"What the HELL?!" Ranma is pissed. Really pissed. Me? Mostly disappointed, with a large helping of not-surprised. If anything, I'm only surprised his cursed attraction to cold liquids didn't kick in until now.
A fellow fireworks gawker has bumped into us. He's about our age, maybe a bit older, and his large cup of iced lemonade is now all over Ranma's back and dripping onto the ground.
"I'm so sorry, man-I mean miss. Wow, it's pretty dark out. Let me help clean up." Our klutzy stranger sported an obnoxious Hawaian shirt that Principal Kuno would envy.
Ranma's large men's yukata now dwarfs his small, busty, and very female body. It is comically out of place on him, far worse than when he wears Western attire.
In the hubbub of drying Ranma off, I was lightly bumped by another passing stranger. I might have easily dismissed it. In the dense crowds for the festival, we've been jostled plenty this evening and I was busy helping to sop up sticky lemonade from Ranma's back. Still, I am someone trained in the Art, and am more keenly aware of my balance. The change in weight I was maintaining on my shoulder immediately registered.
"W-what?" I turned to look, and my eyes grew wide. I was only holding purse strings, no purse. Someone had just snipped the straps off my bag. Oh, hell no.
My head snapped up, and in the glow of an impressive firework display I lucked out. I saw a stranger in a dark baseball cap walking calmly towards the busy street, and he had just slipped my purse inside his backpack.
"He stole my bag!"
Ranma looked up in alarm, forgetting the napkins and the overly attentious apologizing stranger. In fact, the hideously dressed guy was now smirking.
Either way, I did not have time to waste. I was running towards the thief at full speed. Which wasn't my actual top speed because of all the other festival goers.
We chose this location at the park for many reasons, one of them being so close to the main streets and Honjo-Azumabashi Station. It now was a disadvantage. If that creep caught a train before I caught him, I could kiss my bag, my ID, my money, ugh even my set of house keys, all goodbye.
"Coming thru!"
There was a blur of stripes, as a girl in an oversized yukata bounced across trees, street vendor stalls, and the occasional lamppost to make haste. Actually, it was a pretty brilliant idea, but I wasn't about to let Ranma do all the work. I quickly borrowed his moves, taking airily to the various street surfaces in an extreme form of racing parkour.
I had to check my balance a few times, slowing me down in comparison with Ranma, who seemed to race across as effortlessly as on flat ground despite his awkward garments. I felt the familiar mix of envy blending with admiration as I followed Ranma north.
Our thief was no slouch, either. He was ducking through alleyways and sidestreets with the ease of an experienced local.
A thicker crowd was passing through, and I was forced to slow down and reassess where to go. The neon lights of the large 7-11 convenience store loomed ahead.
I cursed under my breath, a very unladylike gesture that would have made Kasumi gasp.
I had lost them.
I was glad to have an outlet for my frustration, and channeled it into some acrobatic leaps as I scaled any building and fence I could for some height and tracking advantage. My brain still felt divided. Akane and I had..had kissed! And damn, the feel of her on me. I sorta imagined kissing would be special, and I'm not one for casual physical affection (despite my reputation), but kissing Akane had been so much more than I dreamed. And then it had to come to an abrupt end. Just my fucking luck. Frankly, I'm starting to think the Jusenkyo pools curse you with way more than shapeshifting.
A feral grin was growing on my face as I imagined how I was gonna scare the living daylights out of this thief. My smile slowly started to fade as I realized catching this cutpurse wasn't going as easily as it would have back in Nerima. The rooftops on most of the buildings here in Asakusa are either way too high or not in the same path I need to follow the guy. It wasn't impossible, but it definitely added an extra challenge in the bustling crowds. Much more than I was used to in my typical chases. Huh. I wonder if it's weird that I have 'typical' chases to compare it to?
Obnoxiously, I hitched up the trailing hem of my yukata for the tenth time. What a pain. Just one of the many reasons I usually shy away from traditional attire. I can get a lot more adjustable elastics and drawstrings to accommodate all my cursed shapeshifting with Western duds.
I had to pause and scan the crowd again. There he was!
The thief was already at the train station entrance, passing by the yellow taped off areas of an in-progress expansion and construction site.
If he thought ducking into a secured, less lit area would help him shake any tails, he was about to be proven wrong.
"Yo. Creep!"
The guy actually turned around.
Ha! I love it when perps inadvertently insult themselves.
"You can choose the easy way, or the fun way. Fun for me that is. Either way, I'm getting my fiancee's purse back."
I admit it. Sometimes I can be a little petty. And tonight? Payback was going to be fun.
"Your fiance's purse?" The thief was obviously not taking me seriously. Probably because I was in the body of a petite, busty redhead in oversized clothing.
I cracked my knuckles. "You deaf or something? Hand it over. I'm getting it back for her."
Most of the streetlights were unlit in this area, but there was one defiant, flickering light near the entrance. It made adjusting to the dark difficult, but at this point my eyes could make out the incredulous look on his face. I could see him trying to figure out my men's clothing, my language use, and my obviously female figure.
He gawked at me. "You some kind of tranny freak?"
Okay, now that pissed me off.
"Aggh!" That cry was from him, not me. I had smacked him hard on the nose, faster than the human eye could ever see. I gotta say, it was well worth all the pain and effort to learn the Roasted Chestnut technique from the old ghoul.
His nose wasn't broken, I had pulled my punch with pinpoint precision. Still, it would hurt like hell and enough blood vessels had burst that blood was trickling from his nostrils.
"What the -?!" he yelled, turning his head rapidly around to look for his attacker.
I tsk-tsked with my tongue and wagged a finger at him in a purposely annoying fashion. "You need another demonstration?" I asked calmly. "Or you can just hand over the bag."
The guy wasn't too bright. He wiped clumsily at his bloody nose and waved his hands out awkwardly, as if to ward off some unseen opponent that wasn't me.
I sighed a big theatrical sigh. "I wacked you in the face, moron."
His eyes were now saucer sized. "N-no way. I didn't see you move."
I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I'll go slower for your slug brain to understand."
This guy obviously wasn't much of a fighter, if any. I tested out a super slow (by my standards) kick at his legs, sweeping his feet out from under him.
The thief was on the ground looking up at me with the growing realization that he was getting his ass handed to him by a pretty five foot package.
I gave a big theatrical sigh. "Ugh. You're really pathetic. It wouldn't be fair to pick on you. So just hand it over already."
"You're nuts. Fine. Fine. Here ya go." The idiot took off his backpack and reached inside.
I grinned. This was way too easy. I guess it's not too surprising that a guy who uses distraction to steal and run away would be a wimp.
And okay, I'll admit it…I sometimes am a tad overconfident. It's hard not to be, when you're the best at what you do and you know it. This punk wasn't any threat, and even if he pulled a weapon on me, I'm fast enough to evade or knock anything out of his hands.
Which is why I didn't realize I needed to dodge the small black cylinder he pulled out of his bag.
"AAAAAAAAAAAH!"
I'm not proud, but I screamed. Have you ever been maced? In the face? With your eyes wide open? Don't. Seriously. It is the worst pain imaginable. I thought getting kicked in the nuts was bad. Take that, and multiply it by a few factors because the searing, stinging, brain numbing pain doesn't peak and then fade. It grows. It lingers. It makes you want to claw your own eyes out of your skull in panic.
I've trained to fight while in pain. I've trained to fight blindfolded. I've even trained with a swarm of attacking bees. But none of those had a pain level this intense.
My eyes were full of tears, even my throat burned, and my nose became a disgusting, dripping faucet. All I wanted to do was scream as I wiped futility at the chemical irritant.
"Not so high and mighty now, are ya?" crowed the thief.
I was blind, and distracted, but not helpless. His voice provided the perfect opportunity for me to take a swing. I felt the connection to his gut, and the tell tale whoosh and wheeze of an opponent who's had the air knocked out of his lungs. The thud I heard him make on the ground was especially satisfying.
Granted, I had actually been aiming for the dude's face, but a hit is a hit.
Suddenly I heard a different man's voice behind me.
"Yuki! Are you okay?!" It took a moment, but I recognized the voice as the overly apologetic Hawaiian shirt guy.
Between wheezing sounds, Yuki answered. "Freak… hit me."
"Nobody hurts my little bro, c*nt."
I ignored my snot dripping nose and stinging, blinded eyes, and raised my arms in a defensive position while I turned to meet the direction of Ugly-Shirt's voice.
Normally, even blindfolded, that would have been a smooth enough move for me. But remember what I said about curses and bad luck? I swear. If it can go wrong, it does. Between my oversized clothing pooled at my ankles and the uneven terrain, I tripped on something rubbery. Too late, my brain registered it was likely an orange safety cone. One of many demarcating the construction site.
In the brief heartbeat where I had landed on my knees, I heard the telltale, subtle click of a switchblade unsheathing.
"Good grief, where are you now, Ranma?"
I scanned the bustling train station in growing worry, not knowing if I was even in the right general area. I had a gut feeling I was, but intuition can be wrong.
A scream filled with pain split the air and I whipped my head towards the sound. It seemed to be from the cordoned off construction area. It might not be Ranma, but either way, it was a girl's voice in trouble!
I wasn't the only one alarmed, because several other people in the crowded train station had paused at the sound. I took advantage of the crowd's hesitation to press my way forward and past the construction area's yellow caution tape.
I took a fraction of a moment to take in the terrain. Most of the ground was uneven with gravel, others smooth but labeled with signs of "wet cement". Bundles of rebar lay near various orange caution cones. The nearest streetlamp was on the fritz, its strobe-like flickering a jarring oscillation to my vision. Even so, I caught the gleam of sharp metal in a man's hand moving towards a kneeling, smaller, female figure.
Instinct kicked in faster than thought. A leaping kick knocked the blade out of his hand, glittering and spinning across the construction site.
I suddenly realized that there were two different male figures I was facing; one skinnier guy half collapsed on the ground clutching his stomach with blood dripping down his nose. On the ground next to him lay a familiar shaped backpack, and a small pile of wallets and handbags spilled from its unzipped contents. The other man, the one I had just disarmed, was broader, taller, and currently clenching his injured hand, courtesy of my flying kick.
A small crowd of onlookers was gathering near the lines of caution tape, and I could hear police whistles in the distance.
The female figure behind me was Ranma, his eyes swollen and shut, his face a mess of tears and mucous. Even more shockingly, Ranma wasn't fully on his feet. "Ranma! What happened to you?"
"Akane?" My soprano voice was both surprised and alarmed. I knew I should have felt relieved, but instead I was a mixture of mortified and worried. Of course, Akane would have to witness me on my freaking knees in a fight. My face heated. "I'm fine!" I bluffed, irked and stung by my wounded pride as much as by the gunk in my eyes. Still, concern for Akane managed to overcome my embarrassment. Did she realize these thugs were armed and playing dirty?
"Watch for the guy with a knife, and the other one has pepper spray," I warned. I rubbed furiously at my closed eyelids, redoubling my efforts to clear up my vision. By the tiniest fraction I could part my eyelids, but the effort was excruciatingly painful.
"What the f*ck is this?" the large man exclaimed.
"Payback," I heard Akane answer.
If our situation wasn't so dire, I would have smirked. The characters in Akane's last name can literally be read as "divine justice", and she will live up to her name.
With distorted, blurry vision I could only partially make out Akane's moves. Though nowhere near my speed, Akane charged forward like an angry bull. I was brought back to the moment years ago when Akane was melee fighting off football and hockey players in full protective gear. Like then, it took her only a few moves before a man easily twice Akane's weight was being thrown in the air. My hearing was still better than my vision. I heard the telltale pop of a dislocated shoulder and the crack of what was likely a broken clavicle. I was less certain about the squishy splash sound of his landing, almost like splattered mud. Wait, wasn't there a wet cement sign nearby? Now I did allow myself a smirk. Served the bastard right.
The thug I threw landed squarely in the center of a curing cement bed. I prepared myself for him to get up again, but there was no need. The man wasn't moving.
The piercing sound of police whistles was growing louder. I turned to look where the skinnier thief, Yuki used to be, my stance ready to take him fully out if necessary. Only he wasn't there! I briefly scanned the various tall piles of rebar and gravel in the distorted flashes of the malfunctioning streetlamp. Most likely, he made his escape as soon as he heard the approaching police whistles.
Ranma was fiercely rubbing his eyes, but otherwise seemed unharmed. "Are you okay?" I asked, worry lacing my voice.
Ranma frowned but nodded. "Nothin' to worry about. My vision's coming back. Damn, though, pepper spray stings."
I walked over to the abandoned thief's backpack and the spilled contents strewn over the uneven ground.
I tsk-ed under my breath. I wasn't the only victim this evening. There was likely a small fortune in stolen wallets and purses. I moved aside various handbags, dusting them off, while I looked for my own.
"Ranma, you wouldn't believe how much those jerks have stolen!" I called out. I was getting frustrated at not finding my own bag. I was bent over rifling through the various items, doing my best to make them out in the headache-inducing strobe lighting.
Finally, I found my prize. My bag!
There are times when the adrenaline rush is at its peak, and a fight is so sweet and fluid, that time slows down. I can read my opponent's moves with ease, and it feels like everyone else is a statue to my blazing speed. It's a high that's hard to describe.
There's also a dark opposite to this. When the adrenaline is surging due to panic and danger, it's not merely your opponents that seem to move in slow motion: it's you. Your limbs seem stuck in molasses. Your voice is strangled in your throat, and you're powerless, watching as you reach too slow, too late, too far away to stop the coming blow.
My eyes were burning, involuntary tears streaming from the mace, and my vision returned blurred and distorted. I was still on my knees. I channeled every ounce of willpower into getting to my feet, fighting against my body's natural reaction to stay down amid the blinding, nerve-searing pain.
Time became an illusion, distorted and drawn as an almost sixth sense of danger flooded my veins. At least 6 meters away, out of the shadows there was a slither of motion.
And in horrible, blurry, slowness I saw what was possibly a male figure stoop and pick something that glinted on the uneven ground, angled away and hidden from Akane's line of sight but clear enough for me to make out.
A garbled sound escaped my throat: a warning cry, a curse, a rage against reality rolled into one.
My watering, stinging eyes caught the fragmented scene: the movement of metal, swung in a jerkish arc. Akane, just rising with her hands full of her cherished bag, triumph turning to terror as she too, realized the threat too late.
There was a sickening slash, and red.
Author's Notes:
Crime is actually really, really, really rare in Japan. This is artistic license to the extreme. It's a plot device. Please don't message me complaining, as this is fanfiction based on a fictional series that involves martial arts mayhem, magic, and slapstick violence taken to extremes.
Original Publication Date: Oct. 15, 2023