To dream, perhaps to live.
A motto Ranma didn't know the meaning of, a sensation Ranma never got when his life went by in Nerima.
An adage Ranma decided to practice on a cold night, on a drizzling dark.
To dream of a new life, to visualize a future full of probabilities, of chances and misses, of winnings and loses.
The opportunity of breaking the chains that bound him to this earth, to this living of a day each time, of a hour after another without hope, without a heart that felt alive, and so, Ranma decided to dream, and by any chance, to live.
And so when Ranma woke up the next day, after hours of traveling with Happosai across dirty roads and forgotten freeways, he decided to affront destiny by proving he could live, to insult fate by showing he could enjoy life, live a day unlike the previous one, to breath a second instead of a hour.
And so, Ranma lived, and dreamed.
And realized the meaning behind a proverb he had read somewhere.
To dream, perhaps to live.
To keep on living, maybe to persist in dreaming.
And so he chose to live.
And in doing so maybe, someday, he'd be able to dream again.
To recover lost hopes and dashed wishes.
To reclaim a lost life and a missed future.
To find joy.
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I've seen so much
A Ranma ½ Fan fiction
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---------------------------------------- Chapter Five -----------------------------------------------
********** Breaking boundaries **********
Days of walking, of running brought Ranma and Happosai to the coast around Honshu island, the best way to take a ship and sail to China, the biggest port where a boat wouldn't require papers, and where two forlorn travelers could find shelter and food.
And some panties for energy recharging.
So the trekkers sought an inn, a hotel, someplace where their tired bones could find some respite, where their famished appetites could be satiated.
And after finding someplace, a damp building where not even cockroaches would rest even in the direst of situations, where the rain passed through the various holes on the ceiling and where a feeble fire was all the protection offered against the chilly winds of the seashore nights, they rested.
And while resting they talked about the past and planned for the future.
Planning to go to China and find a cure for a curse one of them venerated, the other loathed.
For although Jusenkyo had been flooded, and the springs had disappeared on a day where a god fell, the youngest of them still had a little hope.
Hope that a cure would still be found if they were to search for it with all their strength.
Trust in the goodness of a divine being that would bestow a little blessing upon him after years of torture.
And the older one, although sarcastic and distant, was happier now that his pupil seemed to recuperate the ability to live.
The means of dreaming.
And so, over a meager meal of old fish barely cooked and greasy bread baked a lifetime ago, the travelers chatted about the future and designed for the past.
And while lying down to sleep on cots no better than a mere cloth laid on the cold floor, the travelers slept.
And while Ranma found visions of freedom over his curse on his dreams, Happosai found happiness on the knowledge that Ranma was alive.
More alive than he had ever seen him.
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Three days had passed since the gale ended.
Leaving visions of doom along it's path, taking with it's furious winds and heavy rains the final righteousness that rested in the hearts of those that populated Nerima.
And carrying with said waters the ashes of an ancient and proud dojo.
Leaving no corpse for the mourners to bury, no body for the fiancées to cry upon.
And in the knowledge that Ranma never lost, that Ranma always fought until the end and ahead of it when the end seemed tragic, Nabiki dedicated her efforts at finding him.
She turned her resources at searching for a dream of blue gray eyes and alluring smiles, making her contacts open their eyes and ears, and calling every person that once was indebted to her.
For if there was no corpse then Ranma couldn't be dead.
And if Ranma wasn't dead, then she would find him.
As she found the secret truth about the Kuno's mother, and as she found the secrets held behind the dazzling features of a handsome face.
And so her efforts were dedicated to finding a single man in a wide city.
A needle in a barn.
And she shed tears with every new report of not a hair being seen.
And her heart wept with every news of a missing man that wasn't seen anywhere.
And while the people thought her efforts hopeless, and her actions desperate, she kept on searching, hoping that Ranma may still be found, and that her heart could still be brought to life once again.
But Ranma. . . wasn't found anywhere.
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The spirit whished and the heart hoped, but the body was tired. A body that had stood unmovable even when fierce storms buffeted a little fishing boat that had agreed to take the travelers into the mainland, now felt old and exhausted beyond definition.
A body that had fought a whole village of chinese amazons without blanching for the strikes, now felt every little contact made by particles of dust that floated in the wind.
A man that had seen Japan grow from a rural country into a great metropolis now felt every year of loneliness and pain, pains long forgotten and sorrows that his soul had wiped from memory in search of prolonging his existence.
And so, when Ranma finally reached the peak overlooking Jusenkyo, he noticed that Happosai seemed ready to drop dead.
And his heart saddened at the notion that maybe the old master would be unable to fulfill this last trip.
This last voyage in search of knowledge and freedom.
And as he made camp and prepared some soup from roots he picked and a couple bunnies he caught, he heard Happosai's tears fall.
And his own were not long behind.
Tears for a master that never got the chance to teach him, and tears for a friend that he never got to know.
And in a cold night, atop a mountain overlooking Jusenkyo and the amazon village, with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face, Happosai died.
And while Ranma dug a hole in the ground to bury his master and planted a tree on the grave to allow every traveler that crossed this same mountain the opportunity of knowing a grand master had fallen here, and while he inscribed a little phrase on the bark and cried for an old man's loss, Ranma remembered.
Remembered the nights of seeing Happosai pump ki into his body to revive him, of his tiny hands applying a crude salve of herbs that smelled like dead fish warmed over on his wound to help it close.
Bore in his mind images of a rugged face telling him stories of brave warriors and maidens that fought for a chance to live, and thought about smiles shared with an ancient human whom taught him of honor beyond honor, of love above love.
He cried for lessons taught to him on cold nights while the rains assaulted a tiny house on the borders of Nerima, of teachings of never giving up, of fighting his past and facing the future with an insolence he had never thought of.
His heart ached for the memories of meditation on hard floors to help him overcome a great weakness caused by his self inflicted wound, and for the remembrance of tired eyes looking at him with approval and esteem when he could finally stand after two days of not being able to even move a finger.
And as his hands closed around the final scrolls given to him by his master, for although Happosai had taught him but a short time, he had showed him more about life and death than every other master he had had before.
And although Happosai had always joked after a serious chat, or a dark memory shared with him, he had also given him lessons on happiness and sorrow greater than what his own life had proved him.
And as he turned around and began climbing down to reach Jusenkyo and find his cure, he remembered the grand master's last words told to him, only him.
"Be brave Ranma, if a weak man such as me could live for so many years, then how many will a man like you live?"
And as his feet moved to carry his tired body into the mist surrounding the springs his mind recalled a last expression that came from his master's lips.
"I'm proud of you Ranma m'boy, never doubt that."
And as his tears fell anew the winds embraced a tree planted on a new grave, made for an old warrior.
And the breath of nature caressed a saying engraved on the bark of a young tree.
"Here rests Happosai, Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu's Grandmaster, a man among men, a master above masters. My friend, my guide. . . my father."
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Her grades were falling and her face hadn't smile in over a week now, but she didn't care.
Because she had seen her betrothed fall on a rainy night, a night that even after so many days her classmates spoke about.
And she ignored the questions asked by uncaring lips, posed by cold eyes "Hey Akane! Where's Ranma?"
And so, she decided to live, and remembered a promise made to a fallen warrior, the promise to live on, to fight on until her body couldn't fight anymore, and then fight more for a chance to find happiness.
A vow to face life to the eyes, with fire burning inside her own spirit, with the spark of life that so well defined a martial artist.
And although she had thought differently during so much time, and had felt inadequate when compared with Ranma or any of her rivals, she still remembered her conviction of being a martial artist.
Of training her body beyond what her peers would consider normal.
Of facing opponents that could destroy mountaintops in a fit of rage.
And so, she trained all day, to enable her own soul and reach levels of the art that would dumbfound the entire world.
To become a master of the Tendo style, even if it took her tears of salt and blood.
And her nights were spent solely on crying for a lost love, on mourning for a fallen friend.
For a dead husband that never was.
And as her hands took notes, and her ears ignored all the whispers around her, her spirit found a reason to keep on living.
Bit by bit perhaps, but a reason that would help her overcome whatever life threw at her.
And in living she dreamed.
And in dreaming she found a future she could mold to suit her own necessities.
Her own desires of love and companionship.
Her own need of Ranma. . .
Always Ranma. . .
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Jusenkyo had been a failure, a fool's quest, a red herring.
For although the springs had been brought back to life by the cycle of nature, the cure was not found.
For he had learnt from the guide that the spring of drowned man would not cure his curse.
That the curses indeed did mix.
And so he had left Jusenkyo, with it's green valley and gray mountains behind.
And traveled west.
West to countries he had never seen before, but had read about in books, and had once dreamed of knowing.
Countries that Nabiki spoke highly of, and that Akane always wanted to live.
Places that he once swore, in the intimacy of his own bedroom, that he would take her when he could.
And he would visit those locations and know all that was to be known there, for even if she wasn't with him he could live on, and he could always hike and find the strength to keep on walking.
He would remember the teachings of an old man, and as he read the old scrolls left to him by Happosai he didn't find techniques, or movements supposed to make him stronger.
He found but a story, as if it was but a book never printed.
The story of Happosai's life.
A story covering more than three hundred years of wandering the earth, of looking for the truth behind man's power.
And whenever he took a rest by an unused road, or made camp in the valley of an old forest, he read and learnt.
Learnt the meaning of forgiveness and of hatred.
Learnt the abilities necessary to live when all is lost, and to win when all hope is nothing but a mirage.
Learnt of masters buried by earth and time, of teachings wiped by tears and pain.
Learnt the need to confront the past and to face the future.
For in those scrolls were Happosai's greater skill, his critical power.
The means to live.
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The clinic hadn't changed much, it still had those same grayish walls and white curtains.
The same couch on the waiting room, and the same cot where patients were treated and injuries healed.
But the doctor had changed.
Where once stood a great medic, a healer the likes of the world had seen but few, now stood an empty carcass.
The shell of a man that had failed to save a life, his only failure to date, and his greatest sorrow.
The life of a hero, a hero that had swallowed his own pride and asked for help.
Help written in little messages they exchanged on nights under a bridge.
And he remembered the last note, a note he was too late to read, and too early to foresee.
"Please, help me."
and so, Tofu Ono cried on a stormy night, and yelled to the four winds his sorrow when the only hero he had known had fallen.
And his legs still shook whenever he walked past the Tendo dojo, and his eyes no longer fogged up when he saw Kasumi.
For Ranma had once told him a lesson, a teaching he never thought of, a way to speak to her and, maybe, finds happiness along a quiet girl.
"Hey doc, why don't you simply write to her as we do? It's so silly the way you can't even speak to Kasumi, so why don't write her? You told me that since we couldn't speak we should write."
And it all started with small notes left inside his books.
Books she burrowed from him.
In a book about anatomy 'If I could only talk to you.'
In a book about shiatsu 'Why are your smiles killing me?'
In a book about psychology 'I'd give my soul to be able to spend my life with you.'
In a book about traditional medicine 'If I cannot marry you on this life, then I am no man.'
In a book about preventive medicine 'Ai shiteru Tendo Kasumi.'
And finally, in the last book she burrowed, on a novel he had bought expressly for her 'Please, help me. Please, give me life.'
And a relationship was born, and romance blossomed where only nervousness was before.
But although he greatly enjoyed Kasumi's companionship, and although he was grateful for every little moment spent together, his souls still cried for a pigtailed boy that asked for his help.
'Please, help me.'
But never again would he fail to those he cared about.
As sure as his name was Tofu Ono, he would never again be unsuccessful.
For if Ranma had taught him something, it was to never quit.
To fight on until the last breath.
To embrace freedom and accept bindings.
To win. . .
And a cry for help, or a little note asking for the same left under an old bridge on cold nights became his reason to keep on living.
His motivation to ask for Kasumi's hand in marriage and move on with life.
And he still saw his wedding ring, with an inscription no one but his wife knew the meaning of, three little words that were their greatest treasure and their biggest regret.
The words that made Kasumi love him and the very same words that awoke him from a long slumber.
'Please, help me.'
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The vast plains of India, the breathtaking red sea, the burning deserts of Africa.
Ranma had seen it all, so many views his mind hadn't thought possible, so many cultures his conscious could barely hold them all in memory.
And after traveling across secluded plateaus and isolated villages, he decided it was time to return to men.
It was time to confront civilization and learn, it was the time to face his fears and overcome them.
For the scrolls told to him about years spent far-off from all humanity, and of years spent in great cities.
And although he had spent but months looking for inner peace, and weeks trying to find the truth about who he was, he had decided to go back, to know all that could be known about man and in doing so, to avoid becoming another pervert.
To try and evade the possibility of not belonging to any place, although he was conscious he would always be considered a stranger no matter where he went to.
And so, after days of hiking his lost eyes rested upon a city beyond what he had seen before, he saw wonders made by man and unknown to him until that precise moment, the sight of buildings rising taller than those few he had seen at Japan, and of roads crisscrossing a metropolis full of life.
And as he searched for a place to rest at, and for a job that would, hopefully, bring him enough money to buy a decent meal, he missed the sight of a yellow spotted bandana clad boy wearing green pants whose color had been washed away by the weather and a brown shirt that had lost it brightness a lifetime ago.
And as he entered a building with the hope of having enough money left to pay at least a month of rent he didn't saw said boy stare at him as if seeing a ghost.
And as he followed the land owner to a place where he could sleep peacefully he missed the incredulous "Ranma?" that came out of that boy's lips.
For Ryoga's direction sense had kicked again and, as if cursed by fate, he had seen his greatest rival and supposedly dead friend walk into a building somewhere.
And as he tried to conciliate the sight his eyes presented to him with the knowledge he had acquired on a rainy night, in which he tried to shelter himself from the pouring water, that Ranma had fallen, his vision swam.
And the people scattered away from the boy that had just fainted on the street.
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Pain, it was always pain.
Not a physical pain, that she could had easily handled, but emotional pain.
The kind of hurting that leaves scars invisible to all but oneself.
The kind of pain she never learnt to deal with.
And so, amidst flowers and greenery, Kodachi suffered her losses quietly, trying to find an escape out of this ache, the hurt of knowing she was now, more than ever before, alone in this world.
So she ignored her brother's ravings about 'the fair tigress Tendo Akane' and his mad cries for 'the loss of the pigtailed girls', damning that harlot for she was sure it was her who took Ranma away from her loving arms.
And she cursed Sazuke for bringing to her ears the news of Ranma's fall, of her love's death.
But as she had learnt to live with the pain of her mother's death and her father's loss, she would learn to live with this new pain, this pain of knowing her dreams were for naught, her beauty and grace not enough to give him a reason to keep on living.
And she would only become stronger from this new pain as she had done before.
Stronger and prettier.
For beauty was the only way to achieve true happiness.
As her roses did when they blossomed, she would also become a beauty to be afraid of.
And Nerima would once again fear the black rose of Saint Hebereke, and her opponents would once again shake from the mere mention of her illustrious name.
And so she tended her flowers and cared for her plants.
Ignoring the warm tears that ran down her cheeks whenever she thought of him, of Ranma.
And as if seeing his warm blue eyes looking at her, she found the strength to move on.
The strength to forgive those harridans that dared to try and steal her love's attentions from her.
And she found inside her own heart forgiveness for her brother's lunacy.
And felt a peace she had never felt before.
And the black rose was reborn from the ashes left behind by Kodachi's disappearance.
It was time that Nerima learned true fear.
For the black rose was back.
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Travel worn eyes opened with the memory of a bad dream, a nightmare he dared not revive, much less remember.
For Ryoga doubted many things, except that he was still sane.
Or so he thought, for he could swear upon his honor that he had seen Ranma walking ahead of him.
A Ranma that was supposed dead, he had even gone to his funeral, to say goodbye to a friend who would help him fight goddesses of snow and spirits of ancient dragons, and of a rival who would chase him around the Tendo's place without giving him a respite, of a cad that had Akane bewitched with his charm and his blue gray eyes, of a man that had most of the girls in Nerima enamored of him and waiting for a chance to give him whatever he asked of them, the dishonorable cur.
A Ranma that had helped him find his way home when they were kids, a child that would fight him and then help him train with the faint excuse of "Hey, you're pretty good! Wanna train together?"
Of a younger Ranma that was his only friend in a school full of acquaintances. The only boy that was not afraid of his inhuman strength but admired him for it.
Of Ranma, that was his friend when no one else would, and tried to be his friend when no one else could.
And as his tears felt for those remembrances, for those memories of happier times when his only worry was not if he would have a ceiling over his head the next day, but were instead the thought that maybe the next day he would finally beat Ranma, he would finally be the best.
And as he turned around and asked the heavens for a chance of finding his friend, not to kill him, but to embrace him and welcome him back to the land of living, he was lost.
And as his eyes focused again, he was in someplace surrounded by asian people that spoke Japanese instead of that other language he heard where Ranma was residing at.
And as he turned his sight to the heavens and cried his negative for the fate that brought him apart from a chance at redemption, he heard a soft gasp behind him.
And as his head turned around, he saw the wall surrounding the Tendo's place, a place he had not seen for many months now.
And the sad eyes of a tired Akane that saw him as if resting her eyes upon a miracle.
And in that sudden moment, he felt small and alone.
And in a second, during a heartbeat, he understood why Ranma tried to keep Akane away from him.
Why Ranma killed Saffron and defied the Orochi when Akane was in danger.
And he didn't see the girl he had a light crush on, but the woman that stole his heart in that precise moment.
And Ryoga blessed his direction sense, for it had brought him here, and he had found love.
But he totally forgot about Ranma being alive, for it was only the dream of a friend when his eyes were contemplating a goddess face.
And so, the truth about Ranma being alive were lost to the residents of Nerima, for Ryoga fell in love once again.
A love he would not, could not get over of.
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No more tears fell from her face, no matter how hard she wished to cry, no tears fell.
And Nodoka cursed her fate for her own inability of crying for her lost son, of calling his name and expecting to her him tell her it was all a bad dream.
And while she swept her house, her lonesome house since Genma had never come back from wherever he had disappeared to, she tried again to cry, to shed the tears that her soul kept on saving inside.
And so, with dry eyes and a dead heart she swept her house, a lonesome house since Ranma had chosen life over death when she couldn't understand him, couldn't bring him the peace he so fiercely searched for during his whole life.
And as she pulled back a stray hair that fell down from her bun, she cursed the fates for her uptight upbringing, for the way her parents talked to her about honor being the most important thing in this world, about the cleanliness of a name that would otherwise destroy her house completely.
And as her hands moved in usual ways to bring the dust away from an otherwise clean house, she damned her husband for taking her son away all those years ago, and remembered the happy smile on a child's face as he was carried down the road on his father's shoulders.
And as she piled up the dust she thought about sunny days when she would lay wide awake on her bed and stare at the ceiling while imagining her son having fun learning an art meant for fighting, an art she had considered worthy of being the only thing her son could learn in his whole life.
And as her feet moved to carry the bag of garbage to the front door for the picking of tomorrow she remembered stories told to her by her friends, stories of how a son would never recognize a mother they had never seen in years, of how Ranma should be dead when five years passed without news of their whereabouts, tales of Genma's behavior, of Genma's ways to escape responsibility of his own acts.
And as she returned home she tried once again to cry, to cry for a son that although alive was dead inside, of a man that had conquered foes beyond her wildest dreams but had fallen by his own hands.
And she remembered the truth that Genma had told her on the day of their wedding, surrounded by their friends, the truth about her clan, and his own clan, the truth about a family full of samurai ancestry and noble ancestors.
No one beats a Saotome.
But she had never learnt that there was an exception to that rule.
For no one beats a Saotome, but another Saotome.
And as her legs carried her inside her own house, a lonesome house since she had tried to turn her son into the man she would be proud of, since she tried with all her might to make him honorable, without realizing it was impossible to reclaim their own honor when Genma's actions had swept them under the dirt.
And she laid down on her bed, in her house, her lonesome house since she had asked Ranma to kill himself.
And her good son had, as always, obeyed.
And still, the tears would not come out.
The damned tears would not come out.
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Months of staying in a city, of learning the ways of civilization, of correcting his own father's shortcomings, and finally his wander lust had finally won over his desire to find peace.
And he took the road once again.
Looking for places of old magic and ancient tradition.
And so he crossed the frontiers of innumerable countries, from Rome to Madrid, from Madrid to Greece, from Greece to Normandy, From Normandy to England and finally from England to Scotland, and form there to Stonehenge.
And while staying at this place full of legends and tales of old folk, he learnt the truth about his wander lust.
The truth that it didn't exist, it had never existed.
For he was only looking for a place he could call home without remorse in his heart and peace in his soul.
For Nerima was his place, his home.
It was time to return.
To live once again.
It was time to start dreaming.
Time to win.
A.N.: Well, this is Chap. 5!!! *applause please* and it explains, if briefly, the time Ranma spent away from Nerima, looking for a way to overcome his past.
Yeah I know I killed Happosai, but let's face it, if I left Ranma travel with Happosai he would eventually have turned into a raving pervert, and we wouldn't want so, would we?
Now, about Ryoga, he obviously had a crush on Akane, since she was sweet to him whenever he was P-Chan, so I turned that light crush into a full blossomed love, you know the kind that makes you see stars and hear bells.
The bit about Tofu marrying Kasumi? I think they make a nice couple, they're both very kind to Ranma and obviously Tofu feels something for Kasumi, why did Ranma give advice to Tofu? He was in fact just repeating what Tofu told him, "If we can't talk, we can always write" (Actually that's from an old Mexican movie whose name I don't remember right now). Nodoka? Well I try to show the way the various characters react to Ranma's 'death' and the bit about her not being able to cry is from real life, when the dad of a friend girl (a girl that was my friend but not my girlfriend, anybody knows how to call this type of relationship??) died she wasn't able to cry, that is until she started talking to some friends and me about her dad, really sad, trust me.
Well, that said, there's just one more thing to say. . .
Bans . . . off!