A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys. But you know, the real fun starts only from this part.
And yeah, just to clarify: Ryouga is, was, and will never be anything even remotely demonic in this story. Yeah. Seriously. Whatever Inu Yasha says.
Two
"Ohohoho! What a haul!"
Happosai, Grandmaster of the Anything Goes School of Martial Arts, and Pervert Extraordinaire, skipped across the buildings of Nerima, the usual gaggle of makeshift-weapon-wielding enraged girls chasing after him, as his latest roundup of their underwear bounced on his shoulders. With a reality-defying leap, he crossed the road within the blink of an eye, and soon lost the furious girls. Another somersault and a couple of evil laughs, and he was vaulting into the Tendou house compound, where the master of the dojo was playing chess with a giant panda.
Yes, it was yet another normal, nondescript day in Nerima.
"Hey, old man. Finished terrorising the girls already?"
Happosai bristled at the young, mocking voice and turned to face Ranma Saotome, who was watching him with a disgusted smirk on his face. "I wouldn't call it 'terrorising', if I were you, boy," he said. "It's an old man's hobby – one of the few things I can derive pleasure from before I leave this world." He gave a dramatic sigh.
Ranma snorted. "Yeah right. Viruses like you always live unfortunately long lives."
"Really, my boy, you need to show some respect!" He glanced at his two disciples, who were pretending to be absorbed in their game. "Isn't that right, boys?"
Soun and the panda were on their knees in the blink of an eye. "Of course, Master, of course! Ranma really does not appreciate your greatness, your unparalleled understanding of the world…"
"Is greatness defined by harassing young women?"
The little group started at the sound of the new voice, and looked to the entrance of the dojo to see someone who looked vaguely like a monk, clad in blue robes that looked slightly worse for wear, and leaning on a golden staff. He looked rather travel-weary, with his black hair mussed, and eyes half-closed in tiredness. But what they could see of his eyes were glaring furiously at Happosai, sparkling like deep-blue flames.
Happosai frowned. "And who may you be?"
The monk straightened himself. "I am Miroku, a loyal servant of Buddha. I cannot tolerate the mistreatment of young ladies by miscreants such as yourself."
A monk, eh? To Ranma and the others' surprise, a smirk slowly spread across Happosai's face. "Oh, it is quite a ritual here, I assure you. Even if it is five hundred years after your time, I'm quite sure you'd enjoy partaking in my little hobby."
Miroku's eyes widened, while Ranma sputtered in shock, "F-five hundred years? He doesn't look older than twenty!"
Happosai waved his pipe dismissively at his young student. "Do not interfere in things you do not have the capability of understanding, Ranma." He turned his attention back to the monk, who was now looking at him with wary apprehension. "Perhaps we could go somewhere quieter to have a little talk…?"
"Of course, of course," Miroku agreed readily. "Talk we must."
Happosai lead the way into the empty dojo, carefully closing the door behind Miroku. "So – why is it that you have come to this time?"
"It was an accident," Miroku replied, after a long and wary silence, prodded on by Happosai's patiently inquiring gaze. "And it is not only me, but also my… friend, who is caught in this time. Unfortunately, we got separated in this fascinatingly confusing world of yours." He settled on the floor of the dojo, crossing his legs beneath him. "We have the intention – and the devices – to get back to our own world, but an unforeseen complication has forced us to stay. Something that we… need, was apparently stolen by one of your time, and we're searching for him, with no fruitful result thus far."
"I see." Happosai lit his pipe and took a long drag. Miroku tried to maintain his stoic composure as underwear-shaped smoke floated around his head. "And who is this person who stole your property?"
"I believe his name is Hibiki. Ryouga Hibiki."
Happosai's eyes lit up at that name. "Young Ryouga Hibiki, you say? Well, well, now – there's a tough opponent." He lifted his pipe thoughtfully. "I suppose I could help you find him…"
Miroku bowed slightly. "I will be eternally grateful."
"… but you are not sufficiently ready to fight him, yet. You cannot use your Black Hole, for he has your… property in possession, and I would not like to see a promising young man like Ryouga go before his time."
Miroku's composure bid farewell to the hapless monk at that statement. "You – you know about my Black Hole?"
"Of course." A particularly fluffy bra settled on Miroku's nose, before dispersing. "I haven't lived three hundred years without hearing about the legend of Inu Yasha and his disciples!"
Miroku's eyebrows rose impressively. "Disciples?"
"Well, followers, then."
"Followers?" His voice was now definitely tinged with more than a little anger, and Happosai noted, with some trepidation, the monk's cursed right hand twitching. He couldn't die now – not before he had seen Ranma's girl side try out his prized collection!
"Well now, that's not really the issue here, is it?" The smirk curved Happosai's lips once again. "I will help you catch young Hibiki quickly – provided you're willing to listen to my instructions."
Miroku sighed resignedly. "I don't suppose I have a choice, do I?"
The smile widened. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you'll enjoy your training."
Inu Yasha was not having a good day.
If one is to believe the adage that a day is only as good as one makes it, it is safe to presume that the possibility that Inu Yasha will never have a good day is inherent. But as a chronicler of events, whose job is to state the facts, however dire or obvious they may be, this writer will superimpose on the reader's mind once again, this: Inu Yasha really was not having a good day.
He had followed the Hibiki hanyou's scent (which had remained curiously human, even after daybreak) into the city and out, over small hillocks and sandy tracts, across fields and ever-busy roads, through thickets of trees and narrow alleyways. It was amazing how much Hibiki had managed to travel in so short a time, though Inu Yasha really couldn't figure out any pattern in his tracks. The local population paid him no mind, which surprised Inu Yasha a little, for Kagome had always insisted on him staying inconspicuous while he visited her time. Did she make him wear that dreadful… headgear just for her laughs?
Probably the worst thing about it all was that he had lost Miroku on the way.
Oh, not to death – though he suspected that would happen soon if the stupid monk kept stepping in front of moving vehicles, fascinated – but to something he felt was worse. They had been confronted – More like trampled, Inu Yasha thought darkly – by a gaggle of furious human girls as they pursued an unseen – and probably unfortunate – enemy. Inu Yasha had found himself realising where Kagome got her more… violent streak from, when Miroku had been swamped away by the fiery crowd, and out of sight. Inu Yasha had decided against following the monk then, for he was sure Miroku could take care of himself (somewhat, at least, when it came to ladies), and Hibiki's scent may not be so easy to follow later on.
It hadn't been a very difficult decision to make (stupid monk, getting himself into trouble all the bloody time), in reality, but it was still one heck of an inconvenience.
Inu Yasha's spirits brightened a little as he felt Hibiki's scent grow fresher. He estimated him to have walked along this dirt path not more than an hour ago, which was a definite improvement – he was catching up.
Yes, the scent was getting more and more distinct… did the guy step into a swamp or something on the way? … just around that corner… estimation now not more than forty minutes away… into another dirt path… twenty minutes… and…
He burst into the road he sensed Hibiki was standing on. "I've got you!"
… And immediately sweatdropped like he had never in his life before (which is a substantial amount of time, considering the fact that he was a half-demon).
Hibiki was standing in front of him – no problem about that. Where he was standing, however… was an entirely different matter.
It was the very place where Inu Yasha had first seen him.
Ryouga turned around, and, inexplicably, smiled at Inu Yasha. The hanyou noticed detachedly the other's rather overgrown canines, which seemed too small to be demon fangs, but too big to be human. "Hello – I believe I've seen you before… here, right? Where's your friend?"
"I've – I've been searching for you," Inu Yasha sputtered, unable to suppress his disbelief. "All over the bloody place, and you're – you're…"
"Here again?" Hibiki smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. "I've been walking in circles again, I suppose. I have… a bit of an impairment when it comes to direction and finding my way around."
"I'd say," Inu Yasha muttered, before shaking his head violently, reminding himself of why exactly he had searched for Ryouga all this time. Molten anger re-entered his veins, fuelled considerably by the frustration at the wild-goose chase he had had to scramble along in for the better part of the day. He pulled the Tetsusaiga out of its sheath in a single fluid movement, the glow of its transformation reflecting in his amber eyes, waiting for the fear to blossom on his opponent's face.
He didn't expect curiosity, however.
Ryouga rapped his fingers against the blade, blatantly inquisitive as he looked at the sword from all angles possible. "Just how do you do that?" he asked in a tone that Inu Yasha might have recognised as awe, if he had been in a better mood. "I don't see any creases where it can fold itself – this really is a sword."
"Of course it is," Inu Yasha said irritably, twitching the sword slightly, so that Ryouga would stop fingering it. "Now – I really don't want to kill you. Give me back the shards that you stole, and I'll seriously consider sparing your life."
The smile slipped off Ryouga's face as abruptly as if someone had flicked a switch off within him. "Shards?"
"Yeah, shards." Inu Yasha's grip tightened. "Give the Jewel shards back, and your head will stay on your shoulders."
He spotted Ryouga's hand touching his chest pocket for the briefest of moments, before the perennially lost boy let out a long and mocking laugh. "You're threatening my life? Don't be ridiculous." He dropped his backpack to the ground (promptly creating a small crater) and hefted his umbrella. "I'll never give these shards… to anyone. Especially not to a costume-clad rich upstart such as yourself."
Inu Yasha bristled. That was it.
"You've just sealed your death wish!" With that, he commenced his usual reckless charge, swinging his sword in a manner that his stepbrother had once famously described as resembling 'a baboon waving a wooden stick.' Ryouga easily sidestepped the charge – when one fights with Ranma often enough and survives, one unconsciously becomes at least twice as fast as before – and allowed Inu Yasha to slice at the tree behind him.
To his surprise, the gargantuan sword cleaved through the tough bark with barely a whisper. With a big rustle, the top of the tree fell across the road. Inu Yasha swirled around, fangs bared, breeze playing with long silver hair, suddenly looking a lot more intimidating than before. "I hope you can take me seriously now."
Ryouga's eyes narrowed at the unforeseen complication. So this kid had toys that really did work. But whatever.
Zero, how many ever times multiplied, was still only zero.
"You want to fight that bad?" His own fangs made their appearance, as he shifted into a fighting stance. It had been a long time since he had engaged himself in a duel, and he could use the practice, however meagre the competition this rich weirdo was going to provide. "That's fine with me."
"But I assure you, you'll regret it."
At pretty much the same time, a lone duck flew above the impromptu battlefield, reflecting on things that most certainly had nothing to do with ducks, but more to do with beautiful Chinese Amazon ladies and unrequited love. Not to mention ghastly old Amazon matriarchs, broken glasses, cocky martial artists who stole other men's fiancées, and incorrigibly inconsiderate tourists, who always left a little bit of water in their plastic bottles when they threw it away, and how those half-filled bottles always seemed to fall on him.
Mousse, shortsighted Master of Hidden Weaponry and infamous Amazon Duck-Man, was in a bad mood.
So it was a restless mind with which he caught sight of the impending battle below him.
Scrunching his beak as much as he could in order to adjust his glasses better, he slowed down to circle the area slowly, almost lazily. One of the two men on the ground he could recognise as Ryouga Hibiki, while the other, with long silver hair and dark red garb, was somewhat of a mystery.
But still, something was familiar about the man…
He watched in fascination as the silver-haired one pulled out a ridiculously enormous sword, and with seemingly no effort at all, cut a tree into two neat pieces – missing Ryouga by mere inches. Even if the man lacked finesse, Mousse was impressed by the sheer power that he possessed. It required years and years of training to be just able to wield such power, and as far as Mousse knew, only the Chinese Amazons – and those trained by them, like Hibiki and Saotome (courtesy the old ghoul Cologne) – could come up with such a clean, yet powerful, technique like that.
He started. What if…?
He tried to land on a tree – forgetting that he was a duck, which didn't exactly have claws – promptly lost his balance and fell to the ground. The glasses went flying, immediately turning the world into a mass of blurred, indistinct and merging colours. Out of it all, as he got on to his webbed feet, Mousse still kept his eyes on the spot he knew Ryouga's opponent to be. He could still make out the brilliant silver hair, and the bright red robes. Trepidation made an unwelcome visit to his spine.
It was well-known that the Chinese Amazons were a largely – the writer says largely, not completely, out of democratic obligations – matriarchal society, and men were… not treated as men, per se, but more as necessary burdens. And like all diverse, autocratic societies, there were a section of the men, filled to the brim with inborn testosterone, who resented being treated second-best to women. They split themselves from the parent village to form a rebel faction, and in a fit of 'creative' energy, christened themselves as "Amazon Men for Honour" (a rough translation of the original Chinese name).
They engaged themselves in petty shows of defiance – not willing to go against the infinitely better-trained Amazon women in a fight, for men were not allowed to learn the centuries-old 'Secret Amazon Techniques'. (Mousse was the sole exception, after he found out he had quite a talent for sneaking, spying and thieving – provided he had his glasses on.) They wore their hair white and long – such hairstyle being only the privilege of female veterans on the village council, such as Cologne – and outrageously bright clothes, as a deterrent from the drab garb that the men were forced to wear.
But all of that was irrelevant to the cause of Mousse's apprehension. What tendency of theirs he was worried about was that they had an annoying habit of trying to claim – read: kidnap, through atrociously dishonourable means – women (preferably Amazon) betrothed to other men, for they did need the opposite sex, if only for survival. If a man from the rebel faction was able to defeat another Amazon man to whom a woman was already betrothed to, by Amazon law, he deserved the woman.
And now there was this guy, who looked suspiciously like a rebel, in Japan, where his precious Shampoo also presently resided.
Mousse didn't like the situation one bit.
The confusion increased as he remembered that Ryouga was the one presently fighting this rebel. Had Hibiki given up on Akane? Was he now lusting after Shampoo? His Shampoo? Funnily, he felt devastation before anger. Not more than an hour ago, he had had only the vile but extremely talented Ranma Saotome to compete with for Shampoo's affections. In an impossible instant, he had two more rivals, and both of them were powerful in their own ways. Life, always a little stringent when it came to Mousse, was really not being kind to him.
The devastation was quickly replaced by all-consuming flames of white-hot rage. How dare these pathetic losers even try to claim Shampoo, who is beyond doubt only my fiancée?
He ruffled his feathers and took to the sky once again. He was going to find the Nekohanten, and a kettle of boiling hot water, and track down, defeat and preferably kill the rebel and the fickle-hearted Hibiki.
That Amazon male upstart was going to regret that he even bothered making the trip to Japan, the second before Mousse cleaved his head off his shoulders.