Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun baked the pavement of Nerima, stretching the shadows of the two martial artists long and crooked behind them. Ranma trudged ahead with his heavy duffel bag slung over one shoulder, kicking a loose pebble into the gutter as his patience wore thinner with every step.
"He’s going to think I ran." Ranma's voice clipped through the humid air. "We had an agreed time. I should have waited a little more. Ryoga is probably tearing up the asphalt right now."
“You waited for that moron for an entire day, if he didn’t show up, he forfeited,” Genma said, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, the worn geta sandals slapping rhythmically against the concrete. “This is more important. Hibiki will have to survive with a bruised ego.”
“It's not about his ego, it's about my reputation,” Ranma argued, jogging a few steps to match his father's broad, hurried strides. “And why are we even here? You have been hyping the China trip all month. What gives?”
Genma stopped abruptly. The sudden stillness felt unnaturally heavy. He pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, the glass catching the sunlight to completely hide his eyes. "A man who ignores a brother's silent plea isn't a martial artist, Ranma. He is just a brawler."
Ranma crossed his arms, the archaic deflection doing nothing to explain the sudden detour. “What does that even mean? What plea?”
“It means we stay for exactly one week to pay our respects. Then we leave for the Chinese mountains,” he said as they turned the final corner. The massive wooden gates of the Tendo Dojo loomed at the end of the street. “Do not embarrass me.”
“Pay respects?” Ranma eyed the sign next to the huge doors. Tendo Dojo Anything Goes Martial Arts. “Did someone die?” he asked wearily.
“No, nothing like that,” his father assured him, giving him an unconfortable pat on his back.
Ranma eyed the sign for a moment. A memory came unbidden. “Wait a moment… Tendo dojo? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t push that arrangement until I was eighteen?”
His old man shook his head and sighed. “No, this has nothing to do with that. Trust me.”
Trust you? he thought. If you tell me to trust you, I may need to run for the hills.
Genma stepped past the outer entrance, offering nothing more.
Ranma peered past the gates and immediately felt that something was wrong. A prestigious martial arts compound should have been alive with sharp shouts during forms, the steady thud of bodies striking canvas, the restless rhythm of training. Instead, this place was smothered in a silence so complete it seemed to press against the walls. Weeds had begun to choke the edges of the stone path leading to the entrance, their slow creep suggesting a household that had stopped caring about tomorrow.
Genma reached the threshold and knocked.
Ranma eyed his old man. He usually just barged in at places like this. Knocking seemed too… respectful. And Genma Saotome was anything but respectful.
A girl around his age opened the door and looked at them like they were cockroaches. She wore a dark, impeccably pressed skirt, her arms locked tight across her chest like armor. Her gaze drifted from Genma’s grim face down to the heavy travel bags resting by Ranma's feet. Her eyes were completely devoid of warmth, calculating but entirely hollow.
"If you're here for a dojo challenge, we're closed indefinitely," she stated, her voice a flat, deadened monotone that cut through the summer heat like ice. "If you're here for the funeral, you're a moth too early. Try again later."
She stepped back, her hand moving to slam the heavy door shut in their faces. But Genma stopped her with a surprisingly gentle push.
“Actually, I’m Genma Saotome, I heard of the news and needed to see your father. He’s expecting me.”
The girl let go of the frame and melted back into the gloom of the house, offering no apology and no greeting as a man, presumably her father, stepped forward.
Soun Tendo looked like he had been hollowed out by a rusted spoon. His brown gi hung loosely off his frame, severely wrinkled. The vibrant, imposing patriarch Genma had described to Ranma over the years was less than a shadow, a gaunt specter with bloodshot eyes and a jawline covered in weeks of neglected stubble.
Genma immediately dropped into a stiff, formal bow, hiding his shock behind the rigid protocols of their art. "Tendo, my brother. I saw a broadcast about what happened. I came as soon as the wind allowed. The Saotome school offers its deepest—"
"Don't."
The word was barely a rasp, but it cut through Genma’s practiced platitudes like a blade. Soun didn’t bow in return. He stared at Genma with a terrifying, suffocating intensity.
"Don't offer condolences, Saotome, I still have hope," Soun whispered, his voice trembling under the weight of an invisible crushing force. He allowed himself a sad smile. “But it’s always good to see your face, come, we have much to talk about.”
Without waiting for a response, Soun pulled Genma inside. With surprising, desperate strength, he guided him into the stifling darkness of the corridor, sliding the door shut behind them and leaving Ranma standing entirely alone in the entryway.
Ranma blinked, the heavy silence of the house rushing in to fill the space the two fathers had left behind. He kicked off his shoes and stepped onto the polished wood, the floorboards groaning in protest. He waited for a moment, expecting someone to come to collect him, to offer tea or show him to a guest room.
No one came. There was no smell of dinner simmering in the kitchen. No distant hum of a television. Just the oppressive, stale air of a mausoleum.
This place sucks.
His skin began to itch. The quiet was too loud, a physical pressure pushing against his eardrums. Unnerved and utterly out of his depth, Ranma dropped his backpack by the wall and began to wander. He navigated the compound blindly, desperate to find an anchor in the suffocating grief.
He found it at the end of a long, shadowed corridor: the sliding doors of the family dojo.
Ranma pushed them open. The sprawling tatami mats were coated in a fine layer of neglect.
It was wrong. A dojo was supposed to be a living thing, it was supposed to smell of sweat, floor wax, and exertion. This room just smelled like an old library.
Ranma let out a slow, frustrated breath. He didn't know how to navigate funerals or broken families, but he knew this room. He stepped onto the tatami, the dust shifting beneath his socks. Seeking the only kind of comfort that made sense to him, he dropped into a deep kempo stance, closed his eyes, and began to stretch. The familiar, burning pull in his muscles was the first thing that had felt real all day.
-----
Soun’s private study smelled of stale green tea, dust, and despair. Behind drawn shoji screens, the two aging martial artists sat in gloom.
Soun reached for the cast-iron teapot. His hand trembled so violently that the spout clattered against the rim of the ceramic cup, spilling hot tea over the polished wood. Soun didn’t seem to notice. He just set the pot down and stared at the puddle.
Genma watched the liquid drip off the table's edge. He couldn't look his friend in the eye. "Give it to me straight, Tendo. What did the doctors say?"
"They call it a locked-in state," Soun said, his voice scraped hollow. "They say her mind is entirely intact, that she can hear us. But the bridge to her body is… it’s just gone. They told me to take her home and make her comfortable." Soun finally looked up, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Genma. "That is doctor-speak for 'give up.'"
Genma shifted uncomfortably on the tatami, the sheer weight of Soun’s grief threatening to crush him. Unable to fix the unfixable, he retreated to logistics.
"We can only stay the week," Genma said, clearing his throat. "My funds are tied to a strict itinerary. We are almost done with his training, after this trip to China, I was thinking of going back to Nodoka, and in the coming year we could set a date for the engagement."
Soun kept staring at the spilled tea.
"There's a training ground in China," Genma pushed on, desperate to fill the silence. "Jusenkyo. Apparently, it’s a revered training ground of the most feared martial arts masters in history, filled with tales of greatness. It’s the last test for Ranma to—"
"Say the name of that place again."
Genma stopped. "Jusenkyo?"
Soun slowly raised his head. A feverish, manic light had ignited in the deadened depths of his eyes. "Jusenkyo," Soun whispered. "I saw that word some nights ago."
Genma frowned, thoroughly confused. "How? It's an obscure myth. It's not on any modern map. You couldn't have..." Genma’s voice trailed off as the realization hit him. The color drained completely from his face. "Tendo. No. Tell me you didn't."
Soun leaned across the low table, his voice dropping to a deadened rasp. "I broke the rusted chains on the Master's chest in the attic."
Genma physically recoiled, scrambling backward on the tatami as if Soun had just handed him a live grenade. He instinctively looked toward the shadowed corners of the room, as if their demonic former master might materialize to punish them. "You touched his scrolls? Are you insane, Tendo? If he ever returns and finds out that you broke his seals—"
Soun slammed his hand down onto the table.
His palm struck the porcelain teacup, shattering it into jagged shards. Hot tea and fresh blood pooled over the wood, but Soun didn't react to it.
"Let him return! Let him kill me!" Soun snarled, leaning across the table to grab the lapel of Genma’s gi with his bleeding, trembling hand. "I have absolutely nothing left to lose, Genma! I spent three nights tearing through those cursed ledgers looking for a miracle, anything to wake my daughter. I saw the name Jusenkyo. Help me look over all his scrolls and books, this could help you be more prepared, and you could help me find something that could bring her back."
Genma stared at the blood soaking into his white gi, completely paralyzed by the sheer, desperate madness radiating from his oldest friend. To minimize the possibility of their master returning was so much not like the Soun he remembered.
He handed Soun the old book that described Jusenkyo.
Soun scanned the symbols in the book and snorted. “This is in Chinese.”
“I know,” Genma replied, and sighed. “If his book on Jusenkyo is in Japanese, yes, it could help me.” He bowed. “I thank you for this consideration, and of course I will dig through his junk to try to find something to help your daughter.”
Soun released his grip, his chest heaving. He stood up, casting a dark silhouette in the dim room. “Ok, I’ll bring his chest, and we can dig through it together, maybe… maybe you will notice something I have not.”
Genma sighed. “You know the master always prided himself on not knowing any art that could be used to help someone, right?”
Soun smiled with uncertain hope. “You and me both know that was just a blatant lie.”
“Yes, he did tend to do that right? Lie and cheat,” he said, ruing the master and almost instantly realizing that that described him just as well.
-----
The snap of Ranma’s gi was the only sound in the dojo. He had moved from stretching to shadowboxing, throwing strikes into the quiet air just to have something to do.
The shoji screen slid open. Ranma dropped into a defensive stance out of habit.
A young woman stood at the edge of the mat. "You must be Ranma," she said softly.
Ranma lowered his fists, suddenly aware of his sweat and the dust he was kicking up. "Uh. Yeah. Sorry for barging in. No one was around."
“Please, don’t apologize for our own lack of manners, you’re our guest.” She turned and pulled a wheelchair over the wooden threshold.
Slumped in the seat was a girl around his age. Her long, dark hair fell over her shoulders in damp strands, framing a face that was completely still. Her eyes stared blankly at a point on the opposite wall.
"I'm Kasumi,” she said, and motioned to the girl In the wheelchair, “and this is my little sister, Akane.”
Ranma stared at the beautiful girl for a moment. He didn’t know how to act around sick people.
“I was overjoyed when I heard sounds from the dojo,” Kasumi said with a polite bow. “For a moment, I thought Akane was back.”
Ranma blinked. Back? But isn't she...
“I'm sorry for not receiving you at the door. Your father and mine are going to be in the study for a while. I would have come down to show you your room myself, but we were upstairs. Akane needed her bath,” Kasumi said as she caressed Akane’s hair, as if trying to make her look presentable, not that the younger girl needed any help there.
Ranma stepped off the mat, getting closer to the chair. "Hey," he said, looking right at Akane. "So, you’re a martial artist? How… how did this happen?"
Kasumi’s brows pinched together in brief irritation. "Akane can't answer you right now, Ranma—" She stopped, her annoyance deflating into a gentle smile as she noticed the genuine concern on the boy's face. "The doctors say she can hear us, but she can't speak or move. So it’s actually better if you talk to her, your instincts are good.”
“Oh,” was all Ranma managed to say.
“A few months ago, a monster was in our neighborhood. It tore through the park and a little boy was in its path, if Akane hadn’t stepped in, I do not know what would be of that little boy."
Ranma stared at the long-haired girl. He had helped little kids in the past, but never… never had he suffered the consequences for his recklessness.
Kasumi checked her sleeve, taking a small, self-conscious sniff. "Actually, talking about helping her with her bath... I think I need one myself." She hesitated, looking a bit awkward about leaving Akane alone with a boy she had just met. "When we heard the noises from the dojo earlier, Akane seemed to react a little. Her eyes shifted toward the floor. Her whole life was martial arts... but she hasn't even been able to smile these days."
Kasumi looked up at Ranma. "Would you mind practicing while she sits here? Just for a little while, at least until I get a quick shower."
Ranma rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, my old man only taught me the basics of the Tendo style. It’s not gonna look right to her."
"She doesn't need it to look right," Kasumi said softly. "She just needs to see someone move."
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left the dojo, sliding the screen shut.
Ranma stood in the quiet room. He looked at the closed door, then at the dusty equipment racks. If this helps her, he thought, why isn't anyone in her family doing it? Surely Kasumi and the other sister knew martial arts and, according to his pop, their father was a master.
He turned toward the wheelchair. The silence felt heavy.
“So,” Ranma started, his voice dropping as he looked at her. “A monster, huh? For a kid? That's... you’re pretty tough.”
Akane stared right through him.
Ranma winced, kicking his own ankle. “Stupid. Right, you can't... never mind. I'm just gonna practice some katas. Hope you enjoy the show.”
He stepped back onto the mat, and took a deep breath.
He started moving with light, precise, and fluid motions. He glided across the tatami, feeling the familiar, effortless thrill of the Anything Goes style, even if this particular kata always felt a bit odd to him. An easy smile touched his lips as he spun into a transition, channeling the joy of the art into every motion.
Soon he was gaining momentum, slashing the air with lighting fast axe kicks and pounding at an imaginary enemy with precise open handed strikes.
One thing he liked about this particular Tendo-style kata was how it often made him feel like it was designed to fight a horde of ninjas. He wished he could fight a horde of ninjas.
He rounded out the routine with an exaggerated theatrical pirouette, sweeping his arm wide and dropping into a dramatic bow. Acting like a clown felt like the right thing to do, it was only proper that his audience would get a proper show.
He raised his head, winking as he straightened up, and froze.
The corner of Akane’s mouth twitched.
It was a tiny shift. Then, her lips parted slightly into a faint, genuine smile.
Ranma’s breath caught in his throat. He stood mesmerized, staring at the warmth breaking through her features. "You... you liked that, huh?" he whispered, taking a step forward.
No answer came. He wanted to kick himself for forgetting again, but the smile was still there, soft and alive.
“I…” Ranma said, and looked at the sliding doors. “I’m gonna get your sister, be right back.”
She kept smiling at him.
“Kasumi!” Ranma sprinted for the door, tearing down the hallway. “Kasumi!”
He found her upstairs, just outside what he guessed was the bathroom. Considering her damp hair, she had probably taken a very quick shower rather than relaxing in the furo, and had changed into more comfortable clothes. She looked startled as Ranma skidded to a halt in front of her.
“I thought you’d want to know," Ranma gasped, grabbing her by the sleeve. “I'm not lying, I swear— she is smiling.”
Kasumi’s eyes widened. Without a word, she hurried down the hall alongside him.
When they stepped back into the dojo, Akane’s face had returned to its resting, unreadable state.
"I swear she did," Ranma insisted, his hands raised frantically. "Right when I finished the bow—"
Kasumi walked quietly across the mat, sat down on the floor right beside Akane's wheelchair, and looked up at Ranma with desperate, shining eyes.
"Can you do it again?" she asked softly. "I’d like to see her smile."
Ranma looked from Kasumi to the still face of the girl in the chair, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him.
"Yeah," Ranma said, stepping back onto the mat. "I think I can do that."
-----
Genma dropped to his knees in front of a heavy wooden chest that should’ve been bound in rusted iron chains. His hands were shaking. He reached for the shattered lock, his face pale in the dim light.
"If the Master finds out you broke into his personal stash..." Genma swallowed hard, looking toward the dark rafters as if expecting a tiny, demonic shadow to leap down at any second. "Tendo, he'll skin us alive. He'll hang us from the roof by our own belts."
"Let him," Soun said flatly. He stood right behind Genma, staring at the chest with dark, hollowed eyes. “Come on, here, I will show you.”
Genma winced as Soun gripped the rusted iron padlock, and opened the chest.
Inside lay a chaotic mess of forbidden treasures: forbidden martial arts scrolls, stacks of yellowed, leather-bound books written in dense, archaic text, and stolen women's undergarments.
Soun pulled out a dark, elegant scroll wrapped in red ribbon. He unrolled it slightly, squinting at the bold calligraphy at the top. "The Ultimate Anything Goes Martial Arts Secret Technique: The Good Girl Exercises," Soun muttered, his brow furrowing. He flipped through the pages, seeing diagrams of Ki manipulation and vital point stimulation. "This... this claims it can reawaken dormant channels and restore vitality to a paralyzed body."
Genma didn't even look up from the stack he was digging through. "Keep looking. If it's one of the Master's techniques, it's just as likely to blow her heart up."
Genma pulled out a thick, leather-bound journal. Unlike the Chinese volume he had found earlier, this one was written entirely in Japanese. Happosai’s erratic handwriting crowded the margins with notes, more scribbles than anything readable, while hand-drawn maps filled the pages with surprising detail.
Genma’s eyes scanned the yellowed pages, his finger tracing line after line until he suddenly stopped. His breath caught in his throat.
Soun leaned over his shoulder. "What does it say?"
"It lists springs?" Genma said. “Apparently, whoever falls into a spring, becomes what drowned in it.” He furrowed his brow. That didn’t sound right. If the book was right, dragging Ranma to that place could be a very grave error.
Soun lost interest and found another ancient book. “Hmm, the secret cousine of Mermaid meat, learn to heal any wound.” He had previously disregarded it as a cooking book, but why would a cooking book be among Happosai’s possesions? He flipped several pages until he found a passage that caught his attention. “...whosoever consumes the flesh of the mermaid shall be granted miraculous restoration, curing all ailments and reversing the threshold of death."
“Mermaid meat?” Genma asked, raising his head from the Jusenkyo book. “I heard that tale. Seems fishy.”
“No time for jokes old friend,” Soun said in a grim tone, and put the book on Mermaid cousine next to the Good Girl Exercises scroll. “Seems like these are the only ones that could be of any help. But finding a Mermaid would probably not be an easy task, and eating one seems… cannibalistic.”
“They’re not human, so it doesn’t count. But I think…,” Genma said, as he flipped through the pages of the Jusenkyo book. “Here, Ningyonīchuan, the Spring of the Drowned Mermaid."
“How could a mermaid drown?”
“I don’t know, but it’s here, see?” He handed Soun the book and he read it intently.
Soun slammed his hands onto his knees, tears finally welling in his bloodshot eyes. "A cure," he choked out, looking at Genma. "It's real. A spring that creates a mermaid... Genma, on your honor, on our oath to unite the schools, you have to bring me a mermaid from Jusenkyo."
Genma took back the book from Soun's hands and flipped to the next page.
"...however, those who fall into the cursed water lose their human form and forfeit their humanity upon contact with cold water." Genma lowered the book, his chest heaving.
Soun looked at him with an odd expression.
Genma set the book down on the dusty floorboards and retreated. "No. I won't do it. I'm taking Ranma to see his mother, and we're cancelling the trip. I won't risk my boy's soul on cursed ground."
"Saotome, please!" Soun begged, following after him. "She's my daughter! She's sixteen years old and she's trapped in her own head! I am begging you!"
"I can't, Tendo!" Genma snapped, his voice tight with fear. "I can't risk Ranma!"
“Then leave Ranma here, or send him to your wife,” he said, “you don’t need to throw yourself at the spring, you could just throw any animal into it.”
Soun bowed his head until his forehead touched the wooded floor, weeping silently.
Genma turned away, his heart heavy, and walked outside Soun’s study to collect himself. He heard noises from the dojo, and decided to check on his son.
Ranma was on the mat. He wasn't doing a standard workout, instead he was moving with more grace than power, floating through kata after kata, his face lit with intense delight. Next to the mat sat Kasumi, watching quietly, and beside her was Akane on her wheelchair.
Genma watched as his son finished a sweep, turned, and looked directly at the paralyzed girl with a look of pure, unadulterated devotion. Genma had never seen a look like that on his boy's face before. And in the light of the dojo, Genma saw the faint, quiet curve of a smile on Akane's face.
Genma stood frozen for a long moment. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, ragged breath.
He turned back around to face Soun, who had followed all the way to the dojo while still kneeling on the floor.
"Tendo," Genma said softly.
Soun slowly raised his tear-stained face.
"We will go to Jusenkyo," Genma said, his voice steadying. "We will brave the springs, and bring back a mermaid for your daughter."
Soun’s eyes widened with sudden, overwhelming hope. "Saotome..."
"On one condition," Genma interrupted, holding up a finger. "We swear the oath right now. When we come back, and when Akane is cured... she marries Ranma. They unite the Anything Goes schools."
Soun didn't hesitate for a single second. He lunged forward, grabbing Genmain a tight, desperate hug. "Yes! Absolutely! I will gladly give him her hand!"