Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Come on, Akane, wake up. We have to train," the sound of Ranma's voice was eager to train. Since when did Ranma like training?

"No, Ranma, not today. It's a rest day," I decided to go back to bed, wrapping myself up again.

"Moooooooo, Kane! Yesterday was a rest day." Then something unexpected happened. Ranma, my Ranma, so shy he could barely tell me "I love you" without almost having a stroke, slipped under the sheets and hugged me.

"Ranma, what are you...!" I sat up quickly, but my bewilderment was absolute. It was my room, yes, but at the same time... it wasn't.

These sheets, this bed, were soft and warm but, when I touched them, they had a different texture, as if made of something between fabric and plastic. And they smelled... weird. Not like soap, not like fabric softener, but like a clean, artificial, almost medical scent. The walls, once a cute, vibrant green, were now a somewhat muted light blue, so neutral it seemed to absorb emotions.

There were many thin, black "pictures," frameless. I approached one and nearly jumped when its surface reflected my face: it wasn't a picture; it was a screen, turned off. A huge screen hung beside a dresser with a white circle that, as I moved, lit up on its own, casting a soft, moonlight-like glow.

My desk had been replaced by a white, smooth one, without any marks or scratches; on it sat a thin metal rectangle, next to notebooks and a sort of transparent pen. Everything was different, but not unpleasant: they were my things, the things I like... but not in the right place. Not my room.

Ranma—or who I thought was Ranma—because it was her voice, though it sounded more polite and... more feminine? Her hair fell loose, held back by a small red headband that contrasted with her cute black hair, that dark hair with coppery highlights that seemed unreal, shiny in a way I'd only seen in shampoo ads. She definitely had a bit more muscle. She touched my cheek.

"Kane, are you alright, dear?"

"Dear"?

"I'm dreaming, right?"

Ranma—the girl—gave me the cutest laugh in the world.

"A-dor-a-ble,"she tapped my nose flirtatiously. "That won't save you from training. Come on, I'll wait for you in the dojo."

She runs out, adjusting a ponytail and removing the headband. In her hands are two bracelets similar to the ones on my shelf; one is shaped like a watch with a rainbow spinning in its center, the other—which on her was orange—on my shelf was blue, pink, and purple.

I put them on like she did, but to my surprise, they light up. The screen shows the time, and when I touch it, it changes with a sharp sound, like an electric snap. I felt a shiver. It wasn't magic... but it felt like it.

I was thinking of leaving them, but this was too weird. Getting up, the floor feels different; it's not the tatami mat I'm used to: it's cold, solid, almost slippery, and it shines as if someone had waxed it with glass. Every step I take sounds hollow, more metallic than wooden.

The clothes in my closet are much more... masculine: plain shirts, trousers, slip-on shoes. Nothing seems to make sense. On the table, there's a photo of Ranma and me hugging, with a rainbow in the corner. The paper is so smooth it seems like it isn't paper, and the colors... perfect, as if painted with light.

Approaching the mirror, I see no makeup, but there is a bunch of toners, bottles, and tubes with impossible-to-read letters: hyaluronic, retinol, serum. They look like medicine names. I definitely don't know how to use them.

I put on what seems to be my Gi, but it has a strange symbol of clouds and a sword. The scent is different, fresher, less human. I try to turn off the light—but there's no switch—nor can I figure out what seems to be a very expensive air conditioner that breathes on its own, making a faint, constant noise. I head into the hallway.

The hallway is stunningly pure, without a single trace of dust, with a round thing moving by itself on the floor, murmuring with an almost living hum. I watch it, unable to decide if I'm dreaming or being watched. All the lighting seems... different. There are no lamps, just lines of light embedded in the ceiling.

Sure, it's still our traditional house, but the lights, the wood, the floor... everything seems to mimic the old style without actually being it, like a stage set of my life. I need to go downstairs and wash my face.

And outside the bathroom, I see someone I didn't expect.

"Aunt Nodoka,hello!" She's dressed very differently; her clothes are gorgeous, but very modern, like men's sportswear.

"Hello, Akane," she says before yawning into her hand. Although she's polite, she doesn't seem as... refined. "I thought you'd be training by now; after all, you want that belt exam, right? Go on, I won't waste your time."

Her voice is deeper than I remember, more relaxed. And as she walks away, I notice a small rectangle on the wall blinking with changing numbers. I don't know why, but I'm afraid to touch it.

Entering the bathroom was like walking into a spaceship that smelled like jasmine, with dim lighting, and even the toilet—which shouldn't be there—had buttons. The air wasn't humid or warm, but clean, controlled, so perfectly temperate I felt like I was inside a jar. I expected the steam from the bath, the murmur of hot water falling, but there was only an antiseptic silence, too pure, so different it hurt.

As I approached the sink and turned on the warm water, I realized the mirror didn't fog up. Not a mist, not a trace of human breath. It was as if the whole place was designed not to be disturbed, as if even the air refused to change.

The mirror,moreover, reflected my image with a different shine: my skin smoother, as if the light were filtering from within. For a moment, I was afraid I wasn't me. After brushing my teeth, I went back into the hallway. This time, I passed by the exit to the garden, which also looked different. The trees were the same... but not. The leaves shone too much, the colors were more intense, the water in the pond seemed lit from the bottom. My father was there, watching intently as he fed his fish in a pond much larger than I remembered.

The sound of water falling in small ripples was almost hypnotic, and for a moment I thought that if I kept staring at it, I would sink right in.

My father, at least, was dressed the same, though he had his hair tied up like a samurai and—to my surprise—he was missing his peculiar mustache.

"Hey, kiddo. Ranma's waiting for you in the dojo." My father was still focused on his fish. He spoke without looking at me, as if we'd already had this conversation a thousand times. As I walked towards the dojo, with the sun not yet fully up, the path lights turned on with each step I took. Each one made a soft, luminous click, as if it recognized me.

All of this made me believe I had landed in some fantastic world, one where technology and dreams blended until there were no borders left. The air smelled of damp earth, of electricity… and of something undefinable that made my skin prickle.

When I reached the dojo, I saw Ranma. She? was doing gymnastic exercises. Just normal gymnastic, without martial arts.

"Hey, Kane. We're doing Aikido today, right? I'm waiting on you, start your warm-up," she said with utter naturalness, while executing an elegant leap, so light it was as if gravity obeyed her.

I didn't understand what was different about Ranma. My logic told me to splash her with hot water, but something inside screamed it wouldn't work, that our old game—that magic of cold and hot water—no longer existed.

I did a light warm-up as I watched her jump. It was gymnastics, yes, but not martial arts: precise, beautiful, almost dance-like movements, more choreography than combat.

Her? breathing was controlled, musical. Her? body didn't seem prepared to fight, but to float.

When I finished, I spoke to her?.

"Hey,Ranma… you coming down?"

In front of my face, the girl performed an elegant leap, landing softly. She looked directly into my eyes, with that unsettling familiarity only a loved one can have. In a way, she seemed a little surprised, and then, without any warning, she kissed me on the cheek before going to get some weights.

I could do nothing but blush at such an open display of affection. The kiss lingered on my skin, as if the air itself didn't want to dissolve it. After strapping on what seemed to be weights on her waist, legs, and hands, she stood in front of me and let out a disciplined starting kiai that echoed throughout the entire dojo.

When she came at me, I used my normal strength… but to my surprise, I flipped her completely over my body. Her hair spun in the air like a dark flame, the sound of it brushing against my gi was sharp, real, so real that for a moment I thought that upon waking in this dream, I had crossed an invisible border.

She looked at me, full of excitement, and we repeated it for two more hours.

When we finished, I saw her cooling down like a normal person, hands on her knees, breathing hard. Her skin was pearled with sweat; I hadn't seen her get this tired since I'd met her.

"Kane, I can't believe how much you've improved at Aikido!" she said with a mix of genuine admiration and awe. It was as if our roles had reversed, as if I were the expert and she the apprentice.

The boy—who was definitely not acting like an innocent girl—was looking at me as if he truly admired me. No, it wasn't simple admiration; it was the admiration you have for someone who's better. And that look hurt, because it was a look I had never received from "my" Ranma.

"Oh, come on, Ranma, you're stronger than me. You could do this easily," I smiled at her, trying to hide my discomfort, as if I were the arrogant one of the two.

"Are you crazy!? I had to put on thirty kilos of weight just to get close to your strength, and you don't even look winded! You have to tell me your secret!" Then the girl's face turned scared. "It's not drugs, is it? You know what the family thinks about that stuff."

"What… how dare you!?" I replied, indignant. "I just used my internal strength. Haku, ki, internal connection."

At that moment, Ranma looked at me as if I'd told an absurd joke… and then, sure enough, she started to laugh. A clear, vibrant laugh, almost musical. But in its echo was something that froze my blood: it was the laugh of someone who lives in a world where the impossible no longer exists.

"Akane, it's fine if you don't want to tell me, but I'll make you," she gave me a threatening smile, "the hard way," she said while licking her lip, "or the easy way."

Her gaze shifted to a flirtatious one. I wondered why I was dreaming of Ranma being like this; it was as if all his mischievous behavior had been transformed into flirtation, but it was still him: that arrogant smile, those eyes that challenged me as if the entire universe fit between his lashes. It was Ranma, but not the everyday one. He was a Ranma softened by the dream, or perhaps by something else I couldn't name.

The air itself seemed to have a different density, sweeter, thicker. Everything vibrated with a painful clarity, like when the sun illuminates a spiderweb and you discover it's a perfect, fragile architecture. Every sound—the brush of her feet, the whisper of wind in the garden leaves—seemed freshly invented. This wasn't a blurry dream, but a world that knew it was dreamed and yet insisted on being real.

It was like when we play at being just two girls on Wednesdays while doing homework. Ranma says it's to clear his head, that he feels comfortable that way. But here… something was different. In this place, his movements had a new rhythm, as if the air accompanied him. As if the dream had given him permission to be freer.

I turned to look at her. She stood in front of me, her hair shining brighter than normal, almost with its own light. I was going to ask her if she felt the same, if this air enveloped her too, if she also felt like everything was suspended, that gravity was a temporary agreement. But I stopped. Maybe this really was a dream.

Because it had to be, right?

Only in my dreams can I remember my mother's voice singing somewhere,an old melody that gets lost among the garden trees. Only in dreams is the Dojo fully equipped, the tatami clean, the walls polished with that perfection unique to things never used. Only in dreams does Ranma wear the Dojo's uniform.

Only in my dreams does that greenhouse exist at home.

And I run,searching for my mother's voice.

With every step, the air smells different.

There's a scent of rain that isn't falling,of new earth, of things that shouldn't exist. The light doesn't come from the sun but from everywhere, golden and pale at the same time. For a moment, I have the sensation that if I breathed deeper, I could see the thoughts of the flowers.

And there she is.

My mother.

I see her carefully pruning the branches, her silhouette framed by the dew-covered glass. I burst into tears as I say:

"Hi, Mom.”

Only in my dream would she look at me like that. She approaches with the calm step of one who has never suffered and embraces me with a strength that shatters me from the inside. I sink into her chest, the scent of her gardenia perfume filling me with life.

"Are you alright, my little bird?" she whispers, and her voice has the exact temperature of everything I had forgotten.

The world around us stops.

There's a murmur,as if the greenhouse glass is breathing with me. Time curves, soft, and for a moment I am certain this place isn't made of dream, but of condensed desire, of something my soul has been imagining for years.

Ranma approaches, breathing quickly, worried, as if he'd just run from another world. His eyes tremble with pain, with love, with something he cannot say:

"Aunt Himiko… I think something's wrong with Kane. She's been like this all morning."

"Mom," was all I could say as I kept crying on her shoulder.

The last time I remembered her alive, the medication had already stolen her smile. The chemotherapy had devoured her energy, and I only remember that last day, when she decided to smile, to play with us, to act as if nothing hurt… only to never wake up again. But here, here she was alive, and in this weightless world, that was enough to make me want to stay. She comforted me like she used to, repeating:

"There, there, there… you're with me now, little bird."

It was then that I noticed the greenhouse.

Our house never had one.

And yet, there it was: a small temple of glass filled with bonsai trees, every leaf breathing an impossible calm. The daylight filtered in softly, bathing everything in a glow that seemed to move with my breath. The bonsais had impossible shapes, some seemed to contain tiny landscapes within them—miniature mountains, lagoons, clouds. If I stared too long, I'd swear they moved.

And I stayed still, not daring to blink, for fear it would all disappear. Ranma and my mother led me back to the house. They didn't speak. They just were. They waited. They looked at me as if they knew something I didn't.

In that silence, for the first time, I felt accompanied without having to speak.

And it hurt.Because if this was a dream, why did it hurt so much? How painful would it be to wake up and find Ranma arguing with his father, or my mother's empty chair at the breakfast table?

What if it wasn't a dream, but a promise?

What if reality was the wrong place?The air smelled like miracle, and that was the saddest thing of all.

"So, Kane…" Ranma began, stroking my back, her voice hovering between tenderness and curiosity, as if afraid to wake something sleeping inside me, "Are you going to tell us, dear?"

My mom smiled at me with that warm sweetness I remembered from another time, a smile so alive it hurt, and Ranma, beside her, waited too, resting her chin on her hand, watching me with those eyes of a mischievous kitten that always seemed to know more than they let on. Both of them looked at me as if I were a book about to be opened, and for a moment I felt that any word I said would become law in this strange world. I took a deep breath, feeling the air was lighter, almost liquid, and said, knowing it was a lie: "I had a strange dream… where mom died."

I don't know what hurt more, the lie or the truth hidden within it. They both hugged me at the same time, their arms enveloping me with an impossible warmth. I felt my mother's heart beating against my cheek, her breathing slow, alive, real. Time seemed to have spilled like warm honey: slow, golden, suspended. Outside, the light filtered through the dojo windows and danced in motes of dust that moved to the rhythm of our sighs. I thought that maybe the universe was just that: a long embrace where nothing hurt.

After a while, Ranma broke the silence with her dry voice, the one she used when trying to sound indifferent and only managed to sound nervous: "We should go shower, Kane."

I didn't know if it was an excuse or a habit, but she pulled me by the hand with a face caught between confusion and nonchalance. We walked down the hallway, and every step I took resonated with a strange echo, as if the house had more rooms than I remembered, as if every door hid a fragment of another time. The bathroom greeted us with a white, almost unreal light, devoid of shadows, and the steam seemed to appear before the water even touched the air. Ranma undressed with a disquieting naturalness, as if nothing in this place had shame or gravity. I watched her move, light, her skin glowing under the light of an invisible panel. After a brief shower, she pressed some buttons I had no memory of ever seeing, and the tub began to fill with water so clear it reflected the ceiling like a liquid mirror. She got in without hesitation, and to my surprise, she didn't change. She was still a girl. Ranma, just Ranma, but in a version that didn't defy the rules, but rewrote them with serenity.

She touched the panel and music began to play, a melody that seemed to have no beginning or end. She looked at me with that mix of confidence and mischief that always disarmed me. "You getting in, or are you just gonna stand there staring? I know I'm cute, but…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, Ranma," I replied, trying to sound annoyed, though my voice betrayed a nervous laugh. Everything was too perfect, and perfection is always suspicious.

I sat down beside her, and the water had a different texture, denser, as if every molecule weighed more than it should. We leaned against each other, not saying a word. It was comfortable, warm, and for an instant I believed everything was alright. But if we were a couple, if this was love, if this world was offering me everything I had ever wanted, why was there a small, sharp pang of fear rising inside me? Was it guilt, confusion, or that ancient feeling of not belonging to my body or my time?

I looked at Ranma. Her breathing was calm, and her eyes reflected the steam. I thought of Tatewaki, of Shinsuke, of the things one believes define them, and I found myself doubting. Ranma was in the middle, as if she were the bridge between all my possible worlds. I smiled at her, she smiled back, and rested her head on my shoulder.

Then the world shattered.

The water stopped moving. The sound ceased. The air grew heavy, thick, and Ranma went still, her lips slightly parted. I touched her cheek and it was cold. I tried to speak to her, but my voice wouldn't come out. I stood up, stumbling, searching for the door, when I saw her out of the corner of my eye in the mirror. There she was. Her. Me. Another Akane. She stared back at me from the reflection, her eyes wide open, as if I were the one trapped on the other side of the glass.

"Hey you, the other Akane!" she shouted at me, desperate, as if rescuing me from an invisible fire. "Open your eyes."

But they were open. I knew it. I could feel my eyelids trembling, the weight of the water on my skin. The voice repeated, closer, more human: "Open your eyes, Kane, we have to have breakfast."

And then I blinked.

I was still in the bathtub. Ranma was beside me, alive, smiling. The music was still playing, the bubbles rising slowly. Nothing had happened, and yet everything was different. That feeling hit me again: if everything is so right, why does it feel so wrong?

We got dressed in our training clothes, as if nothing had occurred, and went down for breakfast. Aunt Nodoka was waiting for us, serving grilled fish with a ceremonial elegance. The table was the same as always, the one my father said had belonged to the Tendos for generations, with over a hundred years of use and varnishes that seemed to hold the memory of every conversation. Everything was the same and different: the vegetables had a more vivid color, the rice a sweeter aroma, the utensils seemed too polished. Kasumi and Nabiki were across from us, holding thin devices that emitted a bluish light, like clocks without hands, like fragments of domesticated stars.

"So, Akane," said Kasumi without looking up from the luminous screen, "are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.

"Sumi, leave her alone!" Ranma interjected, with a firmness that disconcerted me. "She had a bad dream."

Ranma defending me from Kasumi? That was so strange that for a moment I thought the dream was only just beginning.

Kasumi looked up, with a mischievous smile I'd never seen on her before. "Easy there, 'Utena,' I'm worried about her too. It's just rare to hear her scream your name so early…" Ranma, now bright red, tried to retort, but Kasumi added with malice, "…it's usually at night."

The silence shattered with a chain of cascading reactions: Nabiki almost choked, Uncle Genma spat out his tea, Dad gagged on his rice, and Aunt Nodoka along with my mom shouted in unison: "Kasumi!"

And as everyone laughed or blushed, I watched them with that mix of love and strangeness one feels when looking at a painting where everything seems familiar, but the landscape has a sun in the wrong place. This Kasumi wasn't the protective older sister I knew; she was simply a normal sister, with jokes, flaws, and a humanity so vibrant it hurt. It was embarrassing, yes, but it also filled me with happiness.

And yet, in the back of my mind, an impossible question kept throbbing: What if this isn't an alternate reality… but my true life, the one I forgot on the other side of the dream?

Honestly, I preferred it that way. Everything felt so right, so sweet, so far from what reality had taught me to expect. The simple fact of seeing my mother here, alive, smiling, moving with the ease of someone who was never sick, was reason enough to be happy. There was no pain, no traces of that weariness in her eyes, no medicine on the table. Just her, tending the garden plants and telling me to eat well, to not forget to train. And I, who had so often dreamed of a normal life, now found myself inside one that was almost too normal.

We kept practicing for the rest of the afternoon; the movements flowed with a lightness I didn't remember, the air smelled of damp flowers and waxed wood. Ranma didn't look uncomfortable at all. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the calm, that silence after the blows, as if her body had finally made peace with the world. I realized something strange: even if the other Ranma—the one from my memories, the one of shouts and endless arguments—never looked happy doing homework, this one did it without complaint.

But what surprised me most was how she turned on that device she called a Laptop. I had never seen anything so hypnotic: a glowing box, warm to the touch, that contained within itself an entire library, a theater, a world. Letters danced on its screen, colors seemed to emerge from an electric dream. It was a machine made of light. And yet, Ranma handled it as if it had always been there, as if the magic didn't surprise her.

After finishing homework, we watched a movie. I don't know how to explain what it feels like to see moving images in silence inside such a small object. It's like spying on someone else's memory. I wanted to keep watching, but it would have been weird; Ranma was already asleep beside me, breathing calmly, her face illuminated by the screen that was still on.

That cold light traced her profile, and in that instant she seemed so beautiful and so alien at the same time that I felt the urge to touch her hair, to make sure she was real. But I didn't. Instead, with my clumsy hands, I tried to use the machine. Letter by letter, word by word, I typed "marriage between girls." Not for any specific reason, it wasn't like I was looking at the girl next to me, my "very good friend" who gave me kisses on the cheek, who I apparently bathed with, and who, by all indications, slept in my bed some nights. No, of course it wasn't because of that. It was just curiosity, I told myself.

It even seemed like our parents approved. As if love, here, had permission to exist.

The machine responded quickly, showing news, debates, words I didn't fully understand. It talked about other countries, laws, people marching with colorful flags that looked like mirages. Then I searched for "in Japan," hoping to read something just as sweet, but the answers were… discouraging. The letters seemed colder, the words harsher. It was as if the sweetness of this world ended right at the boundaries of this house.

I closed the computer carefully, wondering what our life would be like in the future, if this perfect world would also have a price, an invisible crack beneath all this calm. Little by little, sleep overcame me, and I let myself be lulled by Ranma's steady breathing and the faint blinking of the machine powering down.

That night, I dreamed of nothing.

Getting used to this life wasn't difficult. Perhaps because everything was designed to make it so. The days slid by like honey on a smooth surface, without shocks, without arguments, without the chaos that used to make me feel alive. Now I had two joking sisters, not just one. Nabiki laughed more, and Kasumi, far from being the maternal figure of old, was almost a mischievous girl, a woman who enjoyed teasing me simply because she could. It was irritating… and yet, charming.

There weren't many worries. I took a belt exam in Aikido and, to my surprise, I passed. I never expected they'd allow someone so young to do that. But this world seemed designed to give me exactly what I'd always wanted: recognition, affection, order, beauty. Everything fit, and that was precisely what scared me.

The only part I couldn't adapt to was school. Not because it was hard, but because it was… real. Too real. The voices, the hallways, the teachers, everything had that density that dreams can't quite imitate.

"Miss Tendo,"Professor Kanakawa said to me with that slimy tone that crawls like a cockroach, "I'm going to ask you to keep your immoral activities for when you're away from school. We want to project a good image. Understood?"

"Yes… yes, sir," I said, feeling my stomach shrink.

The worst part wasn't his words, but the way he looked at us women, as if we had no souls, as if every gesture was a spectacle for his judgment. It was the same look I'd once seen in Kuno, only disguised as authority. That mix of desire and contempt that disgusted me.

"I hate that pig so much," Ranma exclaimed once the man was gone, her fists clenched, her brow furrowed, with that fire I knew so well. It made me laugh, because even here, in this perfectly polished world, her rage was just as pure, just as beautiful.

"He's just a man who can't get a girlfriend like I can," I said, catching her off guard. Her face blushed immediately, so red she looked like a fruit ripening in the sun. It was adorable. It was… exactly like in my dreams.

“Open your eyes, Akane”.

That voice, or thought, or memory, crossed my mind like a shadow. But I shooed it away immediately. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to think. This place was too perfect, so perfect it hurt, so perfect it was frightening.

And to avoid thinking, to stay inside the sweetness, I said with a smile:

"Ranma, do you want to go get ice cream?"

I saw a look of panic cross her face. It was just an instant, a minimal contraction in her eyes, but it was enough to make something inside me shrink.

"I can't, Kane," she replied, and her tone shifted, almost imperceptibly. "It's my Kendo grading exam today, remember? I'm not staying back a year. I know you acquired… 'superpowers,' but I have to train the old-fashioned way."

"They're not superpowers, it's just my internal strength," I said with a smile, trying to hide the tremor in my fingers.

And as I watched her walk away, I understood that the world's sweetness, like a box of chocolates, always has a limit: that moment when the last flavor dissolves and only the fear of there being no more remains.

"Whatever you say, Goku, and I'm Saffron, the immortal demigod," she said, trying to sound mocking, though I'm sure Ranma didn't notice my look of fear at the mention of that name that… no, that in a dream I never had, caused my death. She, on the other hand, laughed so hard her laughter seemed to fill the entire room, a living laugh, so free that for a second I wanted to stay there, floating in the sound, even as something in my chest screamed that this wasn't right.

The wind in the hallway brought a sweet scent, a mix of artificial flowers and detergent, so perfect it hurt. And just as I was about to say something, someone came to interrupt our moment: confusion for me, pure happiness for my girlfriend.

"Stop laughing, Saotome, it's terrifying. You're going to kill someone."

"Screw you, Tatewaki! Did you break up with Ryoga yet?"

"Ryoga is not my boyfriend, you insensitive bitch! He is the sweet Hikari."

"Oh, right, I forgot," Ranma brought her hand to her mouth with an elegance I didn't remember her having, a gesture of those refined ladies from the Taishō era. "The way you change him every week, hohohoho."

Yes, that was another thing I couldn't get used to either. Kuno Tatewaki… gay? The first time I saw him in this world I almost fainted. His hair was the same, his voice just as pompous, but his words, his gaze, were clean of that theatrical arrogance. And the fact that he was our friend, a friend to both of us, made something inside me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

The pleasant chat with "our friend" Tatewaki was cut short by a voice that was calm, mischievous, and severe, like a ray of light that illuminates without warming:

"Can we focus on the fact that we have an inter-dojo meeting next week, you trio of dear homosexuals I have to manage."

It was Nabiki. My dear sister, who seemed more involved in the politics of the house than I was. But there was something different about her; her voice had a strange sweetness, as if every word was measured to sound perfect.

"I have a grading exam, I'm out," said Ranma, almost running off, and I didn't know if it was from fear of her mother or from the habit of escaping problems she couldn't solve with her fists.

"There she goes, the famous Saotome tactic," I murmured with a laugh, but neither Nabiki nor Kuno appreciated my humor. They just continued their conversation, leaving me there, in the middle of the tatami, with the sensation of something slipping through my fingers, as if the air itself was becoming fragile.

And yet… things were going well.

Too well.

Time passed and each day I felt lighter, more a part of something. There was laughter, training, homework. A few weeks after that incident, I stayed over at Sayuri's house, despite the theatrical pouting of my possessive girlfriend. It was a normal sleepover, one of those nights that seem made for forgetting problems. We talked about the one thing I can't really talk about with Ranma… boys.

Amid laughter and whispers, I discovered—or confirmed?—my bisexuality, or perhaps just my bewilderment. Then we talked about classes, tournaments, trivialities. Sayuri flopped onto the pillow and looked at me with a knowing smile.

"You know, Ranma is so different when she's with you. She's more serious and, honestly, a little scary.”

"Calling her scary is funny. She's like... what, a hundred and fifty-nine centimeters tall."

"Only you see her that way."

Yes. Only I.

Only I saw Ranma like that,as a living creature made of tenderness and contradictions.

That night, I fell asleep without knowing when. The room smelled of soap, of youth, of something impossible to hold onto. And then I dreamed.

I saw a scene: it was Ranma, but not my Ranma. It was the other one, the one from the dream I try to deny. He, no, no he, she was facing a strange creature, a figure wrapped in liquid light, with eyes that spun in golden circles and, at their center, an impossible smile, closer to a beast than a god.

"You did it, Saotome," said that voice, as if the air were speaking from within water. "What is your wish? To break your curse? To become a better warrior? I already know what you want. You want to be a complete woman, don't you? Stop wanting the same wish for her, she will never be happy with you."

But Ranma didn't look satisfied. She touched her pigtail with an affection that hurt and, as if seeing something invisible, something dissolving in front of her, she murmured:

"I want Tendō Akane to be happy. I want her to live in a world where her happiness exists… and this time where I'm no longer in her way, just let me say goodbye to her."

Anyone would say she was crying, but she wasn't. She was smiling. That same smile she gave me when she did something sweet unintentionally, that clumsy smile that always hid affection.

I ran towards her, but the more I ran, the farther away she was. And just before I could touch her, she looked me in the eyes and, without a sound, moved her lips: I love you.

I woke up gasping for air.

Sayuri stirred in her bed after my sudden start. I was staring blankly at the futon she'd lent me. That image felt so… real. Everything in it was a lie, and yet it felt so real it hurt. The air smelled like metal, my body was drenched in sweat, and tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, as if trying to drag the rest of me along with them. It was an impossible mix of sensations: anxiety over what had happened, fear of that creature that still seemed to stalk me from some corner, sadness for the sacrifice, and a love so painful it felt like an open wound inside my chest, a wound that breathed.

I looked at my hands and didn't recognize them; they trembled, they seemed made of something foreign. I saw my phone, the picture of the two of us on the screen, our faces frozen in a happiness that no longer existed. I saw Sayuri asleep, her breathing calm, and everything else—the room, the walls, the air conditioner, the glints of technology—became absurd, false, as if the entire world had turned into a cheap stage set. How long had I been here? Was this the first time, or had I been repeating the same thing for centuries?

"Are you okay, Akane?" Her voice. Sayuri's. My friend in this life, my lover in another, my enemy in a previous one. I remembered everything, the echo of what was and what wasn't. Ranma had done it, more than once, broken the rules of the dream. But this time, her voice had said something different, more real, more cruel: "That I'm no longer in her way in this life."

"Sayuri, you're right. My girl is very different without me. I refused to see it. I'm sorry, I have to run."

I didn't think. I ran.

Barefoot,the cement cutting the soles of my feet, the ground sticky and cold under the early morning rain. I didn't care about the pain, or the sweat, or the tears that I no longer knew were new or the same as always. I ran with the urgency of someone who fears the world will erase itself behind her. I ran as if the air itself were an enemy. I reached home, crossed the garden without looking, slammed the door open, ran up the stairs without feeling my legs. I went straight to Ranma's room, in the east wing. But there was no east wing. There was nothing.

My heart pounded in my ears. I entered my room hoping to see her, maybe studying, maybe annoyed. But the place was empty. Everything was the same, except for her. I searched every corner of the dojo, ran from room to room, opened doors, moved curtains, dragged furniture. Nothing. The echo of my own breathing was the only thing that answered me. I decided to run further, to Aunt Nodoka's house. But there was nothing there either. Just an old convenience store with peeling paint. The world was coming undone, and I with it.

I went back home. I saw my father tending to his fish, calm, with that absurd serenity possessed only by those who have lost nothing. I grabbed his clothes, trembling, and screamed with a throat of fire:

"Dad! Where is Ranma?"

He looked at me, confused, with that empty expression that feels like a betrayal.

"Who are you talking about,dear?"

"Ranma, Dad! Uncle Genma's daughter! My girlfriend, my best friend! The only person who can make me feel like this, so desperate, so hurt and so happy at the same time!"

My voice broke. He sighed, with a calmness that was frightening.

"Akane…my friend Genma died while imprisoning our master."

No.

It couldn't be.

The pain coursed through me like acid.That bitch knew it, that fool. Everything fit, the goodbyes, the smile, the pouting, her way of thanking me without saying goodbye. I remembered the last time I saw her, when I said goodbye to go to Sayuri's. She had begged me with her eyes to stay. And her last words: "Thank you for loving me. Remember to be happy."

The crying didn't come all at once. It was a slow collapse, an internal tearing. There was no room for screams, only those silent screams that shatter you from the inside. I was still holding my father's clothes. He tried to hug me, but I backed away, unable to accept comfort. I backed away until I fell onto the engawa. The floor felt more real than anything else. I stayed there, motionless. I didn't know when it was noon or when it grew dark. I didn't know when they brought the food I didn't touch or when my mother covered me with a blanket. I've grown too accustomed to this feeling. These blankets don't have the weight of cotton, but they warm the body… though not the soul.

"What really happened, little bird?" my mom approached.

"Do you believe in magic?" I asked, without looking at her.

"Well, in my youth I saw things, Akane. Things that seem impossible to me now. I was born in a time without tablets or cell phones. You bought music, memories were kept on paper." She smiled melancholically. "Sometimes I look at the screens and think that all of this, all this light and movement, is magic too.”

My mother was right. This, this was magic. There was no need for ki, or three-hundred-year-old crones, or arcane spells. I was surrounded by a world where science was magic, where electricity performed miracles, where memories were kept on screens. It was a world where even sadness had a logical explanation, and yet, it hurt more than any curse.

"I dreamed of a different world, Mom," I told her, my voice trembling, broken. "In that world I was stronger, I could fight dozens of boys…"

And then I told her everything.

I told her about the mushrooms of age,about the boy who turned into a pig, about a girl who became a cat, about my girlfriend who could become a man, about Kasumi possessed by a mischief demon, about a cursed suit that gave you strength, about a woman who lived waiting for an impossible vow. I told her about the impossible martial arts, about the dojo full of life, about the shouts, the laughter, the falls, and the reconciliations. I told her about Ranma… and how all of it, the good and the terrible, felt more real than the air I was breathing now.

"But… do you know what was the only thing that bothered me?" I asked, when there was nothing left to tell.

"What is it, my little bird?"

"That you weren't there."

The silence covered us like a heavy wave. It was a silence that hurt. The night sounds that used to calm me—the croaking of frogs, the murmur of the pond, the distant hum of electrical wires—were now like sour notes in a bitter melody. My mother took my hand. She looked at the cloudy sky, a sky that seemed afraid to show us the stars.

"She sacrificed herself for me, didn't she?" my mom asked, her voice a thread.

"She sacrificed herself for my happiness," I replied.

"And are you happy without her?" Her voice sounded calm, but it was marked by an understanding of pain.

"I don't want to lose you, Mom. Not again."

"I'm still here, little bird. In your heart." Her tone was so warm it hurt to hear. "So I'll ask you again: are you happy without her?"

The crying exploded inside me. I couldn't stop. I couldn't breathe. The tears burned my skin, and my hands clutched her clothes as if I could really stop her from disappearing. I couldn't say it. I didn't want to. I knew what would happen if I said it. But in the end, exhausted, trembling, breathless, my voice reduced to ash, I whispered the inevitable.

"No."

A single word, and everything began to crumble. The floor fragmented, the air unraveled, the house shook. My mother smiled sadly as her form faded, made of dust and light, until only her voice remained, floating in the void.

"I will always be by your side."

I woke up.

My eyelids were heavy,as if the dream had lasted for years. My eyes burned, swollen, and my entire body was a single piece of pain. My breathing was rough, as if I had run for miles while crying. Then the door opened. Ranma entered. Not with her usual arrogance, but with that fragile look she almost never shows. She seemed to be asking for permission to enter. When she saw me, she broke. She started crying beside me, without words.

I sat up slowly and, without thinking, stroked her hair.

"Why?"she asked me, her voice hoarse, almost breathless.

"Did you think I would be happy without you?" My voice trembled so much it was barely a whisper.

"I only cause you trouble."

"No, Ranma," I replied, letting my fingers trace her cheek. "You are a part of my happiness. This…" I tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. "…this is an idiotic threat."

"How can you be sooo…?"

"Sexy and a great girlfriend. I know."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." I smiled, sadder than ever. "Get up, we need to go train."

"Not today. It's a rest day." The boy… no. My girl. She curled up beside me in the bed and hugged me tightly. "I wanted you to see your mom. You deserved it."

"I love her, Ranma. But she had her time. I guess… this is our time now."

I don't know if I believed it. I don't know if she did. But we stayed there, holding each other, crying, breathing the same air, sharing the same tremor. Two lives that had been split apart and forcefully put back together, like a piece of crystal remade but never the same again.

That day, we didn't train. We didn't talk. We did nothing more than exist, one beside the other, crying.

And somewhere deep in my soul,as her tears mixed with mine, all I could think was:

"Thank you, Mom.”