Disclaimer for this chapter- I realize that Rho Shintoyoki might be a bit
difficult to understand, but if you get stuck just read his lines out loud.
The dialogue is written phonetically, and Rho has a very odd accent.
And yes, Zuu is meant to be that insane. You have seen nothing.
The truth about the Battle Royale.
"Another contest is about to start! Round 47 of trial 52, Nasukura Tetsuya and Chiko Hatsumi!" the loudspeaker announced.
Ranma stood confused as people evacuated the street.
Two young men walked in, glaring at each other. The loudspeaker yelled, "FIGHT!" and they were off.
Ranma just watched as the two men helplessly battled for apparently no reason. "Round 47 of trial 52?" she repeated.
The people nodded as they watched. "Of the Battle Royale."
"For Akane Tendo, right?" Ranma sneered. "Pathetic. They can probably do much better."
"Yes. But that's not the only prize, of course."
"Huh?" Ranma hadn't heard this.
"There's a lot at stake. Not only does the winner get his choice of a Tendo sister, he also gets their dojo, their house, they become the heir to Happosai's abilities, they gain a lot of money-"
"From who?"
"Prize money. You have to pay to enter. You get a year's supply of food from about three different restaurants, a free trip to China, and such high prestige!"
"China's not so great." Ranma muttered. He couldn't find one pool after three years of hard searching, and that would scar forever.
"Too bad it's men only," one woman sighed. "All that money."
"It can't be whole lot," Ranma sneered.
"¥25000 to enter. Take away about ¥10000 to cover expenses, that leaves ¥15000 a head. And note, this is Round 47 of trial 52."
"They've had 52 trials and no actual matches?"
"Unless you count the time that Hibiki kid punched Kuno, but they've never had a match-up together in a trial, so no."
"Weird. There hasn't been a single match?"
"Yep. And it costs the same every trial, so if some one loses they can just come back and try again. The actual rounds are supposed to be ¥100000 to enter, if you made it in."
"It doesn't seem like a fight to me. Who's in charge? Nabiki?"
"No- No one really knows, actually."
Ranma glared. "Really?"
One boy knocked the other out. His name immediately appeared on a list of names that was strung up in midair, in the 52nd slot. The list showed the current prize pot and favorable betting odds so far. Ranma read the list, surprised.
"They actually predict better odds for Kuno to win than Ryoga? And who's this Len guy? They have him as favorite to win."
"Len? He's just some kid. But.You didn't see him fight. No one knows, really. But they say there's some hidden meaning to this whole thing. Like."
"Like what?" he probed.
A new voice behind them, heavily accented, replied, "Li dey wanna jus fin out who d bes fightas en dis area re. Li dey av some ulteriaa motive."
Ranma turned around. "Who are you?"
"Jus don' worry bout dat. I'm lookin fo someone."
"Who?"
"Whoevr's in charge a dis ting." The newcomer pointed his finger at the list. "Dat ain' normal, how d lettaas jus stay up dere."
Ranma looked at him, in case he ever needed to identify him. He had sunglasses, long black hair, a deeply tanned complexion that looked too dark to be Asian but to creamy to be anything naturally darker. But he also looked like he didn't like sunlight, with his clothes tied long, a hood pulled up, and the sunglasses. His hair had silver streaks dyed- but what must have been an expensive and excruciatingly realistic dye job. He also had six earrings, three in each ear, placed alternating- i.e., one ear had two in the top and one in the lobe, while the other had the reverse. His had rounded, soft features- pretty, but in an incredibly familiar way. Like he'd seen him before, but he knew full well he'd never done that.
Because as odd as he looked, it was nothing compared to how he looked at you. Like he knew every private thought. Like you were so much loose matter, and that he could see straight through it and see the hidden secrets within. Like he was above you.
And that you knew he was above you. And that you also knew that whether you lived or died, whether you were to be placed as important or useless, cast aside or held aloft, it was all his idea.
And he could decide that at any moment.
All you could do was hope he didn't. Hope he ignored your fear, a fear he could see easily.
Ranma was beginning to feel uncomfortable when a new voice piped up, "'Ey, Rho! This is what I meant when I asked for Yakitori!" A new boy, maybe 19, leapt up into the other boy's face and held up the shish-kabob. "See, it's got octopus and radishes and seaweed puffs and-"
"Zuunni," the man growled. The boy reared back.
"Shit. You even rolled the 'u' too long there. It's pronounced 'Zu-u- n Ni', not 'Zoo-oo-n Ni. One sweet little 'oo' roll there, not two consecutive. And usually people just cut it too short. I'm really impressed, I never thought anyone would get it wrong like that, it's almost quiescent-"
"Zuunni," he said again, wrong.
"Yeah, Rho-Sa-a-ama?" he cooed, stretching the 'a' obnoxiously.
"Shut up, boy." The boy smiled.
"It's 'Zûnni.' 'Zooooon- Ni' Not 'Zoo-oo-n.' I jus wanted you to say my name right for once. Try this Yakitori." Zunni held up the stick, and Rho took it, bit the stick in two, swallowed, then slammed it through Zunni's wrist-
Or, Ranma noted, should have slammed it through. The impact would have gone through his, easily.
"Good, huh?" Zunni smiled. The stick was dented into his wrist, right on a blood vessel. But it was barely poking in, and the boy didn't even notice. He wasn't even bleeding.
"Damn," Ranma whispered.
"Want another?" Zunni asked casually.
"Yeah, actually. Get a few dozen, I'll try t figure out how t make dem."
"Cool. And, hey, that Nindi Spike Flare wasn't cool. You want to get us exposed?"
"It's not near as quick as yer mouth. Where's Carlos, d locals c'n hardly undaastan me."
"Aw, com'on! Japanese is easy! Now, English, that's hard. And Mandarin. Damn. Toby tried to teach me once, and I got so fucked up with it, I don't know how he ever caught it. And of course, he speaks Cantonese and Taiwanese too, perfectly, damn that boy."
"It's not hard, s dat dey hardly undaastan me. Now go."
"Oi, com'on! It's my language, let me translate, please?"
"Yer from Okinawa, not Tokyo."
"An' they understand me better 'Dan dey undaastan ya'."
"Shut up, boy."
"Das Zunni, Rho-Sama. Not 'boy', I'm abou as ol' as ya re."
"Stop imitatin' me."
"Stop imitatin' me, stop imitatin' me! You're like a child. A lost, lonely child. Rice cake?" Zunni offered. Rho smacked it away. "We ave work."
"Yeah- An' we can do it while enjoying the local cuisine. This is my country, come on and enjoy it."
"Where d hell s Carlos?"
"Boise. Now, will you eat the rice cake?"
Rho growled. "Take off your hood, man, put the cloak on."
"I feel stupid wit ii. N naked wit out d hood. Next yer gonna wan me t take off d glasses."
"Cloaks, man, cloaks! You stick out like a poorly written villain in a cheap comic book. Do you want to look like something out of one of Zuu- Kun's comic books?"
Rho casually lifted a hand to his neck and threw off the hood. His fingers slid on his neck, so Ranma barely had time to see the spiky black and silver hair before he changed, his hair growing shorter, skin more pale, and no silver streaks. Ranma wasn't sure if he'd imagined what he just saw or not.
Zunni smiled. "Much better! Now take off the glasses."
"No."
"Take off the damn glasses."
"Ya might as well ask me t remove my hood."
"Good call. Do it."
"Bu I'm not comfortable en d clothes unda ii," Rho complained.
"Dammit, Rho, listen to me! Who's the specialist here? Huh?" Zuu pulled a small cylinder from his pocket, flipping its three panels- the outer left one to the left, the outer right panel to the right, pulling them both out then pushing them back in hard. A 150 cm metal staff appeared in his hand where the five cm stick had been. In the time it took him to get the stick out, flip it and swing it up into a proper position, only enough time for Ranma to see it and recognize it had passed.
Had Zunni tried to attack him, he would have failed to dodge it completely.
"Who's got the weapon here, huh?" Rho was starting to reach for his own pockets, but Zunni twapped him.
"I'm faster, damn you. Not as strong, but your main advantages don't work on me. You can't read me unless I open up to you. And only what I open up to you. That's how come you never knew it was me. And your speed is canceled out by mine. Yeah, you're better at aerial, but who's got the better reach with their weapon?"
Rho scoffed, but took off the hooded cloak. "Atta boy, Rho-Sama."
Ranma grabbed the staff. "Let me see this."
"Hey! That's mine!" Zunni pulled on the end he held, and Ranma fell off balance.
"Hey. It's a girl. Kinda pretty, but I like Oni gals. Green skin and fangs, yaiiii!"
"Boy."
"From what I saw, you outta give him some respect. His name's not 'boy', it's 'Zûnni'. And he's pretty tough at martial arts."
"We're gonna enter this tournament! We gotta see what it's about, and that prize money can buy a lot of taikôban."
"Zunni!"
"Comics, comics, comics!" he sang in English, softly. "Manga wa aishitare!"
"Oh, shut up," Ranma and Rho said at the same time.
And yes, Zuu is meant to be that insane. You have seen nothing.
The truth about the Battle Royale.
"Another contest is about to start! Round 47 of trial 52, Nasukura Tetsuya and Chiko Hatsumi!" the loudspeaker announced.
Ranma stood confused as people evacuated the street.
Two young men walked in, glaring at each other. The loudspeaker yelled, "FIGHT!" and they were off.
Ranma just watched as the two men helplessly battled for apparently no reason. "Round 47 of trial 52?" she repeated.
The people nodded as they watched. "Of the Battle Royale."
"For Akane Tendo, right?" Ranma sneered. "Pathetic. They can probably do much better."
"Yes. But that's not the only prize, of course."
"Huh?" Ranma hadn't heard this.
"There's a lot at stake. Not only does the winner get his choice of a Tendo sister, he also gets their dojo, their house, they become the heir to Happosai's abilities, they gain a lot of money-"
"From who?"
"Prize money. You have to pay to enter. You get a year's supply of food from about three different restaurants, a free trip to China, and such high prestige!"
"China's not so great." Ranma muttered. He couldn't find one pool after three years of hard searching, and that would scar forever.
"Too bad it's men only," one woman sighed. "All that money."
"It can't be whole lot," Ranma sneered.
"¥25000 to enter. Take away about ¥10000 to cover expenses, that leaves ¥15000 a head. And note, this is Round 47 of trial 52."
"They've had 52 trials and no actual matches?"
"Unless you count the time that Hibiki kid punched Kuno, but they've never had a match-up together in a trial, so no."
"Weird. There hasn't been a single match?"
"Yep. And it costs the same every trial, so if some one loses they can just come back and try again. The actual rounds are supposed to be ¥100000 to enter, if you made it in."
"It doesn't seem like a fight to me. Who's in charge? Nabiki?"
"No- No one really knows, actually."
Ranma glared. "Really?"
One boy knocked the other out. His name immediately appeared on a list of names that was strung up in midair, in the 52nd slot. The list showed the current prize pot and favorable betting odds so far. Ranma read the list, surprised.
"They actually predict better odds for Kuno to win than Ryoga? And who's this Len guy? They have him as favorite to win."
"Len? He's just some kid. But.You didn't see him fight. No one knows, really. But they say there's some hidden meaning to this whole thing. Like."
"Like what?" he probed.
A new voice behind them, heavily accented, replied, "Li dey wanna jus fin out who d bes fightas en dis area re. Li dey av some ulteriaa motive."
Ranma turned around. "Who are you?"
"Jus don' worry bout dat. I'm lookin fo someone."
"Who?"
"Whoevr's in charge a dis ting." The newcomer pointed his finger at the list. "Dat ain' normal, how d lettaas jus stay up dere."
Ranma looked at him, in case he ever needed to identify him. He had sunglasses, long black hair, a deeply tanned complexion that looked too dark to be Asian but to creamy to be anything naturally darker. But he also looked like he didn't like sunlight, with his clothes tied long, a hood pulled up, and the sunglasses. His hair had silver streaks dyed- but what must have been an expensive and excruciatingly realistic dye job. He also had six earrings, three in each ear, placed alternating- i.e., one ear had two in the top and one in the lobe, while the other had the reverse. His had rounded, soft features- pretty, but in an incredibly familiar way. Like he'd seen him before, but he knew full well he'd never done that.
Because as odd as he looked, it was nothing compared to how he looked at you. Like he knew every private thought. Like you were so much loose matter, and that he could see straight through it and see the hidden secrets within. Like he was above you.
And that you knew he was above you. And that you also knew that whether you lived or died, whether you were to be placed as important or useless, cast aside or held aloft, it was all his idea.
And he could decide that at any moment.
All you could do was hope he didn't. Hope he ignored your fear, a fear he could see easily.
Ranma was beginning to feel uncomfortable when a new voice piped up, "'Ey, Rho! This is what I meant when I asked for Yakitori!" A new boy, maybe 19, leapt up into the other boy's face and held up the shish-kabob. "See, it's got octopus and radishes and seaweed puffs and-"
"Zuunni," the man growled. The boy reared back.
"Shit. You even rolled the 'u' too long there. It's pronounced 'Zu-u- n Ni', not 'Zoo-oo-n Ni. One sweet little 'oo' roll there, not two consecutive. And usually people just cut it too short. I'm really impressed, I never thought anyone would get it wrong like that, it's almost quiescent-"
"Zuunni," he said again, wrong.
"Yeah, Rho-Sa-a-ama?" he cooed, stretching the 'a' obnoxiously.
"Shut up, boy." The boy smiled.
"It's 'Zûnni.' 'Zooooon- Ni' Not 'Zoo-oo-n.' I jus wanted you to say my name right for once. Try this Yakitori." Zunni held up the stick, and Rho took it, bit the stick in two, swallowed, then slammed it through Zunni's wrist-
Or, Ranma noted, should have slammed it through. The impact would have gone through his, easily.
"Good, huh?" Zunni smiled. The stick was dented into his wrist, right on a blood vessel. But it was barely poking in, and the boy didn't even notice. He wasn't even bleeding.
"Damn," Ranma whispered.
"Want another?" Zunni asked casually.
"Yeah, actually. Get a few dozen, I'll try t figure out how t make dem."
"Cool. And, hey, that Nindi Spike Flare wasn't cool. You want to get us exposed?"
"It's not near as quick as yer mouth. Where's Carlos, d locals c'n hardly undaastan me."
"Aw, com'on! Japanese is easy! Now, English, that's hard. And Mandarin. Damn. Toby tried to teach me once, and I got so fucked up with it, I don't know how he ever caught it. And of course, he speaks Cantonese and Taiwanese too, perfectly, damn that boy."
"It's not hard, s dat dey hardly undaastan me. Now go."
"Oi, com'on! It's my language, let me translate, please?"
"Yer from Okinawa, not Tokyo."
"An' they understand me better 'Dan dey undaastan ya'."
"Shut up, boy."
"Das Zunni, Rho-Sama. Not 'boy', I'm abou as ol' as ya re."
"Stop imitatin' me."
"Stop imitatin' me, stop imitatin' me! You're like a child. A lost, lonely child. Rice cake?" Zunni offered. Rho smacked it away. "We ave work."
"Yeah- An' we can do it while enjoying the local cuisine. This is my country, come on and enjoy it."
"Where d hell s Carlos?"
"Boise. Now, will you eat the rice cake?"
Rho growled. "Take off your hood, man, put the cloak on."
"I feel stupid wit ii. N naked wit out d hood. Next yer gonna wan me t take off d glasses."
"Cloaks, man, cloaks! You stick out like a poorly written villain in a cheap comic book. Do you want to look like something out of one of Zuu- Kun's comic books?"
Rho casually lifted a hand to his neck and threw off the hood. His fingers slid on his neck, so Ranma barely had time to see the spiky black and silver hair before he changed, his hair growing shorter, skin more pale, and no silver streaks. Ranma wasn't sure if he'd imagined what he just saw or not.
Zunni smiled. "Much better! Now take off the glasses."
"No."
"Take off the damn glasses."
"Ya might as well ask me t remove my hood."
"Good call. Do it."
"Bu I'm not comfortable en d clothes unda ii," Rho complained.
"Dammit, Rho, listen to me! Who's the specialist here? Huh?" Zuu pulled a small cylinder from his pocket, flipping its three panels- the outer left one to the left, the outer right panel to the right, pulling them both out then pushing them back in hard. A 150 cm metal staff appeared in his hand where the five cm stick had been. In the time it took him to get the stick out, flip it and swing it up into a proper position, only enough time for Ranma to see it and recognize it had passed.
Had Zunni tried to attack him, he would have failed to dodge it completely.
"Who's got the weapon here, huh?" Rho was starting to reach for his own pockets, but Zunni twapped him.
"I'm faster, damn you. Not as strong, but your main advantages don't work on me. You can't read me unless I open up to you. And only what I open up to you. That's how come you never knew it was me. And your speed is canceled out by mine. Yeah, you're better at aerial, but who's got the better reach with their weapon?"
Rho scoffed, but took off the hooded cloak. "Atta boy, Rho-Sama."
Ranma grabbed the staff. "Let me see this."
"Hey! That's mine!" Zunni pulled on the end he held, and Ranma fell off balance.
"Hey. It's a girl. Kinda pretty, but I like Oni gals. Green skin and fangs, yaiiii!"
"Boy."
"From what I saw, you outta give him some respect. His name's not 'boy', it's 'Zûnni'. And he's pretty tough at martial arts."
"We're gonna enter this tournament! We gotta see what it's about, and that prize money can buy a lot of taikôban."
"Zunni!"
"Comics, comics, comics!" he sang in English, softly. "Manga wa aishitare!"
"Oh, shut up," Ranma and Rho said at the same time.