A/N - My own weak attempt to insert me back into the world of writing. Has it succeeded? Probably not. I think I've pretty much given up on my other stories, as a major mistake ( not writing an outline or having an idea of how they'll go ) on my part has halted the flow of any chapters. Which sucks. A lot. : Coughs. : Also, I've been converted my writing the first names after the last names, which are - first.

Anyway, on with the one-shot.


Saotome Genma sat on a wooden log a few inches away from a crackling fire, charcoal eyes keeping a close watch on a huddled bundle of blankets and leaves, which shifted every so often. He stoked the flames with a stout branch after a minute had passed, ignoring the resultant sparks that spat out of the dancing embers. An animal roared in the distance, hidden by the expansive forest that surrounded the small clearing he and his son, Saotome Ranma, were in. Speaking of Ranma, the bundle suddenly rolled off of the mat of leaves, a young child revealed.

"Hnnn..." Ranma groaned, hunching up into a curled form, shivering without the heat of his blanket. Genma impassively eyed the other, his left elbow coming to rest on his knee, the hand attached to the end of the arm propping up his chin. An ordinary father would've instantly gone to gently replace the comforter - but he was no ordinary father. A mission to keep the Anything Goes Saotome branch of Indiscrimate Grappling alive was the priority for Genma, not coddling his son. However much his conscience urged him on, he had to let the boy feel the hardships of nature. He wouldn't think himself a good teacher of the Art if he gave in to his emotions!

'Damn my duties!' Genma grunted mentally, letting the branch fall onto the ground with a soft thud. His right elbow joined the other on the only available knee, his hands slapping to the sides of his temples, disrupting the soft folds of the dirty white bandanna that clad his balding scalp. He leaned over on his log, his rotund belly clearly outlining itself despite the large dogi top. He crouched in turmoil silently, the simple act of placing the blanket on his son torturing his strict standards of Anything Goes. A small groan came from Ranma's direction - Genma grumbled with displeasure under his breath, his gaze flickering back and forth between the boy and the ground. With a curse and a sigh, the Saotome patriarch pushed himself off of the mossy log, stepping heavily in the direction of the discarded blanket.

He picked it up without preamble, now only a pace away from his son. His hands were spread out ( grasping the blanket ), ready to lay the cloth down onto the small body. The blanket was lowered, half-brushing against the skin of Ranma - but once again, the stubborn ideals of the balding martial artist kept him from placing the comforter down all the way. His fingers twitched, the cotton slowly making its way down for a scant moment before halting. This carried on for a good minute before a weary yawn split the silent air; Ranma rolled over slightly - and found a giant shadow looming over him. "UWAAAAAH!" he cried, shying away from the threatening - something.

His father chuckled dryly with amusement and moved back, the blanket gripped in his palms hiding a good portion of his body. Ranma peeked out from under wavering arms and found his pops standing almost exactly where the monster was. Sleep still clouded his cobalt blue eyes - the back of his right hand came up to rub them tiredly. "Oi, Oyaji, what's goin' on...?" he asked, blinking slowly in the crisp midnight.

Genma glanced at the cotton he was holding - a satisfied grin spread over his face.

Ranma gulped.

"It's time for training, boy!"