NIKUMI
by Adrian Wong
Edited by 4cw6
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R2096 characters and situations used with permission. Takahashi's aren't.
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" " Japanese dialogue
thoughts
[ Chinese dialogue
/ Illusory sounds, memories
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I hate Japanese Men.
It all began once upon a time, when a cute looking, short Japanese boy
by the name of Happosai stole my heart and my treasures from me . . . the
words he said as he fled from the village have stayed with me for the rest
of my life:
[HA! Ya think that I would've been tied down for real by a Chinese
chick? I think not!!
The seed of my hatred (and I do insist that it is justified) was planted
at that moment, after that heartless betrayal.
You must think it is terribly racist of me to make such a statement.
You must think of me as a bitter, hateful woman, as Mousse used to think and
probably still does. You may even think that I'm evil, as Shampoo did and
probably still does . . .
Think what you like, I've long since stopped caring about what others
think of me.
Except for her . . .
Shampoo, my vibrant, winsome Shampoo, the jewel of the tribe, the pride
of my line. My great-granddaughter . . . daughter . . . my soul-mate. She
was one of the few who wasn't intimidated by my hideous appearance later in
life, and the only one who would trust me enough to open up her heart for
me, asking for my advice.
[Hiba-chan, Lotion and Tissue won't play with me anymore after I've
defeated them in the elementary tournament. What should I do?
[Hiba-chan, Mouthwash and Toothpaste are giving me flowers . . . but
Jewel and Blossom are unhappy because of it. What should I do?
[Hiba-chan, what should I do?
[What should I do?
[What should I do?
And I had answered her, with my years of experience on such trivial
matters that were somehow the foci of every young girl's life, and she had
always listened. I'm proud to say that my advice always served her well.
She was the best there was of her generation, and yet her peers loved her,
and the younger ones adored her, and used her as their role model. One
could say that she was the golden girl of the village.
She was a happy child, a fortunate fact that attributed to her
playfulness and child-like quality that would eventually follow her into her
blossoming years.
Instead of slacking off because of her success, young Shampoo was always
trying to do her best in the art, hoping to grow up like someone that she
saw as her role model . . .
[Hiba-chan! When I grow older, I'll be strong and smart just like you!
How much it used to warm my heart to hear her say that, day after day.
I was her mentor then, and she my pupil. The trust and love between us was
strong, as strong as that between a parent and her child. And if the mutual
manipulation between Son-in . . . I mean, Ranma and his parents was taken as
canon, then my love for Shampoo had exceeded that of a mother and father put
together.
And then, when Shampoo was thirteen, something . . . happened,
threatening to destroy the bonds between us . . .
. . . something by the name of Mousse.
Now . . . there is a secret hidden behind that boy, a secret that only
the older generation of the village knows of, a secret that even HE himself
was unaware of, much less Shampoo.
Mousse has 1/4 of Japanese blood in him.
Back in the days of the Japanese Invasion, or as you could call it, the
Second World War, China, with the Communist and the People's Republic
fighting among themselves, fell easy prey into the hands of the Japanese
Armies. The big, more crowded cities got the worse of it. Chinese men were
tortured in hideous ways that even the devil himself couldn't think of,
before they were mercifully killed off. Chinese women, young, old, virgins,
pregnant, all were subjected to very much the same . . . after they'd been
raped, of course. And the frightful thing was that those deaths were all
meaningless: none of those tortured and killed were guilty of anything more
than bowing too late in front of an enemy soldier, or simply being too
physically tempting for their own good. The streets were covered with dead
people, all barely humanoid after the deformations that they had been
subjected to when they were still alive.
Compared to those Japanese soldiers, Happosai, who merely beat up some
of the women in our village and fled after robbing their valuables, was
almost a saint.
The elders, and myself, had thought that the Amazon Village was
relatively safe in its remote location.
We were proven wrong.
Just a little while after the official start of World War II, a clan of
female ninjas came to our village for a little 'friendly sparring', as they
called it. What was the name of the clan? Kencer? Kenzan? Anyway, they
simply showed up at our village, and one of them challenged the winner of
the maiden tournament to a battle of life and death, to see which clan of
woman warriors was the strongest.
I, who was already the leader of the village at that point, had of
course forbidden the young warrior to take such a bet. We Chinese Amazons,
at that point, still believed that there was no honour in death.
The champion of the kunoichi clan, a girl ninja with a coolly arrogant
expression, began taunting our champion with words vile enough to enrage any
living person, let alone an Amazon. The people of the village were angered
by the kunoichi's words too, and urged our champion to take on the
challenge. I couldn't stop her . . .
. . . a thing that I would regret for years to come.
Our champion had already gone through 100 matches that day just to get
to become the winner. Exhausted, and no longer thinking clearly, the girl
fell prey to the kunoichi's rapid and precise attacks.
The entire village watched in horror as our winner's heart was pierced
through by the kunoichi's katana.
The following couple of hours was spent in crazed, savage battle, in
which the Amazons and the Kenzan Kunoichi went all out against each other,
with nothing else in mind but to kill . . . and kill . . . and kill.
By the end of the day, we had lost a few warriors, while each and every
one of the Kenzan Kunoichi was turned into pulpy masses of amorphous flesh.
Many of the villagers had helplessly thrown up on the scene after regaining
their senses.
That was the day when the law regarding the Kiss of Death was written.
The Kenzan clan never troubled us directly again. However, they did
something else, something that had almost wiped the Amazon village off the
face of earth.
They bribed a company of the invading army to launch a direct assault on
the Amazon village.
As a result, the armed might of our village was forced to compete with
the modern weaponry of the Japanese. Many of our men were killed, while
some of the younger and more beautiful ones were . . . treated as women,
before they were killed too. Only a few had managed to escape, and only
with the help of their warrior wives sacrificing their lives on their
behalf.
Young women were raped, of course, and subjected to degrading acts that
would drive any non-warrior women insane. Not even the lowliest prostitutes
could have survived that kind of degradation.
I can still remember the sight of one of the village girls, being pinned
under a rather handsome soldier as he roughly violated her body while
taunting her with vile words that I could never forget.
[Now who's stronger, huh? Man or woman? C'mon, answer me, you Chinese
bitch! Who is fing stronger, huh?!
But the girl still had her dignity, and bit her tongue and took her own
life rather than listening to the man continue to mouth such blasphemy.
Sadly, that didn't stop the man from continuing to violate her body.
It was only by pure chance and miracle that I managed to find a
long-forgotten formula capable of temporary rejuvenation. With it, many of
the elders, and myself with them, managed to regain young bodies to go with
our wizened skills. With the full power of the Amazonian Heritage on our
side, we defeated even their most advanced weapons.
Our victory had brought about a frenzied moment among us Amazons. Each
of us had been degraded, hurt, and had lost at least one of our family
members to the Japanese soldiers - we were only too happy to let out our
anger and bitterness on the invaders. We used their own inventions against
them, killing those Japanese men with their own methods of torture.
Then of course, there are always the more handsome ones that the village
women would have use for before killing them . . . thus, the law regarding
the Kiss of Love was written. But for the sake of keeping our law books
from being vulgar, we used the term marry instead of female-on-top
copulation. The fate of the man who has bested an Amazon woman is to be her
slave in whatever way she chooses, for whatever period of time that she
demands. She could even choose to kill him outright if the man was
unattractive by her standards.
Ranma . . . if only you knew how lucky you were that you managed to
bewitch Shampoo so.
But there was a price to be paid for the victory, as the elders and I
soon discovered the side effect of the youth potion, and why it was
forgotten in the first place. After a period of regained youth, the person
who takes the potion will grow old faster than a normal person. Within 10
years, the elders all died from old age, while I became an old woman that
was somehow older-looking than what my years warranted. By the time Shampoo
was old enough to know me as her great-grandmother, I was already a withered
crone that was shocking to the eye. Only my years of training kept that
wretched body strong and alive.
Back to the point. I was talking about Mousse, wasn't I?
At one point, the Japanese soldier that I had mentioned earlier was held
to the ground as a couple of the more aggressive warrior women took their
turns with him. The little bastard, who was mouthing such blasphemous words
against women just a day ago, was now shuddering in a most unmanly manner as
our warriors drained him endlessly for their own pleasure.
One of them, aggressive and foolishly without precautions, took the
longest time with him. It was almost as if she was using sexual dominance
of the man as an outlet for her anger and shame. They were quite a sight -
a half-crazed, ferocious woman, riding on top of a wide-eyed, traumatized
man grasping for breath. She was still riding on the Japanese man when he
died of exhaustion and physical injuries. His eyes, wide with madness and
hatred, were still open even as his last breath had left him.
Nine months later, Mousse's mother was born.
She took after her own mother, to such a point that people frequently
forgot that she was of Japanese ancestry. The mother, having soon
thereafter returned to her senses, was only too happy to get the twisted
mess behind her, as was the entire village. Everything was back to normal.
That is, until Mousse was born.
It really wasn't his fault that he resembled that Japanese soldier so
much. I knew that. But looking at him growing up, looking more and more
like his grandfather, was making many of those that had been through the war
uneasy, especially for those that had aided in the rape and murder of his
grandfather.
He wasn't loved by the older generation of the village. While they
didn't exactly hate him, they avoided him like the plague, only taking care
of him when it was of utmost necessity.
I have to admit that I, who had at one point held down the soldier as
the women warriors raped him, used to be one of them. Through his calm,
beautiful eyes, we were all forced to see what we had done in our revenge-
driven madness. We avoided him to hide from our memories of that disturbing
scene.
Mousse grew to be a quiet, reserved child. He was shy with children his
age, and was not close with anyone aside from his mother. As if surrounded
by an invisible layer of glass, he was unable to make contact with those in
the village. I used to pity him due to his loneliness.
That was, until I saw him beginning to hang around my great-
granddaughter. Everybody was amazed to see that Mousse could actually
LAUGH, and fool around like a normal child as long as his playmate was
Shampoo. The glass case holding him back was non-existent when he was with
her.
My rational side, as you modern people call it, was happy for Mousse to
have found a friend in the village at long last. It was also proud of the
fact that MY Shampoo was so brilliant that she could make friends with even
the most enigmatic of them all - surely she would have grown up to be a
beloved leader of the village.
My irrational side, however, was troubled by their increasing closeness.
It was convinced that through Mousse, that Japanese soldier would have his
revenge upon us. Whenever Shampoo took him to our home for meals, or just
to play their childish games, I, who was supposed to have mastered the art
of deception decades ago, always, always failed miserably in acting . . .
naturally around him. The two of them must have noticed it, for I once
heard the following conversation as my curiosity prompted me to spy on the
pair:
[Shampoo, why does your Hiba-chan dislike me?
[Silly Mousse! Hiba-chan doesn't dislike you!
[Her smile towards me . . . it looks so forced . . .
[Well, I . . . oh! You're just over-reacting! Hiba-chan always smiles
like this!
[Does she?
[Yeah . . .
[Shampoo . . . is it because I'm weak? Is it because I always lose to
the other boys in fights? Is that why none of the elders like me?
[Mousse! Don't say that! That's not true!
[Isn't it . . .?
[It . . . it isn't! I don't know about the other elders, but Hiba-chan
does not hate you! Otherwise, why would she let you come over to our
place?
[Well . . .
The children fell into an uneasy silence as I quietly left.
A little while after that time, Shampoo stopped inviting Mousse to our
house. I should have confronted Shampoo about it, and clear up this
misunderstanding before it got out of hand, but some urgent village concerns
distracted me from such seemingly trivial matters, and I soon forgot the
incident. After all, I used to think that the impressions of children are
of little importance, as nothing in their world was ever serious.
How wrong I was.
One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting debate session at the
Amazon Council, I decided to take a walk around the beautiful waterfall area
behind the village. The sound of the splashing water, together with the
sweet scent of the exotic weeds, had always succeed in washing away my
strain in the past. As I got nearer and nearer the stream, I heard a
familiar "AIYA!" echoing in the forest. Curious, I quietly crept up to the
behind the tall weeds of the waterfall, and took a peek to see what had
happened to my child.
And my heart froze.
Shampoo, her face dirty and her clothes torn, was pinned under HIM. The
blasphemous man. The cruelly handsome Japanese solder who had taunted our
women as he raped them mercilessly. The beautiful loser, who should have
died after being repeatedly raped by our women warrior, was now taking his
revenge on my child.
My innocent, faultless child . . .
[NOW who's the stronger one, huh? He asked while kissing her roughly.
The memory of the twisted ordeal flashed across my mind like a fierce
bolt of brazing white thunder. In a moment of primal fear and maddening
rage, I leapt out and hit the vengeful ghost over his head with my staff,
forcing him away from Shampoo . . .
And he fell off my child like a rag doll.
I turned to Shampoo, relieved, until I saw the fear and shock in her
eyes. I couldn't understand why she was staring at me as if I was suddenly
turning into some kind of hideous ghoul right before her eyes.
[What . . . have you done, Hiba-chan? What have you done to Mousse?!
Mousse? What about Mousse? He wasn't there . . .
. . . was he?
I slowly turned around, and saw the comatose body of the boy. His eyes
were rolled up into their sockets as foam formed at the corners of his open
mouth. Shampoo's voice became increasingly hysterical as she grabbed onto
my shoulders and shook me frantically:
[We were playing, Hiba-chan! PLAYING! We were playing and wrestling
and . . . and he kissed me . . . Hurt . . . You hurt him? YOU hurt HIM?!
Why? Why did you hurt him? Why? WHY? WE WERE PLAYING!! WHY DID YOU HURT
HIM?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! Hiba-chan, WHY?!
Trying to calm the racing of my heart, I hit the sleeping point on
Shampoo, and immediately got the children to the village doctor to be saved.
His mother was, of course, grief-stricken over this, and filed a lawsuit
against me. The members of the Amazon Council looked at me as if I were a
ghost. They questioned me, over and over again, to see WHY the honoured
Grand Matriarch of the village would have done something like that to a
defenceless, inferior, boy.
And I answered, over and over again, that it was because I caught him
trying to kiss Shampoo, and over-reacted.
I was determined that no one should know of the horrific vision I had
witnessed. I would have been deemed insane by the village then.
I was pretty sure that the council would have outcast me, if it wasn't
for my contribution in defending the village during the Second World War. I
merely got a thousand slashes for my crime, hardly anything that I couldn't
handle. I know now, from the series of events that occurred later, that
some of those in the council had deemed me unfit to be the Grand Matriarch
since then. My reputation as an intelligent, level-headed leader was
destroyed as of that day.
But all things considered, it was Shampoo who had given me the harshest
punishment of all, by totally ignoring me after getting over her shock. She
even ran away to stay with my brother, refusing to even let me go near her.
By using Mousse as his tool, the vengeful, Japanese monster had gotten
his revenge after all.
How I hate Japanese men.
I tried to make amends for what I'd done. I used my knowledge in magic
to heal the wounded boy as best as I could. Eventually, he woke up, none
the worse then he was before the accident . . .
. . . save for the fact that he couldn't see very well anymore.
The stunned look on Mousse's face after he opened his eyes would stay in
my mind for the rest of my life.
I made it my responsibility to train him as a warrior again, to overcome
his newly-impaired vision. I offered him two choices of style: the armed or
unarmed combat of my family line. In a rather flat voice, he replied:
[Armed combat . . . specializing in hidden weapons.
When I began to spar with him, his insistence on using real, sharpened
weapons that made it clear that he was trying to take his revenge upon me.
It was only his impaired vision and my century of training that kept me safe
from his vengeance.
He then began following me around, calling me names in public places,
hoping to agitate me, hoping that I'd lose control like the last time, that
I'd finally be expelled from the tribe. I was feeling too much guilt then
for it to affect me, and thankfully, the ghost never troubled me again.
Besides, the monotone in which he spoke with made his words more chilling
than insulting.
[Old Ghoul . . . why won't you answer me?
[Are you afraid?
[You know, the entire village is laughing at you behind your back.
[The most high-ranking matriarch, helpless against a mere boy's
taunting . . .
[They say you're starting to lose it, Dried Fish.
[That's why you attacked me in the first place, wasn't it? That's why a
century old matriarch would attack a child of thirteen, wasn't it?
[Hmmm? Why won't you answer me, Old Monkey? Afraid your teeth will
fall out if you ever open up your wrinkled lips?
Eventually, even his own mother felt ashamed at his behaviour, and
ordered him to stop embarrassing the Grand Matriarch like that. But he
wouldn't, and nobody in the village had the heart to stop a wronged boy from
doing what he wanted.
Not even myself, who was the one who had destroyed he who could have
been a happy child in the first place.
Ironically, it was Mousse's all too obvious hatred towards me that
obtained for me Shampoo's partial forgiveness. One day, he was testing my
patience again, taunting me in the village temple as I meditated.
Then, the miracle took place.
Shampoo, marching right up to the boy, ordered him to stop in a firm,
warrior's voice. To my surprise, he did, with a sheepish expression on his
face. Shampoo then ran towards me and gave me a teary hug, saying that I
shouldn't feel guilty over that incident anymore; that I had more than paid
for what I'd done; that if anyone should be blamed it should have been her.
I chided her for thinking that she was responsible. One thing led to
another and we, great-grandmother and daughter, took our first step towards
reconciliation.
As the two of us made our way back home, I heard distinctively the sound
of knuckles cracking from behind us, following us like a subtle curse.
Things began to go back to normal after that, with Shampoo once again
seeing me as her mother figure. I told her that it was okay if she wanted
to be friends with Mousse, and that I wasn't thinking very clearly when I
did what I'd done the last time. She asked me, in a tentative voice, if
that had to do with Mousse being weak. I denied it, for it was the truth.
Shampoo didn't seem too convinced, but for my sake she pretended to accept
my words.
Mousse had, of course, continued to chase after Shampoo. I swear by the
earth that I did nothing to prevent him from getting Shampoo's love.
However, I eventually came to realize that what Shampoo felt for him was
what she would have felt if she had had a brother. I even tried telling him
that myself, once. He didn't answer me.
I never did discover what had he told Shampoo afterwards, but after that
day, Shampoo seldom allowed herself to be seen together with him in my
presence.
Eventually, Shampoo's interest in Mousse dimmed, and she began to avoid
him. Part of the change may be attributed to the fact that he kept
mistaking shrubs, animals, and other not even remotely purple objects for
Shampoo, annoying the girl to no end. Mousse, however, only tried all the
harder to force her into loving him, usually with disastrous results.
Shampoo began to see him as a nuisance, and coldly rejected him whenever he
tried to pester her with his 'love'.
Throughout all this, true to my word, I did NOT interfere.
As his desperation grew, he even came to me, once. ME, who he hated,
who he would have sliced into ribbons if not for my superior skills, and yet
he came. He broke down crying, saying that it was because of his blindness
that Shampoo does not love him. Pinning me against a wall, he screamed:
[YOU! IT IS BECAUSE OF YOU THAT SHAMPOO WON'T LOVE ME! IF YOU HADN'T
ROBBED ME OF MY SIGHT, SHE WOULD HAVE GROWN TO LOVE ME! GIVE ME BACK MY
SHAMPOO! GIVE HER TO ME! MAKE HER LOVE ME AGAIN, YOU GHOUL! MAKE HER LOVE
ME AGAIN! MAKE HER! MAKE HER! MAKE HER LOVE ME!!
I remained wordless as he continued to hit me with his bare, weak hands
until he was exhausted. I would have given anything to him just to have him
happy again. But no, not Shampoo, not an innocent girl who, despite what
she believed, had nothing to do with his tragedy. If Mousse wished for more
compensation for his loss, it would have to be something from me and me
alone.
As fate would have it, Shampoo's first real love was Japanese.
I can still remember the day when he first came to our village, in his
cursed form. It was during a tournament - Shampoo had already fought
against at least 100 girls to get to the final match, but was still doing
remarkably well against Linji, one of the biggest girls of her generation,
much to my pride and the village's awe.
At that point, he . . . or rather, she, had matched straight up to the
prize of the village tournament together with that panda father of hers.
Without asking for permission to eat the food, or even how much the food was
going to cost, she and the Panda began wolfing it down in front of the
everybody's horrified eyes. The elders were especially disturbed: this was
reminding them too much of the Kenzan Kunoichi's challenge.
Shampoo, who had just won the race, was of course extremely angry, and
confronted the rude foreigner. To Shampoo's surprise, not only did she NOT
apologize, she told the Jusenkyo guide to tell Shampoo that she would
CHALLENGE Shampoo for the prize. The entire village was outraged. Shampoo
had spent the entire day fighting through countless battles just to make it
to the final match, which she had already won. That Japanese girl, still
fresh and untired (and recently re-energized by consuming the prize), had
the gall to challenge Shampoo at this point?
I had, of course, whispered to Shampoo not to accept such a ridiculous
challenge. But Shampoo, in her burning rage, wouldn't listen to me. When
she leapt up onto the sacred battle log, it was already too late for me to
interfere. Tired, and already not thinking clearly, she was easily kicked
off the log by the outsider, thus allowing the sacred prize of the village
to be . . . degraded . . . by that girl - that Japanese girl.
That day, the Amazon Village was insulted in a way it had not seen since
the Second World War.
Having no other way to make up for her mistake and save face for the
Village, Shampoo did the only thing that she could: she became the first to
use the law of the Kiss of Death. The entire village watched in shock as
Shampoo kissed the foreign girl, thus putting her life on the line to
salvage the village's honour.
And just like the last time, I was unable to stop the disaster from
occurring. I had wanted to go with her, to at least aid her in this
seemingly impossible mission. Shampoo could NOT kill anyone; she lacked the
required ruthlessness. Frankly, I hoped she never had to. By offering to
go along with with her, I was hoping that I would be the one doing the dirty
deed. After all, I had slaughtered dozens of Japanese invaders in World War
II - what more was one insolent Japanese kid? But Shampoo had insisted that
she should go alone.
[Hiba-chan! If I can't even carry out an Amazon Law, how can I ever
hope to be a Matriarch?
I hated myself then for letting that law come to pass.
And so, Shampoo went on her quest, and we lost contact with her for
about two months.
After that time, just as I had predicted, Shampoo came back in tears,
saying that she had been unable to carry out the law.
The law that she had taken upon herself in front of the entire village.
[Hiba-chan . . . I can't. I've failed the village.
Those in the council who had lost faith in me since the incident with
Mousse seized the opportunity. They used Shampoo's failure in her vow to
attack my position in the council. Shampoo, knowing how things had gone
between the council and I, became a complete wreck as she blamed herself for
the council's attack on me. Mousse was by her side during that difficult
time, and served well in calming her. Despite his obsessive nature, I had
to give him credit for always being there for Shampoo when she needed it.
After three days of hellish, almost non-stop debating at the council, we
reached an agreement:
If I was to redeem Shampoo's honour by training Shampoo to be a better
warrior, then all could be forgiven for both of us.
The designated training ground was Jusenkyo.
After the first sparring session, Shampoo was cursed with a cat's body.
The added insight about the nature of the cursed pools made her realise the
truth behind her challenger's condition, that her target was a MALE.
Shampoo then surprised me with a determined look that could only belong to
an Amazon as she said the following words in the serious tone of an adult:
[If Ranma truly is a man . . . then my groom he shall be.
From then, it was only a short time before we made our way to Japan,
together, this time, and...
But the rest of what WE have done is already known. As for the
others...
How should I describe Ranma Saotome?
In the beginning, I only knew him as a fighter. His power came from his
ability to rapidly think up both offensive and defensive moves to use upon
an opponent. His skills, honed by an unloving father who valued him only
for his martial arts ability, were quite marvelous for that of someone his
age. However, none of the harsh, suicidal training methods that he had been
through, not even that ridiculous Cat-Fu, had prepared him to be a TRULY
refined martial artist like Kirin or Herb. Herb, before his madness, that
is. Ranma, with all his combat abilities, had remained an unjaded warrior.
And so, I tested his worthiness by seeing if he was able to pick up the
Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken.
He succeeded, earning my respect for him as a potential match for
Shampoo, yet I couldn't help but feel that he hated me ever since then for
trying to 'force' him into marrying Shampoo.
Ho, Ranma, if only you knew how naively egotistic you were.
He had been through quite a few major crises in his life. Knowing of
Shampoo's love for him, and thinking that he would one day be my in-law, I
tried to gain his trust by unconditionally helping him out in most, if not
all those times. I think he started to forgive me after I taught him the
Hiryuu Shoten Ha, but I can't be too sure. Anyway, after that time, he and
his Japanese fiancee dropped their guards enough to eat at my restaurant
often without fearing that I'd drug them. Of course, that was also due to
the fact that the idea of eating real Chinese food for free is tempting to
the majority of the Japanese population.
There was a time in my life when I thought that boy was fairly likable
despite his Japanese blood. I used to wonder how such a wonderful boy could
have come from such a wretched, selfish father. That was . . . before I
began to see him as a man rather than a fighter.
He was a . . . manipulator of women that I haven't seen since Happosai
last visited the Amazon village ages ago. While openly refusing my
great-granddaughter's requests to go on dates, he kept hanging around her of
his own volition. To get what he had wanted from her, be it the instant man
spring or the hypnotic scent, Ranma would promise Shampoo dates or flowers
or other such worthless things that were crucial to a young woman's life.
After he had obtained what he sought, he would brazenly go back on his words
and leave the girl in a thousand shattered pieces that were left to me to
put together.
I can see that now: to him, Shampoo, Ukyou . . . even to some extent,
Kodachi, were but pawns to be used to serve his own purposes. They were
important to him only when they've got something to offer - magical
artifacts, free food, financial assistance, or simply a helping hand in
battle. After they'd served his purpose, it was Akane that he always
returned to. The fact that those three had kept coming back for more only
boosted his ego, making him think that it was okay to continue to treat them
as his tools. In fact, I bet that he didn't even once feel guilty about it:
he didn't even know it was wrong.
But still, his beautiful smile, his seemingly innocent strong-headedness
and his fearlessness in physical battles had masked all these from everyone,
even myself. To all normal eyes, he appeared to be a harmlessly
mischievous, yet righteous boy, the kind that girls fawn on and women smile
at. It wasn't until the incident with the Reversal Jewel that I appreciated
just how . . . far he could go when it came to satisfying his Japanese male
pride.
He, who had been ridiculing Shampoo's overtly aggressive pursuit of him
behind the poor girl's back, was now vowing to get her to love him again.
It wasn't because he had fallen in love with Shampoo all of a sudden. No,
it was because he needed Shampoo's attentions to satisfy himself, to make
him feel good, to get people to admit how popular he was.
I then realized that despite all his attractiveness, he was almost as
selfish as that Japanese father of his. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense
to me. Just as his father had stolen young girls' dowries with lies, he had
robbed our village's prize with taunts. Just as his father had manipulated
him for his selfish gains, he had manipulated the women around him to serve
his own purposes. Just as his father had fled from his wife due to his
inability to gain honour, he had hidden his feelings from Akane Tendo from
addiction to what his 'outer fiancees' provided for him. He, with his
beautiful form and lithe grace, was still, undeniably, his father's son.
There is only ONE kind of punishment fitting for a man of his kind. He
wanted to get Shampoo to love him? Then I'd have him marry her. Once
married, by Amazon law, he would have to obey Shampoo as his superior. He
was going to make Shampoo a happy for the rest of his life, whether he liked
it, or not. Otherwise, Shampoo would take another man as her head husband,
demoting him to the status of concubine, which was really but another term
for house-servant. And should he prove to be . . . difficult, the law
allowed for he application of righteous discipline. For once, Shampoo would
be a winner in their relationship. I would make sure of it.
I can't tell you how . . . disappointed I was when my plan backfired at
the last minute. My only solace was that Shampoo seemed to be taking it
better that I though she would.
Things seemed to calm down for a while, as they always did before a
storm. Shampoo was soon her perky and playful self again, going after Ranma
with all the vigour of a lovesick young woman. Ranma, after regaining
Shampoo's love, had once again found it to be something that he could afford
to ignore and stamp on. If it weren't for the fact that Shampoo truly cared
for him, I would have dosed out some serious punishment to that impertinent
boy.
Well, eventually, I guess I did after all.
Business had been soaring at the Nekohanten for the next two months,
largely due to the fact that the other Chinese restaurant in the area was
moving away to downtown Tokyo. After saving up enough extra money, I
managed to surprise my Shampoo with a gift that I knew she had always
wanted.
It was a extraordinarily beautiful western-style gown, one that I have
many times seen Shampoo drooling over from outside its glass window at an
elegant but expensive boutique. When she rose from her futon and found the
stylishly wrapped package lying right on her table, she practically AIYA-ed
with glee. I then went into the room with a smile, and before I could even
get a word out, she was already there, hugging me and thanking me like an
excited child. Heh, if I had known that she had wanted the dress THAT much,
I would have gotten it for her a long time ago.
She then asked me if she could take the morning off just to show off
that dress to everybody. I smiled, knowing exactly who that 'everybody' was
going to be. I told her that a gown like that was only supposed to be worn
at parties. But she persisted, and seeing no harm in it, I gave her an
entire day off just to do whatever she like with her new treasure. After
all, what harm could it have done?
I doubt she has ever been as happy since then.
After Shampoo put on the gown, I finally realized why that package had
cost such an astronomical sum in the first place. First, for the sake of
decency, a flesh-toned one-piece suit, which came with the package, had to
be worn. Then, the violet, half-translucent gown was to be put on. It
amazed me that something that lose and tender could have managed to hug a
woman's body in all the right places, turning it into a work of art. I
guess the money was more well-spent than I had originally thought.
I added the finishing touches for her by curling up her free-falling
long hair into elaborate locks and putting on her make-up. By the time we
were done, my great-granddaughter was transformed from a pretty little
nymphet into a stunning goddess that could make any great-grandmother proud.
I must have been smiling from ear to ear as Shampoo waltzed through the
restaurant into the streets, stunning every male and female customer into
freezing as she passed by gracefully. Mousse, after, putting on his glasses
and taking a look at her, became too dazed to work for the rest of the day.
That night, while I was cleaning up from behind the counter, Shampoo
quietly slipped through the doors and hurried up into her room before I
could take a good look at her. It didn't take a genius to figure out that
something had gone wrong.
It took me ten minutes to get the girl to open up the door for me, with
her head lowered. I lifted her chin and saw something that turned my blood
cold.
On one side of Shampoo's face was a scarlet, rather large hand-print
that seemed to be burning against the surrounding pale, skin. She looked
away from me as tears of shame flowed down her cheeks and onto my withered,
trembling hand.
[I . . . I went to the Tendo Dojo. I tried looking for Ranma, but Akane
won't let me. She . . . she was jealous, calling me a slut for wearing the
gown . . . I was angry, and we fought. Before I could hit her . . .
someone slapped me. Ranma . . . it was him . . . he said that he had had
enough. He . . . never want to see me at their dojo again . . . he . . .
he never did tell me how I look in this dress . . .
And she broke down crying, no longer able to go on.
As Amazons, we had all gotten our fair share of bruises in the past.
But . . . a slap? From a MALE?! Unthinkable.
I looked at my child, my painfully perfect child, suffering again and again
at that hands of that boy . . . no, that Japanese man, and I knew then that
SOMEONE had had enough. And it wasn't him: no, not by a long shot.
The deathly calm that had hung over me for the next few days must have
been quite evident. Even Mousse, who had always taunted me with ease, had
kept his mouth shut around me. Shampoo, after getting over her own
heartache, had timidly muttered to me time after time that the fault was on
her, that I shouldn't be angry with Ranma, that she was sure that she could
have worked things out with him.
Of course the fault didn't lie with Ranma, for he had played the passive
victim so well that even I have to give him credit for his performance. By
stringing along half a dozen women with light promises and insincere
compliments, he had only to sit back and relax as they fought each other
like cats and dogs while he himself remaining guiltless all the while. As
long as it didn't touch Akane, his 'uncute, sexless tomboy', it was but an
amusing game for him.
Very well, little one. Two can play at the game of puppet-mastering,
providing that we've got the right tools.
A week later, my tool had conveniently made his way into my plan. My
first love, later to become my first hate: such bitter irony. The years had
taken away much of his cuteness, as well as his guard against hidden traps
and subtle dangers. Perhaps it had to do with his inhuman accomplishment in
the Art through a century of training? Either way, it was fine with me, for
after the whole thing was over with, he would be the one taking the fall,
not I.
Or so I thought.
He came to me for advice on how to "teach that Ranma punk a lesson".
I gave him the scroll with instructions on how to summon one of the most
powerful spirits of Jusenkyo. I wrote it in large, simple kanji, so that
even someone like the senile old fool wouldn't mix up the procedures.
For shattering the love that Shampoo had offered him, Ranma would be
punished. After this encounter, he would find himself humbled as he
realized just HOW inferior he was when compared to even the ghost of a true
Chinese warrior. I would have done it myself, if Shampoo had not held me
back.
Some time later, the eldest Tendo daughter informed us of Ranma's death.
I hadn't anticipated that he would be tactless enough to allow himself
to die. Hurt, maybe, but to actually get killed? That just wasn't his
style. If he survived battles with Kumon Ryu and so many other ruthless
fighters, how could he possibly get killed? Unthinkable.
To my horror and disbelief, Shampoo's sanity began collapsing as I
watched. Her eyes, once bright and sparkling with mischief, were now as
vacant as that of the Kasumi girl. No, even more so. Kasumi tried to slap
Shampoo back into sanity, as the latter babbled mindlessly about cleaning up
the mess on the floor.
Why, Shampoo? He was but one in a thousand. He was good, but not THAT
good! He died so easily! And he was spawned of such a shameful,
dishonourable father and honour-driven, brick-brained mother. Shampoo, how
could you . . . actually allow yourself to be hurt over him? I tried saying
something, anything that would stop her descent into insanity. I don't
remember clearly what I said, but it was something to the effect of "Be
strong, and put this behind you."
What came out must have been much worse than what I was aiming for, for
Shampoo abruptly whirled around towards me with something that I could NEVER
have imagined on her sweet, beautiful face: hatred. It was the same deep,
pure hatred that I'd felt when Happosai had left me, a century ago; in the
Japanese soldier's eyes while I was pinning him down for the others to enjoy
him; on Mousse's pale face as he taunted me. The same kind of hatred that
had always haunted me in the back of my mind was now pasted over Shampoo's
contoured, no longer beautiful face as she glared into my eyes. I stared
helplessly at the hatred on her face, unable to look away. Oh, to the
powers that be, please just let me look away-, I thought.
It turned out I didn't have to after all, as Shampoo's hands darted
toward my eyes, and afterwards . . .
Darkness.
A locked door, blocking out unpleasant thoughts of the unknown
future . . .
A comforting wall, guarding me from the turmoil of the present . . .
A stained-glass window, failing miserably to block out the faces of the
men in my past . . .
. . . the men who've bested me and my kind . . .
. . . the men from Japan.
For too many years I've lived in the dark, no longer caring about
anything other than having my body decay enough that I could die of natural
causes: those foolish enough to take their own lives are cursed to walk the
earth 'til the end of eternity. And so, I remained. Alive.
When a butterfly is without its wings, it is not only deprived of
flight, but also turned into a helpless, ugly worm that is no longer able to
attract . . . yet very capable of repulsion.
I, who had already lost my eyes, had no idea just how true that was
until Doctor Ono Tofu paid me a visit. The feeling of nausea radiating from
that man was so strong that I had to keep myself very much in control to not
lose my dignity and snap at him like a mad woman right there and then. The
fact that he, despite his Japanese origin, had more loyalty to his wife than
even an Amazon male, was the only thing that had allowed me to act THAT
civilly with him.
After that day, I realized that I couldn't possibly keep on living that
way any longer. I also realized that old and twisted as it was, my overtly
well-trained body wasn't going to leave this world anytime soon on its own.
Tonight, I've made a bet with myself . . . no, with Japan itself:
Shall this cursed body still live after this midnight, the cask of
spring of drowned youth that I've kept with me all these years shall finally
came to use. When it does, I shall be as I was once . . . no, much more
powerful than what I was once. Then, for all that Shampoo and I've suffered
through, the men of this country shall pay for it tenfold . . . a
hundred-fold . . . no, a thousand-fold.
Oh, how I hate Japanese men.
END NIKUMI
