Chapter 2
Soft footsteps guided Tatewaki through the garden of the Kuno estate. The declining sun cast elongated shadows on the flowers that surrounded him. They seemed to beckon to him. Accepting their invitation, Kuno took a seat on the grass. He grazed his hand through the various flora before settling on a daffodil, which he plucked from the soil, bringing it beneath his nose. The aroma of the flower mingled with the lingering scent of tobacco on his hand like some sort of confused perfume. Not terribly impressed with the olfactory combination, he lowered the daffodil and raised his head to the horizon, absentmindedly tugging away petals as he watched the evening redness of the sky to the west.
After a few minutes of quietly enjoying the sunset, Kuno summoned the strength to stand. "Such a spectacular view. It's a pretty pity that I've no one to share it with but myself."
He lowered his gaze to the daffodil that was still in his hand. All that remained on its face was a single petal. Tatewaki tightened his grip, bending the stem of the flower. A small trickle of water emerged from the cracked stalk, wetting his finger. Heaving a sigh, he plucked the final petal from the daffodil and tossed it into the flowerbed.
He then made his way across the bridge over the pond and to the threshold of his vast wooden house. He opened the door and entered the front hall, warm incandescence lighting the way. The varnished hardwood floors creaked with every footfall he made. From deeper within the house a call echoed forth:
"Brother dear, is that you?"
"It is."
Tatewaki turned the corner into the kitchen where his sister Kodachi was making dinner preparations.
"Welcome home, brother dea-", Kodachi began, before turning around and noticing Kuno's dirty, tattered clothes. "My, you look like a raggedy-man who's just lost a wrestling match to a warthog. Can't you represent the House of Kuno with a little bit more dignity?"
Tatewaki stared at his sister, struggling to conceal his contempt. "Were it not for that Ranma and the way he relentlessly accosts me, I might be standing here before you in a more presentable condition."
"Ranma? My Ranma?" Kodachi's eyebrows narrowed and her voice assumed a more belligerent tone.
"I bet you were picking a fight with him again. The fact that the thought of lifting a finger against my beloved even enters your mind disgusts me. It makes me physically ill. Luckily Ranma always gives you the thrashing you deserve. And then after instigating the confrontation, you have the nerve to come home and cry about it. It's really quite pathetic if you think about it."
Kuno prepared to give a retaliatory speech filled to with invective and poetic insults that would detail the injustices he had suffered at the hands of both Ranma and Kodachi, but he bit his lip at the last moment. Arguing with her would serve no purpose.
"I'm not crying about anything," he said. And then, softly, "don't we have anything else we can talk about?"
"Well, on the food front, I have several delicacies for your enjoyment tonight. First course, lobster bisque. Second course, filet mignon. And for desert, mango sorbet. I'm sure it will be to your liking," Kodachi said, a proud smile on her face.
"That sounds scrumptious, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass you up on your offer."
"And why is that? Is my cooking not good enough for you?" she asked, her smile rapidly evaporating.
"That's not it at all, I just harbor little appetite tonight," Kuno said.
"Little appetite? For filet mignon?" Kodachi's voice was reaching fever pitch. She turned away from him and said, "to tell me something like that, after all this work I've put in. You have no respect for me, and it makes me angry!"
"Kodachi... I don't mean it like that." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "You're my sister. My family... my blood. You mean a lot to me."
Kodachi knocked her brother's hand off of her shoulder. "Then why don't you show it for once?" she said, as she stormed out of the room.
Tatewaki sighed and headed for the baths. His house held a hot bath of magnificent proportion and splendor, and it was there that he could perhaps find a little peace and quiet.
It was there, naked and alone save for the hot water that enveloped his body, that his mind would wander farthest.
"God, even the stars themselves conspire against my existence."
From a young age, Tatewaki Kuno knew he was different. The grace of poetry enthralled him. The way words would arrange themselves to form something beautiful enticed him. He took to quoting from great poets, and even from lines of his own device. He tried to share his passion with his classmates, but they all regarded him with indifference or contempt. This rejection only spurred him to more adamantly commit to the art.
As he entered adolescence, Kuno took an interest in the martial tradition of Japan, occasionally imagining himself as a feudal samurai serving under a daimyo, conquering shogunate after shogunate until a unified Japan had been birthed by his actions.
In his young teenage years he made deep study of Buddhist and Shinto traditions, before branching out to explore other corners of the world. He made ventures into Western philosophy, reading of Aristotle and of Socrates' drinking of the hemlock. He read surahs of the Koran, he pored over biblical passages.
So there that leaves him, culturally literate, but broadly incognizant of the ways and means of pleasant human interaction. For all the time he spent in study, the time he spent in self-examination was seldom, if ever. But for every man there must be an awakening.
Tatewaki was reclining in the bath, pondering over things, past and present. In particular he thought about what his sister had said to him. He didn't want to admit to himself that in some ways, she was right.
"Nigh on every match I've found myself engaged in opposition to that blasted Saotome, I've come out the loser... And nigh on every match it was I that cast the first blow. Am I the aggressor? A brute who cannot restrain his emotions? Am I so easily provoked that my first inclination is to violence?"
He thought of every minor transgression that Ranma had committed that had provoked him into drawing his sword. Kuno felt the slightest pangs of shame, something that did not often overcome him.
His thoughts then began to drift towards romance. He was feeling unusually contemplative, and began to reflect on his successes and failures in the field. To his dismay, he couldn't conjure any memory of his romantic advances meeting success. Struck by this realization, he attempted to assess the patterns that accompanied his innumerable failed attempts at courtship. Proclamations of undying affection. Attempts to woo with poetry. Immediate and eager vise-like embraces.
"I always assumed that a girl would admire a man with the confidence to tell her how he feels about her and without hesitation take her in his arms. But perhaps that is not so. I feel that across all aspects of my life, I have perilously ignored the virtues of restraint. I have been too forceful and overbearing with my approach to everyone. Alas, thinking of all the times I've erred, the well could be forever tainted, with little hope to remedy it."
Brooding and aimless, Kuno removed himself from the bath and got dressed. From somewhere in the more tainted recesses of his mind, a subtle urging was directing him to the cellar. Following this instinct, he fetched a bottle of saké, and two bottles of French wine. Having not partaken in dinner, he felt hunger gnaw at him. To alleviate this unpleasant sensation, he broke off half of a small loaf of bread and carried it and the bottles and a glass to his study. He sat down on a comfortably cushioned chair, and uncorked a bottle of wine. "Chateau Bordeaux, 1968. A fine choice," Kuno thought.
He was about to pour a glass when he decided that it would be more respectful of his Japanese heritage to first imbibe in the saké. He poured a tall glass and made a toast: "To my failures..." He then downed the glass with ungodly swiftness.
Having done his duty to rice wine, he gave the Chateau Bordeaux a chance. He did not take small sips and let the wine meander around his mouth so he could grasp its taste to the fullest extent, as was his custom. Instead he raised the chalice to his lips and took exuberant gulps, as large as his mouth would allow. The glass of considerable size was drained in seconds.
Putting his descent into inebriation on hiatus, Tatewaki took note of the great library that surrounded him in the room. Not content for mindlessness, he rose from his chair to make a selection. There was a diverse array of books upon his shelves. His hand briefly came to rest on the Analects of Confucius, but something tonight was drawing him to the lore of Christendom. He pulled a copy of the Bible off of his shelf. It was encased in a thin layer of dust, as it had been several years since he had last opened it. He held no veneration for it as a holy book, but felt the scripture had a wealth of literary value.
He opened the book to Genesis and began to read: "In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth."
Kuno snorted. "That was his first mistake." He again filled his glass to the brim with wine. He skipped around, settling on verses that he found poetic. The effects of alcohol were beginning to creep upon him. There was a lightness in his head, and a slight dulling of his senses. There was a warm feeling jittering through his body.
He thumbed through the Old Testament, reading psalms and proverbs, while alternating between glasses of wine and saké. As the effects of the alcohol intensified, he found it more difficult to read. The room began a subtle, repetitive tilt, which he found rather pleasant. As he ventured into the New Testament of the Gospel, he grew progressively drunker. He was nibbling on the loaf of bread when he read about the Last Supper, and a thought struck him:
"It is said in Christian tradition, that bread is the body of the Messiah. Does that not make me a cannibal?"
He broke off a chunk of bread and popped it in his mouth. "Body of Christ," he said, with bits of half-chewed bread falling out of his mouth as he spoke.
Then he took a long draft of wine straight from the bottle, and uttered: "Blood of Christ."
"And thus the sacrament of communion is complete," he thought, laughing. A hiccup interrupting his laughter only prompted more of it.
There Kuno sat, drinking wine from the bottle and blurting out random fragments of poetry to an invisible audience.
Who could have foretold the depths that Kuno would fall to that night? He lies in drink, and quotes from poets whose names are now lost.
Tatewaki was now firmly in the grip of intoxication. The wine had drenched every nerve in his head. He could not feel his fingers. His arms had the weight of lead. His stomach churned violently, and even in the safety of his chair he seemed to stagger. He could no longer read; the words blurred and shifted and spun around the page to form a literary nightmare.
In the midst of his drunkenness, a vision appears to Tatewaki of a horseman in the Mongol hordes, besetting an Asiatic city that will never be remembered in the annals of man, so utter is the destruction that shall befall it. As the walls and fortifications crumble in the wake of overwhelming might, the horseman rides ahead into the doomed city. Through the aether of time and space Kuno journeys to plant an embryo of himself in the horseman's mind that gestates instantaneously so that it is Kuno who is the Mongol on the horse.
Sallying forth with his comrades, he lets out a curdling shriek of war to signal to all of the inhabitants of this nameless city that they are as good as dead. The men of the surrendering garrison lay down their arms and beg for mercy, the reply from the horde is a rain of arrows. There will be no salvation. The savages will have their way. Kuno the Rider is holding aloft a torch. He throws it onto a thatched roof. The town will burn, it is inevitable. One by one, the buildings go up in flames. Those who flee the flames are hacked to pieces by Mongol swords. Those who stay inside meet an even grimmer fate.
Men and women, young and old run through the smoke-filled streets in a vain attempt to escape their fates. With pillage and wanton slaughter in the air, Kuno the Mongol wants his share of the spoils of war. He catches sight of a girl, not older than sixteen, trying to make her escape. He spurs on his horse to catch her, cornering her in an alley. When there is nowhere left for her to run, he dismounts his steed. He is cavalier in his advance; she is at his mercy, and she has no power to change it. Her eyes are alive with fear. Her eyes know nothing but fear. His most base and primal instincts are running free with filth as he tears off her tunic. Her screams fall on deaf ears. With rough hands he grabs her supple body and prepares for the most unholy consummation of the flesh.
It was at this moment that Kuno bid the vision to cease. He half-slurred out aloud, "What... savagery lurks in the heart of man."
"But I am NOT THAT MAN!" he yelled, directing his indignant rage at God, or Akane, or anyone else that might give enough of a damn to listen. Maybe even Ranma.
With both his thoughts and the room spinning, and his emotional inhibitions struck dead by the alcohol, he placed his head between his knees and began to cry. When he had cried all the tears he was capable of, he laid down on the floor as a vortex of nausea fought some unseen war in his stomach, and watched the ceiling spin until he slipped into unconsciousness.
He awoke in the late twilight hours to a pounding in his head. He was strangely untroubled by it. In fact, he felt oddly at peace.
"I had the good fortune not to vomit from my immoderation... I doubt I will spend a night like that again." Then he continued to a different train of thought, and let the slightest hint of a smile cross his face: "I have a feeling that today will be an alright day. I will work to be a better man."
He left the study and stepped outside just as dawn was breaking. There he meditated to the sound of birds chirping until it was well into morning. He did not allow his terrible hangover to get the better of him, or spoil the tranquility of his meditation. At last the time came for him to get ready for school. He left the grounds of the Kuno estate more ready to face the day than any time he could remember.
He entered the Furinkan High courtyard ten minutes before the bell. Ranma, who was leaning against a tree beside Akane, took notice of him and called out, "Yo Kuno! I see you're still in one piece. If you're ever in the mood for another beating, just let me know!"
On any other day up until now, Tatewaki would have unleashed a torrent of verbal abuse and charged blindly at Ranma, but today he held his tongue. Today, things would be different. And so he harnessed all the sincerity he could muster and said, "Good morning, Ranma. I'm glad to see you're well."
He walked over to Ranma and extended his hand in a sympathetic gesture. Ranma was almost in a state of shock. "I ain't gonna shake your hand, you creep," Ranma said, in part due to personal enmity and in part because he had no idea how to react.
"I understand. It's not a problem." "And I mean that. After all I've done, it doesn't surprise me that he's not terribly receptive to my goodwill."
Then he turned to Akane, who had watched the previous exchange in bewilderment. Keeping a respectful distance, Kuno said, "And a good morning to you, too, Akane. I hope everything's going alright in your life."
"Uh... thanks," was the only reply the youngest Tendo could come up with.
"Well, I'd hate to impose myself on the two of you any longer, so I'm going to head to class. Ranma, Akane, it was nice talking to both of you. I'll see you later!"
He was met with two faces staring blankly, until Ranma said, "Yeah... see ya."
Somewhat disappointed, Tatewaki took his cue to leave.
"I suppose I am no miracle worker. It will take more than a day's worth of change for them to see me differently. But I did what I could, and there is no sense in sulking over it. Maybe they will come around to me one day, maybe they won't. Life will go on regardless, and I can't spend all of it fretting over Akane and the Pig-tailed Girl. Perhaps there will be others I'll find. Sometimes you have to settle for second best. There can be no guarantee, but I'll try to conduct myself like a gentleman, and if they come, they come. And if they don't, then I can take satisfaction in knowing that I've done the right thing."
Though he felt a bit sad, Kuno walked into the schoolbuilding with his head held high.
Meanwhile Ranma was still in the courtyard scratching his head over their encounter.
"What the hell has gotten into that weirdo? Did he hit his head or somethin'?"
"I don't know," Akane said. "But at least he didn't try to grab me this time."
The school-day passed without incident, save chemistry, where Kuno knocked over a beaker of sodium hydroxide and was chastised for his carelessness. When the last bell had rung, he gathered his belongings and head out into the hall. As he was navigating the crowded hallway, he caught sight of Nabiki by a window, rearranging papers in her bag. Feeling that he had nothing better to do, he walked over to her.
"Nabiki Tendo."
She looked up from her bag. "Kuno baby! What's up?"
"Nothing in particular, I was just in the mood to talk."
She gave an exaggerated frown and mockingly said, "Whatever happened to 'don't patronize me woman, I wish to be left alone'?"
"That was then, this is now. If it makes you feel any better, I regret saying that."
Nabiki let out a small laugh. "Don't get all worked up, it didn't actually bother me at all."
He rolled his eyes. "I suppose you're well above that whole 'human emotion' thing."
"Of course I am. Who do you take me for?"
"I don't know. A money-grubbing little girl who thinks she's going to control the world one day?"
Nabiki placed a hand on her heart in pretend agony. "Oh, Kuno baby, you wound me. Don't you know that I think there's so much more to life than money?"
"Like what?"
"Why, all the things to spend your money on!" Both of them laughed.
"You're a real devil, you know." Kuno could not contain his grin at this point.
"Me? A devil? Now where on Earth could you get that idea?"
"You're nothing more than a common swindler, Nabiki, and I wonder how far that will take you in life. But there will be plenty of time to worry about that. In the meantime, would you care to accompany me to the ice cream parlor? If you're free."
"Ooh, you insult me with one breath and then ask me out with another. And you call me a devil. Very well, I accept your invitation, on one condition, of course. You're paying, right?"
Kuno had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
"Why am I not surprised?"