Choices

by Mike2

It began with a simple high school party, but the consequences of choices made by Ranma (and others) at that event prove far-reaching.

4. Choices: Complications

Choices: Complications

The morning sunlight was bright and the air unusually warm, the weather in sharp contrast to the stark dream images that fluttered moth-like just beyond the edge of recollection. He felt tired in a way rarely felt before, with a weariness that lay not so much within the body as within the mind. He remembered clearly the exhilaration that a decision made had brought only one week ago: but now, having again come to the same conclusion--though this time for very different reasons--he felt only a numbing exhaustion.
Ranma Saotome sat up in his futon with a barely stifled groan. The anger that had buoyed him last week and carried him through most of a weeklong training session was entirely lacking, and in its absence lay a painful hollowness. The idea of leaving now left him feeling drained and empty; and a seed of unwanted emotions weighed heavily in the pit of his stomach.
When did I come to this decision? Ranma wondered. He last remembered lying in the dark and staring at his pack next to him, the brisk night air descending quickly as the heat bled from the room. His pack was ready; it seemed to him as if it had always been ready; reaching back to his earliest memories, he could always recollect a heavy backpack bulging with his few belongings waiting next to whatever bed he lay upon that night. For a while I forgot, he thought, or at least fooled myself into forgetting. For a year I settled here, and this stupid pack sat in the closet, but I never took it apart, and I guess somehow I knew this day would finally have to come, and now it has, only it hurts a lot more than I ever expected. I guess I never expected to go it alone, without Pop.
He felt unconcerned about leaving his idiot father behind; somewhere inside, Ranma felt a solid certainty that, wherever he might go, his father would eventually, inevitably, catch up and find him. Rather, the numb pain came from knowing what he was willingly giving up. The only home he had known in a decade; kind Kasumi and her father, even Nabiki; his mother as well, no matter how stressful those times proved to be. And--
With sudden resolve he stood up and quickly got dressed. After a final check and hasty repacking, he dropped his backpack out the window. Turning his back on the easy escape, he left the room by the door. He wondered if this morning would be the last time he would ever see the Tendos. A nagging suspicion grew that today was going to be a very bad day indeed.
Whatever, he told himself. I've made my decision, and now it's time to carry it through.

The scene of absolute normalcy that presented itself when he joined the Tendos struck Ranma as both absurd and nearly insulting. Kasumi, impossibly fresh-faced in the morning as usual, was serving breakfast to her newspaper-reading father and the panda sitting at the table. Mr. Tendo acknowledged the arrival of breakfast with a slight nod, absorbed by his reading; Genma tossed the paper aside and attacked the food with chopsticks somehow held in his giant furry paw. The TV was playing softly in the background, providing morning news in a low-voiced monotone, and outside, past the sliding doors kept shut against the February winds, the faint chirp of birds could be heard. The heater, wreathed in a faint aura of oil- scented heat, glowed red from its place on the tatami next to the low-set heated kotatsu table. Ranma, standing at the entrance to the room, watched and made of the sight a memory. This is what I'm turning away from, he told himself, feeling a curious ambivalence: surprisingly intense pang underscoring muted elation; and it seemed to him strange to be confronted with such casual cheerfulness on the morning of the day that he chose to change his life in such a fundamental way.
"Good-morning, son," said Mr. Tendo, as Ranma came forward with forced nonchalance. "Feeling better?"
Ranma stared at him for a moment before nodding in reply. Soun had not even glanced away from his paper. Genma continued to devour his food with a decidedly bear-like appetite. Kasumi stepped back into the kitchen for more food. Ranma suddenly noticed that both Akane and Nabiki were conspicuously absent. She wouldn't avoid me, would she? he wondered, feeling a little hurt. She knows I was thinking of leaving today.
Unless, he added, she decided last night that she really doesn't care after all. Which is all too possible, Ranma thought darkly. Either that or she thinks that I'm too much of a coward to carry such a big decision through. Well then, won't _she_ be surprised when she finds out I'm already gone!
Feeling childish, he sighed and sat at the table and stared blankly at the back of the newspaper Mr. Tendo presented to him. Weather forecast for the week; story of a forgotten dog that followed its master's move from Aomori to Tottori prefecture; bra advertisement promising superior cleavage; talent scout blurb, Yes, you too could be a model or music star! It slowly dawned on him that his decision came with massive consequences as yet un-contemplated. Where would he go, what would he do? He needed a place to live, probably a job, and did he really want to give up the little he had achieved at school?
It was while he considered this, mechanically eating the food Kasumi placed before him--unthinkingly, but still very much aware of how delicious her cooking was--that Nabiki came rushing downstairs. She was already dressed for school, schoolbag at her side, and as she quickly passed by it seemed to Ranma that she avoided looking at him. What's up with her? he wondered, even as Kasumi called out after her younger sibling. The middle sister, already out of sight, replied with a yelled "I have to get to school early today," and a moment later he heard the door slam shut behind her. Kasumi, unperturbed, dumped the extra food on Genma's plate. Ranma shrugged and turned back to his breakfast.
To his surprise, his panda father stopped inhaling food long enough to dump a cupful of hot water over his own head, shifting back to human form. Pulling a convenient dogi over his bulky form, he leveled a glare at his son.
"I allowed you the luxury of missing morning practice this morning," Genma growled, "out of respect for the torturous ordeals you underwent last night. But I will not idly sit by and allow the heir to the Anything-Goes school of martial arts--"
Ranma broke into a cold sweat, thinking, He knows! He already knows, and I knew this was coming eventually, but not this soon, I'm not ready yet! Did Akane tell him I was thinking of leaving?
"--to go soft on me!" finished Genma, to his son's immense relief. "I effortlessly steal a third of your meal, and you don't notice?" He presented his chopsticks with a flourish, displaying a piece of fish captured from his son's plate.
The younger Saotome forced a scowl to conceal his pleasure, and glanced down at his plate. He noted with surprise that his food was, in fact, missing. Man, I must've been out of it, he thought. Pop's right to call me all that.
"And then," Genma continued, "to allow Kasumi to give me extra food without a struggle? What's wrong with you, boy?"
"I haven't spoken to you for a week, and that's the first thing out of your fat mouth?" Ranma's tone dripped insolence. "How about, 'How was the training trip, Ranma?' or 'Good to see you, son!' Is that too much to ask?"
"Not at all," said Genma, suddenly all smiles. "How was the trip?"
"Fine," Ranma answered guardedly.
"Good to see you, son!"
"You're weirding me out, Pop."
"But why? I'm just trying to be friendly, you know, to bond a little and maybe be there for my son--"
"Um, thanks."
"--who's acting like some kind of freakin' girl!" Genma yelled, and lunged forward, a vase-full of cold water hitting Ranma square in the face. He blinked through the dirty water coursing across features suddenly turned softer and feminine.
"What a disgrace!" wailed Genma, red in the face, leaping to his feet. "What did you study for the last week, the Saotome Anything-Goes Special Technique of Being Slow? The Deadly Art of Being Utterly Useless?" He stalked back and forth, gesticulating wildly, as an unperturbed Soun continued to read his paper and Kasumi rescued her flowers from death by trampling. "Ten years of training for nothing! Must I restart my disappointment of a son from the beginning? Oh, the shame!"
This, Ranma thought, as his father proceeded to decry the flaws of youth in general and of his son in particular, is exactly how I want to remember Pop when I'm gone. He smiled broadly and stood up. "Yo, Pop," he said, cutting Genma off in mid-rant. "How 'bout I show you a little of what I've been studyin'?"

Leaving his grinning father lying half-unconscious in the pond with swirling eyes and lumps on his head, Ranma headed to the bathroom for some hot water. Beating the crap out of Pop had done wonders to dispel the melancholy of the morning, and with renewed vigor he faced the prospect of leaving the house. Only as he went to slide the door open did it occur to him that, by leaving, he would be giving up the very thing that had just cheered him up; and his mood plummeted once again. Man, he thought, leaving is a hell of a lot harder than I expected. But his determination didn't waver, and he felt secure in the knowledge that he was doing the right thing. He was doing what he had to do. What others had forced him to do. Ranma opened the door.
Akane was there in her yellow fish-cake pajamas. She was brushing her teeth.
They stared at each other for a moment, and for some reason Ranma felt intensely surprised to see her. He recovered and bowed apologetically and wordlessly backed away, and as he went to leave she recovered as well, spitting out a mouthful of water, the corner of her mouth still flecked with toothpaste foam, and reached for the door and kept him from closing it behind him. "Ranma, wait!" she said.
A brief pause was all Akane needed to grab him by the arm. He allowed her to pull him into the bathroom, and watched bemused as she checked to see if anyone was around. She closed the door.
Akane looked tired, her eyes looked tired, more so than he could ever remember seeing her, almost as if she hadn't slept all night. She wasn't worried about me, was she? Ranma thought, feeling a sudden pang of both guilt and guilty pleasure. But of course she's not, he added, why would she be? She's known for awhile now that I'd be leaving, she wants me to leave, she's better off with me leaving . . . she doesn't really care either way. Akane's made that abundantly clear.
He noticed that she was examining him with equal intensity, searchingly, and suddenly he felt strangely embarrassed by being female in front of her. A stupid feeling, surely, but he nevertheless felt acutely aware of his femininity in a way he had rarely felt before: the way his shirt tented and draped off his breasts, how his pants hung high and stretched across his wider hips; and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror he had a sudden disjointed recollection, similar dreamlike snapshot image of disheveled hair wet and framed face feminine flashing to mind--but it slid away, ephemeral, and with it the shame he felt before Akane. A subdued anger filled its void: where does she get off making me feel like this?
"Yo, Akane," he said, rather more brusquely than intended. "Something you wanna say?"
Whereas she had stopped Ranma without hesitation, that confidence now seemed to escape her and left her at a loss for words. He stared at her impatiently, and finally Akane blurted out, "You're a girl," almost as if unable to think of anything else.
He shrugged. "Yeah. Shit happens. Jusenkyo, bad luck, a little water: instant sex-changing freak. You know how it goes."
Akane frowned. "That's not what I meant."
He bit back a retort, feeling bad for snapping at her. Ranma turned away and reached for the sink. "I just came for some hot water. I'll be out of your way in a second."
A soft touch on his shoulder--surprisingly timorous, almost frightened--checked him. "Ranma, I. . . I don't care," she said.
"I know," he said, a whisper, a savage hurt seizing him, twisting his insides, and his hand trembled on the faucet tap. "That's why I'm leaving." Ranma hated himself for it, but as the words escaped he looked back, had to see the expression on her face and confirm the truth of her feelings for him; he did this despite knowing that his own features must betray him, mirroring the pain he felt inside. What he saw, so clearly written on her face, crystallized the decision within his mind and hardened his heart to the pain: mingled disgust and fear offset only by stark pity, and he wanted none of any of those from her. He turned away quickly, face burning. Ranma composed himself and straightened, momentarily forgetting about changing back.
"That's not what I meant," Akane said softly.
"Yes, it is," he answered, more bitter than expected.
She shook her head vehemently. "Ranma, no, you . . . don't understand."
He laughed. "Oh, but I do, Akane--finally! And you're right, so absolutely right. You and your friends and everyone. Well--goodbye." He went to step past her but she refused to move, and he was reminded of the same scene one week ago, with he ready to leave and she constantly blocking him. Well, I'm not going to play her game this time, he thought. With sudden speed and a bit of deft footwork, he slipped past her and through the door.
"Where are you going?" she asked. When he ignored her and stepped away, she asked again, louder. "I'll keep asking," she promised, "louder and louder, until I'm screaming down the street after you. I don't know what you're planning to do, and somehow I don't think you are, either, but I'm guessing you're not quite ready to face up to our fathers just yet."
"What do you care?" he retorted without looking back, his voice low enough to not be heard by the adults down the hall. "We're through, remember? You don't want to have anything to do with me. So what does it matter where I go?"
He could feel her stare on his back. "It matters."
Ranma sighed and turned back. "Fine. You know what I'm planning to do? I'm planning on moving away. Out of Nerima." Even as he spoke he realized he was making a choice, and that in the process of answering Akane's question he was deciding his own future. "I'll camp out until I find a job or something I can make some money off of." He shrugged, glanced down, and stuck his chest out. "If this body's been good for anything, it's getting work and free food.
"With some money, I'll find somewhere to live, and finish school, I guess." He was surprised by his own words, but then suddenly realized that his education was important to him. He had worked his ass off to get into a public school as decent as Furinkan, and even if his current grades were crap, he wasn't about to waste all that effort. Everybody thought he was a jock moron; well, he'd prove them wrong. "If Ukyo can do it, then so can I."
If Akane looked at all surprised or dubious of his plan, she showed none of it. "And then?" she asked. Something in her tone reminded him of a mother chiding an immature boy, and it infuriated him.
"And then what? How should I know? I'm only seventeen, Akane! Do you have any idea what you're going to do after high school? Any of your friends know?" He stalked up to her and confronted her in a restrained, angry whisper. "I don't give a shit about later! All I want is to leave-- to leave this shit hole, and all you people screwing with my life . . . I want to go away, and start all over, and forget about all of you and the last year and a half and find a new home and new friends and never have to see either you or your friends or your family ever again . . . but that's a lie, Akane, because I _don't_ want to leave, because I'm happy here and I like your family and even your bitchy friends and our stupid school and all these jerks who keep bugging the shit out of me; and leaving here is the hardest, most painful thing I've ever done . . . and the only thing keeping me stuck between the two is you, Akane, _you're_ the one tearing me apart, because I've already decided to leave, it's the right thing to do and it's what I have to do; but you won't let me leave! Can't you see what you're doing to me? Do you enjoy hurting me? Let me go!"
With eyes brimming with tears and so full of pity it hurt to see, she answered, "Oh no, Ranma, no, I don't, and I hope you'll never understand how much I hope you're okay."
He believed her. The words were delivered with such heartfelt intention, from such a depth of honesty that it was impossible to doubt her sincerity. Again, however, that overwhelming pity in her eyes, and he refused to accept that from his former fiancee. I don't need your pity! he wanted to scream, can't you see I'm only leaving because of you? But how to convey the full range of his feelings, when he himself didn't fully understand to what depths they reached? Those emotions surged and roiled within just below the surface, and for a moment he trembled with the potential of expression, unsure of what he might say or do if his honest feelings were given free rein; and he swiftly turned away as he sought to master himself. Now was not the time, he refused to expose himself so blatantly to her, not when under that emasculating sympathetic gaze.
"Ranma," she said softly, coming up behind him. "Can we talk?"
Still struggling for control, he shook his head in the negative.
"Ranma," she tried again, sounding hurt, "last night, you said we would."
On your terms, he thought, is that it? I don't think so. "We're talking now, aren't we?" he said, still looking away. He remembered her words from last night: _After supper, we'll talk. I need time to think. I've been doing a lot all week, and now . . . I think I'm ready to make some choices._ But she just doesn't get it, he thought. This isn't about her anymore, and it's not her choice to make.
"No!" she said. "Not like this. Not . . . angry. A real talk. I don't think we've ever had one, not in all the time you've been here. I'd really like to try, Ranma."
He was tempted, there was so much he wanted to say, or thought he wanted to say, even though unsure of what that might be. But he could not allow himself to be swayed from his decision, especially not like this; leaving was proving difficult enough as it was. I have to leave, now, or she'll draw another promise out of me, and this will keep going on and on, and I don't think I could take that. I won't do that to myself, I won't do that to her. It's time to burn my bridges.
He hardened himself, and stubbornly answered, "Well, that's funny, Akane, really ironic like, because last night, _I_ was ready to talk, but you weren't . . . and this morning, you know, I really don't feel like it anymore." He turned on her, forcing himself back to anger, the pity glimmering in her eyes an easy focus. "We had our chance for a heart-to- heart and you blew it. I'm leaving. I'm leaving. I don't need this house, this family, and I certainly don't need you, Akane, so you can wipe that pity off your face, because I sure don't want it; and you can forget about your stupid little talk.
"We're through, and when our parents come looking to place the blame, you can dump it all on me, yeah, just like you always do: but you'll know it's all your fault. This started because I took you seriously for once--treated you like the martial artist you so want to be but will never become--and you couldn't take it." He hated himself, hated every spiteful word he hurled at her and the pain it so clearly caused her. He despised the lie, when he knew that in his drunkenness it had been he who had gone too far, and the residual guilt rankled worse than ever. His self-loathing at that moment was so deep that he grew furious himself, with the same intensity he felt whenever anyone would dare threaten his Akane; and he channeled that inward anger outwards into his words, towards his fiancee. "We had one chance to talk about it, and you threw me out of your room, you poisoned me, you made a mess of it as usual. You screwed up, and really, I don't think there's much more to say, 'cus I sure as hell don't want to live with a violent, uncute tomboy like you!"
Akane stood as if stunned, tears freely flowing, looking so hurt-- no, even worse, betrayed--that Ranma was immediately overwhelmed with guilt. He wanted to rush forward and apologize, he wanted to take it all back and try again. He had to leave, but not like this; it had to end, but not like this . . . it couldn't end like this!
The shock faded and she flushed red with anger, and she shook with such a fury of emotion that he flinched back against the blow surely to come. When he opened his eyes, she stood trembling with hands clenched at her side, and she pierced him with such a look of disgust and hate that he quailed inside, his chest becoming unbelievably tight, and he knew with absolute certainty that he had lost her forever.
"Get out of my house," she hissed.
He reeled back as if physically struck, though her words were no less than he both expected and wanted. His every insult and curse and mingled truth and lie had been to bring her to this very point, where she would finally release him. So why did it hurt so much? At that moment, an unbidden memory surfaced:
Raven-haired pale-faced black-skirted friendly girl--what was her name?--holding him close. No, _her_ close, female flesh bound tightly in bikini red, shirt hanging open. Tears and guilt: release.
_You-you really love him, don't you?_
Tight stabbing pain, burgeoning nascent agony of awareness come too late.
_Yes._
"Yes," Ranma whispered, the blood draining from his face. Remembrance had come too late. With the same absolute certainty with which he knew that he had lost his fiancee, he suddenly also realized that he loved her, truly and profoundly. At the very same moment that Ranma Saotome finally consciously accepted that he loved Akane Tendo, he also had to accept that he had just given her up. The constant emotional buffeting of the last few minutes proved too much; everything--anger, fear, love, shame, guilt--flayed him raw from within, and he locked up, physically and mentally.
"Yes, that's it, _yes_?" Akane stormed forward. "Then go!" she spat, and shoved him, hard, and again. He stumbled back, defenseless. "Go! Get out!"
"No, wait!" he stuttered, trying desperately to catch his footing, "Akane, no, Akane I lo. . . ." The words died on his lips. Under that withering hateful gaze, what could he say? His shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned away. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
And then, louder, "Goodbye, Akane."
Those first steps were among the most difficult he could ever remember taking, heavier even then when he fled from her back in Ryugenzawa. There had been another man that time, a rival, something to drive him with righteous anger and send him sprinting across the forest. This time he had driven her away himself, and there was no one else to blame. When Happosai had stolen his strength, he had also been prepared to give her up. Somewhere deep inside, however, he had hoped--known--that she wouldn't abandon him, and she had proven him right. Though the shame of his weakness had been almost too much to bear, her presence had been a very real comfort to him, and now he understood why: even then he had loved her, but only now did he know to what extent.
Ranma walked away. He felt light-headed. Thoughts were consumed in a subliminal buzz. He felt somehow disjointed, as if watching from outside his body's slow escape. The immediate was lost in a haze, the periphery coming to the fore; and from far off he could hear, stunningly clear, the trill of a morning bird. A telephone ring. Humming of a cheerful song. The loud clack of a shoji stone against wooden board. A stifled, choking sob.
Hurried footsteps as Kasumi, somehow oblivious to what had transpired only a few meters away, came to him. "Phone call for you," she said, and smiled. "It's Doctor Tofu!"

Ranma picked up the phone.
"Ranma?"
"Err, hi Doc. Listen, now's not-."
"I'll be brief. I need you to come to the clinic with Akane this morning."
"What's wrong?"
"Maybe nothing. Nabiki set up an appointment this morning. She's very worried."
"Is it serious?"
"Maybe. Maybe it's nothing. The earlier you come the better."
"Akane won't want to come with me. We just had a big fight"
"It's very important for you to come with her, Ranma."
"I'll try."
"Good. See you soon."
Doctor Tofu hung up.

When Ranma returned from the phone call, his head a confused jumble of thoughts and impulses, Akane was gone. He heard heavy steps from upstairs, and assumed she had gone to her room to change for school. Now what do I do? he thought, and wandered in a daze back to the living room. He slumped to the ground, ignored by his father (now recovered) and Soun (enjoying a cigarette) as they continued an intense game of shogi. What do I do, he thought again, and immediately after: I love her! "I love her," he whispered, feeling the roll of the words off his tongue, how easy it seemed to say now. "I love you, Akane." His heart soared with the newfound knowledge of its desire, and for a moment, consumed by the elation that it brought, all the difficulties of the day thus far disappeared like the morning's frost.
_I sure as hell don't want to live with a violent, uncute tomboy like you!_
What have I done? he thought, crashing back to earth. Oh man, what have I done? He could clearly remember now that moment at the party, admitting in his drunkenness his feelings for Akane to a complete stranger. The pain of that moment had been so intense! How much worse it was now, without the buffer of alcohol, without the emotional release his female form might offer under different company! The worst, however, was realizing that despite the full knowledge of his feelings, it changed nothing. His decision was still made, and now more than ever he knew he had to leave. No matter how painful, for the good of Akane he had to leave. Surely it was the least he could do if he truly loved her, and he hoped that fact would make his departure easier.
Nope, Ranma told himself, it doesn't.
Before he could go, he had one last responsibility: to take Akane to Tofu's clinic, and concern momentarily displaced his sense of loss. Talking to Doctor Tofu had been intensely strange, in part because of the state of near shock he had been in as he picked up the phone. The doctor himself had seemed odd, his voice devoid of its usual cheerfulness, his request delivered in a tightly restrained, brusque and clinical tone. It must be pretty damn serious, Ranma thought, if he was able to get a coherent message across to Kasumi. Shit. I hope Akane's all right.
Nursing this thought and drawing courage from it, he went upstairs to Akane's room. Her room seemed strangely quiet. Oh, man, I hope she's not crying, he thought. Maybe it was a good thing that he was a girl right now. His female body seemed more comforting, somehow, or better suited to such emotions. Not that he would cry. He was a man, and he had to be strong. Especially if there was something wrong with Akane. Ranma tried a hesitant knock on the door.
"Come in."
She looked surprisingly composed as he entered, and the look she directed his way was one of cool indifference. She was dressed for school, closing the final tie on her schoolbag. "You're still here?" Her voice, normally so passionate--whether with anger or caring--was painfully flat, and sounded, if anything, mildly annoyed with the necessity of talking to him. Anything would have been better than that neutral hollowness, so alien to her--anger, tears, even hatred directed his way would have been better. But she's already erased me from her life, he thought, just when she's become the most important thing in mine.
Ranma nodded in reply and tried to appear casual. No point in letting her know how he felt. It certainly wouldn't help anything at this point. "Yeah," he said. "But I'll be gone in a few minutes."
"Good," she said, and looked away. Her face was hidden from him. "What did Doctor Tofu want?" she asked. Ranma heard a slight tremor in her voice.
"He wants us to swing by the clinic," he said, "for a check-up. Sounds pretty normal, I'm sure it's nothing serious."
"Fine," she said. "You can walk me to school and we'll stop on the way. It's probably better that way, so our fathers won't suspect anything."
"Good thinking."
"Then let's go," she said. She turned around, and briefly her face belied a deep anxiety, if not outright fear; and then her previous impassiveness slid back into place. What happened, Ranma wondered, deep concern forming a tightening knot centered on his stomach, what happened while I was away? I never should have left!
Akane reached down for her school bag. "The sooner we get this over with," she added, taking a step towards him, "the faster we can get you out of here." As she spoke those words, so painful for Ranma to hear, she suddenly appeared frozen in time; a statue in his mind; and never before had she seemed so beautiful to him. She stood half crouched, one hand grasping the handle of her bag as she picked it up, the other holding the hem of her skirt clear from the floor. Her skirt pooled around her feet, blue pleated concealment of legs that were, he knew, slim and beautiful and taut with muscle and vitality. The image burned itself into memory. Hazel eyes half-lidded and far from passionless; the slender length of pale arm exposed by the white school blouse she wore--how strong she was! Akane, a tomboy? Sure! he thought, and I'd rather have my Tomboy than any of those other small weak girls at school.
But she's not yours anymore, is she? he added a moment later, and looked away.

The walk to school that morning was among the most uncomfortable he could remember. It certainly wasn't the first walk to school with angry tension between them, the result of some previous fight as yet unresolved. Ranma suspected, however, that it would be the last. Once Tofu reassured him that Akane was fine--she had better be fine!--he would have no choice but to leave. His backpack, collected as he left the house, was slung over one shoulder. There was no reason to return to the Tendos' household, other than the single, all-important one following him; and she wanted nothing more to do with him. Her cold refusal to speak as they walked was a silent testament to that. He had tried walking next to Akane, but her clear hostility had driven him back to the top of the fence; and now, standing above and in front of her, he could feel her gaze burning into his back.
Only a little longer, Akane, he vowed, and I'll let you move on with your life.
Again, that feeling of absurdity as he walked, the weather so unusually pleasant for this time of year, warm enough for Akane remove her winter uniform jacket. The sun shining brightly above complemented the idle, pleasant chatter of other students on their way to school. He hated them. No, not hate, he amended, but their absolute ignorance infuriated him: how could they not understand what was happening? The sacrifice he was making, the decision he was being forced into--they didn't know, and worse, they didn't care! He wanted to scream at them, to the world at large, "I love her!" but he was afraid, certain that the returning echo would proclaim, "She hates you!"
The trip to Tofu's was thankfully short, and within moments they stood in the lobby of the doctor's clinic. It had been a long time since their last visit. The doctor had been absent recently. According to Kasumi he had been studying advanced techniques with a teacher in China, and Ranma couldn't recall stopping by since the pressure-point incident with Happosai nearly half-a-year ago.
There were no other patients. Ranma waited nervously, hovering protectively near the girl he loved. He watched her furtively. She stood unmoving, hands held clasped together in front, ignoring him. Despite her effort to conceal it, she clearly became increasingly nervous as they waited, and his concern for her grew proportionately.
Finally, Doctor Tofu Ono greeted them.
"Ah, my two favorite patients," he said, and smiled. To Ranma, it seemed slightly strained. "Long time no see."
"Um, yeah, Doc," Ranma said. "Long time no see." Akane bowed and said nothing.
A brief but intensely uncomfortable silence resulted, before Tofu seemed to snap out of deep thought. "Well," he said, "you guys have to hurry along for school, so let's get this over with as quickly as possible, shall we? Akane, if you please?" He took the girl by the hand and led her to a side-room, quickly returning. "And if you'll follow me, Ranma?"
Moments later the boy was sitting anxiously in Doctor Tofu's examination room while the doctor attended to Akane. Charged with bored nervousness, he started to pace the room. Why were they here; what happened to Akane; why hadn't anybody told him? What am I going to do if she's sick; what if I'm somehow responsible? Is this all my fault, again? He stopped his idle march and glanced up at the skeleton hanging in the corner. "Yo, Betty," he muttered. "What's up?" Betty grinned at him. "Yeah, yuck it up, but it ain't funny," he insisted. He slumped down into a chair and continued to stare up morosely at Tofu's life-sized toy. The silence and waiting became oppressive, and he suddenly blurted out: "I love her--I really do! But she hates me; and I don't know what I'll do if she's sick! Hanging around ain't doing her no good, but I can't leave unless I know she's okay." Ranma sighed, and his gaze dropped, until all he could see were Betty's bony white toes at the edge of his vision, and he muttered, "You're lucky. You're just a stupid plastic toy, you ain't got to worry about this shit. Man, this sucks! I thought that when I finally figured all this crap out, things would finally get easier. It's just worse than ever!"
"You shouldn't say stuff like that," said a sudden voice from behind him, sending Ranma flying across the room in fright, "You'll hurt Betty's feelings." Tofu, silently closing the door behind him, smiled kindly at the younger martial artist.
Ranma climbed sheepishly down from his place on the wall next to Betty. "Where'd you learn to move so quiet, Doc?" he asked.
"I'm the son of an unholy union between a demon of the dark realms beyond, and the matriarch of an ancient evil ninja clan; and I draw power from the ineffable forces that lie gibbering beyond the stars."
"Wow, really?"
Doctor Ono Tofu chuckled. "No. Actually, I have a very sharp-eared mother who loves to meddle. My room used to be down the hall from her. My childhood would've been spent on exactingly menial chores and pointless pre- arranged dates, if I hadn't learned how to creep by her room without being heard at a very young age." The doctor took a seat and gestured for his patient to sit down opposite him. He cast a quick but searching eye over the boy-turned-girl, pushed his glasses back along the bridge of his nose, and his demeanor turned professional. "Well, then, let's get down to business then, shall we?"
Ranma shrugged. "Sure. What's up?"
"I see that you're female this morning."
"Yeah," Ranma grumbled. "Pop's fault. And Akane and I had a big fight before I could change back. Guess I kinda forgot."
"Not a problem. Convenient, actually, since I want to examine your female side as well."
"Me?"
"Akane tells me that you're leaving Nerima. I can't let my favorite patient go without a clean bill of health, can I?"
"I . . . guess not," Ranma answered.
"Exactly." Tofu proceeded with a routine check-up, and Ranma sat through the initial steps, only slightly embarrassed at having his female body examined. But his patience quickly wore thin as his concern for Akane steadily grew. The doctor was cradling one slender wrist in his hand, silently counting out Ranma's pulse, when the boy-turned-girl snatched his arm away and blurted, "Doc, what about Akane?"
Tofu blinked, concentration broken, and said, "Excuse me?"
"Akane! What's wrong with her, you've got to tell me!"
"Ranma," Doctor Tofu said, "if there's anything wrong with her, and she hasn't told you, then I'm sure you'll understand that I can't break my patient confidentiality with her."
"But-."
"Ranma, no. Would you like it if I told Akane how you feel about her?"
"No," he muttered sullenly, blushing a furious red and looking away. He didn't resist as the doctor took up counting his pulse once again. How can I help her, he thought darkly, if Doc won't tell me what's wrong? _She_ sure won't tell me. She wants me gone. With sudden spite Ranma started to mess around with his pulse, speeding it up and slowing it down through simple meditation exercises he picked up while in China. After thirty seconds of this Tofu looked up. He locked eyes with his patient, and a steely glint Ranma had rarely seen there took him aback.
"Getting passive-aggressive on me isn't going to help."
Ranma wasn't too sure what that meant, but stopped.
Tofu sighed. "Listen, I'll say this. I suggest you stay near Akane, at least for a little longer. Believe me," and here his voice suddenly sounded very tired, "if there's anything wrong, you'll know by the end of the day.
"Now. Shall we proceed?"

"I really hate this body sometimes," Ranma muttered, as he squatted and shivered and tried to urinate in the cup held gingerly beneath his female bottom without getting any on himself. He despised Japanese-style toilets now. Before the curse, he had never noticed just how inconvenient they were--for women, anyway, and he avoided whenever possible using the washroom in his cursed form. I hate pissing as a chick, he thought, but Tofu wants a urine sample and so here I am. He winced as the splashback sprayed his hand, and he cursed the necessity of squatting over the porcelain hole in the ground that served as a toilet. Halfway through he held back, clamping down with muscles he'd rather not acknowledge; and carefully putting the steaming container aside he reached for a glass of hot water. Trying to not think about what he was doing, he splashed himself and reverted to maleness, grabbed a second empty cup, shifted his stance, and relaxed once again. "I really, _really_ hate turning into a girl sometimes."
A few minutes later he silently handed both containers over to Doctor Tofu, who labeled them and put them aside. "Thanks, Ranma," he said. "Hope it wasn't too much of a bother."
"Not at all," the boy answered. "I mean, I just _love_ feeling my bladder shift and my testicles drop and everything."
The doctor shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."
"No problem."
The doctor resumed his check-up of the boy. He worked quickly and efficiently, running through the same series of examinations--except where gender difference required a change--as he had just performed on Ranma's girl-half. At first he worked silently, Ranma sitting through the process patiently, but then he began to speak.
"About six months ago," he started, startling the boy back to attention, "you came here suffering from a pressure point strike that Happosai had used against you. Remember?" Though Ranma had learned one of his most powerful techniques because of that incident, it had proven one of the most difficult ordeals of his life thus far. The blow to his pride, being struck down weak and near defenseless and forced to depend on the charity of people like Ryoga, how it had rankled! Even the thrill of victory, coming as it had despite his weakness, had felt hollow, for he thought the only cure for the pressure point curse lost in the battle. So much nearly given up, he had thought, because he had rescued Akane from the cyclone he himself had created.
It's funny, he thought, smiling mirthlessly. Back then, I didn't even question why I was willing to sacrifice my cure to save my unwanted tomboy of a fiancee. Now, it was all too painfully obvious.
"Well," continued Tofu, "I learned a lot from that incident. Actually, I've learned a lot through your injuries in general, Ranma, and encountered techniques I had only read of before in the most obscure of textbooks. After not being able to counter that weakness pressure point strike, I realized I needed more training."
"Really? I dunno, doc, you never seemed stupid or nothing to me."
Tofu smiled. "Thanks . . . I think. Now don't move." Ranma felt a tiny prick as the doctor slid a needle into his arm, and pulled out a small blood sample. "So I got in contact with my old shiatsu teacher, who put me in touch with his master, and without further delay I left for China. It was . . . a very enjoyable, if very difficult time."
Ranma smiled wistfully. "I know what you mean."
"I suppose you do. For three months, my teacher and I settled in this remote farming village, not far from where you traveled, if I'm not mistaken. It was there, a few weeks into my training, that I encountered one of the most difficult challenges of my life."
The young martial artist nodded. "Yeah. Which was it for you? Amazons, cursed pools, deranged monks, dragon princes?"
"I fell in love," Tofu said, and closing his eyes briefly, he released a deep sigh. "It was love like I've only known once before, deep and dark and it lurked at the very depth of my being, and it was all I could do to keep myself from throwing myself at her feet; from proclaiming my love and sweeping her away; from throwing aside everything I've ever achieved to please her, if she wished it. But it was stupid. She was the daughter of a local farmer, a young girl already betrothed to another man against whom I bore no grudge; and more importantly, whether she knew it or not, I saw that she cared for this other boy. Not to mention my own life here in Japan, and the pers--people in it, to which I would soon return.
"But one day, as I was searching the surrounding countryside for certain herbs my teacher required for my training, we met. Or rather, I saved her. A small group of brigands were attacking her. I . . . intervened." Again, Ranma saw that momentary hardness in the doctor's eyes, and was suddenly reminded of how little he really knew the doctor. There was the kind, slightly goofy man that acted strange when Kasumi was around; and now this, a hidden depth only rarely glimpsed. Which was the real Tofu?
"The temptation was terrible," the doctor continued. "She was so very grateful to me, and her interest was obvious, and we were alone." He chuckled. "Maybe it's presumptuous of me, but I rather imagine I appeared the dashing hero intervening in the nick of time. There would never be a better chance to declare my love to her. After all, that's what heroes do, right? But I couldn't. It wasn't right, I needed control. So I retreated from her in the only way I knew how.
"I hopped around in circles and made toothpicks out of a couple of trees, and ran off laughing like a madman. And from that day on, every time I would see her I would act strange, until the villagers eventually learned to keep her away from me. It hurt, and it was hard, being that way; but in the long run it was probably best that she saw me like that. And eventually I finished my training there, and moved on, and returned to Japan, and her final impression of me will always be of the giggling lunatic, the bumbling doctor who passed through during her youth and never returned."
The doctor fell silent. His gentle ministrations never faltered once during his story. After some time, Ranma hesitantly spoke up. "I . . . think you're wrong, doc. I dunno, but maybe the last thing she'll hold on to is that memory of the 'dashing hero' that saved her." He shrugged. "Seems like a better memory than some geek makin' pretzels out'a lumber. But I ain't no girl, so who knows?"
Tofu's answer was a slight smile and tight grip. "Turn your head and cough, please."

They talked very little after that. The doctor soon finished. "Well, that's it for now, so you're free to go. Akane went off ahead while I finished with you, but you can catch up with her at school." Tofu, maybe catching an indication of doubt or indecision in the young boy, added, "I really think you should follow her to school, Ranma. Like I said, just for today."
Ranma nodded, an uncomfortable feeling churning inside.
"Ranma," the doctor asked, "are you okay?"
"I-," he started, and hesitated. The boy frowned. "I'm . . . scared?"
His face strangely impassive, Tofu asked, "About what?" He sat down on one of his beds, and patted the seat next to him. Ranma joined him distractedly, eyes clouded.
"I'm not sure," the boy said. "For Akane, of course. And about what I'm going to do. I didn't think leaving was going to be this difficult. But now that I've realized that I love her . . . ."
Tofu nodded.
"But that's not it," he continued after a moment of silent thought. "I mean, all that's part of it, but it's all just so big, too big for me to wrap my head around right now. This is something new." Again, the doctor waited, until Ranma felt ready to continue. "I think . . . it's the idea of going back to school.
"Stupid, isn't it?" he snorted. "With everything else going on, I'm worried about something like that. It's just that I never thought I would be, you know, going back that is. I thought I left all that behind. I mean, sure, part of me kinda _wants_ to go back, try out some of that closure stuff Hinako keeps going on about; but mostly, I don't think I want to see any of those people ever again. But like you said, I should stay with Akane, she might need me, and even if she hates me, I won't leave her when she's hurting." He glanced aside at Tofu, but finding no indication there whether Akane was ill or not, continued. "So I've got to go back, and I wonder what people'll say and do, especially after the way I left last week."
Tofu shrugged. "That I can't tell you," he said. "My high school days are far behind me now. Or as far behind as they ever get. Whatever else you might think of Furinkan, Ranma, and of everything that's happened recently, believe me when I say--you'll never forget."
"No kidding, " Ranma said.
"And now," the doctor added, "I'm sorry, but I have to get back to work."
A few minutes later the young martial artist found himself alone and reluctant, standing out front of the doctor's clinic. Feeling uncomforted by his stopover, Ranma Saotome resumed his slow walk to school. The weather had taken a decided turn for the worse during his checkup, and a strong, bitter wind tugged insistently at his clothes, setting the trailing end of his shirt to snapping. Though still bright and sunny, dark and heavy-looking clouds loomed on the horizon. Good, he thought, finally the weather's clueing in to my mood.
He sought determination to carry him the final steps back to Furinkan, but discovered resolve lacking within. He wavered between his acknowledged responsibilities to Akane--especially if she were sick, which considering Tofu's unusually clinical behavior seemed increasingly likely-- and his strong instinct to avoid the people responsible for his current situation. If it hadn't been for that party, he thought, and for the way those people treated me, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have drunk so much, I wouldn't have pissed Akane off by fighting, we wouldn't have argued, and everything would still be the way it had been.
And I wouldn't have realized how much I love her, he added, and kicked at a stone. Shit.
Left to their own devices as his mind wandered elsewhere, his feet deviated from the proper path, and he found himself halfway to Ucchan's before taking notice. You have to do this, Ranma berated himself, and turned back. I thought I worked this through last week!
But resolve achieved in an abstract setting proved weak, and despite believing that his week alone in the forest had brought around a state of mind from which he could confront his peers, he found himself hesitant to doing so. A week ago, storming away from his school, anger had made him superior; unreachable; and from his lofty perch he had judged his fellow students and found them wanting. They were shallow and cruel and false, preoccupied with hollow pursuits and wholly consumed with selfish desires . . . .
And how he yearned for what they had and what they were, the acknowledgment of his loneliness and the rightness he felt at the Tendos convincing him that despite their perceived shortcomings, they possessed something of value that he had never known. Perhaps he had touched upon it during his stay at Furinkan--those relaxed moments between classes, or waiting his turn during gym, or chatting with Hiroshi or Daisuke after school; but how fleeting those times had been! I thought I found it during the party, he added, but look what came of that!
Then he found himself before the closed black gates of Furinkan High School, and he dispelled any doubts he still had. Akane was in there, and the doctor had told him to watch over her. Concern overrode any personal fear he held about entering. As for his former friends and persecutors: he realized that, compared to the argument of this morning and the decision to leave the woman he loved behind, confronting the people who had driven him away seemed meaningless; and suddenly he was wholly without fear. I'm only here for Akane, he reminded himself, and everyone else can just screw off.
Newly resolved, he hopped over the school wall and, seeing the clock above, noted that he was over an hour late. It struck him as pointless to head to class when it had already started, especially since rejoining school wasn't his reason for being there. Ranma could imagine the furor his late and sudden arrival would cause, the flurry of note-passing and whispered gossip that would take place; and he saw no reason to subject himself or Akane to that. Rather, he decided to check up on his former fiancee from outside. He meandered around to the other side of the school, quickly clambered up one of the tall trees lining the building, and leapt across the remaining distance. Clinging spider-like to the wall, he crept over to his old classroom. Hanging from above the window, he slowly and furtively glanced inside.
Akane sat rigid in her seat, staring forward at unrecognizable kanji drawn on the blackboard. Frequently she would turn slightly, eyes glancing up at the clock, before returning her attention to the front. Even at a distance Ranma could tell that something was wrong: something nearly imperceptible in her appearance conveyed the impression of unhealthy tension, like a spring coiled tight and denied release. It wasn't restrained anger--he recognized _that_ expression on her all too well--but something entirely different. If people are bugging her about my return, he vowed, I'll kick the crap out of every last one of them.
Satisfied that Akane was at school and more-or-less okay, the pigtailed martial artist retreated. Already being near the top of the school, he decided to hang out on the roof until class was over. As he approached the chain-link fence that kept students from falling off (or, as was the more likely case at Furinkan, either being thrown off or attempting dangerous aerial martial techniques), he heard student voices talking.
Clinging to the side of his school, unmindful of the growing wind that sought to topple him, Ranma listened to the conversation. It beat listening to his own unhappy thoughts.

First Boy: "So, yeah, Goda, how's Kensuke doing?"
Goda: "Not so hot. He's still pretty broken up about the whole Ai thing."
Girl: "You ask me, the turnip deserves it."
Goda: "Yeah, well, nobody did, Maya, so shut it."
Maya: "Screw you. Pass the tea."
Second Boy: "What're you guys talking about?"
Goda: "Shit, Jun, you don't know? Kensuke and Ai broke up."
Jun: "No way! When?"
Goda: "Yesterday. But it started last week. Um, Monday."
Maya: "Big fight. Ai found out Kensuke'd been fooling around behind her back with Satomi, and-."
First: "Satomi Ito?"
Goda: "That stuck up bitch? Get real, Kitano--Satomi Tanaka. From class 3-1. You know, the one with the huge tits."
Maya: "Hey, there's a girl here, you know, watch your mouth, jackass! Right. Anyway, Kensuke was all pissed off about getting his ass kicked by Yuuta, and-."
Jun: "What the hell were they fighting about, anyway?"
Goda: "Kiyoshi's party. Kensuke tried it on with Yuuta's sister, and-."
Maya: "Shut up, Goda, you're getting it all wrong!"
Goda: "Bite me. Pass the Pocky."
Maya: "You wish. Anyway, Kensuke was all pissy and Ai couldn't give a shit, and that just pissed him off more, and they fought and she took off, but that slut Satomi came up all, 'Oh, you poor stud of a man, you,' and they took off together and-."
Kitano: "Bullshit. I was with Satomi. She wanted help practicing her lines. With Saotome gone, she figured she might have a shot at a better part."
Jun: "Saotome Naoki?"
Kitano: "Moron. Saotome Ranma!"
Jun: "Hey, that's right, I heard he ran off last week."
Goda: "I thought he took off _two_ weeks ago to fight some Edo- period bead-chasing sword-wielding half-dog demon hiding near Kyoto."
Kitano: "I heard it was a transvestite ninja-clan and he was undercover as a cabaret dancer."
Maya: "Idiots. He had that big fight with Akane at the party, remember? So Ayumi told me he was so upset over the fight he decided to live the rest of his life as a woman."
Jun: "Eh, whatever."
Goda: "I thought you crashed the party. Didn't you see?"
Maya: "Like I give a shit about those two drama cases? Nah, I was taking care of bozo the drunk over there while he picked his ball out of his throat."
Ryuta Uehara: "Maya. . . ."

Ranma, perched a scant meter below the conversation, blinked as he recognized Uehara's voice. He stopped listening, remembering the fight at the party and how that asshole bully had incited him to violence. Maybe, he thought, and grinned, coming back to school was a good idea after all. I might not be one right now, Uehara--but payback's a bitch.
With a single smooth movement, Ranma lifted himself over the edge onto the roof, pushed off from a crouch and leapt to the top of the fence; fingers barely brushing the edge, he swung over and dropped down, pushing off and tumbling out of his fall. He landed softly in a crouch a few meters away from a group of students huddled next to the door leading back inside.
He didn't know most of them, though he more or less recognized them. They were some of the rougher kids in the school, always skipping class and getting caught for smoking or dyeing their hair or other stupid things like that. Maya slouched against the wall, her skirt indecently short, hair dyed blonde and wearing makeup; Goda sat opposite her, smoking, uniform undone despite the cold, his short hair gelled up spiky and streaked with blue. Ranma had never really paid them much attention before, since they weren't in his class and moved in very different circles than him. They _have_ a circle, after all, Ranma thought. I've got more of a dot.
But I know you, Uehara, Ranma added.
Engrossed in their conversation, they didn't immediately notice his arrival. Uehara, sitting slightly outside the circle of friends, saw him first. His eyes widened in surprise. "Well, shit! Speak of the transvestite, guys, we've got company!"
Everybody looked back.
"Oh, hey, Saotome," said Goda, and gave a slight wave. "Long time. Anyway," he continued, turning back to Jun, "like I was saying, Yuuta said to Kensuke, 'You touch my 'lil Pikachu again, you bastard, and I'll kick your _ass_.'" The others gave him a slight nod and returned to their conversation and card game.
Slightly taken aback at being so quickly ignored, Ranma walked closer. Uehara didn't look away and watched his approach with curiosity. He stood up when the pigtailed boy came near. "So, you're back," he said, with apparent disinterest.
"For today," Ranma said.
Uehara nodded. "Good. I got some unfinished business with you, Saotome."
Ranma raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" The fingers of one hand curled closed. He tried to tell himself he wasn't going to enjoy this. He wasn't restrained by some promise this time, and he didn't care what any of these people thought of him. But for the whole series of events Uehara had started . . . Ranma didn't consider himself a vengeful man, but he knew that venting some of the tension he felt on the individual responsible for most of it would somehow feel . . . good.
"Yeah." The tall, blond-haired boy slowly raised one fist. "See this?"
Ranma nodded and tensed himself to spring forward.
The fist curled open. "Here."
The martial artist stared blankly at the open hand. "What?"
"It's my hand, you moron!" said Uehara angrily. "Shake it already!"

"Why would I want to do that?"
"Because I'm sorry, that's why, you idiot!"
Ranma blinked. "You don't sound very sorry."
"Damn. Yeah, I always screw that up; I'm not very good at this kinda thing. Listen, I wanna apologize for being such a jerk at the party last week. Like I told those gimpy friends of yours, when I drink too much I get a little . . ."
"Aggro?" said Goda.
"Horny?" added Maya.
"Stupid?" offered another boy.
"Shut up!" he yelled at them, waving his fist, then turned back to Ranma. He stuck his hand out again. "So, yeah, like, I'm really sorry 'bout what happened, 'kay? Shake on it?"
Ranma reached out. As his fingers slid along Uehara's hand, a dozen techniques flashed through his mind, wrist-locks and grapples and throws, a dozen ways to inflict all kinds of pain back onto the boy. You have no idea how you screwed up my life, Ranma thought, and for a moment his grip tightened on the bully's hand. You have no idea what you've cost me.
"Yeah," Uehara continued, "I heard about all that shit that went down last week. Stupid idiots. Heard you showed 'em who's boss though, right?"
"I guess," Ranma said.
"So why'd you take off after that?"
"I don't belong here."
The taller boy laughed. "I keep forgetting what a _wimp_ you are, Saotome!"
Ranma frowned. "Watch it, Uehara."
"Oh, relax," Ryuta said. "You mean, you actually care what those bitches down there said? Man, you've got a lot to learn! Now, listen, it's like this . . ."
"Oh, crap, not again" Goda chirped. "Not the wisdom of Uehara Ryuta!"
"Shut up!" the tall boy yelled, "Or I'll tell Saotome how you've got a boner for his girl!"
"Uh--what?"
"Forget it. Now, listen," Uehara said, gesturing for the martial artist to sit slightly apart from the other group. Shrugging, Ranma did so, thinking, It's not like I've got anything better to do until class is over. The larger boy, obviously pleased at having an audience, took a seat opposite him.
"It's like this, see," Ryuta began. "You're a wimp, because you're weak--hey, don't interrupt!" He raised one hand to forestall Ranma's protest. "I'm not stupid, I know you can kick my ass. You already have twice. You're strong, Saotome . . . but you're not tough. Not where it counts, up here." The bully tapped the side of his head. "Oh, sure, you're no dummy, and your grades are probably higher than mine, and you've got that martial arts discipline thing down . . . but you care, man, you actually buy into that shit everybody's been shoveling your way.
"And there's so much of it, it fuckin' stinks so high, even up here at the top of the school we're surrounded by it. All those losers down there, so obsessed with getting great grades, just so they can go to some university their parents picked and graduate and get some job with some lame company they'll work at until they die. But, hey, that's cool, but those idiots _don't see it_, and that's the sick thing, they're all too pathetic to face up to the truth. So they join clubs and play games, they watch TV and write stories and do their homework and fill their tiny little brains with pointless crap, so that they never have to think about how meaningless their lives are going to be, or how they really have no clue what they want to do, and how lonely and unhappy they really are.
"But not me. Nope. My life might be as shit as everybody else's but at least I know it. So why should I waste my friggin' time tryin' to impress those idiots below, or some teacher or my parents, when none of them want to have anything to do with me? Screw that. I'll scare them instead, and steal their lunch money because I can, and I'll make sure that no matter how hard they try, they'll never be able to ignore me or forget that I'm here. I'm here to have fun; that's why I come to this stupid school, because if anything else, it's a riot--especially when you're around. But I'm not gonna study any more than I have to, and I'll just keep picking fights and kicking ass until some Yak scout notices and picks me up, and, hey, that might be as pointless as everything else, but at least I'm having fun, right?"
Ranma's lack of response led Uehara to scowl.
"An unbeliever, huh? I don't get you, Saotome. I mean, you're strong. You're always fighting, hell, more than even I do. And you _crush_ your enemies! Like that dude with the umbrella. You take him down, hard, and you enjoy it!"
"Hey! No I don't!"
"Not even Kuno?"
The pigtailed boy smiled wryly. "Well, maybe Kuno."
"Exactly. That's why I don't get you, Saotome. Yeah, I've watched you around school and stuff, and you're downright _mean_ when you wanna be; and then you turn around and pussy out for the stupidest reasons."
"It's called water, Uehara."
"Whatever. Like that crap at the party and here at school. You were sad, man! One second, you're laying the smack down on me, and dude, that's the worst ass-kicking I've _ever_ had; the next, you're moping around all pathetic-like, going, 'oh woe is me, I sure wish I had a friend!' It's like, why? You're better than those people, stronger than them, so who cares what they think? And then that shit with Tendo, dude, I can't believe you were actually beating yourself up over that. It's about time, you ask me, that bitch had it com-."
"Don't. Call her that." Ranma intoned, voice cold and eyes hard, his hand suddenly vice-like around Uehara's throat.
"See," the bully croaked. "See?"
The martial artist threw him down. "You're full of it. I ain't like you. I don't care if people forget about me, and I don't beat up people because I can, and I don't care if they like me or not."
"Oh, that's right, you're just so much deeper than the rest of us." Ryuta smiled. "Not. Now who's full of it?"
"Shut up."
"Stop being such a bitch about this, Saotome, and face the truth like a man. You're not like the others, and you're not going to change that. They think I'm strange because . . . well, just because, and 'cus I'm violent and rude and do things differently than they do. But think, man--if I'm a weirdo because of my parents and the shit I do, then you--you must be the freakiest thing this city's ever seen, you change _sexes_ man, and your glow when you're pissed, and you fight monsters in your free time!
"And don't tell me you don't like being different, because you go out of your way any chance you get to make damn sure everybody knows it. It's not like you keep a low profile, Saotome, between picking fights with the principal and inviting your buddies over to the school field so you can kick their ass in front of an audience. Hell, even I do my ass-kicking in private; you make sure everybody damn well _knows_ you're a badass. So face up to the truth, man: you're different and you _love_ it, and you're never gonna be like the rest of the flock. So stop chasing after the favor of those shit-faced losers below, 'cus it's just pathetic, and you're making me sick."
Ranma never got to further debate the dubious wisdoms of Ryuta Uehara, however, for at that moment a deep, sultry voice interrupted. "So what do we have here?" a woman asked. "You wouldn't be . . . delinquents?"

From the door leading back into the school stepped the tall, curvaceous form of the adult Hinako Ninomiya, the school's vampire-like disciplinarian. The yellow dress that fit her six-year old frame was stretched impossibly tight across her full, voluptuous figure, accentuating the exaggerated femininity that seemed poised to burst free of their scant restraint. The sheer sexuality she exuded could have been distracting, if it didn't have such a painfully terrifying source. She tossed back the long lustrous sweep of her hair with a flick of her head, and looked down at the students with a half-lidded look that could only be described as hungry.
"Aw crap," muttered Uehara.
"So then," Hinako purred, "who do we have here?" Fixing Goda with her heavy-lidded gaze, she ticked off one finger, drawing it languidly back. "Mr. Takemoto, how . . . good to see you again. This is your third time this month, isn't it? And smoking, too--my, you are being naughty today, aren't you?" Goda, already quivering, went white. "And Ms. Koyama, still by your man's side, I see." Maya flushed red, glancing aside at Uehara. "That color suits you, but I believe you know how I disapprove of makeup at school." She checked a third and fourth finger. "Kitano Matsushita, absent from class again; Jun Iwato, also absent.
"And last," she said, lips curving in a dangerous smile, last slender finger curling into her small fist, "we have Ryuta Uehara. Not much of a surprise, really. Uehara and his little gang of troublemakers. I see inappropriate uniforms, absenteeism, smoking, snacking, and defacement of school property. I see delinquents!"
"Yeah, but do you see me?" Ranma, emerging from the shadows he had faded into, stepped in front of the gang of students the teacher had been about to discipline. He wasn't too sure why he bothered, and was sorely tempted to just hang back hidden and allow her to have her way with them. He didn't care for these students, didn't care much for Uehara, and he held no grudge against Hinako--truth be told, he rather liked the diminutive English teacher and felt he had more in common with her than his peers.
"Saotome!"
"Yeah." Ranma shrugged. "Guess I'm back."
"The biggest delinquent of them all," she said, eyes narrowing. "One week of absences! Violence and destruction of school property! Flagrant disrespect for school authority! And you never wear a uniform!"
"You forgot blatant unrepentant cocky attitude," he drawled.
Hinako frowned and turned her attention back to the other students. "As for you sorry lot," she said, "you're lucky I found a bigger fish to fry. Get back to class immediately and I may even forget this happened."
The students needed little urging. They cleared out quickly and with only the briefest of sympathetic looks back. Uehara left last, hands thrust deeply into his pockets as he sauntered away. He glanced back over his shoulder just before heading downstairs. "Thanks for the save, Saotome," he said, and grinned. "Yo." Ranma wordlessly watched them leave, until finally he stood alone on the school roof with the angry disciplinarian next to him.
"Alright, teach, how you wanna do this?" he asked. He raised his fists and spread out three fingers of the right hand, and two of the left. "I've got five fingers for you if you want 'em."
"Oh my, Ranma," she cooed, blushing. "Wherever do you plan on sticking those fingers, I wonder?"
"What? No! I just wanna poke your tits, is all!"
"How very forward of you," she said, hands clasped to her chest. "And a student as well!"
"That's not what I meant!"
"Then whatever is it that you want?"
"Nothing, dammit!"
"Then why," she asked, "are you here, Mr. Saotome?"
Ranma blinked. "Huh?"
"You're not in class," she said, ticking off a finger. "And yet, you're not rescuing your fiancee. I don't see any rivals about, nor are you training, nor is the school in any kind of danger. I do believe that covers the usual excuses for your truancy, yes?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"Very eloquent. So again I wonder why you are not in class, Mr. Saotome? I have had just about enough of your delinquency!"
"Aw, c'mon teach, I ain't no delinquent!"
"Or, really," she said, sidling closer. "Well then, Ranma, why don't you share with me what makes you so special that you can attend school at your own discretion?"
"Hey!" he said, raising his hands in protest. "It ain't my fault I miss school so much!"
"Still blaming others for your problems, I see. Well, Mr. Saotome, your parents may not care if you skip school, and the principal might not care, and even that wonderful, handsome, stud of a man, that _gorgeous_ Soun Tendo, that--."
"Ms. Hinako?" he interrupted.
"Yes, well, none of _them_ may care if you slip into irredeemable delinquency--but I do. I will not tolerate this kind of behavior, Ranma. Seeing you with those other rotten apples leads me to believe that you're slipping in with the wrong crowd--and considering your usual entourage, that's saying something!"
"That's not fair! My friends ain't-."
"Don't interrupt me!" she said angrily. "You have gone too far, Mr. Saotome! I am tired of your frequent absences and violent outbursts; of your insults, bad attitude, and disrespect for authority; of the bad elements you bring to this school and the destruction of property that follows; of your weird behavior, strange clothes, and perverted-."
"That's it!" he cried. "I've had enough of this shit. Where d'ya think you get off calling me all that, you chi-sucking psycho?" The last of the residual empathy he felt for her evaporated under the barrage of insults. Ever since you came to this stupid school, he thought, you've done nothing but try and make an example of me, calling me a delinquent and a pervert and going out of your way to make my life difficult.
Red-faced, she glared back at him. "How dare you," she started, but again he cut her off.
"Don't get me started!" he yelled. "I've put up with a lot from this school, and from you to boot! Enough's enough. Back off!"
"How dare you?" she repeated, taking a threatening step forward, flipping a five-yen coin into her waiting palm. "How dare you take up such an insolent tone with me?" she added. "For as long as I'm your teacher, you will treat me with the respect I'm due!" The coin, held between two outstretched fingers of her right hand, faced him directly. He could even see one dark, smoldering eye through the square little hole.
"Yeah, sure," he said, and plugged the hole with his index finger even as she began to mouth 'Happo Five-Yen Strike'. "But what if I'm not your student anymore?" Eyes wide with surprise and the coin falling from numb fingers, her anger dissipated instantly. "What?"
Ranma shrugged. "I'm through with this place. With this school, this city, hell, with these people. I'm leaving."
"When?"
"Today." He nodded towards his backpack. "Everything I own is in this thing."
"And so you're just going to drop out of school?"
"Nah. I worked too hard to get as far as I have. I guess I'll have to come back or something, or at least call, when I find a new home somewhere and a new school. I ain't giving up or nothin', Hinako. I've just had enough of this shithole."
She shook her head with apparent dismay. "I'm so sorry, Ranma," she said, almost in tears, and the childlike appearance of sadness she displayed contrasted strangely with features so adult and unconsciously sensuous. "As a teacher, it seems I've failed you."
This expression of genuine contrition was the last he expected of her, and Ranma felt the familiar, though subdued, stirring of guilt at making her--at making any girl--sad. "Aw, gee, teach, you ain't failed at nothing," he said, confused that she could feel that she was somehow responsible for him leaving. "This really ain't got all that much to do with you."
"Then why leave?" she asked.
That she could even ask the question seemed strange to him. How could it not be obvious? Even Uehara, though disagreeing with his motivation, understood why Ranma wanted to leave. He supposed that it was inevitable that anyone, upon becoming a teacher, lost touch with the reality of students' lives; he just assumed that because Hinako spent so much of her time as a child, she would maybe have a better understanding. Then again, didn't people just as easily assume the same of him and women?
"Why leave?" he answered. "Why stay? I mean, c'mon teach, really, what is there to keep me here?"
"Akane?" she said, blinking innocently.
He replied with a frown. "That's none of your business, Ms. Hinako."
Ninomiya smiled. "Well then," she said, and gestured for him to join her as she started to walk, "why don't you tell me what makes this place so terrible." She took in the wide expanse of Furinkan, the gym down below, the stretches of sports playing fields, the trees and uncultivated bush near the far edge of the school terrain, with a sweep of her hand. "Certainly it looks a little run down in places--and you can't deny some responsibility for that--but otherwise it's a fine establishment. Believe me, as a disciplinarian, I've worked in far uglier schools."
"Yeah, sure," he admitted, staying by her side. They walked together, along the edge of the roof, looking across the district spread out below. The wind blew stronger now, slightly cold and heavy with the promise of rain. "But it's not the place so much as the people who've convinced me to leave."
"Teachers?" she asked.
"Nah. I mean, sure, you guys kind of let me down last week, what with the whole gym thing and all, but for the most part you're decent enough. It's not even the Principal. He's a complete nutjob, but when he's not tryin' to cut my hair or something he can be an okay guy. Like when he tried to teach Akane how to swim."
"So it's the students."
"Pretty much," he said, and shrugged. "You know, I don't like the guy but Uehara is right about one thing: I'm different. From my peers, from the students in this school, from kids my age. It was stupid for me to try and fit in with them. Stupid."
To his surprise, she laughed. "Really, Mr. Saotome, I thought you better than that," she said, and led him to the opposite side of the roof. "Listening to the likes of Uehara? Our poor tortured rebel is neither as unique nor as bad as he'd like to believe, I'm afraid. That he's smart enough--remarkably bright, in fact--to realize this just embitters him further." She glanced at her watch, and raised a hand to forestall any questions. "Just wait ten seconds . . . five . . . ah, here we go."
The school bell rang, its musical chime announcing the end of second period. Within moments students poured from the front door and side entrances of the school, as they eagerly escaped classroom confines for a few minutes of fresh air and relaxation. Hinako turned his attention to the students below. Their voices reached him in a mix of laughter and snippets of words. "Look at them all, Ranma."
He watched them from his perch high above, watched them embrace the brief period of freedom given them. They looked the same, the boys in their tunics, black slacks and black jacket and short black hair. Those who conformed to the rules, anyway. One kid tried dyeing his hair once, and the teachers brought him into the teachers' office, covered him in newspaper, and spray-painted his hair black again. Takenori, that was his name, had come back to class smiling, unperturbed by what had happened. The rough kids, like Goda and Uehara, had mocked him for letting the teachers do that to him. The teachers wouldn't dare try it with any of the young toughs at Furinkan, the really 'bad' students. Takenori hadn't seemed to care. The girls, at a glance, enjoyed a little more variety: they all wore the same blue jumper and white blouse set, but their hair came in a wider range of lengths and styles; their skirts all varied in length, from moody ankle-length to dangerously short; they even customized their socks, white of course, but some oversized-baggy-ankle-glue-type while others were short and decorated. Many of the girls liked their uniforms and even wore them during after-school hours. Not Akane, though: she switched into more comfortable clothes as quickly as possible, into her dogi if she could. None of this mattered. It wasn't what he could see driving him away. The surface meant nothing, that's where friendship expressed itself, meaningless. What lurked inside sickened him: the meanness and pettiness, the hollow fear and cowardliness that expressed itself as spiteful lashing out. Ranma looked down at his peers and saw nothing but cliques. Leaders and followers. And outcasts. Emptiness.
"I don't suppose you see it," Hinako continued. "I suppose you really are like Uehara in many ways."
"I'm nothing like that guy," he said. "But I'm even less like the people down there."
"Do you hate them?"
A sudden upsweep of wind caught him, strong and insistent, pulling at his pigtail, howling in his ears, school sounds muted, eyes wet against the dust. With arms stretched, he slowly turned against the embracing swirl, eyes closed, and reached out for the school below him. He felt suddenly euphoric, a bubble of laughter forming within. As his awareness touched upon his supposed peers he felt nothing: not hate, certainly not love, nor fear. The very absence of emotion felt momentarily liberating, a welcome release from the tensions of the day, and as the wind died and he turned back to Hinako, busy fighting to keep her skirt down in a vain attempt to preserve modesty, the first genuine smile he had known in over a week rose. "No," he answered, though perhaps she didn't hear. "I don't hate anybody."

In the few remaining minutes before class resumed, Ranma passed swiftly through the school corridors in search of Akane. He had expected upon his return to school a greater reaction from both himself and the other students. A number of students noticed his passing--a few nasty glares, the occasional waved greeting--but as he wove through the crowds most seemed indifferent to his presence. This suited him fine, for as he looked inside he found that same indifference mirrored. Something had happened in that moment on the rooftop, the school and city and student body spread out before him. A recognition of his own isolation from it all, perhaps, but more importantly an understanding of everyone else's similar aloneness. The fragility of the friendships that held that knowledge at bay now seemed transparent, and he pulled a serene acceptance of his own exile by accepting that Hinako was right, he wasn't unique, he was alone, but just like everybody else. The only person in the entire school that mattered was Akane. He had shared something stronger with her, something genuine and true: love; and while he no longer had any claim to either her or that bond, it was through protecting her, ensuring that she was okay, that he could bring some momentary relevance to what he was doing. Once Doctor Tofu reassured him she was all right--she had to be, he refused to believe something had happened while he was away--then he could find something new to fill in that void her absence would leave. Something, anything. Ranma felt again a confused mix of emotions within, a hollow pain of loss mingled with effervescent giddiness, as he glided down the stairs to his old classroom.
He slowed to a walk stepping onto the third floor. A few startled glances his way by peers, a teacher, muted hostility from some girls, and he ignored them and walked by, wearing a quirky half-smile. A feeling somewhat akin to what he had felt upon returning to the Tendos' after a week in the woods slowly arose. There was a familiarity here, to these hallways and rows of windows and chipped beige-painted walls. This sensation wasn't entirely comforting, school had always been somewhat disconcerting for him, but in retrospect the year and a half he had spent at Furinkan had not been all that bad. Classes were dull for the most part, certainly, but between club activities and free time and the parade of lunatics that had passed through, school had kept life interesting. He didn't think he would miss the school itself, but in being perfectly honest to himself he found that there were some people, certain faces, he would be saddened to leave behind. Both Kunos, surprisingly, and creepy little Gosunkugi as well. Ms. Hinako. He was surprised at how many people he knew at Furinkan. Guys from his club, people from Akane's. Yuka. How many of them had he once considered friends? Daisuke. Uehara. Or had they only been acquaintances, a bond even more ephemeral than friendship? He'd even miss Sayuri, little bitch that she was, thinking herself so tough, trying to get between him and Akane.
Akane. His thoughts instinctively shied away against images unbidden arising--happy laughing setting sun glinting in hair against canal fence looking down as he floundered in water, she had pushed him overcome by her cuteness, by his heart swelling so confusedly in a chest turned female, even then he had known she was special, maybe not love, not yet at that point, but the potential, a seed germinating, and now grown to something so very painfully real, impossible and lost . . . not lost but given away. His own choice, what had he been thinking, chest growing tight, painfully, steps faltering, and he braced himself against the wall. Chipped cement rough and solid and cool beneath his palm. Ranma drew a deep shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Remember, he told himself. You're doing this for her. And yourself. Now find her. And leave. He took another moment and composed himself, but just as he went to step forward an interruption, a light touch on his shoulder, nearly timorous and holding him back. "Ranma?"
"Hiroshi," he answered, turning to the brown-haired boy. Hiroshi seemed unusually subdued, nervous even, and his eyes darted to the side as if unable to look him straight in the face. On his own part, Ranma felt his features slide into forced impassivity as he pushed aside the recently reawakened emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "What's up?" he asked, his tone unavoidably cool.
His friend winced. "I. . . ." He took a deep breath then shrugged. "Not much. Just surprised you're here, I guess. It's, ah . . . it's nice to see you again, man."
Something in Hiroshi's voice sounded artificially casual. A smile seemed to dance hesitantly on his lips, not quite able to take hold. Ranma didn't have time to find out why. He wanted to find Akane before the break ended. "Sure," he answered, and shrugged. "Listen, I've gotta go, 'kay?"
Unexpectedly, Hiroshi seemed to collapse inwards a little, shoulders slumping, and he looked away. "Yeah. I understand." Puzzled and a little concerned, Ranma added, almost apologetically, "I've got to find Akane," to which Hiroshi only nodded, and turned away.
Bemused, Ranma moved on. He felt worry for his friend. Another person left behind because of circumstances. Perhaps life at Furinkan hadn't been so bad after all. He no longer felt like he was taking part in some game, one in which everyone but him knew the rules. All this time, looking for something profound in places where it didn't exist, those friendships that seemed so much more real than anything he could know, the way the girls hung out at lunch by the window chatting, freely touching, or the guys swapping punches and crude jokes when together, the unconscious sharing of something common. It all seemed so impossible, like he'd been somehow excluded, whether intentionally or not--but now he saw that the friendships he'd known with people like Hiroshi and Daisuke were as real as it got, maybe not all that deep but that's all there was, in the end. Everything else was an illusion, crafted with desperation to cover up the fact that, at the end of the day, they were alone.
The idea brought a certain calm with it. I didn't feel alone when I was with her, he told himself, the thought rising from beneath the momentary peace he felt, threatening to shatter it. He'd miss Hiroshi. That night at the party--had it only been a week ago?--there had been a chance to know him better. Everything else had gone wrong, but that short time while sitting there in drunken self-pity alone with Hiroshi, he had momentarily felt himself connect with something deeper that lay between the shallow friendships he saw at school and what he had given up with Akane. Something precious, known only rarely and maybe briefly glimpsed with Ryoga, of all people. Well, when the idiot isn't trying to kill me, he added, thinking of the few occasions when circumstances had forced an unlikely alliance and unsteady peace. Sitting in the steamy bath together after their defeat of Herb and return to Nerima, his masculinity so narrowly held onto, so nearly lost, something others took for granted made impossibly precious.
"Ranma, wait!"
A hand grabbed him by the wrist, Hiroshi again pulling him back. An unexpected reminder of the party night, memories seeming stronger and more insistent now that he was trying to leave them behind: _You're having a good time tonight, no matter what_, _We'll make this a night you'll never forget._ Yeah, no shit, he thought wryly.
"Ranma, I know, you've got to find Akane, I know, but . . . can we talk?"
"Yeah, sure, I guess," he answered, somewhat taken aback by the eagerness of Hiroshi's request. "Won't you be late for class?"
"Like I care?"
They stepped into an unused classroom for privacy. The door ought to have been locked, but Furinkan was one of the few high schools that did without: locked doors more often than not caused the adjoining walls to be knocked down as an alternate entrance. Anyway, between the Principal, Ms. Hinako, the local martial artists, and the slightly insane chemistry club, theft had all but disappeared from the institution's hallowed halls. It simply wasn't worth the risk. Things that weren't yours had a tendency to explode or conjure demons or release dangerous gasses. The room was dim and dusty, the air stale from disuse. Ranma slouched against a wall, backpack held between his outstretched feet. It was getting darker outside, overcast, the wind a faint howl setting the glass next to his head to vibrate; already the windows were speckled wet, though the rain had yet to fall. Damn, should have brought an umbrella, he thought. Hiroshi grabbed a chair opposite him and stared up at him searchingly.
"So what's up?" Ranma asked.
Hiroshi opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He looked confused and, suddenly frowning, looked away. Perplexed, the martial artist watched but, feeling the press of time, the incoming rain, the necessity of finding Akane, swiftly lost patience as his friend fumbled for words. He leaned forward. "Yo, Hiroshi, relax, man. Just spit it out already." The boy stood up. He bowed deeply, from the waist, nearly ninety-degree position held for a 1- 2- 3- count, before rising again and fixing Ranma with unusually serious eyes. "I'm sorry, Ranma. Please forgive me."
"Um, okay," he said. He tugged at his pigtail for a moment then added, "For what?"
"For _what_?" Hiroshi sputtered. "For everything!" He advanced, seeming almost angry in his disbelief, earlier confusion dispelled by Ranma's ignorance. "For making you stay at that stupid party! For being such a shitty friend! For not helping you when you needed it, betraying your trust, being such a pathetic weak loser _coward_ and standing by and letting everyone tear you apart like that, it wasn't fair, I hated the stuff they said, but I didn't _do_ anything because I was, I was . . . afraid," he said, last word barely a whisper, vigor dropping suddenly from his voice, as he fell back into his chair with fists clenched.
Ranma laughed, surprising himself. Hiroshi, suddenly scowling, insisted, "It's not funny!" which only set him to further laughter. Finally, shoulders trembling with the effort of restraint, he managed to swallow back the giddiness that threatened to bubble up again. "I know, I know," Ranma agreed, waving him down. A week ago, maybe even yesterday, what had felt like Hiroshi's--like all his friends'--betrayal had sat sourly within. Especially from Hiroshi, with whom he had shared in his drunkenness things he would never have otherwise spoken about. But now it somehow seemed so pathetically irrelevant that the contrast between the importances he placed on it, and Hiroshi did, made his friend's gesture seem absurd.
"But, really," Ranma added, "Don't worry about it. There's nothing to forgive." Because none of it is important, he wanted to add, but couldn't imagine a way of conveying how he felt, how irrelevant school and friendships and everything else now felt to him.
Hiroshi blinked, unsure. "Really?"
"Yup."
"We're still friends?"
Ranma thought of friendship and of all that it entailed to him, and shrugged. "Yeah, of course."
Visible relief. Hiroshi smiled, for the first time resembling the perverted jerk that used to needle him about girls. "Oh, man, I'm really glad to hear that. I've been so worried this last week, thinking you'd hate me, hate all of us, and that we'd hurt you really bad." He let out a deep breath. "I oughta've known better--you're Ranma Saotome! Nobody beats Saotome!"
Yeah, Ranma thought. Nobody beats me.
"It's good to have you back," Hiroshi said. "I've missed you around school. Though you haven't missed much, it's been a quiet week, even Kuno's been quiet 'cus of tests and stuff. Well, not too quiet, of course, this is Furinkan after all, and it took a day or two for things to die down after you took off, people aren't used to seeing you get violent. Well, with other martial artists, sure, but not like that, I think you scared a lot of them, and they deserved it. Assholes." But as he continued babbling Ranma only paid half an ear, thinking, things were quiet while I was away.
Finally sensing that he was losing his audience, Hiroshi stopped talking and, with a final shrug, finished with, "I mean it. I'm glad you're back." Ranma didn't feel like correcting the obvious, that he was back, maybe, but certainly not to stay. "We oughta talk after school or something. Catch up on things, you know? On what you've been up to for the last week." It dawned on him that his friend was reaching out, as he had at the party. Ranma wondered why Hiroshi bothered.
"Well, I better get down to the office," Hiroshi added. "Grab a note to get back into class."
"Later," Ranma said, knowing full well that he would probably never see his friend again.

Unsure of where to find Akane, he went straight to his old classroom. Classes had started while he was talking to Hiroshi, but Ranma wasn't too worried about interrupting. It would only take a minute: check if Akane was okay, tell her he was leaving, and wish her the best of luck. The same tightness to his chest returned but he felt an incipient looseness to his shoulder balance the pain; it felt like a heavy weight about to be lifted away.
As he passed alongside the room a few classmates noticed him, he heard his name whispered and then repeated louder, the shift of seats as people looked his way and watched him through the sliding frosted windows. He smiled, cockily, loving the attention. He threw the sliding door open and stepped boldly into class.
"Ranma Saotome, you're late," Mr. Fujimoto, his math teacher, said without looking away from the blackboard. "You know the drill: buckets, water, hallway."
Stupid math teacher, Ranma thought, smile slipping. "Sorry teach, I'm just here to see Akane," he said, but as he scanned the classroom and the faces turned his way--some grinning, a few snickering, some annoyed, one angry--he noted that Akane's seat was empty.
"Mr. Saotome," the teacher said, "I don't appreciate you disrupting my class like this. But if you must know--."
"You've got some nerve barging in like this!"
Ranma turned to the interruption. His smile tightened. "Sayuri," he said.
With an abrupt shove she pushed her desk forward, the squeak of the legs against the floor cutting through the sudden tension that lay between them. She stood and tossed her long hair back with an angry flick of her head, and flashed a sharp, unfriendly smile his way. "Yeah. Akane's friend, remember?"
"No matter how much I'd like to forget."
"Wow, the jock's grown a wit."
Ranma bit back his retort. Akane wasn't here and Sayuri was wasting his time. "This crap I don't need," he said. "I'm looking for Akane."
"You just don't get it, do you?" Sayuri said.
"No, _you_ don't get it, Ms. Yamamoto." interrupted Mr. Fujimoto. "This is my class, and I don't like interruptions. You know the drill: bucket, water, hallway."
"But--."
"Bucket, water, hallway, Sayuri," the teacher insisted. "Unless you'd like to spend the next forty minutes sitting in seiza." He turned to Ranma. "As I was saying, Akane was called down to the office at the beginning of class. You can probably find her there. Now, if you don't mind, I have a class to teach. Either grab a pair of buckets and go stand in the hallway, or disappear to wherever it is you go, Mr. Saotome. I don't much care either way."
Later, he stood outside the classroom watching as Sayuri struggled with the weight of her bucket. She glared at him, arm trembling under the weight. She switched hands, spilling some of the water as it sloshed over the edge. "This is all your fault," she muttered.
"You want some help with that?" he asked, grinning.
"Bite me."
"I'll pass," he said, and turned away from her. "I've got better things to do."
"Yeah, like what, screw up Akane's life even more?"
Oh boy, Ranma thought. Here we go.
"Asshole. You're the worst thing that ever happened to her, you know that? Sick thing is, you don't care, do you, you sick bastard. You get some kick out of torturing her, is that it? Just string her along, right, like the rest of your girls, after all, we're all just bitches, isn't that it, amusement for the great Ranma Saotome. Arrogant prick. Well, it stops here! I'm on to you, we all are, and we're _not_ going to let you heap your shit on Akane anymore!"
Surprised at the softness of his own voice, he answered over his shoulder. "So that's it, eh? Shit from shit? Is that all I am?" Something warm formed at the base of the comforting emptiness he had felt since stepping off the school's roof. Is this what I wanted, he wondered, is this why I'm giving her her say?
"Maybe you _are_ finally starting to get it," she said, and from the tone of her voice he could picture her smirk. "You're scum, Ranma--you're insulting and violent and abusive, stupid and arrogant and perverted. She should've dumped you ages ago. Marry you? Like she'd marry a freak like you! Do her a favor, do us all a favor: run off. Run away. Do the right thing for once."
Jagged and hot and almost beautiful in both its intensity and suddenness, rage surged through the entirety of his being, filling the hollowness within to the brim. He shook with the effort to contain it. Arms trembling at his side. Perfect recollection of why it had been so easy to leave last week, the dumb pettiness of these people made so blindingly obvious once again. Eyes squeezing shut. Trying to understand where this anger came from. Then it came: this stupid little bitch was _right_! But for him to come to the same realization this morning and act upon it was infinitely different from having the words flung at him from outside, from Sayuri, from the very source of Uehara's proclaimed stench. And then knowing that when he left, these ugly small sad little people would think that they had won, had driven him away and defeated him, defeated _Ranma Saotome_: unbearable! Yet that same realization compounded his own self-disgust, source of half his anger's intensity, because that very thought proved Sayuri right and betrayed his own arrogance and weakness. Had he learnt nothing during his week away?
He should just walk away and ignore her, but the girl just wouldn't shut up.
"What, cat got your tongue? The truth hurts, doesn't it, Ranma? Doesn't it? You're even shaking, how sad, you're not _crying_ are you? I thought real men didn't cry. Right? But you're not a _real_ man, are you? Real men don't cry, and they sure don't hit their fiancees. And they never, never have a period, do they? Want to grab some water, hide in the girls' bathroom, have a good cry? Feeling a bit bloated? Want my boyfriend to comfort you again? Pervert."
And somewhere amidst the spiteful, hurtful words, Ranma felt something inside . . . click, like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place. It was as if his anger in filling him completely had tripped some switch and triggered its own release. The anger drained away completely, leaving him momentarily exhausted. In the aftermath of this shift, during which Sayuri's words continued to assault him but signified nothing, connecting with nothing, he closed his eyes and embraced the nearly sublime tranquility that descended upon him. Like a cloud. Soul of Ice. Peace. Ranma sighed, thinking, Doctor Tofu was right, I'll never forget.
The young martial artist turned back to the angry girl confronting him. He looked at her carefully, noting her anger at his obvious appraising gaze and not caring in the least. Half her face concealed by the sweep of her hair, having fallen while she hurled her poison at him, left one narrowed dark eye to glitter sharply at him. Both hands clutched at the handle of the bucket, straining, but in her rage she had yet to realize how tired she was. Her hands were flushed a purpled red, the fingers beyond the curve of the handle a startling white. Breasts that were slightly larger than Akane's yet smaller than his own heaved with the effort of both the weight and the anger she carried. She was, in her own way, rather pretty: no wonder Hiroshi was attracted to her.
"What are you looking at?" she hissed, eyes narrowing.
"Nothing." He stepped closer. "At all."
"Oh, ha ha," she answered, and then, as he came to stand before her, forcing Sayuri to look up to match his stare, "You think you can intimidate me?"
"Not at all," he said, with the hint of a smile.
"I'm not scared of you."
Ranma leaned in, bringing his face close to hers. "Of course not, Sayuri," he whispered. This close, he could smell the faint sheen of sweat breaking out as she struggled with the bucket, an undercurrent to the floral sweetness of her long hair. She smelled different from Akane, more . . . girly, he thought, more ordinary. She trembled at his closeness. But not with fear.
"Get away from me, you asshole," she hissed. Sayuri tried to swing the bucket against him, maybe splash him with water, but found the movement checked. He held the bucket firmly in place; she might as well have been trying to move the wall. "Let go!"
He pulled back a little. She really wasn't frightened of him in the least. Rather, she shook with revulsion at his nearness. That she could feel such intense hatred nearly frightened _him_. "What," he asked, voice tinted with wonderment, "did I ever do to you, Sayuri? How can you possibly hate me so much?"
"You're a violent pervert, that's how."
"Bullshit. I'd never hurt you, and you know it."
She snorted. "Yeah, whatever. Like it matters. This has nothing to do with me."
"Noth--? Then why--?"
"Because of Akane, you moron!" Sayuri dropped her bucket. She poked him hard in the chest as she spoke, emphasizing each statement. "Because she's my friend--my best friend! You have any idea what that means? Do you? No, of course not, you don't have any friends, you freak? Friends are special, Ranma, there isn't much I wouldn't do to help a friend in need--whether they realize they need it or not."
"Like Akane?"
"Exactly. Like Akane. Akane, who tells us how she really feels. Who comes to us after you've screwed around with her head and heart--again. After you've insulted her. Broken a promise. Embarrassed her. Put her down. Belittled her accomplishments. Run off with your other girls. Broken her heart. After you've taken off, who do you think picks up the pieces?" Now it was her turn to tremble with barely restrained anger, livid hatred suffusing her gaze. Now empty of his own rage he felt cold and weak before her, taking a step back as she advanced on him. "It's all games to you, right? Fun and games. Yeah, well, while you're having fun, real people are getting hurt! Hurt in a very real way . . . and when you hurt Akane, you're hurting me too! Me, you're hurting me too, you jackass, do you get it, _me_." Her fingers curled into a small fist and she pounded him in the chest. It didn't hurt, of course, she couldn't hurt him, but he still fell back a step before her.
Sayuri pulled her fist back and stared up at him, red-faced and breathing heavy. He was surprised to see her eyes flecked with tears. "This has nothing to do with me," she repeated. "It's about Akane: I won't stand by and let you hurt her. I know how she feels. I'm her friend, she talks to me, I wouldn't be her friend if I just stood aside and let you tear her apart. Poison her. Whatever she thinks. Whether she realized it or not, the week you were away was the happiest I've seen her in months. You understand? The week you were _away_."
Ranma held her gaze for a long time. He nodded once. "I'm sorry," he said, softly. "I never meant to hurt Akane; I never meant to hurt you." Then he sighed and, after a pause of hesitation, leaned in close, bringing his mouth near her ear. She didn't flinch away; it seemed much of her anger had drained away as well. "But can you keep a secret?" he asked, whispering. "I know you'll never tell her. Akane. I love her, Sayuri." He smiled sadly. "I love her."
With those words Ranma turned and walked away. He didn't look back, though he imagined he heard the girl call his name. What he had believed in anger a week ago he now reaffirmed in cold apathy: he was finished with Furinkan High School.

When he descended to the school office he discovered that he was too late: Akane had already left. She had received a phone call from Doctor Tofu and had requested permission to leave the school. "She left about ten minutes ago," the office clerk told him, "and she wanted me to tell you. I told that Hiroshi boy to pass it on to you; I guess you missed each other?"
As Ranma left the school behind him at a hurried walk, he felt the earlier worry that had haunted him all morning return. Between Uehara and Hinako, Hiroshi and Sayuri, he had managed to momentarily displace his concern for Akane. Called back by Tofu? Something serious had to be wrong. He nearly broke into a run but an uneasiness that bordered on fear stayed his legs and held him to a brisk walk. She couldn't be sick. The doctor just wanted to tell her in person. Akane was fine. In returning the same way he had come before, the day felt strangely disjointed, as if the morning's walk to school belonged to a different reality--a different morning, a different Nerima, a different Ranma.
Far too quickly, it seemed, he stood before Doctor Tofu's clinic. He reached for the door but hesitated, feeling inexplicable apprehension. Stepping aside he leaned heavily against the wall, drawing strength from its solidity. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his hurried breathing. This sudden nervousness didn't make sense. When, he asked himself, did everything become so complicated? For a year everything had been fine. Fun and lighthearted and without consequence, it seemed, the way things ought to be. The ways things ought to be was: Nabiki's condescending smirk as she drained his wallet, a mischievous glint to her eye; the smell of Kasumi's fresh baked bread and the delicate song of her whistling as she brought vitality to the household. His idiot father's fumbling and Mr. Tendo's tears. A pervert's stolen panties; a cute piglet with a grudge; a two-meter long spatula. Martial-arts: ice-skating, take-out food, tea ceremony. Rivals. And fights in which nobody got hurt, not _really_, they were all so good and he didn't hate anybody, why would he try and hurt somebody and force consequences that weren't necessary? That's the way things were.
Well, maybe not always, he grudgingly admitted. Herb had been serious--deadly serious, and dangerous. Kumon Ryuu had meant to kill him in revenge for the very real death of his own father. Losing his strength to Happosai hadn't been fun, at least not for him. Sometimes when his mother visited it hurt inside, the idea that she could kill him even more so; how could he live in fear of his own mother? Pantyhose Tarou's first visit, that arrogant jerk. Ryugenzawa. Sometimes everything became painfully real and serious, as if a dark undercurrent to his life--one only hinted at in passing and rarely seen--reared its head and thrust itself violently into awareness, shattering some fragile shell of fun complacency he had constructed around himself. Yet wasn't it in these moments that he shone brightest, when he felt the most alive?
Akane. That was the way things ought to be.
Tomboy. Short hair. Upturned nose. Brown eyes. Idiot! Forgiving. Rarely seen smile. Do you want to be friends? Pervert! Fiancee. Mine. Cute--she really is cute. I hate boys, I hate you, I wish we'd never been engaged. Walking hand in hand. I don't mind. Thank you, Ranma. Nothing said. No need. You think this is easy? I dare you to. If I didn't care. [More snippets-check manga-check order.]
Ranma opened his eyes. The sun of early morning was now overcast behind threatening dark clouds. A wet wind blew persistently promising heavy rain and femininity. Far in the distance the sky grumbled, something bright and powerful and hidden flashing. In contrast to the chaotic potential that hovered on the horizon, his mind felt at peace. It was the first time in a very long time. Rather than the empty calm of this morning, he felt a relaxed sense of acceptance. He smiled, without bitterness or irony or subtlety. Nerima was again spread out before him, but unlike this morning he viewed it from the ground and felt a different empathy for this town he was resolved to leave behind. He felt no hatred towards this place he had lived in for the last year and a half; rather a diffuse warmth as he wandered his eyes across the houses and fences and narrow cobbled walkways filled him. For the short time in which Ranma leaned against the wall and watched without contemplation the quiet life of the town before him, he felt content. He regretted none of the choices that had brought him to this very point, where he must now check one final time upon the woman he loved before turning away and leaving both her and this city he had just embraced, behind.
Without hesitation, he stepped into Doctor Tofu's clinic.

With the clouds blocking the natural light from outside, the clinic seemed darker than usual, more somber and stifling. The ceramic chime of his entry felt unnaturally loud under the smothering quiet that enveloped the room. Even the whistling of the brewing storm's wind had quieted and turned deathly still. There were no other patients, nor any sign of the doctor or Akane. Ranma's every sound and movement seemed amplified by the surrounding stillness.
He stood there confused for a time, taken aback by the lack of reception. It was as if Tofu had left and forgotten to lock the door behind him. And where was Akane? Ranma knew that he couldn't have arrived more than ten or fifteen minutes after her. As he stood there he slowly shook off the stupefying numbness the unexpected quiet had caused, and as he did he gradually became aware of other sounds within the clinic. Urgent whispered voices. Subdued sobs and subtle movement the next room over.
"Doctor Tofu?" Ranma called out. "Akane?"
There was a brief but abrupt cessation of noise, then Tofu's voice called back. "One moment please. We'll be right out." His voice had that same hollow ring to it as this morning, forced clinical professionalism that came so unnaturally to the doctor.
It took a full minute for them to emerge, the measure of time kept by the hammering of Ranma's heart. Tofu walked first into the room, and a beat later Akane followed. Akane, cheeks wet with tears that no longer flowed. Face bloodless aside for the redness of her eyes and nose. Her hands fluttered in the folds of her school uniform, twitchy and restless, worming their way close to her body before falling limply at her side. He sought her eyes but they slid away, afraid and pained, unable to meet his gaze.
They stood there in a frozen tableau, the martial artist facing both the doctor and Akane. He had no idea for how long. Nobody seemed ready to speak first. Ranma felt light-headed, once again disjointed, almost as if he was watching the scene from outside rather than being a part of it. Watching as the young pigtailed man first turned worried eyes onto the doctor, then the crying girl, and finally went to speak.
"Doctor?" Ranma asked, his mouth painfully dry. He never stopped looking at Akane. No force on earth, he felt, could have made him look away. "Doctor, what's wrong?" With Akane, he couldn't bring himself to add.
"Akane is fine," Tofu answered after a long pause. "Akane is . . . fine, Ranma."
She slowly raised her head, her bloodshot eyes finally making contact with him. The visceral pain and fear and . . . pity he saw there was overwhelming, he nearly flinched and backed away but suddenly movement became impossible, he was rooted to the spot. His legs felt weak and standing became an effort. He realized he was shaking.
"Then what's wrong?" Ranma asked, the words sounding as if someone else had spoken them.
"Ranma," the doctor said, taking a step forward, his voice at its most professional. "I don't know how to say this. Something happened to you a week and a half ago. At that party you went to." But then his voice failed, and though Ranma could still feel the doctor's eyes upon him no further words came.
He waited and waited and finally when neither Akane nor the doctor continued, he demanded, "What?" in a voice filled with, Ranma realized, burgeoning panic. "What is it? Was I poisoned? Robbed of my strength? Do I have a week to live--what? Is it another curse, magic--"
"You were raped," Akane whispered.
Sound seeped back into the room--abrupt ticking of a clock; subdued violence of the growing storm outside--somehow more real than the doctor and girl confronting him. More real, it felt, that Ranma himself.
"Raped?" he echoed, the word meaning nothing.
"I found you, Ranma," she continued. "At the party. In the room. You were naked. And female. There was blood. Your blood. On the bed sheets. On your legs." She took a deep breath. "And your thighs. You were nearly unconscious. You said it hurt, that you were in pain."
Tofu continued. "This morning's tests prove it true. There's hCG in your blood and in your urine, Ranma. Both bodies, somehow, even when you're male. I was very thorough with the tests. Believe me."
Ranma slowly looked away from his former fiancee and turned empty eyes onto the doctor. "I don't understand."
Only then did Tofu's rigid facade fall away. With sad, carefully measured words, he explained: "Ranma, you're pregnant."
"Pregnant?" He didn't understand what they were saying. There was a faint buzzing at the edge of his senses distracting him. Nagging and growing in intensity. He shook his head to clear it but it remained insistent. Immediate. He felt the need to sit down but still felt unable to move. Needed to take a deep breath but found it caught in his chest. Couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Stifling, growing hot, painfully so, murmur in his ear growing to a roar, loud and consuming as the room grew darker and darker. I don't understand, he wanted to say. Tried to say. But he couldn't think and the words died and he felt himself falling.
"Ranma," called a voice from far away. Akane was next to him. Standing so very close even as the room behind her seemed to draw back. He tried to focus on her voice. Found it impossible. His vision refused to settle, slipping desperately across the mundane features of the room: chair wall painting magazine sofa. An absurdly loud sound filtered through the roar to his ears. His own. Air sucked down through clenched teeth.
"Ranma." Akane's voice reached him again, soothing but urgent. He turned to her. Met her eyes. "Ranma," she said again. Amidst the turmoil surrounding him her eyes provided an unexpected relief, breathing relaxing and sound draining away, made insignificant by the brown eyes that held him secure, something solid beyond his own unstuck center. "I don't know how but you'll be okay. We can make it through this somehow." She brushed one hand softly against his cheek.
"Don't touch me," he said in a dull, flat voice, and suddenly realized that he _could_ move, flinching violently, instinctively slapping the touch away. A staggering step, impossible to find solid footing, the ground swaying wildly beneath his feet, vertiginous tilting as he fell back. He felt Doctor Tofu reaching for him, words lost in the surging rush in his ears. "Don't touch me!" he screamed, throwing the man aside and stumbling, collapsing onto a wooden bench meant for patients, how many people had sat in this very place, how much filth and illness and incipient death was he sitting on? The thought made him sick and cold, he leapt to his feet and stood there shaking, gasping for breath, the noise redoubling in his head as he looked wildly about, wondering where Akane and Tofu had gone, knowing then that he was alone, truly and fundamentally alone and lost.
His perception shattered. Like a sequence of snapshots, intermediate moments lost. Fragments, causality gone. Viewed from outside. Standing by the couch. Trembling. Eyes wild. Bent over doubled. Middle of the room. Clutching his stomach. Insides churning, pain, revulsion. Numb thud. Shoulder dull, staggering into the wall. Akane, stepping towards him. Held back. Doctor Tofu, clutching his side. Eyes steely, glinting bandit-hard, watching him warily.
"Ranma!" The doctor's voice a whisper nearly buried by the pounding in Ranma's head. "We want to help you," he said. "We can help you." But again his words meant nothing. None of this meant anything. There was nothing left. Except for those eyes, brown and soft, pained, pitying. Pity.
Everything resolved into this single moment when, through a supreme effort of will, Ranma Saotome brought everything back and momentarily halted the chaotic unwinding of his person. Through recollection of his original purpose, he held himself together and turned back to the doctor. "Akane is really okay?" he asked.
The doctor nodded.
"Then I have to go," Ranma said.
He left Doctor Tofu's clinic.

Ranma Saotome stood outside the clinic. Empty of thought, insensate. He breathed, eyes open, neither trembling nor wavering; yet lost within himself he was aware of nothing. He remained that way for some time. Slowly he returned to his senses. The wind whispering over and around him, rushing through and tickling his arms, pulling his clothes. Faintly grainy and wet, carrying dirt and coming rain. Tingling with the storms potential. Then a faint bouquet of cut grass, smoldering rubbish, exposed canal filth. It sat bitter on his tongue, acrid and unpleasant. As the wind faded a medley: the far off grumble of thunder, loud voices raised in argument, sharp drilling of nearby construction. Then he saw Nerima once again; and between the angry brown skies roiling above and the dirty windswept street and the hurried people walking face down unaware of anyone but themselves, he felt a deep, profound disgust well up within. He stood, unmoving, unable to move, perfectly still, and yet as his disgust boiled over into physical revulsion he began to shake. First one leg, vibrating slightly, uncontrollable, growing in strength, spreading, reaching up through his thigh, the pit of his stomach, a dull, numbing detonation there that quickly consumed the entirety of his being and left him trembling to the furthest reach of every limb.
The young man took a single step forward. Another. The disgust he felt as a physical thing subsided with movement, but in the absence of pain the inevitability of thinking slowly returned:
Akane. Saw me. Naked and female. Stripped in the dark. Lying passed out and defenseless. With blood on the bed sheets. Blood my blood my legs my thighs. Is she okay Akane doesn't need me anymore. She knew all along but couldn't tell me why. Those soft brown eyes always filled with disgust and pity. Pitied me before but at least she hated me as well. Now she can't even hate me 'cus I've lost it, lost everything. Oh god it's gone it's gone with everything I was meant to be. A man among men martial artist heir to the family's Art pride and honor. Who couldn't even protect himself, how could this happen, what did I do, why--why? They all told me, jerk Casanova pervert tease babe bitch slut--only a joke, a joke! Acting playing around even with Hiroshi I never meant anything, I'm a man even with the curse. Bunny suits bikinis bras and panties and strip tease pride didn't mean anything--it was just in fun! How could it be fun, being a man I know what others think, what was I really playing at? Toying with them, is that it, knowing I'm always better than they could never hurt me even touch me, ever. Yeah, 'cus I'm Ranma Saotome of the Saotome School of Anything Goes, the best ever even when I'm a goddamn girl! Goddamn weak fragile flawed stupid stupid _stupid_ cursed girl's body, won't slow me down, I'll make damn sure everyone still respects me! Knowing what you sick idiots think you can take Ranma made weak by smooth skin soft curving legs ass tits and wet cun--no! No no oh god no I was playing, not that it can't be because I'm a man among men don't cry don't cry, _stop_! Stop that weak girl's like crying Ranma be strong and take it like Pop taught you with those cats in the pit in the dark. Dark smell of fur fish fangs feline fists reaching for pain, that's it, again and . . . again, yeah, that's it, pain kills the thinking ends the tears. Tears are for sissy weaklings and I'm strong like Pop raised me to be a man among men did this to me Pop I let you down. Lost it all Pop ever wanted was his son rising high I failed Pop I'm sorry I'm sorry Dad oh Dad what am I going to do now? Now I've lost Dad and Mom's promise and Akane, Akane how can I protect you when I could not even save my Art failed me ripped and torn away. Tore into me, who did, a man, a man's hands on me, touching me, a man, feeling me, a man, stripping me, a man, inside of me inside of me a man, no no Akane, no, Dad Mom, please, there's something inside me a man tore me opened me used me spread me screwed me fucked me he . . . raped me. He raped me. Taint left deep within can't be reached for it grab punch claw it out from inside too deep I'm too dirty again I'm running away. Trying to run doesn't matter how fast how far I reach inside I'm filthy and weak like a stupid girl. Like everyone said I'm a girls flaunt and flirt with boys just like I did. Always all my fault I'm a dirty useless girl. Saw it from the beginning. Pity's all I deserve. Can't do this. Not alone. Akane.
Through this spiral of thoughts he punched through into an awareness so sudden and intense that he momentarily felt propelled above his foreign surroundings. Details so sharply realized that understanding became painfully impossible rushed past as he continued running headless of direction or destination. The pounding of his heart and burning of his lungs served as testament to his desperate flight, head and arms and chest and stomach dulling aching where he had punched and clawed himself. Tear- streaked bared-teeth headlong dash towards exhaustion, utter body-weary soul-numbness the only possibility of relief, his mind once again empty of thought but for a single repeated word. The coming storm swirled above him and the winds chased him but nothing could touch Ranma as he fled Nerima.

Continues in Choices: Decision