Translation Note:
"Chikan" (痴漢) is a noun that doesn't have a decent 1:1 English translation, so I'm including the full definition from wiktionary here.
1. (In Japan) Any act of public molestation or offense, usually of a sexual nature, against unsuspecting victims.
2. (In Japan) A person, usually a man, who rubs against or gropes others, usually women, in crowds, often in trains, to attain sexual pleasure.
Source: en dot wiktionary dot org / wiki / chikan
It took me two deep breaths before I felt my embarrassment begin to fade. There was no way I would ever, ever, tell Ranma what his mother had shoved into my hands. Needless to say, they were not feminine hygiene products, but there was no point in refuting Ranma's idea. It would probably keep him from peeking and asking some very unwanted questions, or worse, getting some very, very different ideas.
At least, I was pretty sure I wasn't ready for him to have those ideas. Then again, we almost got married a few months ago. I was ready to share the rest of my life with him in the most intimate ways, and thought he was, too. Maybe it was immature of me to have any hang ups over what Auntie gave me. Internally I sighed, a big contradictory mess of thoughts and emotions.
"Wow, it's gonna be a huge crowd, huh?" Ranma's observation brought me out of my spiraled thinking.
Despite it being a Saturday, the Nerima train station was as densely packed as peak rush hour. In the mass of crowded bodies, there was standing room only as conductors quite forcibly moved people into the cars with all the care and grace of a canning factory.
As the doors swooshed shut my right arm managed to grab one of the few ceiling straps available. Ranma and I were next to each other in the center, and I felt immensely grateful for the air conditioning. Even that was reaching its limits in the density of human bodies and summer humidity.
It would be nearly a half hour ride traveling west from Nerima to Asakusa.
There was a gentle lurch at the next stop, with even more passengers piling on. We shuffled and squished ourselves tighter in a display of tightly contained chaos, the one time in our society where personal space norms were completely discarded without a thought.
Ranma remained on my right side as we were pressed on all sides by the other passengers. The train lurched into forward motion and while everyone was focused on maintaining their balance I felt my free hand yanked into contact with warm flesh that was simultaneously soft and stiff.
"Eeek!"
With the crowd of bodies around us, I was practically pinned in place. As I awkwardly pulled my hand back, I felt another hand forcing my wrist.
This pervert was about to learn a painful lesson. I twisted my hand in a fast snap and grabbed at the assailant's hand. Predator became prey. I only managed to snatch his fingers, but it was enough as I gave a sharp twist. There was a crunch, and a muffled scream, and the offending hand disappeared.
The entire exchange was over in milliseconds.
It was the kind of maneuver Kasumi would have scolded me over, calling me a "violent maniac", but I am a martial artist at my core. I definitely fail to fit into the perfect mold of the meek, traditional, never-confrontational, peace-keeping women society wants of me. It's partly why perverts on trains are so bold. Women and girls are so conditioned to not even tell their offenders to stop or point it out while in progress!
I, however, do not tolerate perverts. Ever.
The violation was twice as annoying because I had no way of telling which passenger had forced me to touch his junk. If I had, I would be doing a lot more than mangling his fingers.
Ranma was just as pinned and squashed in place as I was, but he had noticed my yelp and his eyes immediately found my face in concern. "What happened?"
" Chikan ." I whispered back, venom lacing my voice. "I'll seriously need to wash this hand a few thousand times."
Ranma's eyes immediately scanned our cramped surroundings, before making their way back to my face. It always takes my breath away, the quick transformation that can take hold of Ranma, more complete than his Jusenkyou curse. All warmth and merriment in Ranma's eyes vanished, replaced by fierce chips of cold sapphire ready to engage in battle.
When something actually manages to break through his carefree calm and provoke his protectiveness, you better run. I've only seen it a handful of times, and…well, to be honest, it usually seems to involve someone directly harming me. Like Musk. Or Saffron.
I felt my chest tighten and my heartbeat accelerate. Ranma wasn't much for words. Okay, that's sugar coating it. Honestly? He's a complete and utter moron at ever saying kind words or dealing with emotions. Yet when moments like these happen, I can tell how much he actually does care about me. Which also meant I needed to reassure him before he made a complete scene and got us banned from train travel. He may not have been raised by foxes, but being raised by Genma was even worse for his manners.
I gave an exaggerated sigh and forced my voice to be flippant. "I'm pretty sure I broke his fingers, but I can't tell who it was. Just forget it."
The fierceness in Ranma's eyes remained, his jaw tight. To the outside observer, Ranma looked like a typical passenger. But to anyone who knew the Art, there was a forced looseness to his stance, a readiness in his posture. The pulse at his throat was visible and fast. It was the same deceptive stance he took before a spar, his muscles warmed up and ready to strike faster than you could see.
It was at the next stop that Ranma moved, as graceful and powerful as a jungle cat. I'm still not sure how he managed it, perhaps by sheer force of will. Even regular civilians could sense the tightly coiled defensive aura he was putting out, giving us the minute amount of space available to let us travel through the crowd.
So before the doors were closed again to depart, Ranma had positioned us so that my back was to the sleek surfaces of the corner of the train, and his taller and wider frame faced mine, his strong arms braced against the support pole and back of the train car, his impressive physique an immutable wall of protection.
My nose was now directly in front of Ranma's chest, only a hair's width apart from touching. My eyes were drawn to the folds of his yukata that had shifted to expose extra flesh, his muscled pecs teasingly peeking out. My breath caught in my throat. I know Ranma is attractive, but - not that I will ever willingly say this aloud to him, ever, oh my can you imagine his exploding ego?! - he's also a smokeshow. There. I said it. I'm not blind. There's a reason so many women throw themselves at him, and it's not a honeyed tongue.
Thanks to frequent exposure of seeing Ranma completely topless - (get your mind out of the gutter, it's for reasons usually more comical or him training without a shirt on) - I can usually force myself to ignore the annoyingly sexy attraction of his chiseled physique.
Here and now? Pressed so close together after that display of gallantry? My face was erupting in a heated blush. Closing my eyes didn't help. My senses were overwhelmed with the blending of sandalwood and the heady, unmistakably male scent that was only Ranma.
I opened my eyes again. Ranma had initially been avoiding my eye contact, his head turning to assure himself there weren't any obvious threats in the vicinity, when he caught my eyes.
A small blush grew on his face in tandem with my own. We were even more tightly pressed together than that time in the closet with the do-gi. "Not too squished?" He asked.
I shook my head, not yet trusting my voice. "Thanks." I took a deep breath, feeling my confidence grow at Ranma's reddened cheeks. "I can handle my own safety," I started, "but it's nice to not always be on high alert."
I think Ranma's chest managed to puff out even further. "You shouldn't have to be. Hell, no one should." He turned and glared at the backs of several male heads near us, as if judging them all guilty by proximity.
"Yeah. Sometimes it sucks to be a girl."
"Tell me about it."
I giggled, Ranma's occasional deadpan humor can have excellent timing.
His posture relaxed ever so slightly, joining in on my mirth.
My heart gave a little dance, a flutter completely separate from mere sexual attraction.
I love him.
The realization wasn't new, or earth shattering. It was the culmination of everything my heart knew for a long time, but my head was afraid to put into words most of the time.
I couldn't, wouldn't say it aloud. Not yet. Not when I didn't fully know where I stood in Ranma's eyes. Was I important to him? Yes. Did he care about me and my welfare? Yes. But did he actually love me? That was the million dollar question.
I had asked him point blank, just a few months ago at the start of the catastrophic wedding-attempt.
He denied it. Or kind of denied it. We argued. The details are lost amongst the adrenaline and mayhem of explosions and destruction that followed from our competing suitors.
Either way, it means I'm guarding my heart as best I can. Even though I know it's too late for me, to stop my soul from falling in love with Ranma. I'm already there.
Original Publication Date: Sept. 29, 2023
