Identity, by Muphrid. A tribe of Chinese sorcerers captures Ranma to purge emotions from the hearts of men. A continuation story, set after the end of the manga.

What's going on here? If Ukyō's going to go all the way to China after Ranma, she's going to need some help keeping her restaurant afloat. The only person she can turn to she hasn't seen in ten long years.

Night Life of the Dōtonbori

Chapter Three, Act Two

There are some contemporary observers who say rail is dead. They see the old infrastructure of iron tracks and heavy rolling cars as relics of ancient technologies, archaic holdovers from a time long since past. In truth, rail is a means of connecting extremes: in centuries before, locomotives linked the populous American East with its western frontier. In modern times, where cities are dense yet close together, trains are an economical means of travel, especially on a string of islands off the coast of Asia.

That's why, when Kuonji Ukyō needed to make a trip, she booked two tickets on the Shinkansen, the Japanese bullet train, and closed her shop for the afternoon.

"Are you sure you want me along?" asked Konatsu, fidgeting in his seat.

"It's all right," said Ukyō, staring through her window into the black of night. "No offense, but the last time you were in charge, it cost more than shutting the door."

Konatsu sighed.

"But hey, it's your first ride on the bullet train. Mine too, actually. That has to count for something, right?"

He beamed, nodding.

"Why don't you pick up something to eat?" asked Ukyō. "There's a vending machine in the back, yeah?"

"Would you like anything in particular?"

"Something chocolate, perhaps." She handed him a small coin purse. "Don't go overboard, now."

Konatsu bowed, taking off down the center aisle.

And scattering coins all over the traincar as he ran.

"Ah, forgive me, Ukyō-sama!"

"It's okay; just do what you can." Ukyō turned over, resting her head on the window. Damn. I shouldn't have given him the whole purse. That's a thousand yen! She sighed. Then again, it's nothing compared to these tickets … or how much I'll lose by closing down and going to China.

A lamppost streaked across the night, speeding by at almost three hundred kilometers per hour, but unlike the aircraft cabin the traincar resembled, the windows here showed shadows and silhouettes of the countryside, not clouds below. Nevertheless, the rows of cushioned seats reminded Ukyō that she wasn't on a vacation across Japan—she had a destination, a place to be. The night shrouded that place in darkness, but she felt it coming. Every bump on the rails, every bank of the track told her it wouldn't be long, but what awaited her in the night she couldn't say, nor did she understand what she'd left. At dawn, she would leave for China; she'd sworn as much when she left the Tendō home. Too much happened behind her back the last time Ranma went to Jusenkyō. He came back different, changed.

Haunted.

There are some things you never forget, whether it be the sight of your father's cart riding into the sunset, leaving without you, or the feel of cold, damp skin against your own, the touch of another human who isn't alive to share your pain.

Or so she'd heard from the grapevine. As the days had passed, the full story of Ranma's bravery trickled down to her, and true enough, Ranma had told no lie, engaged in no deception: the heat of the Dragon Tap boiled Akane until she was but a doll, and only Ranma's heroics had saved her. Maybe Akane didn't really die at Jusendō, but that didn't matter—he believed she did, and whether he meant to choose one girl over the others, he made his preference clear, either way.

"Ukyō-sama?"

At the prod of a candy bar, Ukyō twitched. Konatsu handed her the flat slab of chocolate, and Ukyō gratefully peeled back the wrapper, breaking off a piece. "Thanks."

Konatsu plopped in his seat. He tore open a bag of gummy worms and marveled at their varied colors and peculiar stretchiness. Folding one end over the other, he tied the gummy worm in a knot and bit off the excess.

Time is like that, thought Ukyō. Future and past—they're bound together. They both lead to the same place. Behind me is my shop in Nerima, my time with Ranchan, but if you go ever further there's more. I trained on the cliffs by the bay. I worked day and night to win back my honor or, if nothing else, Father's cart. And now what's behind me is in front of me, too. Anywhere I go, I come back to that.

The train rounded a bend, and through the window, the first glimmers of a metropolis pierced the night.

"Hello, Father," she said to the glass. "Little Ucchan's come back to see you now."

#

At half past seven, the train ground to a halt, idling in a tube of metal and glass. Fluorescent lights cast the terminal in a pale glow with overlapping shadows. This was Shin-Ōsaka Station, the end and beginning of the Tōkaidō rail line, the gateway to the metropolis of Kōbe, cosmopolitan port; to Kyōto, the ancient capital of Japan; and to Ōsaka itself, an economic powerhouse second only to Tōkyō in size and prosperity. Where Kyōto was the heart of Japanese tradition, Ōsaka housed its culinary soul. "Try kimonos 'til you drop in Kyōto," went a saying, "and eat 'til you drop in Ōsaka."

From the train station, Konatsu and Ukyō went underground, heading south to the famous Dōtonbori, a place of neon signs and bustling crowds. Even on a Sunday night, locals and tourists—both foreign and domestic—strolled the length of the boulevard. Above the street, many and varied displays lured the unsuspecting visitor to their sponsors' stores. A sprinter raced on a digital track, coasting to the sweet smell of fresh caramel. Down the road, a mechanical crab wriggled its legs and closed its pincers, as if the aroma of hot butter sent shivers down its shell.

"It was always my father's dream to have a restaurant here," said Ukyō, breathing in the mix of scents. "He said he'd rather have one shop on this street than a hundred shops in all Japan. This place is the capital of Japanese cuisine, you know. Father would settle for nothing less."

"You know this place quite well, don't you?" said Konatsu.

Ukyō pulled out a handful of pamphlets, brochures, maps of the Ōsaka underground. "Not really. I've only heard stories. Father and I traveled a lot when I was young, and we never had the time or money to head into the big city."

"It'd be nice to stay a while."

"It would be, wouldn't it?" Ukyō gazed skyward, admiring the great variety of colors, the vivid energy of the Dōtonbori and the people who walked, cooked, and ate there.

But the invigorating aroma was brief and fleeting; a gust enveloped those scents and carried them over the canal, where they could influence Ukyō no more.

"Come along, Konatsu," she said. "We don't have time for a leisurely stroll. If we're not back by midnight, our return tickets are worthless."

"You're really intent on going to China, aren't you."

"I won't leave Ranchan to tribal voodoo people. He does enough by himself; he deserves some help for a change."

"I suppose."

Ukyō stopped. "Wouldn't you do the same?" she asked. "For someone you love?"

Konatsu turned away, jittering, flustered. "Of course! I wouldn't think of anything else."

"You can be quite strange sometimes, Konatsu." She looked him over from head to toe. "Hm, maybe more than just sometimes."

Fidgeting still, Konatsu's gaze wandered. "Say." He gestured across the street. "Isn't that…?" He pointed out a cloth awning, a black fabric with bold, white characters. It was a sign, and it shouted the name of this restaurant for all the world to hear.

"Okonomiyaki Kuonji's," read the sign.

"So it is," said Ukyō, pocketing her pamphlets. "Father's dream—he made it reality."

Ukyō and Konatsu jogged across the street, cutting past a line of customers that trailed out the door. Inside, batter sizzled and popped over three sets of griddles. Guests fought for stools, and the chefs, performers in their own right, twirled their spatulas with flair and style.

Just like a good okonomiyaki chef should.

"Hey!" The lead chef parted the crowd with his spatula. "You there!"

"Me?" said Ukyō.

"You're the boss's daughter, aren't you? He's been waiting for you."

Ukyō looked about, but the dim lighting hid the rest of the room in muddled, formless shadow. "Where?"

"Upstairs, of course!" The lead chef jerked his head toward a faint, hidden stairwell in the corner. "He's doing a show right now!"

"A show?" said Konatsu.

Wasting no time, Ukyō dragged Konatsu forward, weaving between the grills. They climbed the stairs to the upper floor—a smaller, cozy dining area with a balcony overhanging the sidewalk. In the center, a bearded man wielded dual spatulas over his griddle. Under a white spotlight, he spun and juggled three okonomiyaki and caught them on separate plates, to the cheers and applause of his patrons.

"Amazing!" said Konatsu.

"Well, looks like I could still learn a trick or two from the old man," said Ukyō. "Interesting."

A bus boy wiped down an empty table, and Ukyō and Konatsu took seats. Guests at the griddle blocked the view of the show, but on occasion, a disc of batter and sauce soared above the crowd.

"I learned everything I know from him," said Ukyō. "It's good to see he's still got it."

"You both seem quite theatrical," said Konatsu.

"If we didn't want to be theatrical, we wouldn't cook okonomiyaki. We'd stay in the kitchen and do our work unseen. Maybe that works for some people, but not for me. I want people to see how I'm working at it. It's an effort. An okonomiyaki doesn't pop out like instant ramen from a microwave. If there's no flair, there's no point."

At center stage, Ukyō's father tossed peppers and shrimp in the air, catching them one-handed on a plate of dough. He presented the finished product to a hungry customer amidst cheers and applause.

"Thank you, thank you," he said. "You honor me with your praise. As much as I'd like to stay and share my passion for okonomiyaki with you further, I must turn over duties to my deputy chef, Nakamura, who will gladly serve you. Thank you again for dining at Kuonji's Okonomiyaki."

To another burst of applause, Kuonji wiped his hands on a cloth and bowed before his replacement. Leaving the griddle, he broke through the crowd of dinner guests and made his way to the table in the corner, where Ukyō and Konatsu sat.

"So, my daughter," he said. "You return to me at last."

Ukyō pursed her lips, rising. "Father, this is Konatsu, my assistant," she said. "Konatsu…"

SLAP! Kuonji's head spun, tilting at an angle.

"This is my deadbeat father," said Ukyō. "Really, Father. Did you think I'd be happy that you sold me to a no-good charlatan like Saotome Genma?"

Kuonji rubbed his cheek. "I had reasons for that."

"Do tell. I'm listening. Konatsu, perhaps you can help Nakamura-san with his duties? After all, we're keeping Father from his work."

Konatsu offered his seat to the elder Kuonji and back-flipped over the crowd, landing squarely in the cooking area.

The guests, and the chief chef, were somewhat amazed.

"Oh, don't mind him," said Ukyō. "The boy can be a showoff at times and not even realize it."

Kuonji frowned. "That's a boy?"

"You shouldn't be surprised." Ukyō fished her pockets, laying out a series of envelopes, all addressed to her. "You know I went to a boys' school. Is the reverse so shocking?"

"I'd hoped you'd put that nonsense behind you."

"Strange things always happen around Ranma. It can't be helped."

"I see. Is that why you stay with him?"

Ukyō looked away. "No."

"Well, forgive me if I'm curious," said Kuonji. "You have my letters. I don't remember getting any in return."

"What do you expect, Father? He still owes me. He owes both of us."

"And what would you accept in return?"

She rubbed her ring finger. "A nice diamond would be a start. Probably too much to ask, but a start."

"I still have business friends in Nerima. I've heard a lot about the Saotome boy since he moved there."

"You knew? You knew he was there before I—"

"I hardly knew how to contact you."

"But if you could?"

"I wouldn't have told you."

Ukyō scoffed. "So, this is how you try to erase a mistake? You'd ignore how they shamed us?"

"It was as much my mistake for putting trust in Saotome Genma. I should've realized if he would break one engagement promise, he wouldn't balk at breaking another."

"Like I said—they owe us."

"They owe us a cart."

"A cart? Is that all you can think about? A cart won't make up for what people will say, what rumors they spread. Maybe you'll try to forget, but I can't. I trained for ten years to pay Ranchan back for their crime. I can't get that time back!"

"So marry him."

Ukyō blinked. "Excuse me?"

"If only marriage will satisfy you, why don't you marry him? You found him, after all this time. What's the problem?"

"I thought you had 'friends' in Nerima…"

"I don't hear everything."

Ukyō opened her mouth to respond, but a pair of plates interrupted her. "What's this?"

"Two house specials," said the waiter, setting the okonomiyaki before them. "Shrimp and cheese, seaweed, tuna…"

She met her father's gaze. "It's my favorite."

"That's why it's the special."

Ukyō folded her arms and fumed. "I can cook it myself, you know. Or is this hot plate on the table just for show?"

"Have to have a few chefs around to feed the Americans. And you shouldn't have to cook for yourself after such a trip."

"Which you forced me to take."

Kuonji broke off a piece of his dinner, savoring the bite. "My daughter has been away from me for a decade, and when I finally manage to track her down, I find that she refuses to come home because she's still chasing the boy who wronged her, a boy who refuses to marry her."

"That's not how it is."

"Then how is it? You've been in Tōkyō how many months now?"

"Time doesn't matter to love, Father."

"So you've made him love you, then?"

Ukyō choked on a the head of a shrimp. "I don't hate him anymore if that's what you're saying. Honestly, that was silly. We were five. You can't make realistic decisions about your life when you're five."

"Or when you're sixteen."

"Just what do you mean to say, Father? Spit it out, so I can catch my train and go home."

"So you can go to China, following the Saotome boy."

"That's right."

"But you don't have the money for that."

Ukyō growled. "No."

"After I gave our cart to Saotome, I had little of my own, too. When you ran off, I spent what I had searching for you, but that didn't last long. Soon I was stranded. I took a job as an assistant chef—at a buffet, of all things. I cut vegetables. I washed fruit. Only when the head chef was ill did I have a chance to show what I could do, and I did. Four years I labored for next to nothing. Three years I spent as head chef of that buffet in Kōbe, but even that wasn't enough. It wasn't my passion. It wasn't my dream. I made friends with a customer there, one who happened to strike it rich. He bankrolled this restaurant in gratitude for all the meals I provided when he was just a working man. I've still yet to repay him in full. Money, daughter, does not come cheaply. I know you have only the shop you rent every month and a few sparse possessions. I heard you'd been ill; that can't have been good for business. I don't want anything material from you. All I wanted was to see my daughter again. Is that so much to ask?"

"No, Father." Ukyō looked down, into her lap. "It isn't."

"I can staff your restaurant while you're out of town—I have apprentices and new talent that would jump at the chance—but I have to ask: why do you pursue the Saotome boy, even now, ten years later?"

"Our honor demands it."

Kuonji laughed bitterly. "Our honor has cost you your childhood, cost me…" He shook his head, laying a spatula down. "It cost me my chance to be a father." He met Ukyō's gaze. "Does he love you?"

"He could. He doesn't yet."

"Does he favor someone else? The Tendō girl he was promised to?"

Ukyō turned away, staring at the wall. "He might."

"Then why—"

"It doesn't matter if he loves me right this second," said Ukyō. "I've not yet begun to fight for his heart. Akane-chan will see."

Her father sighed. "So that's how it is, then. You're going to fight and see who triumphs."

"You're afraid I'll lose?"

"I'm afraid you'll win." He attacked his meal with the spatula, breaking off another piece. "Is that all? You're going after him because you still have to chase his heart?"

"Well, no," said Ukyō. "It's not the only reason. He's in trouble. He's my friend."

"Your friend?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Is he your friend or isn't he? Do you have his interests at heart or yours? Don't tell me you're friends as an excuse to chase him."

"It's the truth! And I'll go to China to save him whether he loves me or not!"

The elder Kuonji tapped his spatula on the plate, pondering. "Well then, let us speak of this no further."

"Father!"

"You have a spare key to your shop with you? I'll send my staff over first thing in the morning."

Ukyō blinked. "Really?"

"I'll pay the rent while you're away, perhaps make a little extra pocket money on the side, who knows. I won't stop you from going to the aid of a friend. Just promise me something, will you?"

"Of course."

"Don't let it be ten years before we see each other again."

"I'll try, Father," said Ukyō, nodding slightly.

"Good. Now finish your food."

Ukyō cracked an amused smile. "Yes, Father."

Crash! A bottle of sake shattered on the floor, and three copies of Konatsu scrambled to gather the jagged shards, sweeping them into a dustpan.

"And tell me," said Kuonji, "how did you meet this 'boy' you call an assistant, anyway?"

#

A quarter to nine. Ukyō rested her head on the cold window, and Konatsu cuddled under three woolen blankets, sleeping. The bullet train raced through the night once more, leaving the lights of the metropolis behind.

Ranchan and Father—they both wanted promises. Ukyō scrunched her brow. Promises I don't know I can keep.

"If you ever hurt her again," Ranma had said, "if you ever stand by while she's in danger, then you've made your choice. Do either, and you're not my friend anymore, certainly not my fiancée. Promise me you won't do that."

She wavered.

"Promise me!"

Both of them, so insistent, so demanding. They asked like their promises were easy, but they weren't. Akane would surely go to China in the morning. Ranma couldn't have foreseen this. He couldn't expect her to watch over Akane like a guardian angel while they ventured into a war zone.

But promises shouldn't be broken because of something you didn't consider.

Her father was no different. All through dinner, his questions concealed a real purpose; he held back what he really felt, but he made it clear enough. "Stop chasing that boy," he meant to say. "Don't give up any more of your life on him." How selfish. How easily he dismissed their shame. He only wanted his daughter back; he cared nothing for consequences.

Maybe he was right. What if no amount of guilt or seduction would turn Ranma's eye her way? As long as Akane was around…

No. She shut the window shade, blocking out the night and the lampposts that streamed by. I don't need to do like Shampoo. I can win him fair and square.

She turned a knob on her watch, and the red alarm hand spun to 23:45. That's when the train would return to Tōkyō. If she'd get only five hours of sleep after that, better to make use of this time now, on a cold, inhospitable train, speeding through the night.

I can make him love me, she told herself. Only then can I go back to Father. Only then will my heart be home.

Next: The girls prepare for the trek to China, but machinations among the Amazons conspire to keep Shampoo from reclaiming her honor or her home. Journey to Jusenkyō Part III - The Amazon Charter - Coming April 30, 2010.

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