmacy.

“Here,” she said, shoving it under Ryoga’s nose. “Take it.”

Ryoga took the toothbrush and all of the implications that came with it. It suddenly felt like it weighed a metric ton, sitting there in the palm of his hand.

“Oh. Right. Guess I’ve…got to spend the night here, huh,” Ryoga said.

Akane offered Ryoga a worried smile before she and Ranma took their leave. “Good night, Ryoga. And—well, good luck,” she said.

Ryoga watched them make their exit, feeling a bit numb. His fist closed around the toothbrush.

“Now, about the sleeping arrangements…” Konatsu said.

Ryoga turned around to look at her. She held up a fluffy dog bed accented with tiny bows and embroidered with the name Charlotte.

Ukyo frowned and punched Konatsu’s shoulder.

“Knock it off, Konatsu. Go roll out the guest futon,” she said.

***

“…wait, you’re doing what?” Eiko said into the receiver of the Tendo family’s downstairs telephone. Fresh out of the bath, he stood in the hallway wearing his pajamas and holding a towel, reeling in utter disbelief. Piganosuke pressed his ear against the receiver to hear Ryoga’s voice on the other end.

“I’m…pretending to be Ranma for a week. And staying at Ukyo’s place—but only for long enough to fool her dad into thinking she’s married to him so she can keep her restaurant.”

Eiko grasped his forehead in his free hand. “Why are you telling me all of this…?” he asked.

“Uh, well—I-I thought it would be best if I told you the truth,” Ryoga said.

“…the truth about how you’re lying to people?!” Eiko said.

He could almost hear his father rubbing the back of his hair on the other end of the line.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Ryoga said.

Eiko sighed and gritted his teeth.

“What about my sumo match?!” he asked.

“That’s the reason I’m doing this!” Ryoga said, his voice strained and desperate. “Ukyo promised she’d get me to your match on time if I helped her out with this. I mean, we’ll probably have to bring her dad along, but…”

Eiko turned around and leaned back against the wall, feeling as though his brain was about to melt.

“You know, you wouldn’t need to make some weird deal with Ukyo if you’d just learn how to read a freaking map,” he said.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Ryoga said. “I really, really am.”

Eiko exhaled out of his nose. He knew a sincere apology when he heard one—he was just sort of tired of hearing them all the time.

“Whatever, old man. It’s not like I really care whose house you’re staying at ”

There was a pause—Ryoga didn’t say anything, but he hadn’t hung up yet.

“Wait a minute,” Eiko said, slowly trying to piece something together. “If you’re pretending to be Ranma at the match, do I have to pretend you’re Ranma, too?”

“Well…it would probably help if you did,” Ryoga admitted. “I’m planning on telling Ukyo’s dad that you’re my nephew, so…”

Eiko pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever—if you’re supposed to be my uncle, then who’s pretending to be my dad?!”

“Oh,” Ryoga said, hesitating somewhat. “That’s right. You…don’t have a dad in this scenario, exactly. You’ve, uh, got two moms, though.”

Eiko glared up at the end of the hallway, where Ranma and Akane were smiling at him and waving.

“Oh, no. No. NO. You have got to be kidding me,” Eiko said. He began to feel ill.

“Come on, son! Time for bed!” Ranma said through a menacing smile, slapping a hand onto Eiko’s shoulder.

Akane smiled—albeit much more genuinely. Piganosuke tilted his head quizzically to the left as she approached.

“Look, Eiko! I got you a new toothbrush while I was at the pharmacy, too!” she said, holding up a little red toothbrush with race cars on it. “Isn’t it cool…? I’ll even pack your lunch tomorrow.”

“Get lost!” Eiko barked at her.

Ranma started to drag Eiko down the hallway by the collar. “Let’s go, sport, time to get you all tucked in! Ya got school in the morning,” she said.

“Noooo! I’d rather die than be related to you chumps!”

The makeshift family disappeared up the stairs. Piganosuke picked up the phone Eiko had left dangling from the cord, uttered a very polite-sounding squeal into the receiver, hung up, and trotted off to go join Eiko for bed.

***

The hours passed slowly. Ryoga found himself unable to sleep. Maybe it was the snoring, he thought as he lay on a guest futon beside Mr. Kuonji. Or maybe it was the fact that Konatsu was somewhat of a sleep talker.

“Mmh…Mistress Ukyo…so handsome in that top hat…can we bring Charlotte to the movies…?” she mumbled.

Ryoga rolled over to find himself face-to-face with Ukyo, who was cuddling a spatula in her sleep.

He decided to stare up at the ceiling instead.

‘Oh, Akari…what have I gotten myself into…?’

***

“Ryoga…! Pssst! Ryoga!”

A voice pierced the sanctuary of Ryoga’s early morning dreams like a fork jabbing into a soap bubble. He tried to ignore it and go back to sleep.

A spatula hit him in the face.

“Ryoga!”

“Ow!” Ryoga said. He sat up and clutched at his skull, wincing and gritting his teeth. “What was that for?!”

Ukyo looked at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” she said blankly. “You weren’t waking up.”

It took Ryoga a moment to get his bearings. He sat upright on top of his mattress and glimpsed the digital clock that blinked in the corner opposite Mr. Kuonji, who was still snoring loudly atop his own futon.

“It’s only four-thirty,” Ryoga said.

“My dad’s an early riser, and we’ve gotta be awake before him,” Ukyo explained.

Ryoga furrowed his brow. “Why?” he asked.

“We’re supposed to be running the family business together—and okonomiyaki batter doesn’t make itself! Now c’mon—up and at ‘em!” Ukyo said. She started to yank the mattress out from under him.

Ryoga wasn’t sure he was going to be able to do this for an entire week.

***

“You don’t use a recipe…?” Ryoga asked as he stood around uselessly in the kitchen. He hovered like an overstuffed scarecrow behind Ukyo, stiffly gripping a bouquet of green onions as she chopped up a cabbage.

Ukyo concentrated harder on the cutting board, furrowing her brow. Her knife moved faster.

“Why would I…?” she asked. “I make okonomiyaki every day. I’ve got the recipe memorized.”

Fidgeting slightly, Ryoga scratched his nose as well as he could with an armful of vegetables. “Oh. Yeah. I guess that makes sense,” he said. “Makes it kind of hard for me to help, though.”

Ukyo finished chopping the quarter of the cabbage she’d been working on.

“You don’t need to worry about it. Just hand me the ingredients when I tell you to,” she said.

Ryoga nodded. “Okay,” he said.

They lapsed into silence until the cabbage was completely chopped.

“All right—now give me the green onions,” Ukyo said, turning to Ryoga.

He placed the bundle of vegetables he was holding gingerly into her arms, as if it were a precious baby and not a bunch of uprooted plants. Then, having nothing else to do, he pressed his fingers together, his gaze fluttering around the room like an anxious moth.

Ukyo started slicing the onions, only to be slightly unnerved by the way he was leaning down to watch what she was doing over her shoulder. It was so quiet, she could hear him breathe.

“You don’t need to stand so close,” she said, feeling her ears grow warm.

Ryoga’s posture straightened again. “Sorry! I was just…Eiko said that—”

Ukyo turned around to look at him, only to realize that he still hadn’t stepped away yet. A pair of huge brown eyes blinking at her from just an inch away caught her off guard, and the heat from her ears spread to her cheeks.

Noticing the uncomfortable proximity, Ryoga lingered for just a second before he clumsily backed off.

“Uh,” he continued, his eyes dropping to his feet. “Eiko said he liked your cooking.”

A flood of fierce Kansai pride obliterated any lingering sense of bashfulness Ukyo might have been feeling a second ago.

“Oh, he did, did he…? Well, he may be a stubborn little rascal, but at least he’s got good taste,” Ukyo said, setting the knife aside to turn back towards Ryoga, folding her arms across her chest. “I am the best okonomiyaki chef in town, after all.”

Still looking somewhat nervous, Ryoga chuckled. “Right. And…he said I could learn a thing or two from you. So…”

Noticing Ryoga’s expression growing dour, Ukyo sobered a bit herself.

“He doesn’t like your cooking…?” she asked.

“No. Not that I blame him. I never really learned how. Akari always…”

He stopped, swallowed, looked up only briefly, and exhaled—and there it was again. Every time he talked about her, it was as if he’d misplaced a little bit of himself, somehow. Ukyo felt the sudden absence of Akari in their lives; the specter of all the light and joy Ryoga used to feel when he was with her, haunting them.

There was nothing much Ukyo could do to fill that void, she realized—but sad, empty silences never sat well with her.

“Why didn't you say so sooner?” Ukyo said, drawing her hands to her hips. “If you wanted to learn my recipe that badly, all you had to do was ask.”

Ryoga looked up, stunned. “Well, I—”

“Just don’t go blabbing it all over town to the competition, okay? I’ve gotta stay in business, you know.”

Silently, Ryoga nodded. Ukyo handed him an apron and a knife.

“Okay, then. Cooking class is now in session!” she said.

***

“I just don’t have any natural talent for this, do I,” Ryoga said, staring at his bandaged fingers as he sat slumped over a stool in the restaurant.

“Oh, poor Charlotte. You did your best,” Konatsu said as she wiped the grill. “I suppose there are some people even Mistress Ukyo’s teachings can’t reach…”

On the stool next to Ryoga, Ukyo had her chin perched in her hand. She looked at Ryoga, pity and frustration swirling in her eyes.

“Look, I’m not ready to give up on teaching you how to cook yet or anything, but you need to stop getting so carried away. I mean, putting your heart into your food is important and all, but you still have to stay calm enough to pay attention to what your hands are doing—”

“Morning, sunshines! Boy, I slept like a log!” said a voice behind them. Everyone turned to look at Mr. Kuonji as he descended the stairs with a smile on his face.

“That makes one of us,” Ryoga mumbled under his breath.

“Morning, Dad,” Ukyo said, hopping off her stool with a smile. “Can I get you something to eat?”

Mr. Kuonji smirked. “Oh, I already made breakfast. And there’s some for you, too!”

Quicker than lightning, his spatula flashed. He flung something at Ukyo—she lifted her hand almost on instinct, catching it in her palm. Ryoga and Konatsu peeked at it over Ukyo’s shoulder as she examined it. There was a message written in sauce across the top.

‘I challenge you to a contest,’ it said.

“A…contest…?” Ryoga asked. A knot started to form in his stomach like an ill premonition.

“That’s right, son! A good old-fashioned Osaka style okonomiyaki throwdown! We each grab an okonomiyaki cart, roll into town, and start cookin’! Whosoever makes the most money sellin’ okonomiyaki by the end of the day wins, of course,” Mr. Kuonji said.

Ukyo was getting more and more fired up by the second. “Now there’s a challenge I can really get behind,” she said. “You’re on, Dad!”

“Hah! That’s what I thought you’d say. Plus, it’ll give me a chance to see how you and Ranma here do business. You won’t disappoint me, will ya, son?” Mr. Kuonji said. He gave Ryoga such a mighty pat on the back that he nearly felled the martial artist in one blow.

Ryoga let out a strangled, unintelligible noise, followed by a squeaky “No, sir.”

***

Eiko looked at the pop quiz on his desk, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t—and he had no idea what to write in the blanks. He reread the questions.

What is your father’s favorite song?

Where in the Greater Tokyo Metropolitan Area would your father most like to go for a romantic date with his sweetheart?

What is your father’s favorite sport?

When is your father’s birthday?

Eiko leaned over towards his classmate discreetly, trying not to draw attention to himself.

“Perfume—hey! Perfume! What’d you get for number four?!” he asked.

Perfume lowered her head and whispered back.

“Australia,” she said.

Eiko looked back at his paper and scratched his head.

“Huh. I don’t think we got the same quiz,” he mumbled to himself.

He looked up at Ms. Konjo, who was seated with her hands clasped in front of her at the desk, smiling like a fool. The feeling that he had gotten a different quiz than Perfume intensified. He started to sweat.

Eiko screwed up his face, crumpled the paper, and stuffed it in his desk.

***

“Would you quit looking so miserable? You’re gonna scare away all my customers!” Ukyo said, nudging Ryoga in the side with an extra-long spatula.

A distressed pair of doe eyes looked back at her from where Ryoga was squatting down in the dirt next to the okonomiyaki cart in the park, covering his head with his hands.

“He’s going to find out I’m not really Ranma. He’ll figure out we’re not really married—I just know it,” Ryoga said, an aura of dread gathering over him like a little black rain cloud.

“Not if you get off your behind and help me!” Ukyo said, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. She marched over to Ryoga and pulled him upright by the hands.

“Now, come on. All you have to do is stand there with the sandwich board and look happy to be here, okay? So buck up already!” she said.

Ryoga looked down at his fingers, still squeezed firmly in hers, and nodded. The rain clouds of dread started to dissipate.

“Ahem,” said a nearby voice. Ryoga and Ukyo jumped apart.

A horse poked its head under the awning of the okonomiyaki cart. Clad in her business attire, Nabiki Tendo was sitting astride her noble steed, watching them through a very expensive pair of designer sunglasses.

Still somewhat stunned by the interruption, Ukyo squeaked and elbowed Ryoga in the side.

“Uh,” he said. “W-welcome to Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki Cart,” he said dumbly. “What can we get you today…?”

Ukyo was actually mildly impressed. “See, that wasn’t so bad. You’re getting the hang of it,” she told him.

“Well, well! Sort of unusual to see the two of you out and about together. Any special occasion…?” Nabiki asked. She pulled her sunglasses down her nose and peered down at them from over the rims. Ukyo smelled a hint of danger as she looked up at Nabiki’s smug grin.

Ukyo folded her arms. “Not really,” she said, at the same time that Ryoga gripped the back of his head, looked at the grass, and uttered “Sort of.”

Nabiki raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Interesting,” she said.

“Are you gonna buy something or what…?” Ukyo asked her, growing impatient.

“Two house specials to go, please,” Nabiki said. She pulled Kuno’s wallet out of her jacket.

The horse let out a self-important neigh.

“…and extra sauce for Kuno,” she added, patting her horse on the head.

***

The school day ended. Eiko pulled Perfume up onto Piganosuke’s back to give her a ride home.

“Do you want to ride with us, Tomiji?” Perfume asked, offering a hand to her pint-sized classmate. Eiko scowled at the thought of Tomiji sharing his mount, but it went largely unnoticed.

“A generous offer, Good Perfume. But I shall walk on the ground,” Tomiji said, pulling out her sword. “It is my duty to remain vigilant and protect my dear fiancé from bandits.”

“Really?” Perfume asked, believing Tomiji wholeheartedly. “That sounds tough.”

Tomiji nodded. “Yes, but there is no labor I would not endure for love,” she said.

“Whatever,” said Eiko, growing impatient and embarrassed. “Let’s just go.”

Piganosuke trotted off down the path out of the schoolyard, happily carrying Eiko, Perfume, and their respective school bags. Tomiji trailed beside them, scanning the path for bandits—or at least small rocks that might get in the way. She smacked a pebble aside with her sword.

“Begone, you nuisance!” she shouted at the rock as it ricocheted off a fence.

Perfume clapped politely at Tomiji’s show of strength. Eiko ignored it.

“Man, I’m starving,” he said. He flopped his upper body forwards towards Piganosuke’s head and sighed a mighty sigh, bouncing along with the pig as they moved down the sidewalk. It was a far cry from his usual riding posture, but he felt weak and rubbery from a lack of nourishment.

Perfume became concerned.

“Didn’t you eat lunch today?” she asked.

“Nope,” Eiko said. “You think I got a death wish or something? I ain’t eating a single bite of that weirdo Akane’s crummy cooking. It looked like something crawled in my bento box and died.”

Perfume looked up at the sky. “Sensei packed you a lunch…? Gee, I’m kinda jealous. Everyone else says I’m not allowed to eat what she makes,” she said.

Eiko handed her his lunchbox. “You can have it if you want. Just…don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Perfume lifted the lid of the bento and was greeted with the smell of half-cooked fish and onions swimming in sesame oil and burnt rice, with what appeared to be wood chips mixed in. A partially-peeled radish floated to the top.

“Wow. Japanese food sure is interesting,” she said.

She was about to take a bite when Tomiji interrupted her.

“Hark! A carriage approaches!” Tomiji said.

“A carriage? Give me a break,” Eiko said—but strangely enough, Tomiji was basically correct. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a palanquin pulling up beside them. Tanaka the bodyguard was carrying it by the front handles, while one of the Tamano family’s female bodyguards was bringing up the rear.

A muffled voice from inside shouted “Tanaka! Kurosaki! Get closer to them! I need to talk to Perfume!”

“What the hell…?” Eiko said, sitting up slowly and rubbing his palms into his eyes.

The side door of the palanquin slid open. Yukimaru Tamano sat inside, surrounded by satin pillows.

“Oh. Hello, Perfume. I didn’t expect to run into you here,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “What a coincidence.”

Eiko felt his entire face momentarily contract.

“What?! But you just said—”

“It’s a coincidence,” Yukimaru insisted, slightly louder this time, cutting Eiko off. Her eyes narrowed when she looked at him, and Eiko felt a chill run down his spine.

“But…since I’ve got you here—well, we do still need to talk about the results of the Martial Arts Flower Arranging Competition, don’t we?” Yukimaru added. She zeroed in on Perfume.

Perfume looked at her hands.

“Oh. Right. Um…sorry my plant bit one of your bodyguards,” she said. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?! That was sabotage! You tried to sabotage me!” Yukimaru said, slamming both palms down against the floor of her palanquin and leaning out as far as she could. “I demand compensation!”

Perfume shrank back behind Eiko as far as she could.

“I…I don’t have any money. The Tendos can’t afford to give me an allowance,” Perfume whispered into Eiko’s ear. “What should I do…?”

Eiko thought about Perfume’s predicament for a few seconds. It wasn’t hard to come up with a solution.

“Give her the food,” he said.

Perfume nodded. “Oh. Okay,” she said to Eiko. She looked a little sad to have to give up Akane’s lovingly-packed bento—but it was their best option.

Without another word, she held out the lunchbox and chopsticks she was carrying, and Yukimaru took them.

“Now that’s more like it. I knew eventually you’d see things my way,” Yukimaru said. “And what a thoughtful gift—I think I’ll have some now.”

Yukimaru would live to regret those words. A single bite of the food was enough to turn her face green and her skin clammy. Gurgling unnaturally, she fell backwards against one of her satin pillows.

“Uh-oh,” Perfume whispered. “She doesn’t look so good.”

Tanaka started to panic. He whipped his upper body sideways, trying to look back at the inside of the palanquin.

“Lady Yukimaru! Speak to me—Lady Yukimaru!”

Yukimaru clutched at her throat. Perfume’s hands tightened around Eiko’s sleeve. Eiko signaled Piganosuke to go faster.

“And this is the part where we get outta here,” Eiko said, feeling like his work here was done.

They sped off down the street. Tomiji zoomed after the pig, calling out “Milord! Wait for me!” Perfume pulled Tomiji up onto Piganosuke by the hand; and the four of them disappeared over the horizon.

***

At the end of practice that evening, the captain of the world’s one and only Men’s Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Team looked down at Eiko with a newfound respect.

“Damn, kid. You managed to knock all three of us out of the ring,” he said. “You ever think about a career in rhythmic gymnastics…?”

Eiko wiped his nose on his sleeve and smiled a fangy little smile. “Nope,” he said. “I’m gonna be a junior pig sumo champion by this time next week.”

It was business as usual at the Pantyhose Taro Dojo. The Daimonjis were serving tea to Piganosuke. Azusa sped by, pushing a distressed Mikado in a wheelchair, giggling and shouting “Faster, faster!” The gymnastics team went back to practicing with their ribbons on the balance beam. And Eiko took a break to seek out his alleged Sensei.

He found him crouched in the bushes, holding a pair of binoculars.

“Kasumi Tendo…just what are you plotting?” Pantyhose muttered to himself as he tried to spy on his neighbor through the hole in the fence.

Eiko kicked him in the rear end.

“Hey, stupid. You’re supposed to be training me to defeat Ranma right now, remember?” he said.

Pantyhose laughed at him. “You utter fool. What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? I’m tracking the enemy’s movements. If Saotome and his flunkies are planning something right now, we need to know what it is first,” he said.

Eiko rolled his eyes. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just peeping on a girl.”

Seething with irritation, Pantyhose pulled Eiko into the bush with him.

“Shut your mouth and hide! You’re ruining my entire operation!” he said.

“Yeah, see, you’re not denying it. You’re just as bad as her,” Eiko said.

“Just as bad as who?” Pantyhose asked.

Eiko pointed to an adjacent bush, where Mariko was sitting with her own set of binoculars. “Oh, my darling Ryoga…where could you be?” she said with a lovelorn sigh, adjusting the focus on her binoculars and scanning the Tendos’ windows for any signs of movement.

“Konjo! Get back in the dojo!” Pantyhose screamed. Lost in her own little world, Mariko didn’t seem to hear him.

Then, the bush on the other side of Pantyhose jumped up off the ground, suddenly gaining a head of long, gorgeous hair topped off with a ribbon.

“Ukyo, my love! I’m here to rescue you!” it said.

Eiko threw a tin can at the bush’s head.

“Ukyo’s not here today! Get the hell off our lawn!” he said.

Pantyhose Taro frowned. “It’s not your lawn, pig boy,” he said. “Now go and teach that bush a lesson.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it—but you’d better actually teach me something when I’m done!” Eiko said, wriggling out of the foliage to engage in fisticuffs with Tsubasa.

***

When Nabiki Tendo rode by the Pantyhose Taro Dojo later that night on her way to pick up Tomiji from practice, she was surprised to find Tsubasa Kurenai laying on the pavement in front of her. He looked like he’d been beaten to a pulp, and his dress was in tatters.

Kuno—currently a horse—stopped to look down at Tsubasa, who was twitching on the sidewalk and trying to pull himself along by his hands.

“Must…find…Ukyo,” Tsubasa grunted.

Nabiki smelled a business opportunity.

“Oh. Looking for Ukyo, you say…? I might just be privy to a bit of information you’d be interested in,” she said. “How much cash have you got on you…?”

***

The doors were locked and the lights were out inside Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki, but upstairs, the fires of competition were still blazing.

“Thirty-six thousand six hundred…thirty-six thousand seven hundred…thirty-six thousand eight hundred. Not bad for a single afternoon, I guess,” Ukyo said, poking through the pile of the day’s earnings spread out across the kotatsu. “How’d you two do…?” she asked her father.

Mr. Kuonji stroked his beard. “Fifty-eight thousand for us,” he said. “Guess we win!”

Ukyo’s expression soured.

“Well, I’d hardly call it a fair fight,” she said. “You had Konatsu on your team.”

She glared at her assistant, who was dressed up in a bunny girl outfit and giving Mr. Kuonji a high five.

“How on earth were we supposed to compete with that…?” Ryoga said, hanging his head in defeat.

“All’s fair in love and war, Charlotte!” Konatsu said with a giddy smile. “I’m giving my share of the profits to Mistress Ukyo, of course.”

“Hah!” Mr. Kuonji said, slapping his knee. “You sure got yourself one hell of a good employee here, Ukyo.”

He cracked open a beer while Konatsu started to do a little fan dance. Then, he leaned towards Ryoga.

“Seems to me like you need to work this husband of yours a little harder, though. He’s got muscles, all right—but he’s kinda sickly-lookin’ up close, ain’t he…?” he asked.

“Dad, please! Ry—Ranma works as hard as I do! You just got lucky today, that’s all!” Ukyo said. She slapped her palms against the table and stood up.

“All right, simmer down. We’ll go again tomorrow—best two out of three,” Mr. Kuonji said. He honed in on Ryoga, who was starting to look uncomfortably sweaty. “You won’t let my little girl down again, right?”

“Uh, right,” Ryoga said weakly.

“I mean—you’d do anything for her, right?” Mr. Kuonji prodded.

Ryoga started to sweat so hard that Konatsu swooped in to pat his forehead dry with a handkerchief.

“O-of course I would,” Ryoga said, forcing a smile at the wall.

***

Day Two of the Good Old-Fashioned Osaka Style Okonomiyaki Throwdown was not off to a great start.

“Where’s your husband? Haven’t seen him all morning,” Mr. Kuonji said.

“He’s—he’s fine! He just went out to get groceries, that’s all!” Ukyo said, growing increasingly flustered. She drummed her fingers over the counter in irritation.

“Is everything all right with you two…?” her father asked, looking mightily concerned. “Y’know, Ukyo…if you wanna come home…do some training on your own for a while…”

Ukyo’s eyes narrowed into slits. “No thanks!” she said. “Look, let’s just start the contest, okay? I’m sure he’ll catch up.”

She stormed out the door towards her okonomiyaki cart. Konatsu followed her.

“Mistress Ukyo…” Konatsu said, her voice wavering with concern.

Ukyo spun on her heel, her hair whipping around dangerously in the wind. “I’ll be fine on my own, Konatsu,” she said. “I always have been, and I always will be.”

Konatsu regarded Ukyo with sympathetic eyes.

“I know that, Mistress. I have every confidence that you’ll succeed, no matter what. It’s just that…well, I’m worried about Charlotte, too,” she said. “So…here.”

She handed Ukyo a leash. Ukyo raised an eyebrow.

“Uh…Konatsu…? What’s this supposed to be for…?” she asked.

Konatsu smiled and patted Ukyo’s shoulder.

“When the time comes, you will know,” she said sagely. “Good luck, milady.”

With a parting bow, the waitress kunoichi disappeared by leaping over the rooftop, leaving Ukyo to wonder how her life had suddenly gotten so confusing.

***

“You’re not eating lunch again…?” Perfume asked Eiko.

They sat in the classroom with their desks pressed together. Tomiji was sitting comfortably on top of Perfume’s desk.

“Nope,” Eiko said, pushing aside a bento box full of mutilated hot dogs and blackened rolled omelets.

“A most curious concoction,” Tomiji said, poking the omelet to make sure it was dead.

Perfume was about to offer up some of her own lunch to Eiko when Ms. Konjo appeared right behind him.

“Oh, Eiko, don’t worry! Your big sister is here!” she cried. “And I brought you a dish of my own homemade chicken curry, simmered with L-O-V-E!”

She did indeed have a plate of curry on hand. Eiko’s mouth started to water. He reached out to take it—it was just slightly out of the range of his stubby little arms—

“Oh, but would you mind telling me where your father is right now…? I want to give him some of my homemade curry, too,” Ms. Konjo said, sighing dreamily up at the ceiling. “I just know he’ll like it.”

Eiko drew back, and his eyebrows flattened themselves into a perfectly straight line.

“Look, Teach, if you think you’re gonna trick me into tellin’ you about my dad goin’ to Ukyo’s for the week, you’re sadly mistaken. There’s no way I’d ever—”

Ms. Konjo’s face inexplicably started sparkling. Realizing his mistake, Eiko froze.

“Oh! Thank you, dear little Eiko! I just knew you’d accept me into your family!” she cried, right before she took off through the window with the plate of curry still in hand. “Ryoga, my love! Your Mariko is on her way!” she said as she vanished out of sight.

Eiko stuck his head out the window and screamed at the sun.

“Hey! What about my food?!”

***

“Stupid Ryoga and his stupid sense of direction,” Ukyo muttered to herself. People gave her a wide berth as she stomped down the streets of Tokyo, dragging her okonomiyaki cart along with her. “Why can’t he ever just stay put?!”

If Ukyo really thought about it, Ranma was actually the one responsible for this mess. If only he’d shown up just a half hour sooner, Ukyo wouldn’t be dragging her cart halfway across the city in search of her fake husband while her father beat her at a contest she should have been winning.

Of course, if she really, really thought about it, Ukyo only had herself to blame. She ruminated on the other day, when she’d dragged Ryoga into her tangled web of lies and family issues and personal regrets—she’d been a fool for thinking this arrangement would somehow work.

For wanting it to work.

Because it had seemed like such a good opportunity to see what it would have been like; what might have happened if only—

Ukyo stopped walking. The strain of pushing the cart by herself had finally caught up with her, and she was suddenly struck with the dawning realization that she’d brought Ryoga into this for completely selfish and self-indulgent reasons. And, she realized as she looked at her surroundings, in an ironic twist, she’d gotten so worked up over Ryoga’s disappearance that she’d paid no attention whatsoever to where she’d been going.

In other words, Ukyo was completely lost.

She let go of the cart and sat down next to it, dropping her chin into her hand and sighing.

“Serves me right, I guess,” she said.

It was quiet here—a little patch of suburbia on the outskirts; a maze of clotheslines and cement. Flowerpots and bicycles leaned up against narrow two-story houses that had sprouted up incongruently; a calculated mess of mismatched buildings standing so close together that it was all at once cozy and claustrophobic. Time seemed to stand still in the middle of the bitter winter afternoon, when kids were at school and parents were at work. Even the stray cats seemed to have disappeared; no doubt huddled down, unseen, in the most secluded crevices they could find.

Ukyo thought she might just like to find a crevice to hide away in for herself—but she didn’t. Instead, she wondered what Ryoga did when he was lost.

Somehow, she knew—and a ridiculous notion floated into her head. Maybe—just maybe…

Ukyo took a deep breath, latched the fingers of both her hands together, and looked skyward.

“…Akari. Hi. This is…I don’t know if this is silly or not. I just…don’t know who else I can talk to,” she began.

The wind picked up, just a little. A set of wind chimes danced lazily in the slight breeze, leaving a wistful, aimless tune hanging in the atmosphere. Ukyo’s bangs ruffled around her forehead. She dropped her shoulders down and sighed.

“I think I owe you an apology. All this time, I’ve been…jealous of you, I guess. It feels weird to say that out loud, especially now, but…”

Ukyo stopped again to gather her thoughts. She was still sorting through what her feelings meant, because she’d never really stopped to feel them this way—to say them out loud. But it suddenly seemed as though maybe she should have done this much earlier.

“It’s funny. It’s not like I was ever really mad at you or anything. I mean, how could I be? Everything about you was so…so perfect. I think I’ve just been bitter, because…well, no matter how hard I tried, I could never measure up to you. After all this time, I still don’t really know the first thing about being a girl. I’d make a terrible wife and all that, you know…? It’s no wonder Ryoga never figured out that I—”

She stopped. Maybe there were some things she still wasn’t ready to say out loud yet.

“Look, I know I don’t have any right to feel that way about him. Not anymore. But right now, he’s lost, and it’s sort of my fault. And I know I’m not the only one who’d be worried sick about him if he stayed away for too long—and I did mean it when I promised to get him to Eiko’s match, so…I don’t know. Just…help me…take care of him while you’re gone, I guess? I mean, somebody needs to—”

“Meow,” said a nearby voice.

Ukyo’s eyes snapped open at the sound. She blinked against the harsh winter sun, and once her eyes had adjusted, she was flabbergasted to find a cat taking off with her favorite spatula.

“Hey! Come back with that, you flea magnet!”

Ukyo got up and ran after the four-legged menace, leaving the fleeting sound of windchimes and her okonomiyaki cart behind her.

***

Mariko Konjo pressed the back of her head against a park bench and let out an aggrieved sigh. The plate of curry she’d made with love for Ryoga had grown cold. The sign on the door at Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki had said the cart was supposed to be here today—but it was nowhere to be found.

“Maybe it’s hopeless,” she told herself. “Maybe I should just admit defeat.”

“Uh…lady?” said a voice beneath her. She barely heard it. Something was building to a crescendo in Mariko’s chest. She had to shout it out.

“N-O, Mariko! Why do you always run away? Ever since high school, it’s been one failure after another after another—but you can’t quit! This game of love is going into overtime!” she shouted. She stood up on top of the bench, pulling out a baton.

“Uh, lady?! Excuse me!” the voice said again.

Mariko looked down. The bench was talking.

“Do you mind?!” said the bench. “That hurts!”

Mariko hopped down and looked the bench in the eye. Funny—benches didn’t usually have heads that could talk, Mariko thought. There was only one logical explanation for this.

“Eeek! It’s a demon bench!” she cried, beaning the bench repeatedly over the skull with her baton.

“Hey—quit it! I’m not—ow!—a bench, okay?! It’s—aargh!—a disguise—a disguise!”

The bench suit came off, tossed unceremoniously aside. A person in a Gothic Lolita dress emerged, cursing and stomping the disguise to bits.

“Stupid crummy horse lady and her stupid fake tips! Now I’m out ten thousand yen and I can’t find my dearest Ukyo!”

Mariko blinked.

“You’re…looking for Ukyo…? As in…Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki?” she asked.

The stranger picked bits of curry and leftover bench out of their skirt. “Yeah. You know her?”

“Well, not exactly—but I heard she’s been all over town with my darling Ryoga,” Mariko said, folding her arms and pouting.

The stranger adjusted their frilly headpiece. “Yeah, that’s what I heard, too. How dare she run around with him when she’s got me!”

“And…who are you to Ukyo, exactly…?” Mariko asked.

The stranger’s chest puffed out mightily. “I’m Ukyo’s one true love, Tsubasa Kurenai!”

“And I’m Ryoga’s destined wife! M-A-R-I-K-O!” Mariko said, posing with her pompoms.

Tsubasa took Mariko by the hands. “My dear Mariko…”

“My dear Tsubasa…”

“I understand just how you feel about that scumbag Ryoga.”

“And I can completely tell how much you love that tramp Ukyo.”

“In that case…” said Tsubasa.

Mariko nodded.

“Let’s work together!” they said in unison.

***

“Wow. Ms. Konjo sure is taking a long time to come back,” Perfume said, glancing absently out the classroom window. “Where do you think she went…?”

She looked at Eiko, who was playing checkers with Piganosuke and trying to ignore Tomiji, who had attached herself to his arm.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Eiko responded.

Piganosuke double jumped his checker over Eiko’s last two remaining pieces and claimed victory.

***

Still in hot pursuit of the world’s fuzziest spatula thief, Ukyo turned down an unfamiliar alleyway.

‘Almost got him,’ she thought to herself as she cornered the fugitive feline—but its lightning quick reflexes just slightly outclassed hers. She made a futile grab for it as it kicked off the wall and started running the other way.

Ukyo snapped around, tailing the cat all the way to an underpass by the river.

“I said come back here, you little—whoa. What the…?”

There, in the shadow of the bridge, was the largest cat she’d ever seen in her life—if it was even a cat at all, really. It was surrounded by at least ten regular stray cats. Ukyo watched as the tabby she’d chased down the street dropped the spatula at its feet.

‘Is that thing what I think it is…?’ Ukyo wondered. She hadn't seen a cat of such unwieldy proportions since she’d been in high school. It probably didn’t bode well.

“What did mee-you bring me?” the humongous cat asked the small one. It picked up the spatula and sniffed it. “Oh…it smells like…squid? Ooh! And delicious shrimp! And…”

It sniffed harder, picking up something else on the spatula. Then, the enormous cat was on the trail of something—it sniffed its way up to Ukyo, stopping just an inch from her face. The cat was monstrous up close—Ukyo felt a shiver run down her spine, but resisted the urge to run.

“It’s you! You’re the one this spatula belongs to, aren’t mee-you?” asked the cat.

Ukyo folded her arms. “Yeah, and I’m gonna need it back, so hand it over,” she said.

“Mee-you must be an incredible cook! Yes—you’d be a purr-fect bride for me!” said the cat. “Will you meowrry me?”

Ukyo sensed that the cat was going to lunge at her just a fraction of a second before it happened. She dodged a colossal, furry hug just in the nick of time—but the cat could apparently float off the ground and change direction in mid-air.

There was no doubt about it now—this had to be Māomólíng, the Ghost Cat.

“No thanks! I’m married to the job,” Ukyo said through her teeth. Then, she dodged the Ghost Cat’s paws from the other direction. Jumping out of the way, she landed on a stone by the riverbank. “Now give me my spatula so I can get back to business!”

“B-but if mee-you were to become myai bride, you’d never have to work again!” said the cat. “Oh, pretty please? We could live in a nyice, big box—I’d even bring you tuna and sardines every day!”

The sound of an open umbrella tearing through the air suddenly turned Ukyo’s head. It struck the cat’s paws—the spatula the ghost was holding hit the ground with a metallic clunk.

“The lady said no,” said a familiar voice. Sure enough, there was Ryoga, perched on one of the stones by the river bank. The umbrella spun back into his hand.

“Mrrrr! Why do you always have to ruin myai chances of getting meowrried?!” the Ghost Cat cried. With tears in its eyes, it pounced on Ryoga.

Ukyo’s erstwhile savior hit the water and turned into a pig.

“Gee—and I almost thought he looked cool for a second there,” Ukyo said to herself.

She picked her spatula up off the ground and used it to hit the Ghost Cat into the sky like a golf ball.

***

P-Chan flailed in the water, struggling to stay afloat. A pair of sturdy hands fished him out of the river, along with all of his belongings. He sneezed and shook himself dry, then glanced at the rescuer who was holding him by the collar.

It was Ukyo. Her face was twisted up with questions that would probably have to go unanswered until they could find a source of hot water—but for whatever reason, she also looked happy to see him despite his series of blunders that had gotten them separated in the first place.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she said.

P-Chan oinked at her.

“Guess we still make a pretty good team, huh…? Now c’mon, let’s get back to the okonomiyaki cart and—”

Ukyo stopped mid-sentence. She looked left and right. Her face became discolored.

“Oh no—I forgot all about the cart!” she said.

With P-Chan tucked securely under her armpit, she tore off running through the neighborhood, trying to retrace her steps.

***

“Huh. That’s weird,” said Ukyo. “I don’t remember leaving the okonomiyaki cart here, but…”

But there it was, in the middle of a vacant lot she was sure she’d never seen before.

P-Chan—to whom she’d attached Konatsu’s leash in an attempt to stop the pig from getting lost—sniffed at the cart and growled.

“What? Does it smell weird or something?” Ukyo asked. She walked closer to inspect the cart’s contents.

The okonomiyaki cart jumped up and tried to hug her.

“Ukyo! I’ve found you at last!” the cart proclaimed. It wrapped its arms around her.

“Tsubasa, knock it off! Now’s not a good time!” Ukyo said, trying to break away from the sudden embrace. The okonomiyaki cart wiggled and tipped over, knocking them both to the ground.

“Oh, Ukyo, my darling!”

“I said I don’t have time for this!”

Ukyo punched Tsubasa in the face. P-Chan jumped up and bit him in the arm for good measure.

“Hey, what gives, ya stinky little pig?!” Tsubasa growled. His face was now somewhat concave from the force of Ukyo’s blow. He tried to shake P-Chan off, leaving Ukyo free to jump back to her feet and kick him while he was down.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ukyo muttered, plucking P-Chan away from the aberrant food cart.

A baton came swinging down just a centimeter away from Ukyo’s nose.

“Excuse me,” the owner of the baton said, her sharp eyes honing in on Ukyo. “But I can’t let you pass until you tell me something—what, exactly, is the nature of your relationship with Ryoga?”

Ukyo looked down at the pig tucked under her arm. P-Chan looked as confused as she felt.

“He’s my friend. Can I go now?” Ukyo said.

Mariko took a step closer. “You’re just friends…?” she asked, scrunching up her eyes to scrutinize Ukyo.

“I don’t see why that matt—I said get lost, Tsubasa!” Ukyo said. She stomped Tsubasa—who was still in costume, hugging her around the waist—into the dirt.

Ukyo panted from the effort, watching the sun sink lower on the horizon. “Ugh—This is ridiculous. I have a contest to get back to!”

Swinging her mighty spatula, Ukyo relieved the cheerleader of her baton and stormed off.

“Oh…she’s better than I thought,” Mariko murmured to herself as Ukyo and P-Chan tried to make themselves scarce. But it wasn’t long before Mariko and Tsubasa were trailing behind them.

“Wait—do you at least know his phone number?!” Mariko asked.

“C’mon, Ukyo! I was gonna serenade you!” Tsubasa said. “I walk alooooong…and look aboooove…so that I don’t spill my tears for loooove…”

Ukyo gritted her teeth and walked faster.

***

“Ukyo and Ranma sure are late gettin’ back. Wonder what the holdup is,” Mr. Kuonji said, drumming his fingers on top of the kotatsu.

Konatsu—still dressed up in the pep squad outfit she’d chosen to wear for today’s challenge—turned away from the historical drama that was playing on TV. She tossed aside the bag of chips she’d been snacking on, grabbed the karaoke microphone, and looked the senior chef in the eye.

“Oh, but Sir! We must always have faith in Mistress Ukyo!” Konatsu said. “I’m certain she’ll walk through that door any minute with a smile on her face and money lining her pockets!”

As her voice echoed around the room, the door slid violently open. They looked up to find Ukyo—who was ragged, breathless, and dirty—dragging Ryoga behind her on a leash.

Mr. Kuonji blinked. “What in the blazes—?!”

Ukyo slapped a few hundred yen on the top of the kotatsu.

“Best three out of five,” she said.

***

And so, the Good Old-Fashioned Osaka Style Okonomiyaki Throwdown was set to continue. Ukyo awoke at 4:30 as usual—but to her surprise, she wasn’t the first person up.

She stumbled her way downstairs in the dark to discover that Ryoga was already at work in the kitchen. Ukyo rubbed her eyes, unsure if she was awake enough to process what was going on. Her limbs still hurt from yesterday’s incident, and her head was throbbing.

“Uh…here,” Ryoga said, pushing a dish across the counter. “I made you some breakfast.”

Ukyo looked down at the plate.

It wasn’t breakfast. It was five boiled eggs.

Her heart fluttered a little anyway.

“Huh,” she said, poking at one of them with the tip of her index finger. It wobbled around a bit. “What’s the occasion?”

Ryoga drew back a little, embarrassed. He looked down. His right hand found the back of his neck.

“Well, I…after yesterday, I just thought…you’ve been doing so much to help me with Eiko, and all I’ve done so far is cause you trouble. And I know five boiled eggs isn’t really enough to make it up to you, but—”

“Hey, it’s a start,” Ukyo said, fondly gazing down at the least balanced breakfast she’d ever seen in her life. The haze of her headache began to subside.

It was nice to be appreciated this way—earnestly, quietly, a little clumsily, but with a hint of sweetness underneath—something about the gesture just felt sort of uniquely…Ryoga-like, she thought as she started to peel an egg. His eyes flickered up towards her from the floor, just for a second. Maybe some planets out there had aligned in a very peculiar way, because both of them were smiling, just a little.

Moments like this one were few and far between. Ukyo treasured it while it lasted.

Then, it was time to get to work.

“Now grab a knife and get chopping,” she said while she chewed. “We’ve got batter to make!”

***

The sun peeked prettily over the horizon, bathing the rooftops and sidewalks of Furinkan in gold and orange hues. Ukyo and Ryoga left bright and early to sell their wares. The batter was prepared, the cart was in position, the grill was hot, and the weather in the park was perfect.

There was just one problem: they didn’t have any customers.

Fortunately, Ukyo had a solution for that.

“Come on, Ranma-honey! You said you’d help me out with this, right? My marriage is at stake here!” Ukyo said. Her fingers curled more tightly around a spatula as she waved it back and forth in front of her.

Ranma folded her arms. “Your fake marriage to fake me, you mean…?” she asked. She glanced up at Ryoga, who stood quietly beside Ukyo, pressing his forefingers together.

Next to Ranma, Akane looked pensive. “I mean, like it or not, you are sort of involved in this now, Ranma.” she said. She laid a hand on Ranma’s bare shoulder.

Ranma nearly burst like a firework in a fit of frustrated embarrassment. “And whose fault is that, huh?! Besides, how come I’m the only one who has to dress up in the costume? I’m freezing my butt off here!”

She looked down at her ensemble, if one could really call it that. A bright red bodice, a pair of fishnet tights, and two glimmering silver high heels—all of which fit her just a little too perfectly—sparkled with all the garish glitz of a disco ball as they caught the sunlight just right. And then, of course, there was the headband to top it all off. Two perky rabbit ears jutted straight out of Ranma’s head.

Ukyo folded her arms. “Because you’re the only one who fits in it. And we’ve got to get more competitive—I think Konatsu’s really serious about this. I saw her dragging her catgirl suit out of the closet this morning.”

Ryoga leaned over the cart and laid a hand on Ranma’s other shoulder.

“Come on, Ranma. Be a man and take one for the team,” he said.

“Do I look like a man to you right now?!” Ranma snapped.

No one cared to answer that question. Instead, Akane changed the subject.

“By the way, Ryoga, I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while now, but…”

She glanced curiously at Ryoga’s neck, to which a dog collar and a leash had been securely fastened. Ukyo was holding the other end. It even had an engraved tag, on which was clearly printed ‘If lost, please return to Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki, Block 5, Nerima Ward, Tokyo.’

“…why are you wearing that…?”

Ryoga winced.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

***

It took a while for things to get going—but once they did, business was booming. Sales were especially good once the high schools let out for the day. Drawn like flies to a sugar bowl, tenth and eleventh grade boys—and a handful of girls—lined up around the block for a chance to get a box of hot, delicious okonomiyaki handed to them by a beautiful lady in a bunny suit. At the close of the work day, Ukyo was about one-hundred forty-thousand yen richer—and she wasn’t the only one experiencing a sudden surge in confidence.

“Hey, whaddaya know, Akane—I do still got it. Maybe I’m not such a long shot for this year’s Miss Martial Arts pageant after all,” Ranma said smugly, turning towards her wife to gloat.

Then, Ranma sneezed violently. Akane wrapped her up in a blanket.

“Well, we’ll see. One thing at a time, okay…?” Akane admonished, although it was hard to miss the note of affection in her voice. She drew Ranma closer to her, throwing her arm around the shivering redhead.

Ukyo watched them walk together, the sweet victory of her record-breaking profits somewhat dampened by a sting of envy.

‘Must be nice, being married for real,’ she thought. ‘I wonder if I’ve been missing out all this time…’

She looked up at the moon, gleaming faintly like some ancient pearl that hid behind the blinding, fluorescent hum of street lights and the kaleidoscope of city windows. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she should have given the idea of marriage a little more consideration back then. Akane and Ranma seemed happy enough to have been set up by their parents—but would that sort of thing really have worked for her…?

She glanced up at Ryoga, who was still very much attached to the leash she was holding and trying to keep pace with her—but he had started to lag a little. In fact, Ryoga looked almost as subdued as Ukyo felt. Maybe some things were even harder to live with than never having been married at all, she thought.

“Hey. Good work today,” she told him. He looked like he could use a few kind words, at least.

He blinked down at her as though her voice had snapped him out of a trance.

“Oh, thanks. You too,” he said simply. He offered her just a tiny glimpse of a smile.

She smiled back, but by then, Ryoga’s thoughts had turned inward again. Ukyo thought, with uncharacteristic resignation, that maybe it didn’t matter whether Ryoga was here at the end of her leash or off somewhere in Tibet. It might not even matter if every now and then, he had enough time to stop and save her from a ghost cat or make her a few boiled eggs—most of the time, he was probably going to somehow be a little too far away for her to reach.

***

The day of the junior sumo pig tournament arrived. It was early yet—most people in the neighborhood were still just waking up. But Eiko and his fake parents had risen with the sun, ready to be the first in line for registration before the rest of the family joined them at the venue. The river babbled cheerfully as they made their way down the street; a mismatched flock of martial artists on a mission.

“I still can’t believe I have to pretend you chumps are my moms,” Eiko said. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets as he walked behind Akane, who was holding hands with Perfume.

“Heh. Watch and learn, kid. I’m about to show you some serious Martial Arts Acting,” Ranma said, crouching down to make a face at him from the top of the fence. “I got your baby picture, ya know. And I’m gonna show it to everybody.”

She held up an oversized photo of a grumpy, chunky little infant in a hand-knitted pig onesie. Putting on a pair of doe eyes, she crooned, “Look! This is my darling little boy! Isn’t he just precious? Oh, if only he’d stop wetting the bed—”

“Put that away! I’ll kill you!” Eiko said. He tried to climb up the fence to give Ranma a beating.

“Gee, is that any way to talk to your mother?” Ranma said sarcastically. She blocked his attacks effortlessly with the palm of her hand.

Annoyed, Akane dropped Perfume’s hand and turned around to berate them.

“Quit it, you two! Save your energy for the tournament,” she said.

She reached up, pulled Ranma into a headlock, and started dragging her down the street. “Picking on someone half your size…honestly, Ranma…”

Perfume bent down and tried to pull the fence grating off of Eiko. She accidentally ripped up the adjacent panel of the fence in the process.

“Oh. Sorry. That was an accident,” she said. Setting the pieces of warped metal aside, she hovered over her housemate, who had distinctly fence-shaped marks etched onto his face.

“Are you okay…?” she asked him. Piganosuke, who had been bringing up the rear, seconded the question with a concerned oink.

Eiko jumped back up. “Of course I am! I’m a martial artist, damnit!”

They continued their journey towards the Furinkan Municipal Sports Complex together—perhaps a little worse for the wear, but certainly more fired up for the day ahead.

***

“We really have to do this during the sumo tournament…?” Ryoga asked, peering hesitantly around the side of Ukyo’s okonomiyaki cart. He glimpsed the sports center staff setting up a clay dohyo in the gymnasium for the event.

Ukyo put her fists on her hips—the leash in her hands jerked forward a bit, and Ryoga found himself being pulled back behind the cart by the collar.

“Are you kidding me? This is perfect. I’ll make a killing selling okonomiyaki to the spectators, and you’ll be able to watch Eiko up close and personal from here!” Ukyo said.

Ryoga looked down. “I…I guess so. Maybe I’m just getting a little nervous. I think I need to—well, could you just…turn around for a minute…?” he asked.

Drawing her face into a thoughtful frown, Ukyo nonetheless complied and turned around, burying herself in some work with the cart. Ryoga heard her tinkering with her spatulas and sighed, turning the opposite way.

“Hello, Akari,” he said. “Today’s the big day. I know you’ll be watching over Eiko, and…well, I’ll be watching over him too—the best I can, anyway. You taught him so much, and he’s so strong…but still…I’m so anxious for him, I can’t help but feel like it’s me who’s about to go out there and compete. My stomach’s already in a knot. And I just know that if you were here, it would be different. I wish…I wish there was some way to know everything was going to be okay—”

The sound of spatulas had stopped. Something stirred behind him. Ryoga jumped a little at the sensation of a palm against his shoulder, gently but firmly turning him around. Ukyo was staring up at him so hard, she might have burned a hole through the front of his skull. It was comforting and unnerving at the same time. His stomach squirmed, but his shoulder felt warm—as if a hand still hovered there, unseen.

“Uh, hey. Ryoga…? I know I’m not really the person you wanted to hear this from, but…well, everything’s…gonna be okay,” Ukyo said.

She seemed awkward and sincere and unsure of herself at the same time—but Ryoga wanted more than anything to believe her.

“How do you figure…?” he asked. Unable to meet Ukyo’s gaze with the same conviction, he turned his eyes slightly away, honing in on some bleachers in the distance.

“I’ve been watching Eiko train at the Pantyhose Taro Dojo all this time, remember…?” Ukyo said. She stepped back into his direct line of sight. “I mean, sure, he’s a total hardhead—and he doesn’t always listen—but I know a kid dedicated to his craft when I see one. Even if he doesn’t get the results he wants this time…I don’t think he’s gonna give up anytime soon. Do you?”

Ryoga’s mouth felt dry and numb, but Ukyo’s words rang true. Something eased in his stomach, and it was as if the warmth from her hand on his shoulder had started to spread to the rest of him, too. He swallowed and looked her in the eye again.

“I guess he won’t, no,” Ryoga said.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. Right…?”

Perhaps Ukyo had spoken a little too soon. A potted plant suddenly glommed onto her leg.

“Oh, Ukyo! How I’ve missed you!” said the plant. Ryoga jumped back in surprise.

Ukyo bared her teeth at the renegade houseplant, clobbering it soundly with her fist. “Let me go, Tsubasa.”

The houseplant let go, and Tsubasa Kurenai’s head exploded out of it, getting leaves and dirt everywhere. Ukyo’s annoyance seemed to intensify as some of it landed on the okonomiyaki cart.

“Come on, Ukyo! Dump this loser and go on a date with me! Pretty please with sugar on top?”

There was an angry swooshing sound and a slight breeze. A flurry of shuriken pinned the plant to the rear wall of the gymnasium. Ryoga nearly fainted when he considered how close he’d just come to being collateral damage.

“Oh, dear. My hand must have slipped,” said Konatsu as she appeared in a puff of smoke. Her face was aglow with wide-eyed innocence.

“Hey, thanks, Konatsu. You’re a real lifesaver,” Ukyo said.

Then, she did a double-take.

“Wait, Konatsu…? When did you get here?” she asked.

Mr. Kuonji wheeled his okonomiyaki cart up to them. His mustache curved up as he smiled a mischievous smile. The knot in Ryoga’s stomach was suddenly back in full force.

“I think it’s time we went head-to-head and spatula to spatula, don’t you, daughter? Can’t get too relaxed since you and Ranma beat me yesterday, after all,” he said. His stomach jiggled when he laughed. “And besides—I can’t think of a better way to enjoy yer nephew’s little pig-wrestlin’ match. Sellin’ okonomiyaki to this crowd’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel! Location, location, location—know what I mean?”

Konatsu nodded along cheerfully. “That’s right! And just wait until you see the costume I’ve got picked out for today—the kids and their little piggies are going to love it!” she said.

Mr. Kuonji slapped Ryoga on the shoulder with the force of a small firetruck going fifty kilometers per hour.

“You up for the challenge, Ranma, my boy?” he asked.

Ryoga looked up at the ceiling, silently hoping that somewhere up there, Akari was taking pity on his mortal soul.

“I sure hope so,” he said.

***

“You’re here, too…?” Eiko said to his teacher, who had shown up to the match in full cheerleading attire.

“It’s a teacher’s duty to support her students!” Ms. Konjo replied.

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Eiko said, rolling his eyes.

Mariko glanced at the group of other adults—and one panda—who had shown up to support Eiko. There was Ranma, Akane, her father, the man with the glasses, the woman in the kimono and the one in the apron. But a certain someone, she noticed, seemed to be conspicuously absent.

“Um, by the way, Eiko dear,” Mariko said, “Your father, is he…?”

“Sorry. I don’t have a dad today. If you got something to talk about, you can take it up with my moms,” Eiko said. He pointed to Akane and Ranma, who waved at Mariko with big, cheesy smiles on their faces.

“What? But I thought—”

Before Mariko could ask any clarifying questions, Eiko dumped a bucket of water over his head and turned himself into a pig.

***

“I see. So it’s just a junior tournament, but if Eiko can win a lot of matches now, he’ll start at a higher rank when he goes pro…?” Perfume asked. She watched as Tomiji fastened Eiko’s mawashi around his waist.

“That is correct, Good Perfume. Should my love prove himself to be the worthiest of all the puppies gathered here today, he shall have attained the ranking of makushita when he comes of age,” Tomiji explained.

Eiko turned around to glare at her, snorting vehemently in protest at having been called a puppy—but suddenly, he seemed to lose steam. A massive shadow loomed over the trio. Perfume looked up to see what was eclipsing the light from the incandescent overhead lamps. She was slightly terrified to find that it was Tanaka the bodyguard, holding a limp Yukimaru in his arms. Feeling dizzy, Perfume opened her mouth to speak but squeaked instead.

Tomiji had no such problem starting a conversation.

“Ah, a visit from the House of Tamano. To what do we owe the honor of your presence…?” she asked.

Tanaka straightened his back. “Milady is still ill from the rotten food she ate the other day, but she wishes to convey a message,” he said.

“I see. Very well. You may proceed, Good Yukimaru,” Tomiji said. She stood up with Eiko still bundled in her arms.

Yukimaru’s skin was still clammy and pale. Her dark hair spilled over the sides of Tanaka’s sleeves as she turned to look upon the face of her rival. Her tired eyes were all but swollen shut, and her lips were thin and pale. She gasped like a goldfish.

“Perfume,” she said faintly.

Perfume’s ears started to prickle.

“Um…yes?” Perfume replied.

“Is that…really you…? Come closer,” Yukimaru whispered.

Perfume awkwardly stood up and leaned in just a tiny bit.

“Closer,” Yukimaru said.

Perfume tiptoed forward, leaning down cautiously over her infirmed classmate.

Yukimaru seized her by the collar and screamed into her ear.

“I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU!” she said.

Having expended all of her energy on the threat, Yukimaru fell back against Tanaka’s forearm again, panting heavily and staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, Lady Yukimaru! Don’t leave us!” cried Tanaka.

Perfume hid behind Tomiji, who readied her sword.

“So, you wish to challenge us again…?” Tomiji asked.

Tanaka nodded. “That’s right…we’ll see you in the ring,” he said, bowing to excuse himself.

“In the ring…? Do you think they have a sumo piglet, too…?” Perfume asked her friend, her voice full of quiet terror.

Tomiji sheathed her toy sword, her tiny features exuding the stone-cold battle readiness of a seasoned fighter.

“There is only one way to find out,” she said. “Let us take courage and enter the fray!”

***

“A fairy tale princess…? Not exactly the first thing that comes to mind when you think of pig sumo. Or okonomiyaki,” Ukyo said. She leaned over the counter of her cart to observe Ranma’s costume for today: a three-tiered pink dress with a rose motif and ruffles for days, topped off with a silver tiara. Akane was sporting a similar ensemble in light blue and gold, holding up a handful of balloons.

“Why does that matter?” Ranma asked, reaching down to adjust her skirt. “This place is crawlin’ with kids. And kids love this stuff, right? We’ll have ‘em lining up to throw their allowances at us in no time.”

Placing her index finger to her chin, Akane glanced over at Mr. Kuonji’s okonomiyaki stand, where a large group of children was already swarming.

“I sure hope you’re right,” Akane said. “Looks like Ukyo’s dad already got a head start.”

The crowd of children parted just enough for them to see what all the fuss was about. A giant panda was dancing around in the center of the crowd with a sign that said ‘Delicious Okonomiyaki: Just 400 Yen!’

Ranma did a double take.

“What the—?! Pops, you traitor! What the hell are ya doin’ working for our competition?!” she said.

A large, furry arm reached over Ranma’s shoulder from behind. It poked her in the arm with its claw.

‘What are you talking about? I’m not working,’ her father wrote on a sign. He scratched his stomach and took a drink out of a can of cherry cola.

Stunned, Ranma looked at the panda behind her, then turned back around to look at the one doing a little jig for Mr. Kuonji’s customers. Then, she grabbed her head and screamed.

“Another…panda…?” Ryoga said, twisting up his face into a confused frown. “But that’s—”

“Oh geez, this is some kinda nightmare! What did you do? Why are there two of you?!” Ranma shrieked at her father. She jumped up and attempted to throttle him.

The panda across the way took one look at Genma and held up a sign that said ‘The same outfit as me?! How embarrassing.’ It touched its paw to its cheek and looked down as if it were blushing.

“What outfit?! He’s naked,” Akane pointed out, looking quizzically at Mr. Saotome.

Mr. Kuonji stood up on the roof of his cart and waved at them, a huge smile stretching his cheeks like taffy. “How do you like Konatsu’s disguise, eh? It’s all part of our marketing strategy! The kids love it! Makes your panda’s costume look downright fake, huh,” he said.

‘Oh, thank you, Father!’ Konatsu wrote on her sign, adding a few well-drawn flowers and sparkles for emphasis.

Ukyo’s eyebrows descended like locusts. “Who’s she calling Father?” she asked.

‘And who’s he calling a fake?!’ Mr. Saotome wrote, shooting Mr. Kuonji an accusatory glare.

Ranma rolled up her frilly sleeve. “All right, that’s it. They’re not messing around, so neither are we! It’s time to get serious about this competition,” she said.

She polished her sparkly tiara and got down to business.

***

The first opponent of the sumo tournament—Tonkichi—was a solid pink piglet about twice Eiko’s weight. He had fire in his eyes, a curl in his tail, and he belonged to a little girl who went to a private school in the Chiyoda district. It seemed like Tonkichi was one of the favorites to win the tournament, based on his healthy size.

On the other hand, Eiko seemed to be the smallest piglet in the division. But size wasn’t all that mattered in sumo—there was also technique, which Eiko had in spades. He knew he couldn’t push his opponent out of the ring, but it was simple enough to get him to trip up and touch his front legs to the floor by using a chongake technique. The referee pointed to Eiko, and just like that, he'd won his first match of the day.

Eiko’s heart swelled with pride as he relished his victory. Perfume, Tomiji, Piganosuke, and the Tendos were all cheering for him—even Pantyhose Taro had shown up, though he was keeping his distance from the rest of the crowd. He stood leaning up against the wall in the corner by the vending machine, giving an occasional nod of approval. Meanwhile, Eiko spotted a few other members of his dojo scattered about the crowd. The Men’s Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics team twirled their ribbons around to celebrate his victory. Ms. Konjo waved her pompoms in the air. Azusa Shiratori had shown up in a matching cheerleader outfit, too—although at the moment, she seemed preoccupied with trying to steal a potted plant that Konatsu had stapled to the wall.

Proudest of all was Ryoga, who shed a few tears under the rustic wooden canopy of Ukyo’s okonomiyaki cart. Eiko watched with mixed feelings as Ukyo grinned just slightly and handed his father one of Konatsu’s fancy handkerchiefs to dry his eyes with.

Then, Eiko turned his snout towards the sky, hoping his mother could see him, too.

***

The next pig he fought went down just as easily—Eiko headbutted his opponent until he’d had the wind knocked out of him, then tackled him right out of the dohyo. It seemed like things were going smoothly for a change. This tournament was going to be a piece of cake for Eiko to win—

Until it wasn’t.

“That is a very strange looking puppy indeed,” Tomiji remarked as Eiko’s next opponent stepped into the ring. “Do you think that perhaps it is foreign…?”

Perfume sized up the competition, formulating an answer to Tomiji’s question in her head. Finally, she squeaked out her reply.

“Uh…I think that’s just Tanaka wearing a pig nose,” she said.

It was true—the “piglet” standing before them was not really a piglet at all. It was a ninety-five kilogram bodyguard wearing a human-sized mawashi and a rubber nose as a disguise. It clung to his face by an elastic band as he began performing a ceremonial show of strength and tossing salt into the ring. It should have been obvious to everyone that this was a fully grown man and not a small pig.

…everyone but Tomiji, anyway.

“Nonsense, Good Perfume. That would be a violation of the tournament rules,” she said.

“Not if someone paid off the judges to look the other way,” said Ranma. She was sitting down to eat the lunch Kasumi had packed her—a few grains of rice were stuck to the lace of her princess dress. A consternated look painted her features as she dug into her shredded carrot salad.

Perfume turned around, slightly surprised by the sound of her teacher’s voice and the scent of vinegared vegetables. “Oh, Sensei. When did you get here…?” she asked.

“I’m on my lunch break,” Ranma said with a shrug. “Thought I’d come check on how Pork Butt Junior’s doing. That classmate of yours is a real piece of work, though, you know that?”

She indicated Yukimaru, who was conspicuously shaking hands with the referee—then, she turned towards Perfume and smirked.

“Ah. The Good Yukimaru seems to have recovered from her bout of illness,” Tomiji said. She reached into Ranma’s lunchbox, pulled out a piece of karaage, and munched on it.

Perfume turned pale and sat down. “Sensei, what do we do…?” she asked.

Eiko looked back at his classmates and snorted determinedly. Then, he pranced into the ring, snout held high.

“I guess he still wants to fight,” Ranma said, looking up at the ceiling nonchalantly. “Good for him.”

***

“He’s up against who?!” Ryoga said, his voice strangled with fear. His terrified eyes danced in his skull as he looked at Ranma from across the grill. Then, he leaned over to a customer, handed them a platter to go, and smiled. “Thank you, have a nice day!” he said.

His business concluded, Ryoga turned back towards his housemate with the intensity of a crashing freight train. His battle aura surged like endless lightning. “Why would you let him do that!?” he asked, grabbing Ranma by the frilly collar and shaking her.

Ranma knocked him back with her fist. “Watch the dress, buddy! It’s a rental, ya know! Sheesh!”

“Who cares about your dress? My son is going to die!” Ryoga screamed, clutching his head.

“Shh! Keep it down! If my dad hears you—” Ukyo warned. She yanked on Ryoga’s leash, pulling him away from Ranma. He was breathing heavily, and his pupils had narrowed into pinpricks. Sweat was starting to cascade down his face. Ukyo looked him up and down, and it took the prickly edge off of her when she realized just how badly he was panicking.

“Okay, okay,” Ukyo relented. “Here, breathe into this,” she said, handing Ryoga a paper takeout bag.

He started to frantically inhale and exhale into the bag. Ranma watched the recycled brown paper sack palpitate like a beating heart while the referee called out the names Eiko and Tanakatsu—

“Wow, it’s like he doesn’t even care if we know it’s him,” Ranma said, scowling and folding her arms. “That stupid jerk.”

“Shouldn’t we be putting a stop to this…?” Akane asked. She looked up from a balloon she was handing to a first grader.

“It’s Eiko’s fight. I dunno if he wants us gettin’ involved,” Ranma said. “Besides…I think he’s actually doing pretty good. See?”

She pointed to the clay ring, where Eiko and “Tanakatsu” were fighting. Tanaka lunged at Eiko, but the difference in stature made it hard for either one to grab the other. Eiko hopped right through Tanaka’s arms as the bodyguard reached out to grapple with him. The piglet landed on his feet, and the crowd cheered.

“Wow…he’s gotten faster,” Akane said as she observed the little piglet.

“You can do it, kid! Knock his fake pork chops right outta the ring!” Ranma shouted, punching the air.

“E-I-K-O! Let’s go, Eiko!” Mariko cheered, sidling closer to Ryoga.

Ranma shoved her aside. “Quit crowding us!” she said.

Tanaka made another pass at Eiko, rushing him again. This time, Eiko slid between Tanaka’s legs to dodge. Then, he jumped up and bit Tanaka’s mawashi cloth in an attempt to flip him over.

“Hey, he’s really holding his own,” Ukyo commented. “Not bad.”

Slowly, Ryoga lowered the paper bag away from his mouth. “That’s…one of Katsunishiki’s moves. Akari must have taught him that,” he said.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, everything really was going to be okay.

***

“So…this is the weirdest amateur sumo match I’ve ever seen,” Hiroshi said to Daisuke as they sat side by side at the top of the bleachers, watching a five pound piglet attach himself to a grown man’s mawashi cloth by the teeth.

The larger competitor—Tanakatsu, according to the announcers—was trying to slap the piglet off of his belt, only to succeed in leaving swollen red handprints all over himself and getting winded.

Daisuke leaned over and took a sip of Hiroshi’s soda through the straw. “I mean, what were you expecting? Ranma’s involved with this thing, so it’s gotta be weird, right…?”

He pointed to Ranma, who was wearing a princess dress and trying to wrest a baton from Mariko Konjo’s hands while Akane handed out balloons to children and pretended not to notice. Two identical pandas danced around a pair of okonomiyaki carts, where Ukyo was keeping Ryoga in place using a leash.

“Oh, yeah. You know, I heard Ranma’s dojo got in trouble with the mob at a kickball game or something,” Hiroshi said.

Daisuke put his hands behind his neck and leaned back against the gymnasium wall.

“Yep. That wouldn’t surprise me,” he said.

Tanakatsu started spinning around en pointe like a world-class ballerina in a desperate attempt to make the piglet let go. He stopped when they were both dizzy—then he ripped Eiko off of him and threw him at the ground like a football, but the stubborn piglet landed on his back legs.

“Damn. That’s one tough little pig,” said Hiroshi. Daisuke nodded.

Then, Tanakatsu reared back to kick the little piglet out of the ring. The piglet dodged by jumping up—but Tanakatsu slapped him out of the air, as if spiking a volleyball. Eiko landed on his feet again— his knees wobbled. He looked like he was on the verge of collapsing, but was too stubborn to give in to the urge to fall over. Hiroshi and Daisuke leaned forward, quite literally on the edge of their seats.

Tanakatsu raised his gargantuan foot to stomp on the little pig. The entire audience gasped and covered their eyes.

Then, a voice rang out from somewhere in the vicinity of Ranma’s corner.

“That’s enough! I can’t take this anymore!” it cried.

The wrestlers froze in the ring. Everyone turned to see who had shouted. Hiroshi slurped his drink. Daisuke smacked it out of his hand.

All eyes fell on Ryoga Hibiki, who was standing on the roof of one of the okonomiyaki carts and breathing heavily. He unhooked the leash that was attached to his collar and tossed it to the floor, leaving Ukyo—who was holding the leash at the other end—looking very confused and annoyed.

“Tanakatsu is a fraud—and I’m going to prove it!” Ryoga said.

One of the people in the audience scratched their head. “Why does he care?” they said.

“Because!” Ryoga cried, pointing vigorously at the tiny challenger in the clay dohyo. “That pig is my son!”

The audience erupted into excited chatter.

“What? Did that guy just say a pig is his son…?”

“How does that work?”

“Who cares, I think he’s gonna fight!”

“Whoa, maybe you’re right!”

Hiroshi and Daisuke watched casually as Ryoga stormed the dohyo, his hands clenched into tight, veiny fists. The referee held up a hand to stop his progress.

“Uh, sorry,” said the referee. “This challenge is for pigs only.”

To the audience’s surprise, Ryoga smiled dangerously. “All right, if that’s what you want,” he said. “I’ll show you how a real pig does it!”

He grabbed a ladle of ceremonial water and dumped it over himself.

***

“Oh, Ryoga! He’s so gallant! Ryoga, Ryoga, he’s our man! If he can’t do it, no one—”

Mariko stopped waving her pompoms as Ryoga transformed.

“…wait, where did he disappear to…?!” she asked, confused, as a second black piglet emerged from the rumpled pile of Ryoga’s discarded clothing. She started tearing up the gymnasium in vain, searching for the object of her infatuation.

Ranma raised an eyebrow. “She just saw Eiko turn into a pig, and she can’t put two and two together…?”

‘Looks like she’s in denial,’ the panda wrote.

“Ah, whatever. I’m a little more worried about Ryoga right now,” Ranma said. She pointed to the dohyo, where P-Chan was stomping on the ground, gearing up for a fight with Tanaka.

Now, instead of one tiny piglet facing off against a huge, muscular bodyguard, there were two tiny piglets facing off against a huge, muscular bodyguard.

Akane looked grim as she considered the odds. “Yeah, I don’t think he thought this all the way through.”

Ukyo’s hold on her spatulas tightened dangerously, her knuckles turning absolutely white from the force of her grip. “What does that jackass think he’s doing?” she said through her teeth. “He’s gonna ruin everything!”

“Uh, lady…? Can I get a seafood combo over here…?” asked a hungry customer.

“Not now, I’m on my lunch break,” Ukyo said, shoving the customer’s head aside to watch as the pig sumo match escalated into the biggest spectacle anyone in Furinkan had seen in at least a week.

***

“Another one, eh?” Tanaka said, his eyes flickering over P-Chan’s minute form. “Well, it doesn’t matter if there’s one or ten of ya—I can still ground ya into sausages.”

He cracked his knuckles. A shrill, tiny voice nagged Tanaka from behind.

“Tanaka! No talking! You’re supposed to be a pig!” Yukimaru said.

“Oh, yeah. I mean—oink oink,” Tanaka said threateningly, closing in on the pair of swine.

P-Chan leapt into action. Eiko watched his father clash against Tanaka like a wave against a rock; he launched himself into Tanaka’s hardened abs like a cannonball several times, only to bounce right off and land back where he started.

‘He really is useless,’ Eiko thought, feeling his moment in the spotlight slipping away.

P-Chan feinted left and tackled right, flinging himself fully at Tanaka’s ankle in a way that seemed familiar.

“What’s Mr. Hibiki doing…?” Perfume asked Tomiji as they stood watching by the edge of the ring.

Tomiji answered her. “I believe he is attempting an ashitori,” she said.

“A…a leg grab?” Perfume asked, tilting her head to the side.

“If he is successful, he could trip his opponent, thereby winning the match. A valid strategy, especially for a smaller contender, I think,” Tomiji answered.

Eiko could have laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. Even back when Ryoga’s name had been listed on the Unryū family registry, he had never taken being a pig seriously—he had only ever cared about training using human techniques; about hitting hard without having to use his head. What did he know about strategy? About sumo? If Ryoga remembered Akari’s techniques, it still didn’t mean a thing if he’d never put them into practice as a sumo pig before. But somehow, now he thought he could just jump into the dohyo and save his son—the son who’d dedicated his entire life to the pursuit of his mother’s teachings? It was absurd.

‘Useless, useless, useless,’ Eiko thought. Anger began to boil in his stomach; it singed him from the inside out. But his shaky legs knocked together in protest—maybe Ryoga wasn’t the only useless one in the family, he thought bitterly.

Then, Tanaka stumbled. He didn’t fall—P-Chan wasn’t strong enough on his own. Eiko realized, though, with a jolt of comprehension and something that buzzed in his stomach like an undercurrent of terrible panic, that his father’s strategy might prove useful, if and only if—

P-Chan looked at Eiko, snorting and nodding with ferocious intent. It was a signal he understood almost instinctively. If one piglet using an ashitori technique was enough to make Tanaka stumble, then a pair of piglets should be able to fell him with it. He only had two legs, after all.

P-Chan aimed for Tanaka’s left leg. Eiko went after his right leg. Together, they toppled their mighty foe.

***

“You’re disqualified. Tanakatsu wins,” said the referee. He looked down his nose at Eiko and P-Chan, who stood squealing in indignation beside their defeated opponent. Yukimaru smirked at Perfume, who looked down uncomfortably at her fingers. Tomiji placed a hand on her friend’s forearm.

“Okay, I’m sorry, but—what gives?! Why’re they the ones gettin’ disqualified?” Ranma said. She stormed up to the referee, princess dress and all.

“Two against one fighting isn’t allowed, ma’am. They broke the rules,” the referee said drily.

“So what?!” Ranma exclaimed. “The other guy ain’t even a real pig!”

She pointed at Tanaka with a vengeance. The referee looked down at the bodyguard—to whom a rubber pig nose was still firmly attached—and frowned.

“Looks like a pig to me,” he said.

Over by the okonomiyaki cart, Akane and Ukyo visibly fell over at the referee’s response.

“Oh yeah?! How about now?” Ranma asked. She made a grab for the rubber nose, but Tanaka somehow managed to get to his feet quickly enough to dodge. Ranma made another attempt—Tanaka bent backwards at a 90 degree angle to avoid her.

“Mister, that lady’s bullying my poor little piggy!” Yukimaru cried, tugging at the referee’s sleeve with crocodile tears swimming in her eyes. “My daddy’s not going to like this at all!”

“Ma’am, step away from the pig, please,” the referee said to Ranma in a very, very tired voice.

Ranma ignored him.

“Think you’re pretty slick, huh, Tanaka? But ya won’t be able to dodge this! Kachū Tenshin Amaguriken!”

Ranma swung her fists at Tanaka. Tanaka swung back. A full-on brawl broke out. Perfume and Tomiji picked up the Tendo household’s resident piglets and backed away. A murmur arose from the crowd.

“Hey, that princess is fighting with that giant pig!”

“Are you sure that’s a pig…?”

“I thought this was supposed to be a sumo match.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what sport this is supposed to be.”

“Who cares? That princess chick is amazing!”

Hiroshi and Daisuke stood up and clapped for Ranma, albeit in a slightly confused manner. Nabiki started snapping away with her camera. Soun stood up in the bleachers and made a feeble attempt to capitalize on the fight.

“That princess studies martial arts at the Tendo Dojo! The Tendo Dojo, I said!” Soun shouted. His voice was unfortunately swallowed up by the clamor of the crowd, which had risen to a fever pitch.

***

Akane crossed her arms as she watched the chaos unfold from beside the okonomiyaki cart with a half-lidded expression on her face. “And here I was thinking this would be a normal pig sumo tournament,” she said.

She looked over at Ukyo, who was even less amused than she was. The chef’s teeth were bared and her hands were clenched around the side of the cart. Ukyo’s battle aura raged around her like flames.

“That’s it, I’ve had it up to here with all of this nonsense! How am I supposed to make money like this?!” Ukyo said.

‘Ooh, She’s all fired up,’ Konatsu the panda wrote on a sign.

‘She’s scaring me,’ Genma’s sign responded in kind. The pair of bears dropped their writing utensils and hugged one another in fear and anticipation.

Ukyo whipped her batter up into a veritable tsunami, throwing it all on the grill at once with wild abandon.

“All right, I didn’t want to have to do this, but my business is on the line!” she exclaimed, picking up a pair of spatulas to flip the gargantuan okonomiyaki into the ring. “Pigs in Blankets Attack!”

The half-cooked okonomiyaki wrapped itself securely around Tanaka, binding his entire body together. Ranma took the opportunity to seize Tanaka’s rubber pig nose, holding it up before the shocked spectators.

“See?! He’s the one who should be disqualified! Ya can’t do pig sumo if you’re not a pig! The other two were just trying to expose this phony baloney!” she said.

“Yeah, that pig’s a fake!” Hiroshi called out from the stands.

“Fake, fake! I want my money back!” Daisuke chimed in.

The rest of the crowd followed suit.

“A grown man beating up on innocent little piglets—he should be ashamed of himself. He’s setting a bad example for the children!”

“He’s a fraud, all right! I knew it all along!”

“No you didn’t.”

“That’s not a pig; it’s a dirty, rotten cheater!”

“It’s really the referee’s fault. How could he let this slide…?”

“Yeah! Off with his head!”

Sensing the rapidly forming mob turning against him, the referee dropped his gunbai fan, shoved the trophy and prize envelope crudely at Perfume and Eiko, and ran away.

Ranma picked up the little piglet and held him up over her head in the air. “Let’s hear it for the champion!” she said.

The crowd roared with applause.

***

After the tournament had concluded, the line to buy okonomiyaki from Ukyo’s cart stretched all the way into the parking lot.

“That’s right! Meet the one and only Princess and the Pig—and get a high five from the junior pig sumo champion when you buy at Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki!” Ranma shouted through a megaphone.

Eiko—whom she was carrying around by the scruff—snorted up at her in agitation.

“What?” Ranma said, lowering her eyes to match her temporary son’s glare. “You wanna be a champion, kid? You gotta be able to handle the crowds. Besides—you owe me one. I totally creamed that Tanaka guy for ya.”

Eiko tried to say something in protest, but unfortunately, Ranma didn’t speak pig.

“Oh, the things a mother does for her son,” Ranma said dramatically into the megaphone with a tear in her eye, just to cheese Eiko off that much more. “I’d move mountains for my little piggy wiggy!”

Akane squatted down next to P-Chan—who was back on his leash—and half-whispered to him. “I don't know about you, but I’d say Ranma’s enjoying this fake mom thing a little too much,” she said.

P-Chan nodded.

“Heya, Boss Lady,” Tanaka said to Akane as he moved forward in line. He was slumped forward, and his sunglasses did little to cover the fact that he had a black eye. “I’ll, uh, have a modern-yaki with extra noodles,” he said.

Akane stood up in front of the beefy bodyguard. Her eyes and fingers started to twitch closed involuntarily. “I think you should apologize for what you did first,” she said. “You almost seriously hurt someone!”

“Please, ma’am—if I knew it was your pig I was tryin’ ta clobber, I woulda gone easier on him! I was just following orders—have mercy!” Tanaka cried, clapping his hands together in front of him.

Yukimaru started pounding on Tanaka’s back with tiny fists. “Tanaka, you dummy! Stop that! You’re supposed to be working for me, not her!”

Akane turned her attention towards Yukimaru. Her battle aura was absolutely ferocious to behold. “And you!” she shouted. “You’re even worse than he is if you put him up to this! I don’t care who your father is—if you ever even think about picking on Perfume again, you’ll have to answer to me—got it?”

Yukimaru had never before looked so terrified. She leapt to the ground, pressing her forehead to the shiny gymnasium floor and pulling Tanaka into a bowing position alongside her. “I’m sorry, Boss Lady!” she shrieked.

***

Eiko’s victory party took place at Ucchan’s that evening. It was all very spur-of-the-moment, but about half the neighborhood still managed to find out about it and show up anyway. Ukyo was kind enough to ignore Mr. Tendo getting drunk and dancing on top of a table while Nodoka played a biwa lute. The panda joined in by rhythmically banging on a tsuzumi hand drum, and Konatsu—who had changed into her favorite shrine maiden costume for some reason—played the wooden flute. Kasumi clapped along delightedly.

Meanwhile, Ranma and Akane were judging an arm wrestling contest between Hiroshi and Daisuke at the counter while Tomiji dramatically re-enacted the sumo match for Yuka, Sayuri, and her parents. The Men’s Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics team were absorbed in a game of Go Fish, during which they’d each lost at least five thousand yen to the Gambling King. Mousse had somehow gotten into a slap fight with Mikado, and Perfume was sitting quietly under a table, eating her dinner and trying not to be noticed.

Then, of course, there was the local feline phantasm who’d stopped in for a bite to eat and another marriage proposal.

“What? Y-you already have a husband?!” said the Ghost Cat. He hovered in the air, bent over Ukyo’s grill with a tearful expression and his whiskers sticking out every which way.

“I do until Tuesday, at least,” Ukyo muttered under her breath. She flipped over a sizzling piece of okonomiyaki.

“Yeah, can’t ya tell? They’re attached at the hip,” Ranma said, pointing to the rope Ukyo had tied securely around her and Ryoga’s waists to prevent any directional mishaps for the remainder of the evening. It was hard to tell if this arrangement was a step up or a step down from the leash.

“This marriage is a sham, do you hear me? A sham! I won’t accept—will you put me down already?!” Tsubasa’s voice burst out of the potted plant he’d been occupying all day. Azusa Shiratori’s arms were clamped around his disguise.

“Oh, Étoile! I’ll never put you down! You’re very, very, very cute!” said Azusa. She rubbed her cheek against the shrubbery. “You’re the most adorable widdle plant Azusa ever saw!”

“My name’s not Étoile! It’s Tsubasa! And I’m not a—wait, did you say I was cute…?”

“Uh-huh,” Azusa said. “The cutest!”

Tsubasa popped his torso out of the soil and clamped his hands around Azusa’s.

“My dear Azusa!” he cried. “You can call me whatever name you want.”

Azusa blinked up in amazement at the haute-couture wearing man who was beaming down at her from between two philodendron leaves.

“Wow, Étoile, you look pretty neat this way, too!” she said. “Let’s go and play somewhere else.”

She and Tsubasa skipped out the door.

The Ghost Cat’s ears pricked up. “I-is that myai beautiful Tsubasa I hear? Oh, Tsubasa, my dear, wait for meeee!”

Konatsu glanced up from her flute and watched Tsubasa’s exit with a look of contempt that marred her otherwise perfectly powdered face.

“Good riddance,” she huffed. She pulled out a gohei stick and waved it back and forth in prayer. “May he never darken Mistress Ukyo’s doorstep again.”

***

Back at the counter, Ryoga pushed a plate of freshly-made food towards Eiko.

“Uh, here you go. It’s a victory present from me,” he said.

One of Eiko’s eyebrows curled upward as he looked straight at a piping hot okonomiyaki topped with bonito flakes that danced in the heat. The scent of batter, sauce and seafood enticed him—cautiously, he prodded at it with his chopsticks.

“You made this…?” he asked his father.

Ryoga’s face split into a goofy grin. It was somehow irksome and comforting to Eiko at the same time.

“I’ve been practicing a little,” he said.

Ukyo looked up from the noodles she was tossing and gave Eiko an encouraging nod.

“Don’t worry, kid, it’s not gonna bite you. I’m the one who gave your dad lessons, so I can personally guarantee you’ll like it,” she said.

“Huh,” Eiko uttered. His stomach growled—Ryoga looked at him expectantly. Eiko gave the okonomiyaki one last scrutinizing look before he caved to his hunger and tore into it with his teeth. He was surprised to find that it tasted good—and something in it had a gooey, stretchy texture he found appealing.

“You put cheese in it,” he said with his mouth full. “I like cheese.”

“Yeah, I know. That was my idea,” Ryoga said. He was absolutely beaming. Ukyo was still smiling, too—like she was proud of both of them, somehow. Something almost warm passed between the three of them in the noisy, crowded restaurant—but Eiko was in the habit of never getting too comfortable in moments of happiness, because they invariably didn’t last.

Since he could still feel that faint twinge of warmth, though, Eiko decided to say something nice.

“You weren’t as bad as I thought you’d be. In the ring, I mean. That move you used…”

Ryoga nodded slowly.

“I learned it from Katsunishiki. And your mom—a long time ago,” he said. “It was never really my area of expertise, but…lately, I’ve been thinking maybe I ought to practice pig sumo a little more. To help you with your training.”

Appropriately enough, Eiko snorted.

“You? Help me with sumo pig training? I think it’d be the other way around.”

Ryoga rubbed the back of his head and smiled. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said.

Ryoga’s smile quickly vanished when they were interrupted by the sound of an open palm slamming down against the countertop.

“Ranma. Ukyo. I’ve caught up to you at last,” Mr. Kuonji said, honing in on the makeshift couple behind the grill with a fiery, intense stare. He pointed a spatula at Ryoga.

The real Ranma looked up in anticipation of a confrontation, only to relax when she realized that in this particular instance, the “Ranma” in question was not her.

“Well, this oughta be interesting,” she said under her breath. Her eyes drifted up towards a terrified Ryoga.

It was as if half the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room as the party screeched to a tense halt. Tomiji stopped mid-performance, like someone had hit the pause button on her impromptu play, and behind her, Kuno clutched at his sword as he sensed the atmosphere shifting from festive to tense. The Gambling King dropped the deck he was shuffling. Hiroshi, Daisuke and Akane wedged themselves up behind Ranma and joined her in spectating.

Ukyo was the only person who didn’t seem to be affected.

“Caught up to us…?” she said. “We’ve been standing right here for the entire party.”

“That’s beside the point! We’ve still got a match to settle, daughter. But before that…Ranma, I’ve got a few bones to pick with you,” he said, leaning over the counter ominously. Ryoga swallowed so hard that his throat was liable to implode on itself.

“Um, yes, Father…?” Ryoga answered. Sweat began to cascade down his back.

“How come you never told me you were a pig? A pig with a son?!” he asked.

The son in question squinted off to the side and chewed his okonomiyaki harder. He tried to pretend he wasn’t in the room.

“Uh…it’s…complicated…?” Ryoga answered.

Mr Kuonji zeroed in on his alleged son-in-law with a look that could probably topple buildings. Mariko Konjo rushed up behind him, biting a handkerchief and tearing up.

“That’s right! You told me you were a widower! Is that…not true? Did you lie to your darling Mariko?!” she asked.

“You’re not his darling anything! Shove off and go grade homework or something, you batty old crone!” Eiko said.

The Men’s Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Team gasped in unison at the soap opera that was unfolding before them. The Gambling King grabbed a tub of popcorn. Under the table, Perfume hugged Konatsu in apprehension.

“Eiko, don’t be so rude!” Ryoga said—but then he turned to Mariko with an apology in his eyes and a tense smile on his lips. “Uh, he’s right though. Please leave me alone.”

The panda caught Mariko as she fainted.

“You don’t deny you’ve been married before, though,” Mr. Kuonji pressed. His fingers glanced across his mouth as everyone else stopped and stared.

With so many eyes on him, Ryoga finally broke. He softened, sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Uh…no, that wasn’t a lie. I am—I mean I was—I mean, I still am. Her name was Akari; she loved pigs more than anything in the world—and me, most of all—and I loved her, too. With all my heart. And my son Eiko is proof of that,” Ryoga said. “I’m sorry for deceiving you, Mr. Kuonji. I just…didn’t want to complicate things for Ukyo while you were here.”

Mr. Kuonji squinted down at Eiko. “How old are you, boy?” he asked him.

“If I told you I was sixteen, would you lay off my old man?” Eiko said flippantly through a mouthful of his dinner. “I wanna eat in peace.”

Mr. Kuonji looked from his daughter to her alleged husband to the obviously ten-year-old child sitting in front of them and back again. He gritted his teeth.

“Hmph. Well, either way, I’m not so sure you’re really husband material for my precious little girl. How’d you two do in today’s contest, Ranma?” Mr. Kuonji said. “If that’s even your real name.”

“It’s not,” Ranma said under her breath as she rolled her eyes. Eiko pushed her off her stool. She got back up on it again and tweaked Eiko’s nose. No one really noticed as the two of them proceeded to grab each other’s cheeks and pull on them.

Ukyo held up the cash register and turned to face her public. It was stuffed to the brim with money, and the number on the screen was impressive—at least as far as the Gymnastics team and Ranma’s old schoolmates could tell.

“Three-hundred nineteen thousand two-hundred yen for Team Ukyo,” she said, nearly bursting with pride.

“Ha!” Mr. Kuonji said, slapping a register of his own down on the counter. “Well, I made three-hundred nineteen thousand three hundred. Looks like you two still have a long way to—”

“Hold it,” Eiko said dully, putting up a hand to stop the conversation. “I still haven’t paid for mine yet.”

He tossed a five hundred yen coin onto the counter and mumbled “Just keep the change.”

Ukyo grabbed at it like it was a treasure, holding it up so that it caught the sparkle from the gleaming fluorescent light bulbs and flashed blindingly. Half the people in the room had to shield their eyes.

“Ahhh! It’s so…beautiful!” Konatsu screamed with tears in her eyes. “So bright, it burns! And yet…I can’t look away! Oh, Mistress Ukyo!”

“Is this, perhaps, the birth of a legend…?” Kuno wondered aloud.

“Looks like a regular five-hundred yen coin to me,” Nabiki said, looking around the restaurant at the stunned partygoers. Eiko thought she might be the only other person in the room wondering if there was something in the water around here that made people act like this.

Ukyo’s father chuckled. The chuckle evolved into a rumble, and then a full-blown laugh.

“So, Daughter…! You’ve bested your old man for the second day in a row,” he said, wiping a tear away from his eye. “I always knew this day would come. I guess I’m willing to call this contest a tie if you are.”

“That’s great, Ukyo!” Akane said, smiling with fond relief at her old friend. “I’m so happy for you!”

Ukyo, however, wasn’t totally satisfied yet. She pointed at her father.

“So, you’ll stop asking me to come home once and for all…? You’ll let me stay here and run my business, regardless of who I’m running it with…?” she asked. “I think I’ve earned at least that much from you.”

Mr. Kuonji chewed on his lip while the crowd awaited his response with bated breath.

“Well, you can’t blame me for wanting my only daughter to be happy, Ukyo. With a proper spouse and a proper roof over her head and all that. But if this is the life you really want, then—”

“Of course it’s the life she wants!” came a voice from the vicinity of the doorway.

Everyone turned around to find themselves presented with a breathless, horrendous mess of a man from China clad in a vest and using tights in lieu of a belt.

“Ukyo Kuonji is one of my dojo’s most promising disciples—and if you try to interfere with her training, mark my words—I will personally make your life a living hell!”

“Where have you been…?” Eiko asked.

“And who in the blazes are you…?” Mr. Kuonji chimed in.

The interloper handed Ukyo’s father a business card.

“Pantyhose Taro…?” Mr. Kuonji read out loud.

“Don’t call me that!” Pantyhose Taro screamed into the night.

***

Time passed in a dizzy blur of food, minor martial arts incidents, raucous laughter, and the odd explosion. It was hours before most of the guests had gone home, taking their special brand of chaos with them. Ukyo was glad for the welcome stretch of quiet; everything was still, save for the sounds of busy hands in the kitchen. Konatsu and Ryoga were finally starting to make a dent in the seemingly endless mountain of dishes. It was a tiny victory, but Ukyo decided she’d take whatever small joys she could get.

“I guess everything worked out in the end,” she said to her companions.

“I guess it did,” Ryoga said.

He smiled sideways at Ukyo over the sink, and it was so sweet and genuine, she thought she might be dreaming. Her heart seemed to swell in her chest as they spent a shared moment in triumph and tenderness over a pool of dishwater, sponges in hand. It was almost a little embarrassing, somehow—she dropped her gaze back to the plate she was scrubbing, but the grin refused to leave her face.

Konatsu popped in between them, gracefully navigating her way around the rope that still held their waists together.

“I do love a happy ending,” she said, weeping elegantly into a hand towel. “You were truly marvelous, Charlotte! Bravo. I’m so very moved.”

“Thanks, Konatsu,” Ryoga said.

“Now, if only I could get you to wear that cute little rain coat…”

Konatsu skipped off to get a mop. Ukyo spared a wry smile for her sole employee—then she peeked through the kitchen area’s noren and turned her attention towards her father and Eiko, who were both sound asleep at one of the dining tables. A game of go, still unfinished, sat between them. Drool was starting to pool under Eiko’s cheek on the surface of the wood while he slept with a game piece still in his hand.

“After all that…maybe you shouldn’t have kept Eiko a secret from him in the first place. Dad’s on cloud nine, now that he thinks he has something even remotely resembling a grandkid.”

Ryoga rubbed the back of his head. “Well, the circumstances are a little odd, but…I don’t think Eiko will mind much if it means he’ll be getting an extra envelope full of New Year’s money next month.”

“He’s a pretty business-minded kid, then. Maybe he gets it from my side of the family,” Ukyo said.

Ryoga looked at her quizzically. Ukyo had a retort ready before he could even open his mouth to question her.

“What? It takes a village to raise a child, y’know,” she said. “Now grab me some floor wax from the supply cabinet, huh?”

It shouldn’t have been a difficult request to fulfill. The supply cabinet was practically staring them in the face. Ryoga started walking towards the exit by mistake anyway. Ukyo took the rope with both hands and yanked him back towards the cabinet.

“Where are you going? It’s right in front of y—”

She miscalculated how hard she’d needed to pull, somehow—or more likely, the muscle-bound wanderer just hadn’t expected to be pulled at all. Either way, something about the way Ukyo had yanked him back caused a small disaster. A large pot and a barrage of forks hit the floor, and in the confusion, Ukyo dropped her sponge, which Ryoga stepped on, slipping and falling forward. He toppled Ukyo like a wrecking ball on the way down—her back hit the floor like a sack of bricks. She closed her eyes and slapped out her arms to lessen the impact of the fall.

“Geez, Ryoga, what’s the big…”

She felt a burst of hot, shaky breath against her skin. Ukyo’s eyes snapped open and her heart stopped—the words she’d been meaning to admonish him with died on her lips. Ryoga had stopped himself from crashing into her by slamming his palms down on either side of her face, thankfully, but he was…

Close. Very, very close. It was what most people would probably consider too close for comfort; yet somehow it wasn’t uncomfortable at all—the proximity just sort of numbed any of the thoughts Ukyo should have been having right now. What was she supposed to do in this situation, again…? Push him off her? Scream? Or punch him, maybe…? She couldn’t bring herself to do any of those, though—so she just laid there, being breathed on and not hating it.

“Sorry. Are you okay…?” he finally asked her.

“Yeah, I’m…”

Her eyes flickered across his brow, which was creased with concern for her. She desperately tried not to look at his mouth. Ukyo swallowed mightily and trailed off—they both kept utterly still, frozen and laying nose-to-nose for another terrible, wonderous moment, and then—

“Oh, my word! What an unexpected turn this has taken,” said a familiar voice just a few inches away. A creeping sense of dread started to seep into Ukyo’s stomach. She turned her head. All the thoughts of pushing and punching and screaming suddenly came flooding back to her.

Konatsu was kneeling on the floor, watching Ukyo and Ryoga with a carefully guarded expression on her face.

“So, Charlotte. You decided to make your move while you thought I was gone, hmm…? You’re bolder than I thought.”

“What move…?” Ryoga said. He looked at Konatsu, then back at Ukyo. Something in his eyes shifted as his thoughts clicked back into place. The room suddenly felt hotter.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t—you’ve got it all wrong! It’s not what you think—”

Ukyo shoved Ryoga off of her and sat up. “We were just trying to get some floor wax!” she spat out, fighting internally with a sudden rush of blood to her face.

“Oh, of course! You were…getting some floor wax…” Konatsu repeated calmly. She picked up the karaoke machine, cranked the volume up to eleven, and grabbed the microphone amidst a screech of feedback. “And giving in to a fit of unbridled passion!” she finished.

Ryoga gasped and sat up, immediately assuming a fetal position. One of his arms pinned his knees to his chest, while his other hand wrapped itself a little too tightly around his own skull.

“Is that what it looked like…?” he asked, his eyes desperately probing the floor in front of him for answers it could never give him.

“No, it’s not,” Ukyo said. “Konatsu’s just being—”

Overly dramatic, she wanted to say, but she was drowned out by more theatrics. Konatsu put a delicate hand to her chest and spoke animatedly into the grille of the mic.

“In the half-darkness of the kitchen, in a sliver of moonlight, she looked so beautiful that you just couldn’t take it anymore! You wanted this marriage to be a farce no longer! ‘Oh, Ukyo, how I’ve longed for your tender embrace! I must confess my true feelings!’ You locked eyes, and then—and then—”

“And then…?” Ryoga squeaked, unable to tear his eyes away from Konatsu, apparently dreading what was going to come next. He leaned in with a look of abject terror on his face.

‘You’d think he was watching a horror movie or something,’ Ukyo thought as she looked over her shoulder at him, bored to tears already by the ridiculous show going on in front of them.

“I love you, Ukyo! I always have! Don’t you see?! We were meant to be together!” Konatsu shouted into the mic.

“Oh, no! How could I let this happen?!” Ryoga said. He looked like he was about to crumble to dust. “Falling in love with another woman like that when I swore I’d only ever care for Akari—I’m despicable!”

He succumbed to despair and buried his forehead between his knees.

Tossing aside the microphone, Konatsu squatted down and patted Ryoga on the head.

“Oh, there, there, Charlotte. Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Konatsu said. “It’s impossible not to fall in love with Mistress Ukyo. I’m surprised you held out this long, actually.”

Ryoga burst upwards, shouting at the ceiling. “I’m so sorry! Forgive me, Akari!”

He pressed his tear-stained face into his forearm and ran through the wall and into the night, desperate to be alone with his thoughts.

…unfortunately, he’d forgotten entirely about the rope.

“Ryoga, stop running! We’re still tied together, you jackass!” Ukyo screamed at him as they disappeared in the direction of the Yamanashi prefecture.

***

Ryoga finally stopped running when he reached the edge of a cliff that jutted out over the ocean on the Izu Peninsula. Out of breath and completely flushed, he whipped around, letting out a startled scream when he once again came face-to-face with Ukyo.

“Stop following me!” he said. His chest and shoulders heaved from the exertion of having just done a ten-thousand meter dash.

Ukyo was struggling to stay upright on her hands and knees, panting heavily. Her hair was full of sticks and random bits of people’s houses; her clothes were stained with mud and the odd splotch of motor oil. She spat out a few rocks and looked up at Ryoga with all the gentility of a territorial hippopotamus.

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” Ukyo shrieked through her teeth, pulling a caterpillar off of her shoulder and throwing it back into the grass where it belonged. “I've been telling you for the past two hours to slow down so I can untie myself! Don’t you ever listen?!”

Ryoga was lost in more ways than one.

“Sorry, what…?”

“The rope, Ryoga! Remember?!” Ukyo said. She was furiously trying to untie the double knot that kept the rope in question crudely fastened to her waist, but all she managed to do was break a nail. She cursed and put her finger in her mouth to numb the pain.

“…Oh,” Ryoga panted out while his knees finally buckled. He fell to the grass, exhausted.

Ukyo grumbled and dove back into the knot, which had grown unworkably tight from all the pulling. “Stupid lousy piece of twine,” she said. “If I had my spatula with me right now, I’d…”

Her empty threats towards the inanimate object were wasted, swallowed up by salty air and the sound of waves breaking down below. The knot refused to budge. Almost ready to give up, she threw her gaze over her shoulder to see what Ryoga was doing. Despite the fact that Ukyo had been the one dragged through mud and asphalt at the end of a rope for hours, Ryoga looked worse off than she did.

His skin was pale, save for the purplish circles under his eyes. Sweat dampened his forehead. He sat slumped over his knees, picking at the grass and holding back tears.

Ukyo decided there were bigger issues at hand than the knot in the rope and sighed. She closed her eyes and put her hands together.

“Hi, Akari. It’s me again,” she said. The grass rustled around her as she prayed. Through the rope, she felt Ryoga tense up at the mention of his late wife’s name. She continued. “I thought now might be a good time to catch up. You know, have a little girl talk; that sort of thing…”

“What are you doing?!” Ryoga squeaked out in a panic.

Ukyo opened one eye and looked at him.

“…what? Like you’re the only person who’s allowed to talk to her? She’s my friend, too, you know.”

“But—”

“No buts! Stay out of this!” Ukyo chided him. She closed her eyes again.

“Anyway, Akari, I just wanted to give you credit where credit’s due. I happen to know first hand now just how much work it is being married to Ryoga. Sometimes, I can’t figure out how you managed it for all those years—”

“Hey!” Ryoga interrupted again.

“I mean, he’s a klutz, a total hardhead, he doesn’t know his left from his right, and if you take your eyes off of him for even a second, he wanders off,” Ukyo continued.

She half expected another interruption, but Ryoga was stunned into silence.

She kept going.

“…But I can also see why you liked the guy. He’s thoughtful, he’s brave, he puts the people he cares about before himself, he knows how to make eggs, and I guess he’s not bad-looking. And he’s still crazy about you. So if you could find it in your heart to forgive him for falling on top of me at the restaurant…I’d appreciate it.”

There was a minute of quiet. The sea breeze combed through Ukyo’s hair like gentle fingers. She opened her eyes again.

Weirdly enough, Ryoga was smiling at her—just a little bit. It was apologetic and sad—but still, it was an improvement.

The clouds slowly drifted away from the moon, leaving it free to cast its muted white light against the churning sea.

Ryoga cleared his throat.

“Uh…thanks. It’s…sort of cold out here, huh,” he said.

Ukyo nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

“…the moon looks nice, though,” said Ryoga.

“Uh-huh.”

He turned towards the only source of light in the murky sky, and Ukyo watched him disappear into his thoughts again. That profound, impossible little pinch in her heart came back. This time it was tinged with that same familiar sense of regret she’d felt on the walk home the other day. Quietly, she sank back into her own thoughts.

It all really boiled down to three simple truths: Ryoga was still an idiot, Ukyo still sort of had a thing for him, and he’d still never feel the same way. It would be better to just move on—but as she observed the way his hair fell around his face and the way the moon lit up his deep, thoughtful eyes, she realized it was easier said than done.

Another minute passed without conversation. Not being able to talk about what was on her mind was like harboring a mosquito bite she couldn’t scratch. Ukyo gave in to the urge to say something.

“Hey, Ryoga. Is this what it was actually like…? Being married to someone, I mean,” Ukyo said.

To her surprise, Ryoga laughed. “Uh…some of it. Not all of it. There was a lot less okonomiyaki…and a lot less lying to people…and…a lot more pig farming. But being alone together is sort of…I mean…”

He exhaled, and it was like a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“I used to get lost all the time, even then. I’d be so worried Akari would be upset with me when I finally made it home. But…no matter what, at the end of the day, I still wanted to see her. So I’d come home with boxes and boxes of souvenirs…and she’d smile at me, and…thank me over and over again for going out to get snacks.”

Ukyo screwed up her face in thought. “You know…I can’t tell if she had the patience of a saint, or if she was just as dense as you are,” she said. “But either way…you were lucky to have her.”

Ryoga nodded, turning his eyes back towards the moon.

“I know. She was like…an anchor. No matter how far I’d drift away, we were still connected. At first, when she died, I…I didn’t know what to do. It was like I was adrift on the ocean, with nothing to pull me back, and I was swimming against the current for Eiko’s sake…but it was never enough. But now…”

He swallowed and considered something carefully.

“Well, now I realize I’ve got other people who care about me. People who want to help pull me up so I don’t drown. I’ve got Ranma, and Akane…their parents…the martial arts students…and Konatsu, I think,” he said, although he looked a bit uncertain over that last one. “It’s hard to tell with her sometimes.”

Ukyo laughed. “Yeah, she definitely likes you. She just has a weird way of showing it,” she said.

Ryoga nodded again, and a smile broke through his stony exterior again. “That’s good to know,” he said.

Slowly, Ukyo reached out. She dropped a hand on Ryoga’s shoulder. “And for what it’s worth…I like you, too,” she said. “Even though you drive me up a tree sometimes.”

“Oh,” Ryoga said. He looked genuinely surprised. “Thanks. I…I guess I never appreciated it until now, but…thanks,” he said.

There was another long pause.

“Do you…need help with that…?” he asked her, pointing to the rope.

Ukyo thought about it for a second, but shook her head.

“Nah, it’s fine. Might as well keep it on until I get you home,” she said.

“Okay,” Ryoga said. He blinked back at her. “So…what do we do now…?”

They both looked up at the moon.

“Good question,” Ukyo said.

She realized that the last time she’d been out this way was over fifteen years ago. There had been that whole thing with the fortune-telling stones and the old priestess and the bananas and the blessing of the Goddess of Marriage and all of that. It was bittersweet to look back on it now. But it was kind of a nice night—and Ukyo figured she and Ryoga ought to make another once-in-a-lifetime memory as long as they were stuck out here together.

“Can we…sit like this for a little longer…?” she asked him.

And for as long as they could both still see the moon in the sky and hear the sea under the cliff, they did.

Chapter Text

The sun rose on the first of January just as it always did, and a new year crept slowly over Furinkan. It came to the Tendo household not with a bang, but with a quaint, ephemeral stillness that only the holidays could have granted.

The chill in the air outside was banished by a warm, clean living room and an even warmer kotatsu. A three-tiered convenience store osechi meal set sat yet unopened on the tabletop. The White Team won the Song Battle on television, but hardly anyone was awake to see it. All of the senior members of the household had gone to bed hours ago. Eiko—the last of the houseguests to have fallen asleep on New Year’s Eve—lay propped up next to Ryoga, who was snoring quietly into a bowl of tangerines. Mousse took up most of the floor space, sprawled face-up on top of the tatami, while Perfume rolled over and mumbled something in her sleep under the kotatsu. Kasumi, who had gone to bed and woken up early, covered them each with a blanket as the sun started to creep over the horizon, signaling Piganosuke with a gentle “shh” when he gave her a questioning look. The pig nodded in understanding.

Kasumi smiled.

‘I wonder if anything exciting will happen this year,’ she thought to herself as she carried a stack of empty teacups from the living room to the kitchen.

She had the strangest feeling she wouldn’t have to wait very long to find out.

***

“First sunrise of the year, huh?” Ranma said to Akane. They sat side by side on the rooftop, sharing a blanket and a handful of fond memories.

“Yeah. Hard to believe it’s a whole new year already,” Akane said. She shivered and gazed over the horizon, deep in thought. “You know what, though…?”

“What?”

“I think it’s going to be a really good one.”

If she was being overly optimistic, Ranma didn’t fault her for it.

“Heh. Me too,” he said.

The pair basked in the hopeful glow of the winter sunrise together for a moment. Then, something stirred in the air above them. With the slightest flutter, an envelope fell out of the sky and landed on Ranma’s head.

“What’s this…?” Akane asked, plucking the envelope out of her husband’s hair and peering down at it cautiously.

“Looks like a New Year’s card,” Ranma said, blinking down at the stationary.

“Yeah, and it’s addressed to you,” said Akane, pointing to the name written in ink on the front.

The two of them looked at one another cautiously, coming to an unspoken consensus about what to do next. Akane opened the envelope, and Ranma read the contents of the card over her shoulder. It consisted of a single, ominous sentence:

‘I’m coming for you, Ranma Darling.’

Ranma raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” he asked.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Akane said.

The bad feeling quadrupled when a helicopter landed on the roof.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” Ranma screamed, but the beating of blades and the deafening roar of a motor all but swallowed the sound. Furious gusts of air swirled around Akane and Ranma like a tornado, and they clung to one another for balance.

A terrible laugh erupted from the airborne PA system. Thousands of black rose petals exploded into the air, and when they had finally settled, a cloaked figure emerged from the helicopter in a burst of cackling glee.

“Ohohohoho! Rise and shine, Ranma dearest! We’ve got lots of catching up to do!”

***

“It’s always so nice to see you, Kodachi,” Kasumi said pleasantly as she swept away several pounds of rose petals with a broom.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” said Kodachi Kuno, looking down her nose at a cup of plain black tea. She had discarded her cloak, and she now sat at the kotatsu in a shimmery gold wraparound dress with an upturned collar so large, it made her look like some kind of vampire.

“Yes, it’s…such a treat to have you over,” Soun said unconvincingly as he picked a few more petals out of his yam and chestnut pudding with his chopsticks. “To what do we owe the pleasure…?”

“Well, it’s New Year’s Day—and we are family, after all,” Kodachi said flippantly, pointing to a framed picture of Nabiki’s wedding that hung on the wall.

Soun glanced up at the photograph of Nabiki wearing a white kimono and wataboshi hood, happily riding an ox—which Soun was trying and failing to drag through the procession by the reins—while Principal Kuno and Gemma squabbled over an oversized pineapple, Kuno crossed swords with his mother, and Kodachi dragged Ranma along the ground with a rhythmic gymnastics ribbon while Akane yelled at them.

Soun started to tear up a little.

“Please don’t remind me,” he mumbled under his breath.

Kodachi didn’t seem to hear him. She took a prolonged sip of her tea before she offered the rest of her explanation.

“But I’m afraid I do have a bit of unpleasant business to take care of while I’m here in Japan,” she said.

Akane raised an eyebrow. “Such as…?”

Kodachi slapped a magazine clipping down on the table.

“This! The nerve of this woman, trying to upstage me like this!” She cried. “Oh, the indignation!”

The Tendos, Saotomes and resident freeloaders hovered over the table to look at the advertisement that had gotten Kodachi’s hackles up.

“Chez Lys Blanche,” Akane read. “A new French restaurant in Furinkan…?”

“I’ll pass. Looks too rich for my blood,” Ranma said, quick to dismiss the idea of eating out without a second thought. After all, the Tendos had already blown an entire week’s food budget on convenience store New Year’s food so that Kasumi wouldn’t have to cook over the holiday.

“Hmph! I wasn’t inviting you to dinner there, Ranma darling. I’d sooner starve than eat whatever slop that wretched Asuka tries to pass off as haute cuisine,” Kodachi said. She turned up her nose.

“Asuka…?” Akane asked, wracking her brain at the sound of the familiar name. “You mean…?”

“That White Lily chick? From the boyfriend contest…?” Ranma said, filling in the blanks.

At that, Kodachi screamed and jumped up on top of the kotatsu. “I spent fifteen years in Paris working tirelessly to become the shining star of the restaurant world! I built Chez Rose Noire with my very blood, sweat and tears! I clawed my way to the top, grasping for each and every Michelin star with my own two hands! And that tasteless boar thinks she can simply steal my idea…? I won’t stand for it! That is why we must defeat her!”

“Defeat her how, exactly?” asked Akane.

“And what do you mean ‘we?’” Ranma said, feeling his stomach turn over uncomfortably.

“And will you please get off the table…?” Soun asked meekly.

Kodachi ignored him.

“You and I, Ranma darling. We’re going to best Asuka at a Martial Arts Cooking Contest,” Kodachi said. She bent forward, lowering her gaze towards Ranma’s frown with an ice-cold stare. “It’s the least you can do for me after you left me at the altar during our wedding all those years ago.”

Ranma stood up. “What altar? What wedding?! That never happened!” he protested.

“It better not have happened,” Akane said, leveling a half-lidded stare at her in-law.

“Oh, I assure you, it did. I have the photographs to prove it,” Kodachi said. She handed Akane a picture of herself in a poofy white gown, sobbing dramatically onto the steps of a church.

“And here’s the bill for the reception,” she added, handing another piece of paper to Genma. “I’ve adjusted it for ten years’ worth of inflation, of course.”

Gemma’s eyes bugged out of his head. Soun looked at the bill over the top of his friend’s bald head and nearly fainted.

“Ranma, how could you do this to us?!” Soun cried. “We can’t afford to pay for this! The Tendo Dojo is finished—finished, I tell you!”

He crumpled and collapsed towards his family. Kasumi caught him, holding him gently while he cried.

Nodoka sighed into her palm. “Oh, dear, dear. Ranma always was too irresistible to women for his own good. I knew it would land us in trouble someday,” she said, although she looked oddly pleased with this turn of events.

Ranma snatched up the bill and ripped it to pieces.

“I ain’t payin’ for your stupid fake wedding!” he said.

Kodachi folded her fingers prettily in front of her and batted her eyelashes. “Well, of course not, dear. You needn't pay a single yen if we win the cash prize in the cooking contest,” she said. “Why, I’d even let you keep the change.”

Genma jumped to his feet and fiddled with his glasses. “A cash prize…?” he said.

“A cash prize…?” Soun repeated limply.

He stood up, wobbling as he went, and tearfully took Ranma by the shoulders.

“Ranma, I believe in you,” he said. “Don’t let the Dojo down.”

***

Shortly thereafter, Kodachi parted ways with Ranma to pay a visit to her ancestral home. The Tendos and Saotomes decided it would be as good a time as any to have an outing to the shrine to ring in the New Year. Ryoga prayed that his pig sumo techniques would improve, as did Eiko, who also feverishly wished for the power to defeat Ranma. Mousse implored the gods to bless his relationship with Shampoo—though unfortunately, due to his nearsightedness, he mistook the ATM across the street for the shrine proper, and nobody bothered to correct him. Nodoka and Genma prayed for the Dojo’s success, while Soun wrote ‘Please let my house stay in one piece’ on an ema board. Perfume pulled a ‘bad fortune’ slip from the fortune box, which immediately came true when she tripped and fell down the shrine stairs. Akane and Ranma peeled her off the cement and helped her tie the paper slip to a rack so as to preclude any further trips to the hospital.

Overall, it was a fairly average group outing for everyone involved.

“Are we done yet? I wanna go get my New Year’s money from Gramps over at Ukyo’s restaurant,” Eiko said. He fidgeted impatiently on a bench as he watched Kasumi write a wish on her own ema board.

“Almost,” Kasumi said, her voice as soothing as ever. Eiko stopped wiggling his feet and tried to slow his breathing.

Kasumi lifted her pen and held her handiwork up to show her young charge. The wooden placard she’d written on in strokes of bold, black ink read ‘I wish for my family’s happiness.’ A cute doodle of a pair of familiar pigs decorated the corner.

“There. What do you think?” Kasumi asked.

“Hey, that looks like me,” Eiko said. His nose scrunched up almost unconsciously as he leaned in to have a closer look. “And that’s my old man. How come you drew our picture?” he asked.

Kasumi smiled. “Well, the two of you have been living with us for about three months now. That makes you a part of the family, too, don’t you think?”

Stunned, Eiko leaned back against the bench and looked up at the clouds.

“I mean…I hadn’t really thought about it much, but—”

The sudden but not completely terrible realization that Eiko had somehow been assimilated into western Tokyo’s most embarrassing family was interrupted when a man in a puffy blue jacket jogged up to them.

“Kasumi! Imagine meeting you here!” he said. It was hard to see his eyes through the fog of his glasses. Eiko noticed that although the man had approached them at a run, he didn’t seem to be out of breath at all—but he looked discombobulated all the same.

The ever-placid Kasumi waved in greeting. “Why, Dr. Tofu! How nice to run into you like this,” she said.

Dr. Tofu giggled nervously. “Sure is! My, but it’s awfully hot in here, isn’t it?” he said. He took off his coat and hung it on a tree.

Kasumi blinked. “We’re outdoors, Doctor,” she said very nicely.

The Doctor turned scarlet. “Ah! So we are! And it’s a lovely day. I-it makes me want to sing!”

He grabbed a broom from a passing shrine maiden and began belting into the handle as though it were a microphone. Kasumi clapped along politely.

“This neighborhood has too many weirdos in it,” said the shrine maiden. Eiko looked up at her—she looked sort of familiar. He thought maybe he’d seen her ringing up candy bars at the pharmacy near Ukyo’s restaurant before.

“You got that right,” Eiko said.

He and the pharmacy-girl-turned-shrine-maiden looked at each other briefly, appreciating one another’s mutual confusion. Then, an old priest approached them from behind.

“Poor Kasumi. Such a sweet thing. You’d think she would’ve been married years ago—but she’s still waiting for that doctor to make the first move. It’s hard to watch,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” the shrine maiden said, not sounding especially interested.

“Yep,” said the old priest. Then, he repeated himself for emphasis. “Hard to watch.”

He put on his glasses and craned his neck to get a better look at Dr. Tofu, whose song seemed to be drawing somewhat of a crowd.

Eiko decided he should probably do something about all this.

***

“A martial arts cooking contest?!” Pantyhose Taro said, looking down at Eiko as though he’d just sprouted mushrooms off the top of his head.

“You heard me,” Eiko said. “I want you and me to enter. You know, to make our dojo look good and stuff. It’s gonna be on TV.”

“But why us?” Pantyhose asked. “I mean, why does it have to be you and me specifically?”

“Because this is our chance to defeat Ranma ourselves! He’s gonna be on the cooking show with some frilly-ass French vampire chef!” Eiko said, breathless and irritated. He felt about ready to burst.

Pantyhose raised an eyebrow and gave the matter some thought.

“We’ll, I’m sure Saotome’s cooking isn’t anything to write home about—but how are we supposed to compete with a French chef…?” he asked.

Eiko launched himself at a punching bag, beating it soundly with his fist, and turned around with a smile on his face.

“Because. I happen to know the best chef in the whole damn neighborhood—someone way better than that hoity-toity French wannabe. And they’re gonna join our team. All we have to do is look cool and mess up whatever Ranma’s making.”

There was a thoughtful pause.

“That seems awfully underhanded,” Pantyhose said. He stroked his chin. Then he chuckled to himself. Soon enough, it erupted into a full-blown maniacal laugh. “Just what I’d expect from one of my students!”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like it,” Eiko said, tossing back his head with a cheeky little smirk. “And hey— if we manage to beat Ranma, I’ll give you the cure for the weakness thing.”

Pantyhose slammed his hand against the wall in his excitement and then immediately regretted it. His arm reddened and swelled to the size of a small ham. He smiled a wicked smile anyway.

“Well, what are you just standing around for, then?! Go grab an apron and let’s practice the ancient art of sabotage—with kitchen utensils!” he said.

***

“A martial arts cooking contest…?” Ukyo said. Her eyebrows shot up towards the ceiling.

“Not just a martial arts cooking contest, milady! The Martial Arts Cooking Contest! It’s the restaurant event of the season! All the top chefs de cuisine are going to be there! It’s like a grand gala of culinary cuties!” Konatsu said. She held up the flyer, which indeed depicted a lineup of several attractive chefs. One of them was holding out a white lily—she had long golden locks and teeth that literally sparkled.

“Mhm. Sounds like quite the event,” Ukyo said, although she wasn’t sure where she fit into the conversation, exactly. Though she’d have been loath to admit it out loud, she wasn’t certain if she was still qualified to stand alongside a throng of out-of-town beauties with high cheekbones and stupidly long lashes and ridiculously expensive designer clothing. Ever since she’d forfeited her engagement to Ranma over a decade ago, she’d all but given up on cultivating her feminine charms, deciding instead to stick to what she knew best—namely, wearing men’s clothes and slinging spatulas.

“And just look at this!” Konatsu said, giving the flyer she was holding a little shake. “The special guest judge is going to be a world-renowned gastronomer! We could become…gasp!…Internationally famous!”

Not especially dazzled by the dramatic pause or Konatsu’s apparent need to vocalize the word ‘gasp,’ Ukyo flipped the piece of okonomiyaki that was on the grill in front of her and thought logically about her prospects.

“Yeah, but this is for French cooking. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m running a Japanese restaurant here,” Ukyo said. “I think I’ll pass.”

It was as if Konatsu didn’t even hear her. She kept looking at the paper and talking.

“Oh, my! There’s a ten million yen cash prize,” the waitress said, giving the flyer another once-over.

Ukyo dropped her spatula and made a mad grab for the flyer in Konatsu’s hands.

“We need to sign up right now,” Ukyo said.

***

“Akane, what are you doing? That’s way too much salt!” Ranma said, panicking as he dove to catch the aforementioned seasoning in his hands before it could reach the pot of potage aux légumes he was cooking over the stove. A small mountain of white crystals accumulated in his hands before Akane pulled away, looking confused and slightly annoyed.

Perfume scratched her head and looked at the recipe book she’d been holding in the air for her sensei’s benefit.

“Are you sure, Sensei?” she asked. “The book says to add ten thousand million grams.”

“That’s ten thousand milligrams! And who the heck measures salt in milligrams, anyway?!” Ranma said, dumping the salt into a nearby bowl and grabbing the book to have a look for himself. “Geez, okay. So the heavy cream is s’posed ta go in after you simmer the vegetables…”

Ranma buried his head in between the pages of the weighty tome. Akane and Perfume flanked him, studying the cookbook just as intensely.

“Oh,” Akane said. Her face fell. “Should I buy more onions…?”

“Should I milk another cow…?” Perfume asked, looking somewhat downcast.

Akane and Ranma snapped their heads to the right to look at her, feeling rattled. Before either of them could ask where Perfume had even found a cow in the middle of Tokyo, they were interrupted. Nodoka Saotome wandered into the kitchen, an inquisitive look on her face.

“Oh..? What’s all this…?” she asked, slowly taking in the spectacle of Ranma’s pink apron covered in burnt roux and the mess that was accumulating on the countertops and in the sink.

“We’re trying to help Ranma train for the Martial Arts Cooking Contest,” Akane said. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at Ranma—Ranma looked like he was about to say something sarcastic about the nature of the “help,” but he swallowed, thinking better of it.

Nodoka looked like she was about to comment on the mess in the kitchen, or perhaps on Ranma’s pink apron—but in a rare moment of tact, she thought better of it, too.

“Well,” she said with a smile, “You three are certainly putting in a lot of effort. Mind if I train with you?”

Without waiting for an answer, she rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a potato peeler.

“Here, Perfume. Help me wash the vegetables, and I’ll show you the best way to peel a potato,” Nodoka said.

“Perfume with a potato peeler? Is that really such a good idea…?” Ranma whispered nervously behind his hand to Akane. “I don’t want anybody losin’ any limbs or nothin’.”

Akane had a somewhat distant look in her eyes as she observed Perfume clambering unsteadily up the step stool. “I dunno. If anyone can teach Perfume how to do this, it’s probably your mom. Mothers are usually experts at this sort of thing, right…?”

Ranma frowned and considered this for a moment. His ego deflated slightly at the thought of someone else—even his own mother—being a better teacher than him. But maybe Akane had a point. There were bound to be times in life when it felt like your mother somehow had all the answers.

Soon enough, the four of them settled into a quiet rhythm —Akane and Perfume washed potatoes, Nodoka peeled them while they watched and tried to copy her, and Ranma resigned himself to washing the dishes for the time being.

“Your hair’s getting long again, Perfume dear. Would you like me to start tying it up in buns like before…?” Nodoka asked.

Perfume looked up at the back of Akane’s head and bit her lip, forgetting momentarily about the tuber she was drowning under the running faucet. Her eyes wandered to the bob haircut that fell just to the middle of her sensei’s neck. Then, she turned back towards Nodoka and shook her head.

“Um…that’s okay, Mrs. Saotome. I think I’m going to get my hair cut again.”

***

The day of the Martial Arts Cooking Contest arrived with great fanfare. Even Kodachi’s longest and most spacious limousine was not quite large enough to comfortably hold everyone who had invited themselves. One by one, a handful of Kunos, Saotomes and Tendos were released from the vehicle and walked down a red carpet into a brightly-lit TV studio.

“See, Perfume? This is why you always take the train,” said Ranma, who was halfheartedly trying to clean a shoe print off his face with Akane’s handkerchief. He glared at Soun and Gemma, who were giggling and stumbling around in rental suits with free martinis from the limo’s minibar sloshing around in their hands.

“Okay,” Perfume said with a bewildered nod.

Awkwardly, Akane reached into her purse for some of the makeup Nabiki had lent her specifically for the occasion. “I wonder if one of these will help cover it up…”

“Step aside and let a professional handle this,” Kodachi said, giving Akane the side-eye over the top of an oversized powder puff.

“A professional what, exactly…?” Akane said under her breath.

“Dear me, but isn’t this exciting? My Ranma being on television and all—I’m a little nervous,” Nodoka said, looking around the hallway as if it were the most interesting place she’d ever seen.

“With this crowd here, maybe you should be,” Nabiki said, glancing at Mousse as he handed a business card to a drinking fountain while Tomiji, Piganosuke, and Nobunaga watched. “I have a feeling things are going to go off the rails pretty quickly.”

***

Across the hall, Ranma’s competition was having an impromptu strategy meeting.

“Kuonji! You showed up to represent our Dojo, even though I never mentioned this contest to you?! Commendable, I must say,” said Pantyhose.

Ukyo buried her face in her hands. “Look, buddy, I just happen to be here, okay?”

Pantyhose clapped her on the left shoulder with his palm. “Come now, there’s no need to be embarrassed! It was a brilliant plan. After all, the more of us there are, the better our odds of winning will be. A flawless strategy from one of my most trusted minions.”

Pantyhose let go of her and grabbed a fistful of air, anticipating the sweet aroma of victory.

“Who are you calling a minion?!” Ukyo screamed.

***

The studio was dark. Very dark. So dark that Ranma could scarcely see his own hand in front of his face.

“What the hell is this place?! I thought these TV studios were s’posed to have tons of backlights and stuff,” he muttered in what he assumed was Kodachi’s direction.

“Don’t worry your pretty head over it, Ranma darling. Darkness is very important for maintaining suspense in these situations,” Kodachi replied.

“Zat is correct!” a voice boomed through the inky blackness of the room, catching Ranma off guard. “Bonjour and bienvenue, all you lovely guests! Get ready to fire up zee ovens and capture my appetite, because zis…is zee world’s one and only French martial arts cooking show, coming to you today from zee faraway city of Tokyo…Kitchen Dungeon!”

Ranma balked.

“Kitchen what?!” he asked.

All the lights he’d been expecting suddenly flared to life at once, toasting his retinas. Sure enough, Ranma was standing in the middle of what appeared to be a perfect replica of a medieval European dungeon—if medieval European dungeons had studio audiences and cameras, anyway. Each group of contestants seemed to be confined to a jail cell.

“Kitchen Dungeon! Zee French martial arts cooking show zat is torturously fun! Starring moi—the celebrity gastronomer, Picolet Chardin zee Second!”

“Oh!” Akane gasped. “I thought he looked awfully familiar.”

“A pleasure to see you all again,” Picolet said. “I certainly did not forget any of you interesting folks.”

“Yeah, yeah, the pleasure’s all ours—but what the hell kinda cooking show throws people in the clink?!” Ranma asked.

Kodachi blinked up at him from the opposite corner of the kitchenette, slightly aghast. “Qu’est-ce que? You mean to tell me you’ve never seen Kitchen Dungeon before?” she said.

Ranma shoved his hands in his pockets. “Who’d wanna watch somethin’ like that?” he asked.

“Oh—you poor dear,” Kodachi said, reaching for a handkerchief to dramatically dab at her brow. “I forgot they can’t afford satellite television in that hovel you live in. How insensitive of me.”

Ranma fixed his gaze straight ahead. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter if it’s a dungeon or a cave or what—if it’s got anything to do with martial arts, I’ll win it.”

The spotlight panned over to another cell block.

“In Cell Number One, representing Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki and zee Pantyhose Taro School of Martial Arts, it’s locally renowned restaurateur Ukyo Kuonji and her extremely lovely sous-chef, here to flatten zeir competitors into savory pancakes!”

“I’ll do my best,” Ukyo said, gripping her twin spatulas for dear life. A bead of sweat gleamed on her brow. “I gave my life to the culinary arts, after all.”

“And I’ll be here to help you charm the judges! Mwah!” said Konatsu, blowing kisses gratuitously.

“And joining zem, we have yet more disciples of zee Pantyhose Taro Dojo! Introducing le petit Eiko in ‘is Martial Arts Cooking debut!”

“Give them hell, Eiko!” Ryoga whooped from his seat in the audience.

“And of course, who could forget zee man ‘imself, Pantyhose Taro!”

“Quit callin’ him Pantyhose Taro. He doesn’t like that,” Eiko said half-heartedly.

“But…you just called ‘im Pantyhose Taro,” Picolet pointed out.

Eiko shrugged. “Not important. Just introduce the other person on the team.”

Pantyhose raised an eyebrow. “What other person…?”

“Ah, zat is right! Eiko of Team Pantyhose ‘as asked for help from a local cooking legend! Please welcome Miss Kasumi to zee fray!” Picolet said.

Kasumi let herself into the dungeon and waved blithely out at the cameras.

“Hello, Father! Hello, everyone! My, isn’t this an interesting place…?” she said, stopping to admire the cold, wet surroundings and the small assortment of trained rodents that were scampering around the set to add to the medieval ambience. “It’s so…European,” she said politely.

“Kasumi! You’re working with the enemy?!” Soun blubbered from the studio. “How? Why?!”

Kasumi adjusted her apron.

“Oh, Eiko asked me to help him with his cooking again today. He’s really gotten quite good at it, you know. Such a quick learner! But don’t worry, Father. I’ll be home in time to make supper,” Kasumi replied. She pulled a spoon out of her pocket.

Next to Soun, Nabiki leaned forward and rested her chin on her fist. “Well, this just took an interesting turn,” she said.

“I hope Kasumi’s going to be okay,” said Akane. “Even when he’s powered down, that Pantyhose is kind of dangerous.”

“Get away from me with that spoon, you witch!” shrieked Pantyhose. “Ranma sent you here to destroy me, didn’t he?!”

Nabiki smirked. “I’d say Pantyhose is the one in danger here, actually.”

The announcer found it prudent to move on to introducing the next group of contestants.

“In Cell Number Two, we have a surprising collaboration—The Tendo Dojo’s Anything Goes School of Martial Arts and Chez Rose Noir ’ave forged an alliance zat pairs fanciful fisticuffs with fabulous French cooking! Will zey emerge victorious?!”

Kuno stood up from his seat in the audience, one hand on his sheathed sword.

“Of course they will! As a representative of the noble House of Kuno, my sister would never lose to the likes of those lowlives Pantyhose Taro and Eiko Unryū! Isn’t that right, daughter?” he said, turning to Tomiji.

“I’m sorry, Father. But if I must choose between family honor and true love…I shall choose the latter,” replied Tomiji. Kuno fell over when he realized she was holding up a cardboard sign with Eiko’s likeness painted on it.

“In Cell Number Three, representing Chez Lys Blanch—it’s Miss Asuka The White Lily’s team of très élégant culinary experts, gathered from around zee globe! She’s ‘ere to assert dominance and charm ‘er rivals into submission,” said the announcer. “But wait—what is zis? It appears Miss Asuka has escaped from her cell—”

A veritable snowstorm of white petals began to rain down upon the studio. A few people in the audience who were allergic to pollen sneezed. Asuka The White Lily stood dramatically atop a camera rig, laughing uproariously.

“As if a mere cell could contain my magnificent self,” Asuka said, looking over her pale shoulder at the announcer’s booth.

Lashing out with a gymnastics ribbon, Kodachi ripped the entire door off her cell and leapt up to meet Asuka. They exchanged dirty looks in mid-air.

“Breaking the rules already? How crass,” Kodachi said. “I’ll make sure you’re disqualified if you pull another stunt like that!”

“Don’t be silly, dear. Of course I’m going to beat you in a fair competition—but I wasn’t about to let those dingy bars cover my lovely visage during my grand entrance,” Asuka said.

Kodachi clenched her teeth around the corner of her handkerchief and seethed. “Why you snobby, self-obsessed, maniacal—”

“Look who’s talking,” Ranma muttered to himself. Thankfully, no one heard him, and the announcer moved on.

“Zee competition is heating up already, it seems! And—mon dieu—what is zis!? Apparently, we ‘ave a last minute entry! Visiting from zee village of Joketzuzoku in China, it’s zee Mysterious Mousse! Apparently, he works alone.”

Mousse, who had his glasses on for once, leapt up on the bench in his cell and beat upon his chest.

“I’m sorry, Ranma! It’s not that I’m not grateful to you for all your support, but…but today, I must challenge you as a rival once again! Because if I can’t do something to impress Shampoo, then my life has no meaning!” he said by way of a battle cry.

“Wow, that’s a pretty sad life,” said Hiroshi, who was sitting in the audience with Daisuke.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Daisuke said, none too impressed with Mousse’s display. “You got this one in the bag, Ranma—hey, Hiroshi, quit hogging all the popcorn!”

The two of them continued squabbling over snacks like the old married couple they were. Meanwhile, Picolet’s maid-turned-production-assistant, Madame St. Paul, handed him an overly large envelope.

“Now…are you all ready to begin?” Picolet asked the studio audience.

The crowd cheered while the ground rumbled. Trap doors on the floors of the dungeons opened up, and out of the pits below rose a kitchenette for each cell, equipped with a wood-burning stove, stainless steel pots and pans, utensils, and a mini fridge.

“Not entirely historically accurate,” Nabiki commented. “I guess the ‘dungeon’ bit’s just for publicity. Kind of a lousy gimmick if you ask me. Then again, who am I to disagree with the ratings?”

“But what’s in that big envelope?” Akane wondered.

“An excellent question, Miss Akane! ‘Zis would be zee envelope containing zee name of today’s special ingredient! All teams must use it in their dishes today in order to qualify for judging!” He turned to the crowd. “Is everyone in zee dungeon ready to find out what it is?”

The applause sign lit up, and the audience cheered their assent. To the sound of a pre-recorded drumroll, Picolet tore open the envelope and read the oversized cue card contained inside.

“Today’s special ingredient is…escargot!”

A symbol crashed. The audience clapped. Eiko wrinkled his nose.

“Es-car what?” he asked.

“Escargot!” Picolet repeated. “Also known as…”

He reached for a cord attached to the ceiling and pulled it. About two dozen buckets set up overhead overturned themselves onto the contestants. Hundreds of live, slimy mollusks descended from above like rain.

“…snails!”

***

“This is supposed to be food…?” Genma asked, squinting at a stray snail as it oozed its way slowly across the back of a chair.

“A most slimy puppy indeed,” Tomiji said, picking it up between her thumb and forefinger to examine it. “A worthy challenge for my future husband.”

Not everyone else was so calm. A few folks in the audience made a break for the emergency exit when they ended up with snails in their hair—and even more of them decided they had better things to do when a six-foot-tall behemoth of a snail slithered in from stage left.

“I want that one, Ranma Darling,” Kodachi said, pursing her lips and casually pointing at the monstrously-sized gastropod.

Ranma took a step back. “For what?! A pet?” he asked, feeling his voice crack. He tried to drown out the sound of shrieking from somewhere in the vicinity of Konatsu.

“For the meal, of course!” Kodachi said, snapping her gymnastics ribbon impatiently. “Go and gather it up for me so we can simmer it in garlic butter!”

Ranma doubted there was enough garlic butter in the world to simmer that thing, but at least he had something to fight. He cracked his knuckles and jumped into battle.

***

“Eeeeeek! A bug!”

Konatsu wailed like a siren, throwing down a smoke bomb and retreating invisibly to safety like the brave kunoichi she was.

“Oh my, it’s gotten a bit foggy in here, hasn’t it…?” Kasumi said. None of her teammates could see her through the sudden storm of saltpeter and powdered sugar blooming up all around them.

“Stop messing around, Konatsu! We need to cook these things, not play ninja with them!” Ukyo said, coughing and squinting to see through the haze.

“Mistress Ukyo, I’m so sorry! But I have a dreadful weakness to creepy crawly thingies, you know?! I know I seem like a battle-hardened warrior, but deep down, I’m a lady of very delicate sensibilities—so when I see one, I just—eeeeeeek, there’s another one! It’s so slimy and icky and gross!” Konatsu said. She lobbed another smoke bomb at her nemesis.

Eiko wriggled his way out of the smoke cloud, grumpily holding two fistfuls of snails he’d pulled off the walls.

“You seeing this crap?! Ugh. The help you brought is useless!” he said to Ukyo, who was trying to fan the smoke away with her largest spatula.

“Same goes for the help you brought,” Ukyo said to him. She pointed to Pantyhose, who was trying to dig a tunnel out of the room with a fork to get away from Kasumi. It wasn’t going very well.

Eiko and Ukyo paused to look at each other, their expressions both clearly reading ‘now what?’ It took a moment for Ukyo to come up with a plan—but all these years of martial arts and restaurant management had made her good at thinking on her feet in times like these.

“Hey—gimme those snails. I’ll start prepping them while Kasumi makes the batter,” she said. She pulled out the bottom of her shirt to use as a makeshift snail transport.

Eiko looked at her quizzically. “The heck am I s’posed to do, then?”

“Fix whatever’s wrong with him,” she said flatly, pointing to Pantyhose. “He’s ruining all the cutlery.”

Eiko grumbled, but didn’t fight her on it. “Fine, fine. I was gonna have to do it sooner or later, I guess.”

He walked over to Pantyhose and slapped him.

“Hey! Where do you get off, hitting your own Sensei like that?!” Pantyhose hollered. He threw his fork at Eiko, who sidestepped it easily.

“Oh, good. You’re back to normal,” Eiko said, rolling his eyes and squatting down next to Pantyhose. “Now listen, man—do you really wanna spend the rest of your life running away from a girl?” he asked.

“I was doing no such thing,” Pantyhose said, pouting and nursing the welt on his face from where he’d been slapped.

“Yeah, sure. The Nile’s not just a river in Egypt, ya know. Now listen—I wasn’t sure if you were ready until now, but I know a secret technique you can use that’ll help you get over all your…weirdness…with Kasumi—and I think you’re finally ready for it,” he said..

Pantyhose gasped. “You…have you figured out her weakness?! You, a mere boy, when I could not?! But… but how?” He paused to mumble to himself. “Well…you have been living in the same house unaffected, though, which means…yes! You must know a technique to overcome her strange powers!”

He grabbed Eiko by the collar and tried to shake him.

“Tell me what it is! Tell me!”

Eiko handed him a book.

“What the hell is this…?” Pantyhose asked, taking the book into his hands and turning it over, glancing at the cover.

“I got it at the library,” Eiko said. “It’s, uh, an ancient text. You just gotta…recite some of the incantations in it, or whatever.”

“And you’re sure this will work?!” Pantyhose asked, flipping through the tome ravenously.

“Yeah, pretty sure. Here, try this one,” Eiko said, sticking his hand in a page and pointing to a line of large, bolded text.

“Yes. All right. I’ll do it,” Pantyhose said, furrowing his brows and standing up rigidly. He turned to face his enemy.

“YOU THERE! Kasumi Tendo! I have something to say to you!” he said. He seemed to have gained some of his cocky confidence again.

“Oh, yes? What is it?” Kasumi asked, momentarily pausing her work with the egg beater.

Pantyhose inhaled dramatically, looked at the page, memorized his incantation, and shouted it at her.

“NICE WEATHER WE’RE HAVING TODAY, ISN’T IT!” he recited.

Kasumi blinked.

“Oh, yes, it is nice to see this much sun in January,” she said pleasantly. She turned back to her cooking.

Pantyhose ducked down again.

“Is it working?!” he asked Eiko.

“I dunno, man, you tell me,” Eiko shrugged.

Pantyhose stopped to contemplate the question. He looked from the book to Kasumi and back again and inhaled sharply through his nose.

“Yes—yes! I can feel the book’s wisdom surging through my veins! I feel powerful!” Pantyhose said.

“Then keep reading, stupid!” Eiko urged, twisting Pantyhose’s face back towards that of his nemesis. Pantyhose stood up dramatically again.

He marched right up to Kasumi, Eiko’s borrowed copy of The Cool Customer’s Guide to Small Talk in hand, and screamed “DID YOU CATCH THE BASEBALL GAME LAST NIGHT?!”

***

“Man, what’s with this stupid thing?! Its shell keeps repelling all my attacks!” Ranma said, backing off from performing his Pride of the Fierce Tiger technique with a disappointed look on his face. The eight foot tall snail he was punching hadn’t really noticed him.

Konatsu skittered past, hurling smoke bombs left and right.

“Die, die, die you nasty little things!” she said, launching one in the direction of the towering snail. As expected, it bounced off the shell, leaving Ranma in a poof of suffocating powder. Still, it gave him an idea.

“Hey, lemme have one of those,” he said to Konatsu. “If I can just toss it under the snail’s shell when it’s hidin’ in there, then maybe—”

“Ohohoho!”

Asuka the White Lily’s haughty laugh sliced through Ranma’s thoughts like an extremely pompous knife cutting through butter. “Your man is lacking in looks and culinary skills if he thinks a snail fried with a bomb is going to taste any good,” she taunted Kodachi, with whom she was locked in a fierce battle. Each woman held a pot lid as a shield and wielded a two-pronged snail fork as a weapon. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s as uncultured as you are.”

Kodachi turned towards Ranma furiously. “Stop playing with the food, darling! We’re falling behind!” she chastised him.

“You’re not even cooking!” Ranma shot back.

Akane watched the proceedings from the audience, fidgeting violently in her chair.

“Oh, I can’t watch this anymore,” she said, balling her hands up in front of her. “Ranma obviously needs my help.”

“You’re going to help him fight, then…?” Nabiki asked blandly as she ignored the spectacle below in favor of reading her favorite magazine.

Akane stood up, burning with determination. “No—I’m going to help him cook!”

As the youngest Tendo sister stormed down into the cloud of smoke and violence, Nabiki fished around in her purse for some chewing gum and said “Well, there goes all Ranma’s hope of winning.”

***

A cry of “WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?” arose from Team Pantyhose’s side of the dungeon.

Brow furrowed in concentration, Ukyo ignored the sounds of Kasumi and Pantyhose’s awkward conversation (if one could call it that) in favor of furiously cooking snails to put in her okonomiyaki.

Another smoke bomb went off, accompanied by another shriek from Konatsu.

“Man, that’s distracting,” Eiko said as he dropped off another few handfuls of snails for Ukyo. “This is why girly-girls like her can’t be real martial artists.”

If looks could kill, the scowl on Ukyo’s face might have vaporized Eiko on the spot. Her head swiveled towards him sharply. “Yeah?! So what do I look like? A sponge or something!?” she said.

“Not you, Ukyo. You’re basically a dude,” Eiko said. “You’re kinda like me, right? You don’t gotta be embarrassed about it.”

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes a few degrees more earnest than usual.

Ukyo put down her spoon and took a deep breath.

“Look, I get where you’re coming from, Eiko, but…I only started wearing guys’ clothes because I felt like I’d failed as a girl. Like I didn’t have any other choice but to give it up.”

Eiko’s forehead creased. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Ukyo folded her arms. She’d never really been able to make sense of it herself—how was she going to explain it to a literal kid? But Eiko was looking up at her so intently, she had to at least try.

“My fiancé dumped me before I’d even lost all my baby teeth. The other girls at school made sure everyone knew I’d screwed that part of my life up. I thought, ‘Well, I guess I’m never gonna get married.’ And then…all I had left after that was being a chef. Being independent. Getting revenge.”

“Revenge? You…? Huh. I never knew,” Eiko said.

“It was all I could ever think about back then. It took over my life. I just wanted people to take me and my training seriously. And I thought, yeah, no one ever questions a guy alone on a training journey. It made everything so much easier. Less people judging me, or trying to make me go home to my dad. But I think…”

Ukyo chewed the inside of her cheek and pondered how much her life had changed since she’d first set out to become the world’s greatest okonomiyaki chef. She thought about Ranma—sometimes a girl, sometimes a guy, but always ready to rise to any challenge. And then, with just the slightest pinch in her heart, Ukyo thought about Ryoga.

“I think I’ve got it figured out now.”

“Got what figured out?” Eiko asked.

“That I like being a chef and a girl and a martial artist,” Ukyo finally said. “And I’d like to be all those things—for someone I like. And for me. Even if I suck at the girl part—I still wanna try to be one, I guess. It’s not too late for me to learn, right…?”

Eiko deflated, looking at the countertop with a furrowed expression. Ukyo couldn’t help but think she’d disappointed him somehow. She reached down and punched him in the shoulder—but only hard enough to get his attention.

“Right?” she repeated.

“Hey!” Eiko exclaimed reflexively, rubbing his shoulder. “How would I know if you’re over the hill or not? Figure it out yourself!”

“Yeah, yeah, fine—I will. I’ll get the hang of being a girl eventually. But you know, if you like being a boy…I think that’s okay, too. Be yourself,” Ukyo said. “I’m just saying—if you don’t get over some of these hang-ups of yours and start respecting girly girls, sooner or later one of ‘em is gonna really let you have it, and you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Eiko laughed, but he didn’t seem amused.

“Hah. Like I’d ever let myself get beat by a girl.”

Ukyo picked up her spoon again and pointed it at him.

“Don’t get so full of yourself that you forget your blind spots, kid. Ranma kicked your sorry behind while she was wearing a ball gown, right? And what about that time we won the kickball match because of her Martial Arts Cheerleading…?”

Eiko’s eyes shriveled like raisins. “That’s…that’s because Ranma’s only half—”

“And Akane’s just as tough, ya know. I heard even the mob is scared of her these days.”

Ukyo had him there. Eiko suddenly looked like he had a lot to think about.

“Anyway, girly girls like me and Konatsu can be tough, too. You got that?” Ukyo asked him.

Eiko straightened his posture.

“Yeah. Yup. I got it,” he said.

“Good.”

Another scream made them both look up. Konatsu was fishing around in her pockets desperately.

“Oh no—I’m out of ammo! It’s hopeless—they’re…they’re going to devour me! Save me, Mistress Ukyo!”

Ukyo cast a sideways glance at Team Pantyhose’s youngest member.

“Now what?” Eiko asked.

“I’ve gotta keep cooking. Can you help Konatsu?” Ukyo asked him. “And don’t give her any flack about it! Everybody has something they’re weak to.”

Eiko nodded. “Yeah, yeah, okay—”

He hesitated before he started to walk, looking at Ukyo as if he were trying to gage her for something.

“What are you weak to, then?” he asked her.

Ukyo smiled. “Nothing you need to worry about, ya little rascal. Now get going!”

***

“I didn’t give you permission to be on my team, you horrid woman! What are you doing here?!” Kodachi shrieked, her fist clenching tighter around her snail fork. From aloft the countertop where she was still sparring with Asuka, she glowered down at Akane, who had entered the scene with a grocery bag of her own.

“Helping Ranma more than you are, that’s for sure,” Akane muttered quietly.

“Oho! It seems like a rather sizable rat has gotten into your kitchen, my dear. How unfortunate,” Asuka said, cackling gleefully as she thrust her own snail fork forward towards Kodachi, who parried easily. “But don’t forget—your opponent is still me!”

The countertop battle continued. Akane plodded over to Ranma, whose hands were clenched around his knees as he panted for breath.

“I’m not…gonna lose…to some giant freakin’ slug! Do you hear me?” Ranma said, although no one besides his wife really heard his anguished resolution over the din of pots and pans and Konatsu’s screaming. The snail certainly didn’t seem to care.

“Stop being so stubborn, Ranma,” Akane said. “Why don’t you leave the main course to me…?” She dug down in her bag. “Here, hold this,” she said, handing him a head of lettuce. “You can make the appetizers.”

Ranma took it, confused. “Look, Akane, I appreciate you comin’ here to help me an’ all, but I don’t think—”

Ranma stopped mid-sentence. A giant, slimy snail head was hovering over him, intent on eating the lettuce in his hands.

“Eugh! Gross! Quit droolin’ on me!” Ranma shouted in revulsion.

In the audience, Perfume stood up in her chair. “Sensei! It’s out of its shell! Now’s your chance!” she shouted.

“Right! Time for the seasoning!” Akane nodded, reaching into her bag again. She produced a giant canister of salt.

The snail was horrified. A large hole in the building ensued as it ran straight through several layers of drywall to put as much distance between itself and Akane as possible.

“What, so now you’re just gonna run away!? Come back here, ya crummy cephalopod!” Ranma shouted, fading into the background as he chased the snail out of the studio.

“Sacre bleu! That’s going to cost a fortune to fix! But zee combatants are still going at it! Such is zee way of zee culinary martial artists! Incroyable! Never give up, Monsieur Ranma!” Picolet announced to the enthralled audience.

“Ranma, you fool! Come back here and win our money!” Genma shouted from the stands.

Perfume tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t be too hard on him, Mr. Saotome. It’s not easy making salad,” she said, filled with wisdom beyond her years.

***

Ryoga came up through the studio floor scratching his head.

“This isn’t my seat,” he said to himself, puzzled, as he looked at the guide map he’d snagged on the way to the bathroom. White lily petals sprinkled down from the ceiling on him as Akane ran by, shouting “Wait, Ranma! You forgot the tomatoes!”

“At least I can’t be too far off,” Ryoga frowned.

He turned around towards what he assumed was the northeast door and got ready to try again, when—

Clang!

…he knocked into a bucket of wet snails being held by Ukyo. They went scattering every which way.

“Ugh, I just cleaned those!” she shouted, frazzled, as she bent down to pick them up off the floor.

Ryoga crouched down to assist her in collecting the wayward foodstuff.

“Uh. Sorry,” he said. “I can help. I-I was just—”

There was a moment of awkward fumbling with words that suddenly died on Ryoga’s lips, followed by the dreadful realization that he and Ukyo had reached for the same snail. His hand seemed to go numb on top of hers—he swallowed deeply, looking up at her face only to find that she had suddenly looked away. Her ears were bright red.

‘Uh-oh. She must really be angry about these snails,’ he thought.

Or maybe it was the other thing—the fact that he hadn’t really reached out to her since that night in Hakone (or was it Numazu?)—but he’d needed time to think after all that. A lot of time.

He slowly drew his hand back in towards himself.

“O-on second thought, maybe I’ll just…go back to the audience,” Ryoga said, starting to stand up.

Ukyo’s hand snapped out again. “No, wait! Don’t go!” she shouted. She caught him by the wrist before he could leave.

“Huh…?” Ryoga squeaked out, looking down at her again.

“You’re gonna get lost if you go off by yourself again. You promised Eiko you were gonna watch all his matches, right?” Ukyo asked him, still not quite looking him in the eye.

Ryoga started to calm down. The heartbeat he was hearing in his ears started to fade. “Oh! Right. Thanks,” he nodded. “You did say you’d help me with that, huh.”

Ukyo nodded. “I’m a businesswoman. I never forget my debts,” she said.

He clumsily sat back down on the ground beside her. They each picked up their own individual snails this time, careful not to let their fingers cross paths. Aside from the clank of shells dropping into the bucket, it was a quiet moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Quiet, and frustrating.

‘Awkward,’ Ryoga berated himself. ‘Stupid. It’s just Ukyo. Why am I making it weird?’

He cleared his throat. He needed to change the subject, desperately.

“So, Eiko’s on your team, right? What’s he up to now…?” he asked.

Ukyo finally looked at him point blank. “The most important job in the whole studio,” she said.

***

“The enemy is gaining on us, General Eiko! We need more firepower!” Konatsu shouted. She and Eiko squatted behind a makeshift barricade comprised of baking sheets, chairs, and forks stuck into the floor with ki, and they were throwing together smoke bombs made out of hollowed-out eggs and hiding from snails. Each wore a pot on their head like a helmet.

“Here! Put some of this in the next one!” Eiko said, handing her a packet of chili powder.

“Ooh, devious! I like the way you think!” Konatsu said. “Let’s throw some of this in, too,” she said, grabbing a pepper shaker.

“And check out this bag I swiped from the vampire lady on Ranma’s team,” Eiko said. He showed off Kodachi’s oversized purse. “It’s a good thing me an’ Pantyhose practiced being sneaky all week.”

Konatsu’s eyes lit up. “Eiko, you little genius! Let’s see what we’ve got here, hmm…?” She practically dove into the handbag.

“Hmm…lipstick, paralysis powder, a nail file, alligator treats—hello, what’s this?! More ammo? Yoink!” She pulled out an armful of Kodachi’s dynamite-laced rose bombs and foisted them off on her new second-in-command.

“We’ll use these little beauties in the next wave and surprise them! The slippery little devils’ll never see it coming!”

Eiko shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Good plan.”

“Hmm…but for now, let’s put them somewhere no one else will find them,” Konatsu said.

Eiko looked around for a good hiding spot. He settled on stuffing them in the empty wood stove for safekeeping.

Then, he leaned back and looked up at the light fixtures on the studio ceiling. “…By the way, weren’t we supposed to be doing somethin’ else right now…?” he mused, scratching his nose.

He peeked over the wall of their temporary fortress to get a better look at what Pantyhose was doing. He strained his ears to hear what was going on in the kitchenette.

“DID YOU HEAR THE ONE ABOUT THE MAN WHO STOLE SOAP FROM THE SUPERMARKET?” Pantyhose said, grasping the book like a life preserver as sweat poured down his face.

Kasumi continued grating a yam she was holding and said “Oh my, no! What happened?”

“HE MADE A CLEAN GETAWAY!”

Eiko shrunk back behind the barricade and wrinkled up his mouth. “Eh, never mind. It’s probably fine.”

He handed Konatsu another egg shell to fill with mystery powder.

***

“We’re in zee final stretch of cooking and almost ready for zee judges to start eating! I’m…not sure I’m looking forward to zee results, but perhaps I will be surprised,” Picolet said into his microphone. His voice and presence were all but swallowed up when an eggshell smoke bomb exploded right in front of him. Madame St. Paul tried to fan the smoke away with an antique mother-of-pearl Duvelleroy.

Meanwhile, Ukyo observed her alleged sensei with mildly confused disdain as he dramatically read out loud to Kasumi from a book of crummy pick-up lines he’d gotten his hands on for some godforsaken reason.

‘What’s his plan here?’ she wondered.

Then, she shifted her attention to Kasumi for a brief second and frowned. She flipped a finished piece of okonomiyaki à la escargot into the air, and Ryoga—who had become a pretty good sous chef after all his time at the restaurant—caught it on a plate almost reflexively, drizzling it with sauce and garnishing it with aonori and bonito flakes in one swift, martial-arts like motion.

But Ukyo couldn’t seem to keep her mind on the food.

“Hey. What do you think of Kasumi—is she the sort of girl guys really go crazy for?” she suddenly asked Ryoga, the phrase ‘practically a dude’ still lingering in the back of her mind.

Ryoga fumbled the plate he was holding. “Huh…?”

“You know—sweet and motherly. Soft-spoken. Domestic. Feminine. Stuff like that.”

Ryoga scratched under his bandanna with his thumb.

“I mean…I guess I’m glad she has those qualities. Sometimes, she’s the only person Eiko’ll listen to. They get along pretty well. Well, maybe that’s because…”

Ryoga trailed off, but he didn’t have to complete the thought out loud for Ukyo to understand what he meant.

‘She reminds Eiko of Akari,’ Ukyo thought. ‘He just gravitates towards her naturally. And who’d blame him for it? She’s kind and pretty, and—wait, but does that mean Ryoga…? No, it doesn’t seem that way—not yet, anyhow, but—oh geez, what if he falls for her?! They live in the same house!’

“Uh, Ukyo…? You’re grinding your teeth,” Ryoga pointed out, but it didn’t stop Ukyo’s rapidly escalating realization that Kasumi could actually be a serious rival.

“Ryoga,” Ukyo said, slamming her hands down on either side of her mixing bowl.

“Y-yeah…?”

She turned to him with fire in her eyes.

“We have to get Kasumi and Pantyhose together.”

Ukyo picked up a plastic bottle of Kewpie mayo and started squeezing it onto the nearly-plated dish in Ryoga’s hands, although he seemed more concerned with the contents of Ukyo’s brain than the food he was holding.

“Have you gone crazy?! She’s Akane’s sister, and Pantyhose is the biggest threat to the Tendo Dojo who ever lived! What reason could you possibly have for doing that?!” Ryoga asked her.

Ukyo twisted her head sharply to the left and kept squeezing out mayo.

“Wh…why?! Well, because! Isn’t it obvious…? I don’t want Kasumi to—I-I mean, I need Pantyhose to distract her so that she doesn’t—so that you don’t—!”

Ukyo couldn’t spit it out. There was no way to reliably give Ryoga an answer without giving him the answer. Which she wasn’t going to do right now, because it was impossible, because he—

“AAAAAAAAH!”

Ukyo screamed, and then she covered her mouth so Ryoga wouldn’t notice that she was screaming. Because while she had been trying not to tell him what exactly she’d meant, her hands had acted totally of their own accord and spelled out a message in mayonnaise.

There it was—fifteen years of repressed feelings, written out as plain as day on top of a hot, savory Japanese pancake, hovering a mere 20 centimeters from Ryoga’s nose:

‘I LIKE YOU, STUPID.’

Ukyo read it twice in the span of half a second, blinking down in disbelief at her own accidental candor. Every sweat gland she had—and some she didn’t know she had—started working overtime. Her knees began to buckle. She looked at Ryoga to see if he’d noticed yet.

…He hadn’t. Good.

There was still time to fix this.

Ukyo squirted the entire bottle of mayonnaise directly into Ryoga’s eyes. It hit him with the force of a large fire hose.

“Hey! What happened?! Who turned out the lights?” Ryoga exclaimed.

“Whoops! Clumsy me,” Ukyo said, taking advantage of Ryoga’s moment of temporary blindness to act. She hastily shoved the offending piece of okonomiyaki into the wood stove, along with about thirteen logs, and set them alight in a cunning gambit to burn any trace of her heartfelt message to Ryoga out of existence.

Unfortunately, the oven was also where Eiko and Konatsu had been hiding the dynamite they’d stolen from Kodachi.

The entire studio exploded.

***

Pantyhose Taro didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. The techniques in the book Eiko had given him had seemed to be working flawlessly. He felt emboldened, even without physical strength to aid him in this fight. It was mind over matter. And surely, surely Panthhose Taro’s mind was stronger than even Kasumi Tendo’s.

…except clearly it wasn’t, because one moment she’d been smiling sweetly at him without a single shred of ki or bloodlust; utterly powerless from his offensive barrage—and the next moment, she’d somehow managed to bring the entire kitchen crashing down around him.

“Oh, dear. Was that an earthquake…?” Kasumi said after the dust and wreckage from the blast had settled. She was utterly unscathed, having ducked down to grab the sugar from inside the lower cabinet at just the right moment.

“Here, let me help you up,” she said. She offered a hand to Pantyhose, who was lying face-up under a large piece of the ceiling.

Pantyhose wasn’t fooled. It was her fault. Kasumi Tendo. She had done this with her terrifying power, ensuring Pantyhose would never triumph over Ranma. She had thrown him off his guard time after time after time. She knew his small victory had been but an illusion. And now, Kasumi Tendo was taunting him, reveling in Pantyhose’s humiliation at the tragic hour of his defeat.

No. He wouldn’t let her toy with him any more. He refused to accept this embarrassment lying down.

On force of sheer spite and willpower, he wiggled out from under the collapsed plaster and hoisted himself upright, covered in dirt, smoke and egg batter.

Pantyhose Taro had once again lost the battle. But he would not lose the war.

“KASUMI TENDO!” he screamed, a cacophony of agony and malice in a battlefield where a million scorched snails lay singed by gunpowder.

“Yes…?” she answered him.

“This isn’t over—not by a longshot! I will never, ever give up! Not even this crushing defeat will stop me! I will read every sacred scroll in the world—I will soak myself in every cursed spring—I would walk through Hell itself if it meant I could take you out!” Pantyhose roared.

Kasumi covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, my,” she said.

“That’s right! I’m going to take you out, Kasumi Tendo! I won’t let anyone else have the satisfaction! And when I do, it will go down in the history books as Pantyhose Taro’s finest hour!”

Kasumi looked more distressed than Pantyhose had ever seen her before.

“Well, I…I’m not sure I can return your feelings,” she said.

“You…what?” Pantyhose asked, folding his arms across his chest. Was she refusing to fight him? She couldn’t decline his challenge now! The gauntlet had already been thrown—and hadn’t she struck first?! This was going to be a fight to the finish—perhaps even to the bitter end! And they were both martial artists, so—

“…I mean, I might need a little more time to give you an honest answer, Mr. Pantyhose. I hope you don’t mind,” Kasumi said. “But…if you’d like to take me out…”

Pantyhose’s ears pricked up. So, she considered him a worthy opponent after all!

“I suppose I’m free two Fridays from now, because Ranma’s doing the cooking. So I think it’d be all right.”

And thus, Kasumi Tendo accepted Pantyhose Taro’s invitation to duel to the death.

…or so he thought.

***

One by one, spectators and contestants crawled out of the exploded woodwork formerly known as the set of Kitchen Dungeon. Everyone except Ranma and Akane were accounted for by the time the medics treated Daisuke’s broken arm and expertly fitted Perfume with a brand-new neck brace. For the most part, the Tendos, Kunos, and Saotomes walked away from the wreckage with only minor scrapes and bruises, as Tendos, Kunos, and Saotomes were wont to do. Overall, it was a very happy outcome for such a dangerous occurrence.

But not everyone was acting happy about it.

“Ranma Darling, how could you?! Leaving your beloved Kodachi high and dry again! Ooh, it’s just like a repeat of our wedding day—I’m getting the most dreadful case of déjà vu! Give me the strongest medicine you have, nurse!” Kodachi cried into her handkerchief as she was carried away on a stretcher.

“We don’t have anything for déjà vu. I think you’re fine. Are you sure you want a medical transport?” asked an EMT.

“I have my reasons,” Kodachi snapped back at her.

“Last one to leave the hospital without a boyfriend loses,” Asuka said, laughing at her rival as she, too, was loaded into the back of an ambulance. Her leg was stuck in a pneumatic boot.

“Of course! But what kind of tacky limousine is this? I demand an upgrade!” Kodachi said.

“She’s right,” Asuka agreed, suddenly annoyed. “We’re women of high class, you know! This is insulting! You should be treating us like royalty!”

“Royal pains in the butt, maybe,” the ambulance driver muttered under his breath.

He slammed the rear doors shut and drove off.

***

Tucked away in a quieter corner of the former studio, Ryoga observed his son with cautious remorse.

“Well… I’m sorry you didn’t win the cooking contest today, Eiko. I don’t know why, but…I can’t shake the feeling this is sort of my fault, somehow.”

Ryoga folded his hands in his lap, hunched down, and prepared for the worst. Losing almost always put Eiko in a sour mood.

…Yet Eiko, for all his usual hemming and hawing over being the best and winning at everything, seemed oddly content now.

“Oh, yeah. The cooking thing. I wasn’t worried about that,” Eiko said. “I was really just tryin’ to get Pantyhose to learn how to talk to a girl he likes without freakin’ out. And now he’s got a date with Kasumi on Friday, so I guess I helped.”

Eiko smiled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Ryoga looked askance. Konatsu beamed.

“Aww, Eiko! You’re a regular lil’ Cupid, aren’t you? Just what I’d expect from my favorite General,” Konatsu said. “All you had to do was give those two an itty bitty push, and now they'll live happily ever after! Sigh…it’s so romantic.”

Ryoga looked back at Konatsu, not believing what he was hearing. His head was starting to hurt.

“That’s not what happened at all—hey, wait a minute, you two are in on this, too?! But…but this is a disaster! If Pantyhose and Kasumi really do go on a date, then the two Dojos—”

“Might start gettin’ along better…? Oh no, the horror,” Eiko said sarcastically.

“Oh. Ohhhh. That’s right!” Another voice chimed in from the back. Everyone turned to look at Ukyo. Her clothes were still lightly charred from the fiery blast, yet she looked triumphant for some reason. She struck her fist against her palm, suddenly enlightened. “I knew there had to be another good reason to get those two to go out.”

“A…another reason?” Ryoga asked, scrunching up his nose in agonized thought. “You had more than one?”

Ukyo’s neck and face turned scarlet. She hid them behind an overly large spatula that had been tucked away in her blouse.

“It’s nothing! Mind your own business!” she said.

Someone else cleared their throat. Everyone turned around to find Picolet and Madame St. Paul, looking much worse for the wear than when they’d all arrived.

“Well—while I am certainly ‘appy for Miss Kasumi, I must admit zee cooking contest has gone a bit too far sideways for my liking,” Picolet said.

“Sideways indeed,” huffed Madame Saint Paul. “Just look at this mess! Such an ill-mannered lot. Did any of you actually cook something?! The judges are starving, you know!”

She motioned to the other two taste test judges beside her, who were crying with hunger. One of them blew his nose in his cravat. The entirety of Team Pantyhose looked down at their laps awkwardly.

“Damn it all, Ranma! This was supposed to be our ticket out of the poorhouse!” Genma screamed at the sky, which was now clearly visible through the collapsed roof.

Picolet sighed. “I suppose we will just ‘ave to order pizza again,” he said to his companions.

“WAIT!” came a voice from parts previously unknown.

Everyone looked up to see Mousse standing rigidly on top of a mountainous pile of rubble. Sunbeams struck him magnificently, glinting off his jet black hair and illuminating him from the back just right, even in the absence of the studio lighting. In his hands, he held a small clay pot.

“It survived…my dish survived! It’s a miracle born of my love for Shampoo!” he said.

The judges rushed to Mousse’s side, along with a lone uninjured camera woman in a black hat. She started filming the apocalyptic scene almost ravenously.

“And…what do you call your dish, Monsieur Mousse?” Picolet asked.

Mousse grinned. Light reflected in his glasses like a pair of high beams.

“Garden snails boiled in soy sauce! Just like Grandma used to make!” he said.

With a dramatic flourish, Mousse lifted the lid of the pot.

The judges oohed and aahed as a burst of delicious-smelling steam wafted out of the top of the bowl. Then, all at once, without moving their legs or necks, they extended their lips down towards the food in true La Belle France martial arts fashion, and each of them gobbled up one perfect piece of Chinese-style escargot.

Crying with joy, Picolet grabbed Mousse’s hand and raised it up towards the sky. “We have a winner!” he declared.

***

“…So that’s what happened, huh?” Akane said. She was gathered around the kotatsu at home with her family once again, ready to cap off yet another bizarre chapter of her life. Everyone was rewatching Wednesday’s episode of Kitchen Dungeon, which one of Nabiki’s assistants had gotten on tape for them.

“That’s right! I’m still over the moon. I bet Shampoo loved it, too!” said Mousse, sparkling with the floaty aura of a man possessed by love.

“And it was so nice of you to use your prize money to pay your back rent, Mousse dear,” Nodoka said, offering Mousse a motherly smile. He swelled up with pride.

Genma slammed the table with his fist.

“Nice my shiny bald head! After we paid back the studio for the damages you all caused, there was hardly anything left for us or for Kodachi!”

“In other words…we’re still in crushing debt,” Soun said miserably, downing a whole bottle of sake in a single swig. “She’ll never leave us alone!”

Ranma slumped his head into his palm. “Hey, I caught her the damn snail, didn’t I?!” he said. He jerked his thumb towards the backyard, where Kodachi—who had been forcibly discharged from the hospital—was riding on the back of the oversized mollusk.

“Faster, Mister Slimy Shell! We’ve got to beat that nasty Asuka at the snail derby!” Kodachi cried.

“Yeah. That ought to keep her busy for a while,” Akane said dully, poking at her meal with her chopsticks.

Just then, Perfume came clomping excitedly down the stairs. She miraculously didn’t trip over her feet in her excitement.

“It’s time, everyone! Kasumi’s ready!”

Everyone looked up and held their breath. Kasumi descended the stairs in a tasteful light blue wraparound dress, velvety wedge heels, and a fluffy white cardigan.

“Well! Don’t you just look lovely,” Nodoka gushed.

“Wonder who she’s goin’ out with,” Ranma said behind his rice bowl to Akane.

“Heh. Wouldn’t you like to know,” Eiko said smarmily.

“It’s Doctor Tofu, right? It’s got to be Doctor Tofu,” Akane whispered back to Ranma.

Ryoga knew, but he wasn’t telling. He looked down and started eating faster. If his mouth was full, he wouldn’t be able to blurt out the dreadful news.

The doorbell rang. The entire family stampeded towards the entryway.

Pantyhose Taro was at the front door.

“Get lost, Pantyhose Pain-in-the-Ass. I don’t have time for any more stupid challenges today,” Ranma said to him.

Pantyhose pointed towards the interior of the house. “I’m not here for you, Ranma. I’m here for Kasumi Tendo.”

Ranma was visibly confused. “What do you mean you’re—”

“Oh, Mr. Pantyhose! You’re a bit early, but that’s all right. Shall we get going?” said Kasumi.

Everyone turned to look at her. Soun, Genma, Akane and Ranma seemed to all have the same terrible revelation at once.

Nodoka did too, but she seemed quietly delighted. “Oh. Oh, my goodness,” she said, her lips curling into a barely-suppressed grin. “What an unforeseen development this is.”

Soun did not take it nearly as well.

“YOU!” he boomed, shoving everyone else aside to confront the bane of his Dojo’s existence.

“Can I help you, old man?” Pantyhose said, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. “I’d like to get on with things, if you don’t mind.”

Soun clamped his hands dangerously around Pantyhose’s shoulders.

“Don’t think I’m going to just forget what you’ve done to us! The holes in my roof…the cracks in my floor…the kidnappings…stealing our students…! You’re nothing but a heartless monster—and now you’ve come to sink your claws into my precious daughter?! Oh, the humanity!”

“Quit your blubbering! She agreed to this!” Pantyhose said.

Soun took a step back, as if he’d just been grievously wounded.

“Yes. Yes, I see how it is. Well, this isn’t going to easy for me… but…if it makes my Kasumi happy…”

He nearly launched himself into Pantyhose’s face again, grabbing him and crying profusely. “At least take our family name, do you hear me?! There are some things a father just cannot abide by!”

Genma rubbed his chin. “Well…I guess ‘Pantyhose Tendo’ sounds a little better than what it was before,” he said.

Ranma kicked his father in the face. “What are you sayin’, Pops? There’s no way Kasumi’s gonna go for this schmuck!”

Akane nodded along. “Right…Kasumi would know better than to go out with Pantyhose Taro,” she said. “Wouldn’t she…?”

She turned to Ryoga, looking for confirmation. Ryoga plunged his head into his hands.

“Oh, I can’t watch,” Ryoga nearly cried. Perfume handed him a dish towel to blow his nose in.

“What’s the big deal? Kasumi can go out with whoever she wants! Geez!” Eiko said with an air of superiority about him.

Kasumi removed herself from the debate, taking six delicate steps forward and smiling sweetly at Pantyhose. He looked for a brief moment like he wanted to turn around and run away—but he stood his ground.

“It’s a bit noisy here. Would you like to walk to the park?” Kasumi asked.

Pantyhose nodded. “All right. Fair enough. It’ll be easier without all these fools around.”

The Tendos and Saotomes continued to debate loudly into the night while Pantyhose Taro and Kasumi walked off, heading for what was either a very nice date or a very confusing duel, depending on who you asked later.

Eiko folded his arms and smirked. For once, things were going his way. Finally, finally he’d really found a perfect way to drive Ranma and the other members of the Tendo Dojo crazy—but Kasumi got to have fun. She deserved it.

“You look really happy, Eiko,” Perfume said.

Eiko swirled around to look at her, startled and a little annoyed. But actually, he thought, maybe Perfume was right.

Somehow, weirdly enough, he was happy.