The young man watched his old but mortally dangerous opponent closely and desperately: His master was standing in front of him, his eyes closed and apparently gathering all of his remaining strength for one last, lethal attack that was to ensure his victory. Ranma blinked. He could no longer keep his eyes open properly as the hardships and the duration of their fight took its toll on him. Suddenly his vision blurred, and he had to take a few steps backwards to keep his balance. Fear arose in his heart like a slumbering beast, eating at his guts, fear of the imminent defeat, fear and panic.

Ranma breathed heavily and tried to focus on the little man, but the pain in his body, caused by the countless blows, shot through his limbs and cancelled any thought of fighting back. He was exhausted and wounded, blood trickling down from a deep cut on his cheek, his temple and several cuts on his arms and legs. His arms hung down motionlessly; he was unable to defend himself. A dull and painful throbbing at his side reminded him of a particularly hard kick to his ribs, and he figured a few of them were broken. He coughed up blood and spat it out, distinctly noticing some undistinguishable voices talking to him in concern.

A cynical smile crept on his lips as he looked up at the burning midsummer's sun. He had lost but he would not give up or back down. That would tarnish his pride as a martial artist. Sweat ran down from his forehead and into the cut on his cheek, but he could no longer feel the pain. He felt nothing and he cared for nothing. The world around him was on fire, his lungs were on fire, and he breathed that fire. One step. He took one step towards his master. And another. And then his legs gave in under him.

He fell to the ground, his knees hitting the scorched grass with a thud, so that tiny clouds of dust danced around him, cheering at his defeat. Ranma leaned on his hands, vomited from exhaustion, and made a last effort to roll over on his back, facing the glaring sun. He could not hear nor speak, even though every pore of his very being seemed to silently scream out his defeat into the world as the dark sun cast a reproachful cloud over the people. Before loosing his consciousness, he opened his eyes one last time and saw that Akane bent over him. Her mouth moved relentlessly but her words did not reach him. All that he noticed was the smile on her tear-streaked face. And he smiled, too, smiled away his pain and his defeat into the darkness of his sleep.

Grimacing in pain, Ranma awoke from his restless slumber and looked down at himself. Even in the sparse, silver light of the moon, he could see the bandages on his arms, legs and upper body shining like trophies of his defeat. Despite his feeling of bitter disappointment, the young man was still thankful for the loving care he had received after he had passed out. A trickle of cold water ran down his forehead from the wet washcloth. Wondering why the cloth was still this wet in the middle of the night, the martial artist grabbed it and groaned because the pain in his ribs shot through his body as he moved. As if responding to his sound, Ranma perceived a soft rustling at his side and sat up, wincing.

"Ranma?"

Drowsily, a young, blue-haired girl woke from her dreams, tried to hold on to them for a moment, without knowing why she did so, finally gave up her hopeless endeavor, and looked around in order to find out what woke her up. Akane yawned, blinked a few times to get used to the darkness, rubbed the remaining sleep from her eyes, and cocked her head, realizing that her fiancé was indeed sitting, thus awake, and looking at her; or at least she believed that he was looking at her, as she could not see his face.

"You awake?" She murmured sleepily.

He gave no answer. The unbearable silence that followed her question rang in her ears and spread throughout the room, filled its corners and erected an invisible wall that separated the two adolescents, not physically but emotionally, from each other. Akane did not push it. She waited, waited for him to speak to her, and almost gave up hope, when she suddenly heard his low, youthful voice.

"Was that you?"

"Why? Did I do something wrong?" She asked nervously, fidgeting with the bandages and adding, "I should have let Kasumi do it."

"Nah, it's alright," he whispered drearily. "Just wanted to know. What're you doing here?"

Akane brushed a strand of her beautiful hair behind her ear and slid a little closer to the young man, who was sitting on the floor beside her.

"You were pretty battered after the battle. I've never seen you like that, so I just wanted to make sure that the injuries weren't serious," she told him, and added with a smile, "besides, I wanted to be the first to congratulate you."

Ranma looked at the silhouette of his fiancée, her face hidden by the darkness of the room, and wondered why she was so nice to him all of a sudden. They had always fought, right from the beginning when their parents had arranged for them to be engaged to each other against their will until the very end. The end. The cursed springs, where she had disappeared in front of his eyes, where she had nearly died because of him, because he had not been strong enough to protect her. The memories of those hours still haunted him, although he would never admit to it. This incident was the reason that he had decided to leave his home after the failed wedding and go on an extended training trip with Cologne. He wanted to become stronger – to protect her.

"Congratulate?" He snorted sarcastically as her words hit him. "What for? That I was able to hold my ground against the old pervert? After months and months of training? Or that I fought well? Or that he beat me? Why would you congratulate me?"

"No, you idiot," she hissed furiously and jumped to her feet, her quick temper gaining the upper hand. "I wanted to congratulate you on your victory, but I forgot that I'm dealing with the great Ranma Saotome, who can just up and leave for months – for months! – without a single word and come back and display that kind of attitude!"

"What's your deal? I had to train myself to become stronger," he retorted angrily, trying to get up as quickly as Akane but failing due to his numerous and painful injuries. "You know, there I thought you'd become a little nicer over time, but I guess I was wrong, you…"

"Tomboy?" She suggested, disregarding that he had cut himself off in mid-sentence and was now staring at her, dumbfounded. "Well, I'm sorry that I'm not as cute as Shampoo or as nice as Ukyo! I guess all the worrying was for nothing. You're back safe and sound and as macho as ever."

"What do you mean by 'victory'?" he asked, completely ignoring her tirade.

"What? What could I possibly mean by victory?" she asked rhetorically, arms akimbo. "Don't act like you're even more of an idiot than I already think you are! By the time you passed out, Happossai had already lost consciousness. You won. And guess what: that's the definition of victory. And don't you dare think I'm done with you!"

Even though the young woman believed that she was not yet done scolding the arrogant whippersnapper, she effectively became silent just a moment later. Overcome with joy and emotions due to the news of his victory, Ranma acted without thinking and embraced the girl passionately. His hands on her back pressed her body close to his, and he could feel her hot breath on his naked shoulder. Her hair smelled like the distant remembrances of summers past, and her fragile form felt right in his arms. For a moment, he indulged in this feeling, before he realized what he was doing and whom he was hugging. Quickly he wanted to let go of her, as two small hands encircled his body.

At first, Akane could not move. She simply stood there, at a loss for words, her anger vanishing into thin air, when she felt the embrace of her martial artist. It was not anger or the bodily contact that left her arms dangling uselessly at her sides – after all the time she had spent with Ranma, after the all the compromising situations and positions in which she had found herself with him, after all that had happened she had found herself to trust the young man completely so that he became the first and only man that was actually allowed to touch her – but the open display of affection that surprised her. Her heart began to race, and she was thankful for the darkness that hid her blush as his hands held her close to him. Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder, and she could feel both his naked flesh and the bandages. She felt comfortable, secure; however, this feeling ceased when Ranma let her go, leaving a yearning in her heart that she re-filled by shyly placing her hands on his back, thereby prolonging the embrace.

"Welcome home."

Even though both of the young adults had not rested well, neither of them felt fatigued. For the first time in months, they talked to each other, talked about his training, talked about school, talked about what he had missed, what had happened during the time he was gone. None of that, however, was important to the engaged couple, who simply felt at home again in the presence of the other. The hours flew by in a haze of words and colors, when the stars made way to dawn and the first rays of sunlight that crashed through the window and filled the room with its presence. When the sunlight reached Ranma, who was still sitting on the floor with Akane, he suddenly stood up and stretched extensively, moving as smoothly as ever despite his injuries.

"I'm hungry," he stated. "You want something, too?"

"Yeah, sure," she answered. "You know, I've been practicing with Kasumi. I could whip up a little something."

The young man involuntarily flinched, knowing all too well of what culinary creations Akane was capable. He backed away from her slowly, considering both the window and the door as possible escape routes, when he felt a hard blow to his injured shoulder that left him grimacing in pain. He looked up at the angry woman in front of him. Judging from the pain in his shoulder that was caused by a rather harmless punch, he was no match for her at the moment.

"Don't you dare!" she warned him. "I've been practicing."

"Yeah, I feared as much," he responded slowly, still trying to figure out a way to escape. "Do you feel no pity for the weak?"

"You idiot!" she yelled at him. "At least try it before you insult it."

"I've tried it," he defended himself, "over and over again, and it's never been any good. Hell, I'd rather fight Happossai again than eat your cooking."

"Jerk!" she punched his shoulder again, harder than the last time as her temper rose again, but still aware of his condition. "Okay, if you don't want it, it's your loss. At least there are some people who appreciate my kindness."

"Like who?" Ranma asked seemingly nonchalantly.

"Like, I don't know, Ryoga?" she stated coldly, turned around and had to start grinning as she heard a low growl – hook, line, and sinker. "What? He likes it."

"Yeah, pig-boy loves it," the martial artist said and reluctantly followed her. "Maybe we can, you know, do it together?"

"Well, of course," she beamed at him. "How's the shoulder?"

"Tomboy!"

When the two adolescents walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen, no other inhabitant of the usually vivid household was to be seen. Assuming that all of their relatives were still asleep, Akane began preparing what she thought were the right ingredients to making a traditional breakfast, while Ranma leaned against the table to relieve the pressure on his stiff muscles in his legs. He watched her efforts with a smile. He had to admit that she was trying.

"By the way," she told him while he gently corrected her attempt to cook eggs in the microwave oven, "when Happossai regained his consciousness yesterday, he told me to tell you to go meet him in the training hall as soon as you're awake."

"What?" Ranma exclaimed indignantly, simultaneously sensing an opportunity to walk away from a certainly painful experience. "Why the heck didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I just remembered," she defended herself, looking over her shoulder. "Plus, you were beat when you woke up. I'd rather you not go there before you've at the very least had breakfast."

"Breakfast can wait," he argued and drowned her accusations that he just wanted to skip her meal. "This is more important. You stay here; I'll be back in a bit."

The young man limped out of the kitchen and crossed the garden to the training hall. He entered cautiously, not knowing what to expect, and was surprised. The hall, which was usually filled with sunlight due to the permeable screen-windows, was dimmed by heavy, red, silk curtains, veiling the sight of the beautiful garden. When his eyes had adjusted to the dimmed light, he saw an apparently ancient stone altar standing in the middle of the hall, adorned with a clay pot that featured unfamiliar runes and two incense candles that gave off a strange but familiar smell.

Cologne sat behind the altar and intonated a gloomy and unintelligible chant that gave Ranma the creeps. Her voice was amplified by the wooden walls and echoed throughout the hall as if a thousand voices hummed the eerie tone. Then, the old witch stopped her murmuring. Smoke erupted from the pot, clouding his vision, and a strong smell of musk and other exotic spices stunned Ranma's senses. He got dizzy, went numb, fell to the floor and watched the woman fascinated, his whole being rid of the pain and fatigue of the battle.

"Thank you, Cologne," a powerful voice rang from the depths of the white smoke that revealed but the outline of the old man.

"You are welcome, Happi," the old woman answered solemnly and joined her old companion. "It was a quite arduous procedure, but I agree with you: It is necessary."

"What's going on?" Ranma asked quietly, his senses still veiled by the intense smell. "Why did you ask me to come here? What do you want?"

"I have stood undefeated for 270 years," Happossai told him tiredly and stepped closer to the young man, so that he could see the countless bruises all over his body. "I have defeated creatures the like you have never seen, called myself the strongest, and accepted every challenges. Never in my wildest dreams have I imagined that you could defeat me in a real fight, but I was wrong."

"And that is why you, young one, will bear our burden from now on," Cologne added thoughtfully. "You will become the new master, the new bearer, after you have proven your worth to us."

"I'm all set," he interrupted. "I've defeated Happossai, so I'm all set to go. Come on. The longer I sit here, the longer it'll take me."

"Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks," the former master of the school sighed deeply, "do not matter. To relief us of our burden, you will have to perform a task that will not be accomplished easily, a task that only the strongest, the most willing and determined fighters can perform, because only nine masters hold the keys, only nine masters are allowed to hand down our art, and Cologne and I are two of them. Listen, boy, because this will be the last time you will see and hear us. We will leave. Today. It will be your task to find us and defeat us, wrenching the key to our art from our hands. You will have to become stronger during your journey."

"What?" Ranma was silent for a moment, before he laughed at the two masters in disbelief. "You want me to play hide-and-seek with you? Whose moronic idea was that?"

"It is not a game," Cologne scolded him angrily, hitting him with her wooden stick so hard that the martial artist screamed in pain. "Ranma Saotome, you will become our successor. You are the only one worth taking up the title of master. Be proud of our choice. You will become one of the nine carriers."

"Well, I refuse," said Ranma, still grimacing in pain. "I'm honored that you two consider me worthy of taking your title, but I won't just leave here. What should I tell my old man? Akane?"

"That, boy," Happossai told him sternly, "is already taken care of. You seem to forget that we know you, that we know you would refuse this task, that you would refuse to leave this place, but you will have to in order to regain this place."

The young martial artist let his gaze wander from Cologne to Happossai, trying to decipher the meaning behind their words, and shook his head, when he noticed the smell of burnt herbs and spices that had been covered by the smell of musk. He had smelled this formula once before in his life, but he could not determine where due to the exotic nature of the herbs. He concentrated on the smell, watching his elders closely, but his senses were still numbed from the battle, fatigue, the herbs, and so he drifted off to the image of Akane in this very hall, her smell that seemed like remembrances of summers past, her smell. And suddenly he knew.

"No!" Panic spread through his body, making it sound more like a threat than an utterance. "No! You wouldn't dare! Who? No! Who? You dammed old geezers!"

"So you do remember," Cologne stated. "That which you have once tried to cure was done by a beginner, my own great-granddaughter. She does not know but a little of the art. This ritual is nothing like the Shiatsu technique Shampoo used on Akane. All those who reside outside this enclosed sphere of mastery, this training hall, will have forgotten you by the time you will leave. To counter it, you will have to defeat both of us, son-in-law."

A faint creak ended the conversation abruptly before Ranma could answer them. He jerked his head around in order to locate the source of the noise and met his fiancée's eyes. Akane had come into the hall to look for him. Suddenly the smoke cleared, the smell of herbs ceased to exist, and a feeling of foreboding overcame the young martial artist. He quickly turned around again and realized that Cologne and Happossai had used the short period of time to disappear. Ranma cursed and hit the ground with his bare knuckles, over and over again, until his skin tore open and blood dripped to the floor.

"Come back!" he yelled and repeated these words until his voice cracked to vent his rage.

"Ranma?"

"What?" he snapped at her, causing her to stop dead in her tracks. "Wait, you know who I am?"

Please do tell me what you think of it – and don't mince your words.