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