[Kuoh, Chūbu Chihou] [1]
[Nihon Hondo, Dai Nihon Teikoku]
[East Asia, Earth]
It was a cloudless day in the tranquil town of Kuoh, the skies an unblemished expanse of blue.
The shift of clouds in the distance stood stark against the hum of activity on Majima's Gakuen Kōkō's [9] expansive campus.
For any observer, it would seem like just another day where students played the part of their youth, books in hand, worlds in their heads.
However, beneath the surface of polished blazers and ironed skirts, whispers and unseen truths wove together a tapestry that could make a lesser man buckle under its weight.
In Classroom 2-B, nestled within Majima's high school sector, an unspoken electric atmosphere hung heavy, even amidst the hushed whispers.
The chalkboard echoed with the lingering traces of Nikaidō Yuri's words, now silent.
The room buzzed with activity, students diligently jotting down notes, save for one Hyōdō Issei, who stood out like a solitary flame amidst the sea of focused minds.
His typical air of distraction was absent; instead, he wore an unfamiliar mask of concentration.
His once untamed, brown locks were meticulously styled, slicked back in a manner foreign to his casual demeanor.
Gone was his usual careless smile, replaced by a tense expression bordering on focus. A pair of sleek black-framed spectacles sat precariously upon his nose – an unwelcome accessory due to his forgotten contact lenses that morning.
Yet, these glasses merely accentuated the intellectual, weary persona hidden beneath the layer of self-proclaimed lecherous behavior, a shield he donned not only for personal protection, but also to safeguard others from the truth lurking within.
A quiet war raged within his consciousness.
He struggled against the realization that amongst them was Majima's renowned track star, Takahara Ayumi - a tall, slim, athletic, brown-haired, and brown eyed, but also intellectual beauty whose fame had reached far beyond the school walls.
Her friend, the brown-haired, brown-haired gyaru Kosaka Chihiro, shared many similarities with Ayumi, adding another familiar face to the mix.
Both girls, despite their popularity amongst teachers and peers alike, couldn't hide their shared open and unashamed contempt for him, their eyes betraying fleeting moments of frustration over their internal struggles.
Issei understood why they despised him - who wouldn't loathe a self-declared pervert obsessed with ample bust sizes, aspiring to rule over a harem, accompanied by two boisterous companions who spent their days harassing women?
Yet, he found no joy in this image of himself, although this was mostly due to Matsuda and Motohama dragging him towards the Kendo Bunō's changing area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girls when the latter were changing out of their school uniforms into their kendo uniforms.
The two pervs' actions often led to humiliating encounters, such as the time angry females chased them down and Matsuda and Motohama managed to escape unscathed, leaving Issei to take the blame.
But their stares were nothing compared to Yoshino Asami's quiet admiration.
A distant figure as ever, she had caught herself watching Issei without even realizing.
Every strand of her violet-brown hair swayed faintly as she bent over another book, hiding her flushed face behind pages filled with poetry, confessions locked safely between covers.
In the dimly lit classroom, a sense of unease crept upon Issei, not caused by the typical hormones of adolescence, but something far darker and familiar.
As Nikaidō-sensei lectured, Issei found himself struggling to concentrate, his fingers absently adjusting his glasses and combing through his hair, giving him an air of sophistication foreign to his usual carefree demeanor.
Suddenly, the tranquility was shattered by the violent crash of the classroom door being forced open.
A loud bang echoed throughout the room, jolting everyone from their reveries.
The entire room snapped out of their near-mesmerized state as a loud, screeching CRACK echoed.
Splinters from the wooden doorframe erupted like dust, as all eyes in the room turned toward the source of the breach—the tall, starkly furious figure of Kuonji Ukyō filling the doorway as she prepared to make her way towards a certain idiotic pervert, her long brownish-black hair swaying behind her as her bright blue eyes remained focused on him.
Her silhouette spoke volumes as her obsidian katana glimmered ominously under the room's fluorescent lighting.
"HYŌDŌ ISSEI!" she bellowed, her voice firm enough to rattle the windows and pull students away from their daydreams, their attention snapping to the front of the class.
Several nearby classmates gasped and instinctively ducked.
Ayumi whispered an audible "What in the hell is going on?" while Chihiro stared, slack-jawed, as her phone silently rolled from her lap onto the tiles.
Before Issei could sneak a line of explanation—or a denial for that matter—Ukyō lunged.
She was faster than any human you'd expect from her poise.
With a quick dash, her blade sliced toward his neck in a fluid arc.
The whispers from students turned to audible yells.
"Stay offended from your childhood, Kuonji! No problem at all!" Issei replied sarcastically as his strength blazed to life mid-sprint.
A quick Tiger Jump barely allowed him to clear the slash of the honed steel.
She followed behind like an unstoppable specter.
"Saotome Ranma!" Ukyō snarled as she chased him relentlessly down the perimeter of their classroom desks. "Your treachery has left my family dishonored for years now! My dowry! My life! MY FAMILY'S COOKING CART! You'll answer for this, right now!"
"Genma promised you'd marry me!" she yelled, her voice a mix of anger and sadness as she tried to take his life. "The cart he took from my family was more than enough dowry!"
The students urgently scrambled out of the melee path.
Issei easily ducked her broad slashes, flips and counter-wheeling behind conjured desks.
His movements were fluid, refined, and terrifyingly precise.
Desks clattered and chairs screeched against the floor as Issei maneuvered, keeping the fight from spilling over into his classmates.
"Wait who—what is Ranma?!" he feigned despite clearly dodging.
"You think you can shrug it off like you're not him!? That I wasn't ENGAGED to the likes of YOU?!" The mantra of heated grievance fueled Ukyō's vengeful resolve.
Despite her fury, she fought with elegance and undeniably practiced form.
More than a few students stared, stunned at Issei's sudden shift from the "hapless peverted idiotic fool" to some kind of balanced martial savant.
As Ayumi pointed this out louder, Chihiro stuttered, "Who the—what is he hiding?!"
Gloved fists clashed loudly against sharp blade.
Issei's mind raced.
His body moved on instinct—his years of brutally honed Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū [2] reacting faster than Ukyō's practiced attacks.
His feet shifted smoothly into an Umi-Sen Ken stance, redirecting her strikes as though he were a shadow in full control of its master.
The eerie fluidity of his movements baffled the classroom, their cries of astonishment ringing between the rhythmic clashes of the katana and Issei's deft hands.
Ukyō spun again, katana arcing wide. "How DARE you toy with me after what you've done!? Do you think you can just pretend to be someone else and escape your past?!"
Her accusations were razor-edged, more pointed than the blade she wielded.
Issei ducked the swing and leaped onto a desk, voice strained but holding a dismissive edge.
"Listen, lady," he said, kicking a nearby chair at her as he flipped backward to gain distance. "I don't know what crackpot story you've made up in your head, but clearly, you've mistaken me for someone else! I'm just your average high school pervert! You know, part-time punching bag for half the girls in this school!"
Ukyō snarled, deflecting the chair mid-flight with one clean slice before darting after him again. "Liar! Only Saotome Ranma could fight me like this! And the dishonor you brought my family—it's YOUR doing, Ranma! Admit it!" Her voice trembled at the edges, her rage carrying the weight of years of betrayal and pain.
Around them, the classroom had descended into chaos.
Students scattered, clinging to walls and hiding under desks.
Chairs and papers littered the floor, a battlefield overtaken by two martial arts titans.
Yet, in the midst of the storm, Issei couldn't help but notice Matsuda and Motohama's expressions—half horror, half awe.
"Holy hell, Issei—are you secretly one of those anime martial artist types?!" Matsuda yelled, gripping the doorframe as if it were a lifeline.
Motohama adjusted his glasses, the lenses briefly glinting as he zeroed in on the fluidity of Issei's movements. "No way…! That form! It's master-level... but... how does a perv like him know this stuff?!"
"Shut up!" Issei barked, flipping onto another desk while blocking another high-speed slash from Ukyō with a snapped school chair. "You two better NOT turn this into something dramatic!"
"Like it's not already dramatic?!" Motohama retorted, still watching in awe.
Ukyō wasn't slowing down. If anything, she seemed to become faster, her strikes driven by the feral tempest of emotions churning inside her.
Issei sighed, his feet skidding to balance as he evaded another overhead slash. "Look... I get it, okay? You're mad. You're furious. You've got the emotional artillery of a whole damn telenovela going on right now," he said, pivoting around a desk before thwacking it toward her in defense.
"It's not my fault! Blame the sausage-fisted maniac who dragged me to cursed springs in China's Qīnghǎi Shěng [3] when I was five years old!" His tone leaned sarcastic, but there was an undercurrent of real frustration in his voice. "I swear I'm not your fiancée or—OW!"
Ukyō caught him mid-dodge with the flat of her blade, slapping him on the shoulder with a force that sent electricity up his arm.
The students gasped as Issei stumbled back, clutching his shoulder as the pain mounted.
"Coward!" Ukyō growled through gritted teeth, her voice echoing through the tense air. "All these years, I wanted the truth, and now you're just... dodging questions like the same slippery scoundrel you always were!"
But before her blade could meet flesh again, Issei's deflected maneuver shifted with almost invisible discipline.
Activating his Umi-Sen Ken's stealth-oriented strike chains, it wasn't mere skill—it was like watching liquid shadow reform into a coherent shape, despite his exhaustion only allowing him to merely hold his position and also subtly balance himself while dodging her barrage of consistent, furious strikes.
"Your dad promised you WHAT exactly?" Issei muttered, just loud enough to taunt her mid-pursuit, continuing, "When'd you believe cart theft counts as an unbreakable oath involving seppuku!?"
She froze—and that was his opening.
With a swift yet gentle strike, Issei disarmed Ukyō, flipping her katana away as it clattered harmlessly across the floor.
The room remained silent for a long, heavy moment after Issei's last move – the final flicker of his Umi-Sen Ken sealing the chaotic dance of slashes, counters, and redirected fury.
It wasn't just that Ukyō had been disarmed, her katana now lodged into the wall beside the dumbstruck Nikaidō Yuri – it was the way Issei had managed the chaos with such precision and finesse that left the spectators gaping.
None more so than Ukyō herself.
She sat where she had crumpled to the floor after Issei's final move, glaring daggers at the boy, who crouched a few feet away, his hands pressed casually to his knees as if he'd just finished stretching before a daily morning jog.
Her lavender eyes, still smoldering with indignation, locked with Issei's amber ones.
"Alright, Ranma...or should I say Issei," she hissed, venom dripping from every syllable. "Tell me why—just why—you're playing dumb?! After EVERYTHING? The dishonor to my family, the debt you owe—"
Her words faltered as Issei raised an open hand and shook his head.
His expression had shifted slightly—still maddeningly casual, but there was something calmer, more transparent in his tone; something almost disarming.
Most of the remaining students were stunned into silence, too trapped between fear and curiosity to move.
"Look, Kuonji-san," Issei began, straightening up and rubbing the back of his head, "I'm sorry. I don't know what you think you heard or saw about me, but I'm not Ranma. I'm Hyōdō Issei, your local favorite baka hentai [7] of Kuoh." His attempt at being quirky earned a few unimpressed groans from Matsuda and Motohama, who were still hiding at a relatively safe distance near the window.
"I truly don't know anything about any promises, carts, or…" he paused, waving one hand around awkwardly, "…whatever weird engagement Genma foisted on someone. I might look like someone you know—it does happen, y'know—but I think you're barking up the wrong tree."
Ukyō's glare didn't lessen. If anything, it deepened into something more contemplative than angry. "You move like Ranma, you fight like Ranma..." For a moment, her voice softened as other emotions slipped to the foreground—doubt, confusion, even reluctant awe.
"And yet, you say you're not him. But then..." Her jaw tightened as she stood with noticeable defiance, pointing toward him as her emotions boiled once more. "Explain THAT!"
Before Issei could answer, a sharp clearing of the throat broke through the tension.
All eyes snapped to where Nikaidō Yuri was seated, tarnished pride looming over her like a thundercloud.
Despite the disheveled state of her usually immaculate ensemble—thanks to the earlier crossfire—her icy glare bore no signs of forgiveness.
"Well then, Hyōdō," she drawled, aligning her desk with determined taps of her stapler, "since you've thoroughly turned MY lesson into some kind of kung-fu action movie, perhaps you'd like to explain to the entire class why today's table-breaking brawl should somehow NOT result in immediate disciplinary action!"
Issei grimaced. He wasn't sure what was scarier—Nikaidō's stern glare or Ukyō's relentless vendetta.
Either way, he wasn't sticking around to deal with either.
"Ah... crap," he muttered under his breath.
His expression morphed into one that Matsuda and Motohama immediately identified as his "pre-escape dodgeface."
Before anyone could stop him, he clasped his hands together before doing what seemed like a polite bow. "Sorry, Kuonji-san! Still think you've got the wrong guy! And Sensei, I'd love to explain everything, but I reeeally gotta run now—catch you all later!"
And with that, he vanished.
No, really—he vanished.
Not in the simple "quick ninja exit" kind of way, but in the impossibly uncanny, late 1990s to early 2000s superhero movie style way where he practically melted out of everyone's sensory perception.
To Ukyō and Nikaidō—heck, to anyone not possessing advanced detection skills—it was as though he'd dissolved into smoke and shadows, leaving only a faint breeze in his wake.
The eerie silence didn't last long.
Ukyō growled audibly as she realized what exactly had happened here. "Damn it! I knew it—THAT was Genma-teme's technique, wasn't it?! I'm taking both his head and Ranma's the next time I see either of them!"
Nikaidō slammed her ruler against her desk. "QUIET!"
Her commanding voice cut through every murmuring gasp or whisper. "No one is 'taking heads' on school property! But I want some damn answers about Hyōdō's connection to all this."
In the midst of the chaos, three specific figures exchanged knowing glances behind their masks of confusion.
Rias Gremory, Himejima Akeno, and Igawa Asagi had all been watching intently ever since Ukyō stormed in.
While the rest of the class was trapped in disbelief or stirring gossip, their thoughts moved like clockwork.
Rias leaned back in her chair, swishing back a lock of scarlet hair from her face; an elegant smirk playing on her lips as her blue-green eyes shimmered with intrigue. "So," she murmured under her breath, barely audible to Akeno and Asagi beside her, "the young drake I've been keeping my eye on for quite a while now, has been hiding quite a bit more than just some flair for dramatic nonsense and…" Her voice dropped into a near whisper, and her smirk widened as the pieces quickly began to come together in his mind. "...he's not quite as 'ordinary' as he'd have others believe."
Akeno's violet eyes glimmered with amusement as she figured out exactly what her mistress wanted, though the faint trace of her usual sadistic humor was tempered by genuine curiosity. "Ara, ara~ Well, it seems our little Issei-kun can be quite unexpected, after all. I wonder… just how far those surprises extend."
Meanwhile, Igawa Asagi's sharp teal gaze was filled with suspicion.
In the clandestine realm of the Taimanin, whispers echoed about an enigmatic figure named Saotome Ranma.
Most intriguing were the tales linking him to the notoriously formidable Hanma clan [4] of Ryūkyū [8], specifically the terrifying legend known as the Ryūkyū no Ōni, Hanma Yūjirō [5] – a singular force capable of decimating armies and causing devastation on par with weapons of mass destruction.
This elusive character was said to have vanished from the radar of global law enforcement and intelligence agencies after his alleged exploits in Vietnam during the 1970s, where he reportedly engaged in combat against both Soviet and American forces merely for amusement.
However, reliable sources within the CIA claimed they had recently sighted this phantom warlord operating in Asian territories, pursuing the ominous cult known as Raven's Rock, believed to be associated with Makarov's feared Ultranationalists back in the Siberian Republic.
Accompanying him throughout his travels across Asia was a youth bearing an uncanny resemblance to Issei.
If the boy claiming to be Hyōdō Issei really was tied to that sort of infamy… she'd be the first to know.
Her grip tightened reflexively on her hidden blade.
"Whatever you are," Asagi thought to herself while glancing toward the empty seat that had once held Issei, "I'll find out soon enough."
Meanwhile, outside the classroom... on the school's rooftop, Issei leaned against the ledge, trying to catch his breath.
"Man..." he muttered, swiping his forehead, eyes glinting with mixed sarcasm and suppressed nerves. "Of ALL the feuds to come out of the past, why am I still cleaning up after Genma's bullsh—"
"You're... surprisingly predictable, Issei-kun," announced a calm yet teasing voice behind him.
Issei froze momentarily before turning his head toward where the voice had come from.
Asagi leaned provocatively against the rooftop entrance, her expression a stark blend of amusement and expectation—her legendary aura as a Taimanin entirely intact, although of course Issei didn't know that.
"...Of course it's you," Issei groaned.
Shrugging lightly, Asagi smiled faintly, though the sharp undertone was impossible to ignore.
"Care to explain all of this mess, or will I have to dig for the answers myself?"
[1] Kuoh, Chūbu region
[2] Anything Goes Martial Arts
[3] Qinghai Province
[4] The Hanmas are revealed to be from Okinawa in canon Baki.
[5] Everyone's favorite mass impregnating serial rapist who is unfortunately the world's strongest man in the world of Baki.
[6] Congratulations to anyone who figured out who everyone's favorite "pervert" was in this story before he started LARPing as a wannabe harem king, or before he even returned to Japan and ended up in Kuoh in the first place.
[7] idiot perv
[8] Okinawa
[9] Majima Private Academy