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The battle against Saffron was over. Ranma, Mousse, and the others were taking a well-earned rest, and Shampoo’s memories of when Kima controlled her were becoming clearer. She hated it; her pride demanded that. She was an Amazon who couldn’t, shouldn’t have been so easily robbed of her free will by something as mundane as eggs.
There were moments where she was close to breaking free, when she was close to Ranma. But that pull to serve Kima kept creeping back and reeling her in, just as it did when she was alone with him, shortly before she was freed. She could admit what that Shampoo did made a twisted sort of sense. That Shampoo was close to making Ranma hers forever. And Akane, that unskilled, untalented, boyish girl who somehow wormed her way to Ranma’s heart could only watch, if she were still aware in her doll state. The perfect humiliation.
But the veil was lifted now. She wanted Ranma, not a pet. The confident, skilled warrior who, like her, had a healthy appreciation for tricks and schemes. Someone who was strong and fun, where they could incite all sorts of wacky hijinks and use their strength and wit to escape laughing and unharmed and live each day to the fullest.
She also saw now how her treatment of Akane was wrong too. She remembered how Ranma clutched Akane’s unmoving body, shutting out everything else in the world because she was his world, and the sheer relief when she moved and hugged him back. Humiliating her wasn’t what she should’ve done.
She should’ve killed her.
All she needed was to use her thumb and index finger to snap Akane’s neck. Oh, Ranma would’ve flown into a rage. But Mousse and the others were nearby and would’ve surely heard the commotion and intervened. They, Mousse at least, would’ve stood between them, arguing that Shampoo was being controlled. Ranma alone was skilled enough to take the spare imprinting eggs she had on her and she would've had been freed in this scenario as well.
She could see it now: Once she regained her free will, she’d throw herself at Ranma’s feet, begging for forgiveness. She’d swear she’ll risk life and soul to redeem herself and avenge Akane’s death, bring him Saffron’s and Kima’s head if he willed. Ranma wouldn’t kill someone who prostrated themselves to him, even if Mousse weren’t there, and not with how formidable Saffron was; he’d need all the help he could get. And although it was Ranma who defeated Saffron, she thought she did admirably subduing Kima, that underhanded harpy.
With the battle over, they’d return to Japan and she’ll give Ranma time and space to grieve. He was strong; he could overcome this. And once he did, really, who else was worthy be his wife?
Ukyo? Sure, she knew Ranma the longest, but Shampoo had the better body, was the better cook, and the better martial artist. Ukyo was plain in comparison, and she wasn’t even here to help him against Saffron.
The girl in the leotard? The Black Flower or the Black Petal, whatever her name was. She just strutted in and declared Ranma hers. No justification at all.
No, no one came close to what Shampoo could be to Ranma. She’d be there, supporting him all the way, coaxing him out of his grief. She’d tell him Akane would want him to live his life, not be chained to someone dead. She’d make him smile and laugh again and this ordeal would fade into memory.
But no path led to that future now. Akane’s life returned, and so did the life in Ranma.
The Jusenkyo guide approached and informed them that transportation to Japan had arrived. Everyone made to secure their belongings, and despite Shampoo telling herself there was nothing to be gained in imagining hypotheticals, one more surfaced, nevertheless.
If she had died, would he be sad? That, she thought, was possible at least. After everything, he considered her a friend and ally. But would Ranma cradle her body in his arms? Would he cry? Despite her better judgment, she stole a glance towards Ranma and Akane, the former with relief still etched into his face and the latter pressed tightly into Shampoo’s love, smiling and at peace.
No, he wouldn’t.