Chapter Text
On a muggy Monday morning in mid-July, a shrill school bell rang. It was never pleasant to listen to, but today it was especially grating, since the humid air and clouded skies had cast lethargic spell over most of the crowd bustling in. Almost no one was in a hurry, so the well-kept lawn was clear of the occasional stragglers that would run over it. Except, that is, for a boy.
Out on the lawn, a boy was staring at a flag.
Among his most beloved gifts from his parents was an encyclopedia of flags, given to him on his ninth birthday, one of the few that they’d celebrated together. He’d clung to the book dearly for the next few months, since he couldn’t stand the idea of misplacing it in the house; he’d spent many nights sleeping with it in hand. He was never really a flag enthusiast, but sentimental value meant the book was at his bedside table to this day, and he still remembered most of the thousands of flags within it.
All that to say, he recognized the flag on the pole. He remembered an old mnemonic for this one; it was an intricate design with simpler flags “within” it: Union Jack in the top-left, and Poland stacked over Old Yugoslavia twice.
His heart felt heavy with dread.
Damnit, I’m back in Nerima.
Where else would he find a high school filled with Japanese students waving a Hawaiian flag? He was pretty surprised to see that the students were speaking to each other in fluent English though. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to face a middle-aged Japanese man.
“Hey, you looking for something?”, the man, presumably a teacher, asked.
Perhaps he’d noticed that Ryouga had spent several minutes standing on the lawn, away from the students bustling into school, staring at the flag with an expression of abject misery.
Thinking for a second, Ryouga responded, "Sir, did the principal enforce English?"
Noticing Ryouga’s accent, the man switched to Japanese while chuckling, “Seems like you’re a bit lost, Rainbow Gakuen is a few miles south of here.”
“There’s a school called Rainbō Gakuen in Nerima?”
“Huh? Boy, this is Honolulu. For heaven’s sake, you’re under the shade of a coconut tree right now. How could you possibly think you are in Tokyo?”
Ryouga quickly dashed away from the tree. “Sir, you’d be surprised. In Tokyo, it’s common knowledge not to stand near a coconut tree. Many heads have found this out the hard way, even mine. Anyway, thanks!”
“Yeah”, the teacher muttered under his breath as he watched the yellow-clad boy walk away with his enormous backpack, “That bit checks out.”
*
Despite his oft-sullen disposition, Ryouga could always find a way to appreciate the natural beauty around him.
Setting his backpack against a tree, he sat at the center of the Diamond Head Crater. The sky, a mostly clear blue earlier this morning, had instead become a grim overcast, yet it suited the crater well. About a kilometer in every direction of him steep walls of volcanic rock jutted out from the earth, like a steadfast natural fortress made in time immemorial.
He sighed, and closed his eyes.
Wind echoed against the crater walls’ natural acoustics. In the distance, he heard the muted roar of the sea. Every so often he’d hear the crackling of a fellow hiker’s footsteps.
Like them, he had come in through the main entrance and had paid the one dollar entry fee. For a couple years now, he kept nearly as much in American dollars as he did in Yen, since the currency seemed to work in many places, though he’d learned to be cautious with money the hard way; he’d tried to purchase a flight to Tokyo by sliding over a large wad of dollars, only to see the ticket counter’s eyes bulge out as he examined the notes.
It was his luck, he supposed, that he's been caught by a loyal card-carrying citizen of the CCCP, since he was promptly chased out of the Leningrad's Pulkovo Airport, and trailed across the Steppe by the KGB. Thankfully, they’d given up by Siberia.
Well, he decided, Hawaii is much better.
He’d never been to the island chain, hell, he’d never been quite this lost period.
Now, though, he was glad for it, since he was surrounded by the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, within a jagged castle of tuff and limestone.
He was safe from everyone, just as they were from him.
The clouds, which had turned steadily darker since he’d been in the crater, now let out a torrential outburst.
His backpack was soaked, as were his clothes, but Ryouga didn’t move.
Rain soaked his hair, that of a man.
He remembered the wedding.
*
Just a week ago, Ryouga received an invitation.
I won’t go, Ryouga thought, as he headed out of Tokyo.
His envy towards Ranma still remained, but he understood now that the feeling was the root of his own wrongdoing. Now, beating Ranma in a fight meant nothing, not compared to Ranma saving Akane again. Hadn’t Ranma proven himself the better man? Once, Ryouga had daydreamed of saving Akane from peril himself, and earning her love. After Jusendo, he found such fantasies sickening.
Still, bitterness rose in other ways. Would Akane have ever been in danger if it wasn’t for Ranma? Since when has fixing the harm that you caused on others qualified as heroism? And crucially, isn’t he the cause of all Akane’s misfortunes, just as he is for anyone else around him?
Yet, he couldn’t hide. It was clear now, that all his fanciful notions of winning Akane were pointless, since she loved Ranma anyway. He was sure she could tell that Ranma brought an incredible amount of trouble into her life, yet she loved Ranma anyway.
Once again, he read over the generic invite, without even his name. It must’ve been out of courtesy, and he knew he deserved it.
He couldn’t attend the wedding without telling Akane his secret, but it would also be wrong to ruin her wedding day with the admission.
For once, he felt sure, as sure as he felt about anything.
I won’t go.
*
Suddenly, he’d stumbled into chaos, as a fat panda rolled past him and out of the entrance of the banquet hall.
Kuno swung his katana at Ranma in a white tux, while his sister, in her way, tried to catch Ranma's eye.
A bucket of water managed to splash him, and siblings instantly switched roles.
Ukyo and Shampoo tossed okonomiyaki that exploded upon impact.
Mousse, with broken glasses, ran desperately to something.
He ran through a hole in the wall, into the forest.
Konatsu climbed across the ceiling.
Soun Tendou lamented.
That’s a barrel labelled Nanniichuan floating in the air right above me.
He reached up to grab it, and it fell into his outstretched arms. He understood what this meant: providence had recognized his magnanimity and self-awareness. The barrel was a sign from the heavens. Ryouga didn’t know much about any particular religion, but refusing this gift was undoubtedly sacrilege. So, he lifted it up and smashed it over his head. Glorious water fell over him.
“AH!”
But, also, it seemed, behind him.
Hasty as he’d been in its destruction, the barrel’s contents splashed outward.
He turned around to face a dark-haired boy, who was slightly taller than him.
The boy wore a partly-torn wedding dress, and his familiar brown eyes looked right into Ryouga’s.