Chapter Twenty Six – Mother/Daughter

[TW] Transphobia, Homophobia, Past Physical and Verbal Abuse, Seppuku Mentions, and Suicidal Ideation. This one's a heavy one, guys. Take care of yourselves.

Ranko

Ranko walked through the nighttime streets of Nerima, her coat bundled tightly around her, unable to shake the little smile from her face. She had on a soft, knitted hat that Nabiki had bought for her for Christmas, not that any of them celebrated Christmas, and had made her open two full weeks before the 'occasion' – she knew Nabiki had seized upon the first conceivable excuse to properly outfit her for winter, but she loved her new hat too much to complain.

Never in a million years would Ranko admit it, but she liked the feeling that Nabiki wanted to take care of her. A little part of her feared that to speak such a thought aloud would take advantage of Nabiki's generosity, and Ranko would lose her back to her old mercenary days; but alone on a weekend night, enjoying the winter cold, the snow on the river embankments in the week leading up to winter break, Ranko embraced the simple joy of being dressed for the weather, and having a family who loved her.

Not that Pops didn't love her. Of course Pops loved her, Pops was just… Pops. She sure loved her father, yes sirree. Not a doubt in her mind there.

Even if Genma would sooner pawn her coat and hat than buy Ranko new clothes.

Smelly old panda.

Lights twinkled in the windows along the river. The moonlight glistened on the water, shining on the snowbanks. Ranko breathed out, and watched her breath fog up into the air, rising into the night. As she reached her destination, she walked a little lighter on the balls of her feet.

The neighborhood shrine was tucked away down a little alley off the main road, a little paved and winding street with no sidewalks and telephone poles that clung close to the walls of the houses. A simple wooden tori stood between two stone walls; within, shrubs tucked against the sides of the shrine, leading inward to the little hokora, the sacred hutch guarded by shimenawa, a swastika chiseled into its stone base. Incense had been lit. Walking up to the shrine, Ranko knelt by the base to rinse her hands in the little burbling fountain, then rose and rang the bell. She closed her eyes and let the simple chime wash over her; ever since she had woken up with a magical curse, Ranko had felt a strange newfound connection to her religion – nothing magical itself, but years of her father's ingrained disdain of ritual, years of stealing from shrines to get by, had fallen away into to a real appreciation for the quiet peace the shrines could bring her.

I'm sorry I don't have any coins for you, kami-sama, Ranko thought, bowing twice. Pops is still a greedy bastard. I'm trying to be better.

She liked the hole-in-the-wall hokora better than the neighborhood shrine in the park, which was always crowded and full of little kids. Neither compared to the wilderness shrines she and Pops used to come across all the time, but Ranko liked to imagine that Nerima was happy to have her, even if she couldn't quite fathom how Nerima had so quickly become her home. Her hat pulled low over her chilly ears, she clapped twice, smiling through her frosty breath.

Ranko was happy. Happy to have a home, to have a girl who loved her, to not have to be… Something. Anything. Ranko had no clue who she was, but she knew that much, at least. All the expectations, all the machismo – now that she had a new experience to compare it to, she didn't want to go back. Not to her old body, not to her old life, not to who she was before her coma. She swallowed and stared at the orange lattice of the inner shrine.

How much of Ranko's life had been hers in the first place? Had anything belonged to her? How much of Ranma Saotome had belonged to Genma?

…Ranko hadn't even had a home or friends or possessions.

Nothing but the art.

A little tear trickled down the side of her nose. Ranko wiped it away with the back of her hand before the cold could make her face stiff, forcing a smile, throwing herself into a low bow. She took a deep breath, and calmed into the incense. Thank you, kami-sama, she whispered in her mind, afraid to think any louder. Thank you for giving me a home, and Akane, and peace. Thank you for- for me, I guess. I'll be better now, I promise.

She rose to find a presence next to her. Nodoka rose from her low bow, regal with her royal blue kimono and her tight bun speared with sticks, and clapped twice, giving Ranko a sidelong gentle smile. "Nodoka-san," Ranko said; she hoped the older woman hadn't seen her tears. She pulled her coat tighter, blushing. "I didn't see you."

Nodoka's smile softened. She bowed low one last time to the shrine, her face drawing for a moment of intense devotion, then rose, approached Ranko, and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "I saw you at the shrine, dear. You seemed to be in deep concentration. I thought you might appreciate some company."

Ranko had no clue why, but whenever Nodoka touched her, her whole body relaxed. There was something about Nodoka. Implicitly Ranko trusted her, wanted her warmth, her reassurance, the simple reassurance she didn't know she craved until she received her easy touch. Almost without thinking, and then with almost breathless panic, Ranko broke out in a teary smile and threw her arms around Nodoka. Why… She stiffened.

"Oh," Nodoka murmured, and Ranko briefly believed she had made a terrible mistake, only for strong arms to encircle her. Nodoka pulled her closer, tucking Ranko into the crook of her shoulder. Tender fingers stroked her hair. "You really don't have any maternal figures at home, do you?" she murmured. "Ranko-chan."

Ranko found her body shaking. Why was she shaking? She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean ta-"

"None of that," Nodoka scolded, hugging her closer. "You've done absolutely nothing wrong, and I… I don't mind one bit."

My mother's name is also Nodoka, flitted the idle thought through Ranko's brain. She ignored it, ignored the way that Nodoka looked like an older version of herself, startlingly familiar, ignored the implications the truth – a wild theory – might have on her curse, her life. She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed. "Thank you…"

Nodoka and Ranko held each other in the neighborhood shrine a moment longer, the somber glow of the streetlamps lighting their moment of comfort. Ranko was the first to let go, and Nodoka reluctantly released her from her arms, blushing as she patted down her kimono. Overcome again by the sudden need to apologize – what was wrong with her – Ranko found her tongue twisted, unable to even begin to articulate how many ways she had just put her foot in it. She had hugged a stranger! She- she was embarrassed, and mortified, and was acting completely unlike herself and the worst part was how good it had felt to be wrapped up in Nodoka's arms like she wasn't being rude and awful, like she belonged there.

Like Ranko belonged there.

As Ranko curdled with shame, Nodoka laid a gentle touch on her shoulder, leading her out of the shrine. "Walk with me, Ranko-chan," she ordered quietly.

They walked quietly along the river, the winter blue hanging over the embarkments and giving Nerima a peaceful shimmer. Ranko stuck her hands in her coat pockets. It was a little uncomfortable, walking next to the woman she admired so much; they had always met in the park, and Ranko had never imagined to seek Nodoka out beyond their run-ins, but there they were: Nodoka walked next to her with a quiet sadness, her gaze tilted upward to watch the moon, her black hair coiled behind her into a tight bun. Ranko snuck tiny looks at Nodoka. She shifted a little closer, fearing that Nodoka would take an equal step away.

Nodoka didn't seem to mind.

"I had a son, once," Nodoka murmured, moonlight pooling on her pale face. "A husband, too."

"Oh," Ranko said.

"My husband was a martial artist, and he wanted my son to be trained in his art too. He asked to take my little boy on a training journey, and I let them go." Nodoka's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I never saw either of them again."

"O-oh," Ranko whispered. She accidentally brushed against the sleeve of Nodoka's midnight blue kimono, but to her shock, Nodoka simply leaned into her for comfort. Slender fingers found hers.

"I… I was such a fool," Nodoka said harshly, turning her head away from Ranko, although their hands remained intertwined. She covered her face with her kimono sleeve, shoulders shaking. "My son, my darling son, he… he was a wonderful child, an innocent child, but he never acted like the little boy we thought he was supposed to be. I told myself he was born wrong, that we had to fix his abnormalities, and I- I let that be an excuse for the way my husband treated him."

When Nodoka sniffled, her heart broke. "Nodoka-san," Ranko whispered, digging through her pockets to find a tissue. She offered it out with both hands. Nodoka blew out loudly.

"Thank you, dear," Nodoka said. "You're such a lovely girl."

Ranko blushed. She swallowed a sudden, inexplicable urge to call Nodoka 'Mother.'

"I- I can be rather traditional," Nodoka continued haltingly. "And it has always been such a central part of how I see myself, that sometimes I forget that I don't have to follow every tradition we once honored, even if my honor still calls upon me to be bound by them. My son… My son sometimes didn't act like my son. Sometimes he chose to act more like my… like my daughter." A cold pit of steel settled in Ranko's stomach. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. "I know." Nodoka laughed, and it took Ranko a second to realize that it was in response to her apparent discomfort. "I had no idea what to with a child facing such a thing either, and so young, too. All I had ever been told was that it was a perversion. It was all I knew. But my-" Her eyes welled again. "My son was not a perversion. He was perfect, and I let my- let traditions blind me so completely that I lost sight entirely of the boy I loved with all my heart underneath. All I could see was how sometimes he wanted to learn how to wear my skirts, and play tea party with our friend's daughters, and follow me around the house doing chores instead of doing martial arts. I was so blind, and stupid, and… young. I didn't know any better."

"Your- your-" Ranko desperately stammered through her words. "Yer son wanted ta- ta be a girl? Even back then? When she was- I mean, he was- was- was- little?"

"Oh, yes," Nodoka whispered. "Not all the time, mind you. My husband's influence on my son was rather large. He idolized my husband. But when my husband was out, or on certain days, it was like I had the daughter that I've always wanted."

That was too much. Ranko staggered away, ripping her hand free from Nodoka's, and darted past her to the riverbank edge. Dead grass rippled on the embankments. In December, the water would be frigid cold; an ill-timed tumble would make quick work of her male form, just like in summer, but she would be frozen through for the trouble. Would her female form be worth the cost of frostbite? Of losing a parent? Of changing her male body too, like the fantasy she had had in the furo?

"Ranko-chan?" Nodoka asked in a lost voice, still a few paces away.

"Did ya-" Her breath quickened. Ranko sank into the soft fur of her winter coat, trembling, pressing her mittens together in a prayer before her lips. "Did ya- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I need a sec."

Nodoka carefully approached her. "Are you okay, dear?" she asked cautiously. "Was that too much for you? I understand if you're conservative about these sorts of things, I won't bother you with my personal worries if you are-"

"No!" Ranko whipped around; Nodoka looked shocked at her outburst, a single hand covering her mouth. Ranko panicked. "I- I mean- Did ya live around here always? Even back then?"

"Why, yes." Nodoka paused, considering. "Yes. I've lived in Nerima my whole life."

Rage.

Pure rage.

Pops, you miserable fat furry evil jerkwad BASTARD! Fighting with all her might not to burst out into tears she could not possibly explain, Ranko managed to choke out her next question. "And- and- damn it… And what happened to him? Your son?"

Shame filled Nodoka's expression. "I was traditional," Nodoka said in an empty voice, hollow, like she were struggling to find her words, "but my husband was filled with hate. He was- I would never have called him this then, or even thought to label him so, but I believe that my husband was a bigot. He didn't want to understand my son; all he cared about was that my son was his perfect image of a martial arts heir, and anything – anything – that broke from that goal was wrong. A 'Man-Among-Men' was how he always put it."

Ranko was a marble statue. She vacantly mouthed 'Man-Among-Men' to herself as her vision blurred, an impossible static filling her mind.

Nodoka was too lost in her recollections to notice, and continued, "It wasn't just my son's more feminine qualities. He didn't like that my son enjoyed reading. He wouldn't let me put him in school. When he cried, or asked for extra food, or saw a toy he liked at the store, he would yell at him and demand he become more manly. My four-year-old son. Sometimes he would hit him. And I was-" Coming up to the embarkment's edge, Nodoka sat down next to where Ranma stood, her winter shoes settling into the grass, and buried her face in her hands. "-I was too weak to stop him. I let my husband- oh, god-" Nodoka let out a sob. "I let my husband take him away from me. And kami-sama knows how that rotten man has treated him since."

Ranko was crying too.

She sank down next to Nodoka; fell to her knees, really, and tumbled into the older woman's side. It was more of a certainty now than a possibility that Nodoka-san, the nice lady who sometimes talked to Ranko in the park, was really Nodoka Saotome, Ranko's mother. The woman that Ranko had spent a decade thinking was dead. The woman who had no idea that her son had fallen victim to a genderbending curse that had turned out to not really be much of a curse at all. Ranko tried to speak, and her voice came out as a wail instead. Nodoka started in shock, but Ranko had already flung herself around her.

"Ranko-chan," Nodoka whispered.

"Why?" Ranko sobbed. "Why would you let that happen? Why would you let that awful man take her? If someone- if someone could have stopped my- my-" It took her a moment to remember the cover story lie she had concocted for Nodoka. "-my Pops from shipping me off to live with my uncle, I'd've taken it in a- a- a heartbeat."

"I believed him." Nodoka made it sound like the worst indictment. "Oh, Ranko, darling, I convinced myself that he was telling the truth; that somehow he could make my feminine son manly, that he could- could fix all his abnomalities and make him just like the other little boys on the street corner. I told myself he was right. So I enabled him, and I let him take more and more control, and nothing was changing, and he started getting so angry whenever my son would act like a little girl, and I- I was afraid, I didn't- I was afraid of them both! I didn't know what to do!" Tears were streaming down Ranko's cheeks, and Nodoka knew it – she tried to wipe at Ranko's tears, but Ranko shied away. Nodoka hung her head, tears of her own dripping onto her kimono. "I wasn't thinking straight. I wanted my husband to stop, to be the man that I had married, but the man who was cruel to my baby had been there all along. So I- I gave him an ultimatum. Either he would prove to me once and for all that he could make my son his perfect man, or- or he would have to commit seppuku on my family's honor blade."

Ranko felt nauseous. "Seppuku."

"I made two errors. I made my son sign the pledge too, even though he was too young to understand and had done nothing wrong. I think my husband believed I intended to make my son commit seppuku too. He was a terrible man. But he still loved our son, or his perfect image of him, far too much to ever let him die. And then I let them leave."

"Where?" Ranko whispered.

Nodoka bowed her head. "They left on a training trip," she whispered. "And they never came back."

Cold wind blew down the river.

There was only one thought in her mind, one question she could possibly muster, and it was such a terrible prospect she dared not voice it aloud. But she had to know. If she didn't ask, she might never have another chance to know her mother.

But Ranko knew she also might not have a chance if she did.

"Would you?" Ranko whispered. "Would you make them commit seppuku?"

"No. Never. I would never allow my son to kill himself, not for all the honor in the world." Nodoka rubbed furiously at her face, blinking away her tears, then leaned back on her hands to look up at the night sky. "Although for my husband I suppose it depends on whether he kept abusing my little boy or not."

Whelp, Ranko thought. Guess we're finally getting our panda skin rug.

But she had to know.

"Even… Even if…" Ranko stubbornly looked down at her hands. "Even if your son came back as your daughter? Even if- if- if she- if he became a she? And it ain't like your husband managed to fix any of her perversions? If your son came back and he was… worse?"

"He's my son," Nodoka said. There had never been a more certain sentence spoke. "There is nothing I would not do to see him again. If that means that someday I will have to learn how to parent a transsexual daughter, then I will do it. I would turn heaven and earth over for that girl. I would love her, Ranko-chan. I would love her like I should have loved my son."

"Oh," Ranko said.

"I'm sorry," Nodoka said. "Please forgive me, Ranko-chan. I didn't mean to make you cry with my terrible story, or rant at you, or unload all these horrible memories onto your conscience. It's just… You seem like you need a mother too. You'll have to forgive an old woman for wanting to pretend, if only for a minute, like you could step in for her errant son."

Pretend.

She doesn't know who I am.

Ranko staggered to her feet, stumbled away from her mother. When Nodoka tried to reach out for Ranko, Ranko flinched away, drawing her arms tight around her puffy coat. She felt too many things, all angry and sad and full of the horrible oily wrongness that made her hate her male body. How could she be feeling it now too? Nodoka's face was filled with shattered hope, the beginnings of a visceral pain as Ranko withdrew, but Ranko couldn't help herself. She lashed out.

"I don't need a stinking mother!" Ranko shouted at Nodoka, tears streaking her face. She made claws in her gnawing, vicious hurt. "I don't wantcha to tell me stupid stories about mothers that want their daughters and all that stupid bullshit that I'll never have, alright? I don't want that! Screw you! I thought you cared about me, not that you could pretend that I was just your stupid pervert of a son!"

Raw hurt spilled across her mother's face. "Ranko," Nodoka sobbed. "Please."

Ranko knew she was crying. She knew she was being stupid, she knew she was doing the exact opposite of what she wanted to do in that moment. Ranko wanted to take Nodoka's hand and race then to Doctor Tofu's office, grab a jug of hot water, and prove her identity to her mother. But then she would have to see her male form. Then she would know. And Ranko couldn't stand the idea of her mother knowing that Genma had failed; her Pops had failed, he had failed her, he had sighed a seppuku pledge in her name; and she hated him, she hated him, Ranko hated her father, she hated the stupid fucking ABUSIVE TRANSPHOBIC BASTARD and Ranko hated herself most of all.

"I hate you!" Ranko screamed. "Maybe your stupid husband deserves to die, and your stupid son deserves to die with him!"

Nodoka fell to her knees, sinking into seiza.

Before Ranko had a chance to hear her mother's answer, she had turned on her heel and sprinted away into the darkness of the Nerima night.

[A/N] It took me a year to write this chapter.

The reasons should be obvious. This was real heavy. But if you take canon Ranma ½ and add the singular wrinkle of Ranma being a trans woman, what Nodoka did to Ranma as a child suddenly looks a lot less like a cracky mental arts suicide pledge and a lot more like a metaphor for conversion camp. Ranko here has the additional baggage of Nodoka telling her all of this, not knowing that she's speaking to the very daughter she so desperately wants back in her life. The result is a raw nerve we needed to uncover, if Ranko ever wants to finally make order out of her life.

I might have cried writing this.

It will get better. Especially for those of you who've gone through something similar, and knowing the audience for this story, there are probably a few of you, it will get better. But Ranko finally coming to terms with who she is was always going to be a rough landing. This is 1980s Japan; not the most accepting time and place for trans folks. And there'll be more turbulence before everything works itself out.

I love you all. I hope this makes you feel seen, because I felt seen by writing it.

Thank you on Fanfiction to DrYuriMom, Alucard45, JaquiK, Beedok, SneakyDevil, DaphneDi, Katt1848, Lukkai, elusivetruth, FavChanger, MizunoTenshi2, Foxy Engineer, lava84flow, Ronelin, pailRomantic, foxoftheasterisk, irispapyrus, a guest, and on Archives to Therandompers, 5047, DBNY96, Aviditas04, ayellowbirds, fenixphlame, StrawberryCharlotte, TheMapleTree, and FusionMonkey for reviewing/commenting! You guys have always stuck with me for the long haul, and what I love about this fandom is that I know for a fact that some of y'all will hop on this chapter just as fast as you've been doing for the last five years. Ranma has the best community.

Also all my love to everybody who's been writing over the last year, 2021/2022 was a shockingly great year for Ranma fanfic after how dry 2019 and 2020 were. I read basically everything that gets published on either site, so if you've written it, I've probably read it. Consider this my keysmash lol, I'm so bad at remembering to comment.

Oh, and the third draft of my novel is done. So the original work is coming along too ;)

All my love, Allie