Chapter 12: The Dress
"Do you know what we're measuring you for?" Tsubasa asked, her voice light and teasing.
Akane shook her head, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "No…" she admitted shyly.
"Lingerie," Tsubasa replied with a playful smile, watching for Akane's reaction.
Akane's face turned a bright shade of pink. "Oh… uh… I don't think Ranma would like lingerie on me…" she stammered.
Tsubasa's grin got bigger, "You underestimate yourself, Ms. Akane. You have quite an athletic figure. We need lingerie that compliments that strong body of yours. A man as active as Ranma is sure to appreciate clothing that accentuates your muscles."
Akane had a bit of a solemn expression, "I feel like 'lingerie' isn't very me - shouldn't I be trying to be attractive in a way that is more myself? And…I will admit I want to be treated like a girl sometimes too. I don't know if…wearing something that shows off my musculature will help me in feeling attractive, to myself or Ranma."
Tsubasa nodded and listened with great care. She almost seemed like a therapist as well as a teacher, "You're right, we need you to be comfortable. Your body is a part of you. You need not be ashamed of it or find it unattractive. For now, let's not entertain the idea of Ranma seeing you in anything revealing. We, instead, will just try on some more revealing clothes and let you see yourself and your body, a bit of exposure therapy if you will. I want you to see your body and discover its beauty. I will help you empower yourself and find yourself attractive."
Akane's eyes softened, her fidgeting slowing as she processed Tsubasa's words.
"I'm not asking you to change who you are," Tsubasa added. "I'm here to help you see yourself through kinder eyes. And when you're ready, you can share that part of yourself with Prince Ranma."
Akane hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Okay… I guess I can try," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tsubasa smiled warmly, a glimmer of pride in her expression. "That's all I ask, Princess. Just one step at a time."
Tsubasa rummaged through a chest of garments, pulling out pieces with an expert eye. She held up a fitted navy dress with an elegant cut, the fabric shimmering slightly in the light.
"This," she declared, "is perfect for a first step. It's sleek, tasteful, and emphasizes your natural shape without being too revealing."
Akane eyed the dress warily. "It looks... tight."
"That's the idea," Tsubasa said with a wink. "Don't worry—it's designed to move with you. Now, off with the robe."
Akane hesitated, clutching the edges of her modest court robe. "Do I really have to?"
"You promised to try," Tsubasa reminded her gently. "No judgment, no expectations. Just exploration."
Akane nodded, 'Okay…"
Ranma lingered in the shadowed corner of the foyer, his heart pounding in his chest as he strained to catch snippets of conversation drifting from the next room. He wasn't proud of himself, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Curiosity gnawed at him. What could Tsubasa possibly be doing with Akane?
The sound of fabric rustling caught his attention. He peeked around the edge of the pillar, his breath hitching as he saw a fleeting glimpse through the ajar doors.
Akane stood with her back to him, her hands hesitating at the tie of her robe. Tsubasa's voice was soft but encouraging, coaxing her forward. "Go on, Akane. Let's see what we're working with."
Slowly, Akane slid the robe off her shoulders, the fabric cascading down her back like water. Ranma's eyes widened as her bare shoulders came into view, her skin smooth and glowing under the warm light of the room. The robe pooled at her elbows, revealing the curve of her toned back, a testament to years of martial arts training.
He didn't mean to stare, but he couldn't look away. This wasn't the Akane he was used to seeing—the girl always ready to spar, usually in her loose training gi or simple dresses. There was something vulnerable about her now, yet still undeniably strong.
Ranma swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like the intruder he was. He shifted his weight, the faint creak of the floor beneath him snapping him out of his trance.
"You have no idea how many women would kill for a figure like yours," Tsubasa said, holding out the dress. "Now, step in."
Akane obeyed, albeit stiffly. The fabric clung to her frame as Tsubasa adjusted it, smoothing it over her hips and tugging it into place. The dress hugged her curves, emphasizing the subtle strength in her shoulders and the lithe lines of her waist.
When Tsubasa stepped back, she gestured to the full-length mirror nearby. "Take a look."
Akane turned hesitantly, her eyes widening as she caught her reflection. The dress was nothing like she'd ever worn before—bold and striking, yet undeniably elegant. Her posture straightened as she took in the way it highlighted her athletic build without diminishing her femininity.
"I don't know…" Akane murmured, her hands hovering near the fabric as if unsure whether to smooth it or tug it away. "It's… not terrible, but I still feel weird."
"That's normal," Tsubasa said reassuringly. "It takes time to adjust. But look at the way the color brings out the warmth in your skin and the way the fit highlights your grace. It's not just about looking good for others—it's about seeing your own beauty."
Akane glanced back at the mirror, tilting her head. The longer she looked, the less foreign the image seemed.
Tsubasa smiled, sensing the shift. "Now," she said, her tone teasing, "imagine walking into a room wearing that. Heads would turn, and not just because you're a princess. Confidence is the most alluring thing you can wear, Akane. This dress is just the start."
Akane's lips curved into the faintest smile, a hint of pride flickering in her eyes. "It does feel… different," she admitted.
"That's progress," Tsubasa said, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Baby steps, Princess."
Ranma shifted uncomfortably in the foyer, the weight of his guilt growing heavier with each passing second. He knew he shouldn't be here, eavesdropping, but curiosity gnawed at him relentlessly. Tsubasa's voice floated through the partially open doors, animated and teasing, though the words were indistinct. Then came Akane's voice—soft, hesitant, and laced with emotions he couldn't quite place.
He clenched his fists, torn between his better judgment and the pull of the moment. Against all reason, he leaned closer once more, peering into the room.
And there she was.
Akane stood on the platform, her reflection framed by a massive gilded mirror. The dress she wore was unlike anything Ranma had ever seen on her. Deep navy fabric shimmered faintly under the light, clinging to her figure with a graceful fluidity. The fitted bodice accentuated her waist, flaring slightly at her hips, while delicate straps revealed her toned shoulders and much of her back. Her loose hair framed her face, softening her sharp features and giving her a striking, almost ethereal look.
Ranma's breath caught in his throat.
She looked... different. Akane had always been fiery and headstrong, often ready to throw a punch or spit a sharp retort. But this Akane—vulnerable, tentative, and breathtakingly feminine—was something else entirely. It wasn't just the dress or the way it hugged her form. It was the uncertainty in her posture, the faint blush dusting her cheeks as she avoided her own reflection.
Tsubasa circled her like an artist examining their work, her expression smug with satisfaction. "Do you see what I mean, Akane? Strength and grace. This dress was made for you—it highlights your resilience and your natural allure without overpowering either."
Akane shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with the hem of the dress. "I feel... exposed," she murmured.
Tsubasa's laugh was light and knowing. "Exposed can be powerful, my dear. Vulnerability lets others see the true you—and that's where the real magic happens."
Ranma tore his gaze away, his heart pounding violently in his chest. He pressed himself against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut as heat flooded his cheeks. What was he doing? Peeking at her like this—it was wrong. This moment wasn't meant for him. It was for Akane, for her to explore a side of herself she rarely allowed to surface.
But the image was seared into his mind—her toned shoulders, the way the dress hugged her body, the softness in her expression. He couldn't deny it: she was stunning.
No. Ranma shook his head, frustration bubbling inside him. He shouldn't be thinking like this.
He needed to speak to Akane properly, not whatever it was that he was doing right now. He sneakily walked to the door and that was when he caught the eye of Tsubasa. She watched him carefully as he crouched and snuck his way out of the foyer. That was when she saw Ranma reach up and knock on the door from the hallway.
"I'll get it," Tsubasa called to Akane, who turned toward the door with a mix of surprise and dread.
Moments later, Tsubasa opened the door, her expression playful and amused. "Prince Ranma," she said smoothly, "to what do we owe the pleasure?"
Ranma's cheeks flushed deeper. "I'm here to see Akane," he replied awkwardly, his tone too stiff to be casual.
"Ah, of course. Right this way," Tsubasa said, stepping aside to let him enter. Her coy smile never wavered.
"Tell him I don't want to see him!" Akane called out from the platform, frantically searching for her robe.
Tsubasa raised a brow. "Now, now, Princess Akane. I lack the authority to turn away the prince. Besides, this might be the perfect opportunity for... exposure therapy."
Ranma hesitated but ultimately stepped into the room. His eyes flicked briefly to Akane before darting away. She stood stiffly on the platform, the navy dress still clinging to her figure. The sight made his chest tighten, but he forced himself to focus.
"I—I'm here to apologize," he blurted, scratching the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but at her.
Akane crossed her arms, though her irritation seemed more subdued than earlier. "Go on, then," she said, her voice even.
Ranma fumbled through his words, his tone earnest. "It was a misunderstanding. I wasn't agreeing with what Taro said—I don't even know the guy. I should've spoken up sooner, but I wasn't insulting you. I swear. I'm sorry."
Akane's face remained impassive, but a storm of thoughts churned in her mind. She wanted to believe Ranma, and a part of her did. His tone was genuine, and she didn't think he'd purposefully humiliate her. Yet, a deeper insecurity gnawed at her—a wound not so easily mended.
She recalled the quiet conversations she'd overheard among the court ladies on the day of her marriage to Ranma, their laughter soft but the words cutting. They spoke of how Ranma could have his pick of any woman in the kingdom, yet he was stuck with someone "as plain" as her. Daisuke's comment too about—"no longer envying royal men"—still echoed painfully in her mind. How could she not feel inadequate after hearing something like that?
Akane glanced at Ranma as he shifted uncomfortably, his expression earnest. He didn't look like someone who thought she was unattractive, but how could she know for sure? It wasn't just his words she doubted; it was her ability to believe them. Ranma was a prince, a man of status and charm. The world expected him to have beautiful women at his feet, and he probably didn't even realize how easily his compliments—or lack of them—could cut her.
Her thoughts spiraled further. If she were ever to give herself to Ranma, to let him see her in her most vulnerable state, what would he think? Would he compare her to those elegant, graceful women constantly vying for his attention? Would she ever measure up, or would he simply endure her presence while longing for someone else?
Akane's chest tightened as she realized how much weight she placed on these thoughts. Why did it matter so much? This wasn't even a real marriage; she was an imposter in this role. She wasn't a princess, and she wasn't truly his wife. So why did it sting so deeply to imagine that he might not find her appealing?
This is ridiculous, she thought, her cheeks flushing with self-directed anger. She was disgusted with herself for caring, for letting her insecurities rule her. She wasn't the kind of person to get caught up in such trivial, shallow concerns. And yet, here she was, fretting over whether Ranma might find her attractive while grappling with the absurdity of her own charade.
Taking a deep breath, Akane forced herself to focus. She wasn't here to be a real princess or wife—this was all a farce, a role she was playing for reasons far greater than her own vanity. She needed to set her pride and insecurities aside and do what was expected of her, as Tsubasa had said.
Her voice broke through her thoughts, steadier than she expected. "Apology accepted," she said finally, though her voice was distant.
Ranma exhaled in relief, but he still felt remorseful looking at the faraway look on Akane's face. Tsubasa watched the exchange with interest, a knowing look in her eye as she thought, This marriage might be more salvageable than King Genma realizes.