The summer night clung to the air like a damp blanket, heavy and stifling, as Ukyo sat by the open window. Cicadas droned endlessly in the dark, their song weaving into the quiet hum of the city beyond. She traced her fingers along the polished armrest of her chair, the wood cool beneath her touch despite the heat. The room smelled of fresh tatami and cedar, and lantern light flickered gently across the walls—just as the advertisement had promised: A perfect escape. Escape. She almost laughed at the word. She had run, hadn't she? But she still felt caught. Caught in Nerima. Caught in memories she couldn't forget, no matter how far she traveled. Her eyes drifted to the leaflet on the table. Mystical Getaway: The Getaway of a Lifetime. A promise of peace and reinvention. The TV ad had been convincing, promising serenity and anonymity. Exactly what she thought she needed. A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Haruko, the innkeeper stepped in, a tray balanced in her hands. Her eyes were warm and curious, her movements graceful and calm—like Kasumi Tendo, only with a mischievous edge that Ukyo found oddly comforting.
"I brought some tea," Haruko said, setting the tray down with a smile. "Helps with relaxation." Ukyo straightened, forcing a polite smile. "Thanks. You really don't have to go out of your way for me." Haruko poured the tea, her hands steady.
"It's no trouble. I like taking care of my guests. Besides, you seemed like someone who could use a quiet moment." Ukyo wrapped her hands around the teacup, the warmth seeping into her skin.
"Yeah. Quiet's good," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
But the silence only brought memories.
It had been quiet that night, too.
Ukyo pressed herself against the side of the Tendo house, hidden in the shadows. She hadn't planned to spy, but she couldn't move once she heard their voices.
"D-do you think everyone will be okay with it?" Akane asked, her voice barely audible.
Ranma's reply was steady, sure. "It doesn't matter. This is about us, not them." He took her hands in his.
"Let's just focus on us for a while. Just you and me, okay?" Ukyo's breath caught.
She expected shouting, maybe denial, the usual chaos that followed anything involving Ranma and Akane. But there was none of that. Just calm. Intimacy. Understanding.
She turned and ran. She didn't stop until she reached her restaurant, the familiar smell of batter and hot iron doing nothing to ease the ache in her chest. Shampoo had found her there, slumped over the counter, barely breathing through the weight of her heartbreak.
"I told you not to go there," Shampoo said flatly, arms crossed. Her usual sharpness had dulled, exhaustion evident in her voice.
Ukyo didn't look up. "I had to see it for myself," she whispered.
"And now you've seen it." Ukyo didn't have the strength to respond. Shampoo's gaze softened, her voice losing its usual bite.
"Are you going to just let them be together like that?" Ukyo's eyebrows furrowed, giving Shampoo an accusatory look. "This is nothing! we've tried breaking them up so many times before we can do it again, together. What makes this so different, anyway?"
Shampoo stayed silent, her gaze focused on the ground. Ukyo studied her and noticed the uncharacteristic reaction from the very girl she knew would poison Akane to get to Ranma. It doesn't make sense. Shampoo, for as long as she's known her is not above using dirty tricks to get what she wants.
"I can't do it anymore," Shampoo replied.
"Did you actually love Ranma?" Ukyo scoffed.
"Yes, I do, but Ranma made his choice." Ukyo couldn't speak. Shampoo's words hung in the air, heavy and final. She hadn't expected this from her—acceptance.
Ukyo closed her eyes, the weight of that memory pressing against her. The tear that slipped down her cheek caught her by surprise. She wiped it away quickly, taking a steadying breath. "Get it together, Ucchan," she muttered to herself. "You came here to forget." But forgetting was harder than it seemed.
Ukyo stared out the window at the street below. The city stretched endlessly before her, full of unfamiliar streets and possibilities. Maybe she had made a mistake coming here. Maybe she had been running from something she couldn't escape. Or maybe Shampoo had been right all along. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale light over the garden. For the first time in a long while, Ukyo let herself feel the ache fully. She hugged her knees to her chest, buried her face, and let herself grieve the future she had clung to for so long. And then, she breathed. Tomorrow would come soon enough. For now, she would sit with the pain, and maybe—just maybe—it will hurt a little less.