The wizened old man smiled in satisfaction as he dropped a pair of pliers down into an nearby tool chest. After pausing to stretch the stiffness out of his back, he turned and yelled over his shoulder. "Genma! Come over here. I've finished."
A bespectacled teen sat up from where he had been lounging across a spare workbench. "Really? Doesn't look like much...Appropriate color, though. So...should I start calling you Baron Von Happosai now?"
"Idiot!" Happosai snapped. "It doesn't matter what he looks like. He is the first of a superior breed—the next stage in human evolution!
"Think of it, Genma! Today, people spend the first quarter of their lives at school, just trying to learn enough to get ahead in life, but do they succeed? No! Most barely even pick up the basic skills they need to break even. Greatness is completely out of their grasp, so thy flock around authors, actors, innovators, athletes, and even politicians, all in hopes of gathering some weak, vicarious, lackluster sense of accomplishment." He shook his head at the futility of it all. "Meanwhile, all the truly world-shaping decisions are made by a tiny elite with enough intelligence, education, or luck to break the mold of mediocrity.
"Now, imagine if that most undervalued property, knowledge, was just another commodity to be bought, sold, and consume instantly. Take your kid to get his booster shots and pickup his high-school education in the same afternoon. Buy the evening edition at the newsstand, and pick up in an insiders understanding of the Middle Eastern economics for half price. 'Honey, if you pass by the store today, get me a dozen eggs and the knowledge on how to prepare blowfish.' And the medical field—HA!—they think doctors make the worst patients; imagine if they had to extract informed consent from every patient they handled.
"A true revolution, in every sense of the word, at every corner of the world, to every facet of life. Can you imagine someone in that society saying, 'Of course I'm right; I'm the expert'? 'Sure she may have invented it, but she would ever have had the knowledge needed to bring it to market?' 'There is no way an outsider could possibly understand?' 'Government policy is best left to those with the training to understand the issues'? They wouldn't dare—not unless they wanted to be laughed out of town. Suddenly, everyone will be a player in the game of life; everyone could chart the path of personal destiny.
"It would be the greatest thing to ever happen...or perhaps the worst. It's impossible to guess, really. There's only one way to find out."
His voice suddenly gained a note of cruel triumph. "And I will," he almost caressed the words. "After all, all it will take is a simple splash of water.
"Genma, get the camera," Happosai said in his normal voice. "This is a moment that should be remembered forever."
As Genma prepared to record the moment for posterity, Happosai carefully opened a heavily padded case and selected a flask from inside. After double-checking the label, he broke the seal and gingerly removed the rubber stopper. Getting a ready signal from his tripod-wielding assistant, he moved to pour the contents, but he hesitated at the last moment.
"I christen thee Soun Tendo, because you will speed us along the path to enlightenment," Happosai announced before tipping the container.
Toy Dojo
A Ranma ½ Fanfic
by Wordblindness
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Chapter 1: The Making of a Man
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In many ways, the year I turned six was the most important one of my life. It was the age when I lost my first pet (a hamster) to the neighbor's cat, and it was the year I lost my first tooth (on the fist of the cat's eight-year-old owner). I started school, a place where I quickly learned the facts of life: you can't please everyone; rules are made to be broken; and girls are irritating (quickly amended to infuriating but intriguing, but that is another story). Most importantly, this was the year when I made the promise that would shape the rest of my life.
Up until then, life had been simple. My father, an intelligent but unambitious man, ran a small store for hobbyists and collectors. I can still see the glass cases that lined the walls, proudly displaying the results of his latest obsession, be it photography, electronics, carving, or collectibles. People would wander in just to see his latest display, and more often then not, they would leave with newly-bought kits in their hands and the glow of childlike enthusiasm in their eyes. Given the number of fields in which Father casually achieved the status of proficient amateur, he could have easily mastered any one of them, but that was never his goal. He loved that little store, and he loved the freedom it gave him. As long as he had enough to support his wife and son, he was happy. To me, it was a brilliant way to live, and I yearned for the day when I would follow in his footsteps.
Then the miracle happened. After six years of trying, my parents finally produced a second child—a daughter. It was a glorious occasion, with the entire household with a festive spirit, but it was also a bringer of change—the type of change that a six-year-old boy could never be expected to understand. One day, Father calmly sat down at the breakfast table and announced that we were going to sell the store and move to the city. He had obtained a managerial position at a corporate outlet, and this would open up so many opportunities for the family and the children. Wouldn't that be nice?
I spent a few seconds gaping at this base betrayal, and then I was off like a shot. Fighting back tears, I slammed open the door and raced downstairs. I can only imagine what was passing through my parents' heads at that time; my behavior must have come as a complete shock. As for myself, I was caught in an impotent cycle of rage and self-pity. Weren't we happy where we where? Why did things have to change? I spent a good ten minutes stomping through the store's aisles, thinking up increasingly elaborate ways to return my parents to sanity.
When my father found me, I was peevishly digging through a shelf of exotic bric-a-brac that had accumulated in the wake of discarded hobbies. I could feel him looming over me, like a dark angry mountain, but I continued with my investigation; I certainly wasn't going to make this any easier for him.
Finally, he let out a long tired breath and deflated onto the floor across from me. He spent a few moments watching me poke through items before he spoke.
"That's a good idea," he said. "We need to sort out the junk before we move."
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, we can hardly take it all with us, now can we?" he replied in his most reasonable voice. He managed to avoid my impatient glare by toying with a length of strange, supple material that he plucked out of the collection.
"Why do we have to leave?" I pleaded. "You spent so much time getting all this stuff, and now you are just going to throw it all away. You promised you would tell me about everything someday, but you were lying. It's not fair."
My father exhaled slowly before speaking. "Sometimes in li—" he started, before reconsidering. His mouth compressed to a thin line as he thought. Suddenly, he took the string he had been holding and held it up for me to study. "Have I ever told you the story that goes with this?"
I shook my head to indicate that he hadn't, but I wasn't entirely sure; his collection of stories was the most extensive of all of his hobbies. I settled down to listen.
"The story starts with an old Chinese fable," my father began.
"Long ago, there were no rivers or streams on this world. Humankind was solely dependent on the grace of the gods, who sent rain to nourish the crops, which in turn nourished the people, who in turn sent up their grateful prayers. As time passed, the gods wearied of this boring cycle, and gradually, they became enthralled by more elegant pursuits. A time came when the land was afflicted with a drought like none ever seen. The plants whithered, and their dried husks blew away. The bare soil baked and cracked, and the people could only pray to the gods for deliverance, but if the gods heard anything, then they were too busy with their own affairs to be bothered.
"Luckily, a group of four dragons noticed the disgraceful state of affairs as they frolicked overhead. Taking pity of the poor mortals' plight, they sought to intervene in the courts of heaven, but their efforts gained nothing but empty promises. No help would come soon—not from the gods.
"Knowing that time was running out, the dragons decided to take matters into their own hands. Flying down to the sea, the dragons fetched giant mouthfuls of seawater, which they sprayed out over the land to form clouds. When the clouds were large enough, the dragons flew high into the sky, and cast down their shadows to cool the air. Their efforts bore fruit, and soon it was raining. The plants were revived, and the land healed. The people celebrated and cried their thanks up to their saviors.
"Not everyone was so pleased with events. The heavens were burning with wrath at these presumptuous dragons. How dare these upstarts second-guess the actions of the gods? How dare they steal gratitude meant for their betters? The Jade Emperor, ruler of the gods, declared that the offenders freedom was forfeit. As punishment, they were to be captured and sealed under mountains."
"Like Monkey?" I asked.
"Yes," my father replied. "It was a very popular way to deal with troublemakers in those times.
"Even in the face of this harsh punishment," he continued, "the dragons were completely unrepentant. In a final act of defiance, they transformed themselves into four mighty rivers so that they could continue helping people for all of eternity. In honor of the four, the rivers still carry their names: the Heilongjian, the Huanghe, the Changjiang, and the Zhujiang."
There was a short silence as my father considered the tale he had just told, and then he continued.
"Several thousand years later, the man who sold me this," he said, indicating the item in his hand, "was born in a village near the shores of the Huanghe.
"During his youth, the Chinese government was obsessed with proving that China was a progressive nation—a world leader. One way to prove this was through engineering projects of unprecedented scale. A popular program was the construction of a series of several dozen hydroelectric dams across Huanghe, thereby supplying the country with enormous amounts of cheap electricity. Many valleys were flooded, and sometimes interesting items were uncovered by the water. It soon became a sport among the local youths to search the shores for treasures.
"Near the end of the project, a group of teenagers found something floating at the edge one of the reservoirs. It appeared be the head of a large yellow and black animal. The head was as tall as a man, and several times that in length. It was formed of materials unlike anything they had ever seen, and the light acted strangely around it, almost making the disembodied head seem alive. They attempted to drag it to shore, but it was far too massive for them. As the current started pulling tugging at the object, the boys knew that no one would ever believe their tale without proof. Between them, they managed to produce a selection of hunting knives, stones, and tree branches, and they set about the grisly task of collecting trophies. After a lot of chopping, pulling, yanking, and tearing, they managed to remove a few teeth, some hide, and a few tufts of hair. After gathering together their prizes, they made their triumphant return to the village.
"At first, no one believed their story, but the boys were able to produced their evidence. For a time, they were celebrities. Every one of them was asked to repeat the tale at least once a day. As is often the case, the tale started to grow. At some point, someone claimed that the head was the remains of the river itself, sundered from its body by the construction of the dam. Nobody knew who had said it first, but it just seemed right.
"When the first death occurred, everyone thought it was a bizarre accident. The boy's parents found his remains in the morning, a pile of ashes still wearing his clothes and his dragon-fang necklace. The members of the village gathered together to discuss the event, and one well-traveled man remembered hearing something about cases of spontaneous combustion. The discussion moved on to determining a proper date for the funeral, and that was the end of the matter.
"When the second boy died, there was no question that the supernatural was involved. He running through the village square, in plain sight of several witnesses, when he suddenly aged by a hundred years. His skin melted into wrinkles. He spit out loose teeth that suddenly filled his mouth. His hair suddenly lost all color and then fell out, leaving only a few clumps that had snagged on his dragon-hide headband. With a final gasp, he clasped his chest and keeled over dead.
"In the next month, two more boys died. As their numbers dwindled, it soon became apparent that there was a curse following the boy that had desecrated the dragon's remains. Fearing for their lives, the three remaining members of the group fled in hoped of escaping their companion's fate. Twice, they stopped and tried to start new lives, thinking that they had outrun the spirits that plagued them. Two of them died this way: the first to a giant swarm of bees, the second when he just went mad one day and started clawing at his own flesh.
"The final boy, now a young man, now knew that he would never be safe in China. He traveled to the coast and took a boat to Japan. I met him near the docks where he was selling his story and what he claimed where 'genuine dragon whiskers' in an effort to raise enough money to leave Asia completely."
After he finished the story, we sat for a few seconds before I broke the silence. "That story makes no sense! Somebody would have noticed a giant head when it reached the dam!"
My father gave a small laugh. "Perhaps, but I thought the story was worth a few yen. Besides, it really is a strange material." He placed the 'dragon whisker' in my eager little hands before becoming a little more serious. "The point is that, it is sometime impossible to give everyone everything they want. When that happens, you just have to make a decision and stick to it. It's part of being a man."
After assuring himself that he had broken through my tantrum, my father left to prepare for the coming day.
I was left with my thoughts. Was that all it meant to be a man? To accept whatever life throws your way and pretend that it is okay?
I gathered together everything I knew about life (which, at the age of six, was mostly gleanings from picture books, cartoons, and fables). The heroes in stories never settled for "good enough" or "look on the bright side." They would see some injustice, and they would fight it till their dying breath. If they couldn't save the day themselves, they would seek out friends and allies that could. That is what it should mean to be a man: if you see something wrong with the world, you change it.
As I pondered the disparity between what was and what should be, I came to a horrible conclusion: my father was a good man, but he was no hero! Yes, I know, but to a six-year-old boy, it was a Earth-shattering revelation. I had always known he would always be a little stronger and smarter than I could ever be. Now, I saw that there might be things he could have handled better, but he lacked the strength, or the courage, or the intelligence to do so. I still loved my dad and wanted to be like him in so many ways, but now I wished he could be a little more than he was.
Well, if he couldn't, then I would! Suddenly, I remembered a phrase that I had seen in an old samurai movie I had once watched with my parents. "Man among men."
When I grew up, no one and nothing would push me around. I would do what I wanted and would go where I chose. I would be a true man among men.
What? None of your decisions ever came back to haunt you?
Disclaimer: Ranma ½ and all associated characters and concepts belong to Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Kitty, Fuji TV, and Viz Communications. I am borrowing them for non-commercial entertainment purposes only.
Author's Notes: This is just an idea that has been kicking around since I read a couple nobody-is-what-they-seem fics a while ago. I originally meant for it to follow most of the major story arcs, but I'm too slow of a writer to make it practical. Besides, my sister stole most of my source material when she left for college. Expect a rough hodgepodge of manga, anime, and fanfic facts/assumptions/groupthink.