Once outside, Ukyo took a deep breath, allowing the morning air to wash over her, the heat still lingering on her skin. It should have felt refreshing, invigorating even, but the weight in her chest refused to lift.
Too close. Too much.
She exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if she could physically shake off the tension clinging to her. She told herself she just needed air. A distraction. Anything but the feeling of Ryoga's eyes on her, the way his hand had lingered on her wrist for just a second too long. As if pleading for her to stay.
She hadn't meant to run from Ryoga, but she had. She needed space. Somewhere not here, where she could breathe without feeling the weight of unspoken things pressing against her ribs.
Ukyo exhaled slowly, her breath steady. Don't think about it.
Her feet had carried her to the entrance of the inn almost absentmindedly, as if her body had moved on its own. Standing there, she hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the quiet town beyond. The streets were beginning to stir, the faint hum of life slowly rising.
Without overthinking it, she decided to walk. Perhaps the rhythm of her steps and the town would help untangle the knots in her mind.
She started walking towards the town, weaving through the festival set up. Lanterns still unlit from strings above, half-assembled booths lined the streets, and vendors were just beginning to unpack their goods. It was definitely more decorated than yesterday. It was quieter—the kind of quiet that made it too easy for her thoughts to creep back in. She was so lost in them that she barely noticed the figure standing ahead of her. Until she nearly walked straight into him.
"Hey, careful."
The voice that met her was smooth, low, and almost too casual, like a man who never rushed his words.
There was something infuriatingly effortless about it, the kind of voice that made even casual remarks sound like a well-kept secret. It carried a natural richness, warm but sharp at the edges, like amusement was woven into every syllable.
Ukyo faltered up at the stranger, immediately noting two things: One, he was leaning against a wooden beam with the kind of easy elegance that shouldn't be possible for someone standing still. And two, he was watching her like he had been waiting for something interesting to happen.
His dark brown hair fell in just the right way to seem careless, the sun catching the lighter streaks at the edges. His sharp green eyes glinted with something unreadable—too light, too knowing.
'It's the guy from the market!' Ukyo remembered. She arched a brow at him, "Were you just standing there hoping to get run over, or was that an accident?"
His lips curved into a smirk. "Ah, but what is fate if not a series of happy accidents?"
She folded her arms. "That's not an answer."
"On the contrary," he mused, "it is the only answer.
Ukyo gave him a flat look, sighing. This was going to be one of those conversations.
His smirk widened slightly, and he tilted his head. "You're the girl from the market yesterday, aren't you? Where's your boyfriend? The grumpy one who came with you?
Ukyo's cheeks instantly went red. "He's not here." And he's not my boyfriend!
She shifted her weight, giving the merchant another once-over. There was something offhandedly effortless about him, the kind of presence that didn't demand attention but drew it anyway. She wasn't sure if it was the smirk that never quite faded or the way he stood so at ease, like the world moved around him, not the other way around. She could already tell he was the type that spoke in riddles, smirked instead of answered, and probably had a hundred stories, none of them entirely true.
"I'm sorry, but what was your name again?"
He sighed dramatically as if deeply wounded. "And here I was, thinking I'd made an impression."
Ukyo crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Guess it wasn't a great one."
Raviel let out a short, amused laugh. It was low and smooth, like it carried the weight of unspoken things he found far too entertaining to share. "Wow, you don't hold back, do you?
"Raviel," he finally introduced, giving a small, dramatic bow—just enough to toe the line between sincere and theatrical. " Though, I suppose 'handsome stranger' would also be acceptable."
Ukyo snorted. "You're modest."
"Only when necessary."
Ukyo chuckled despite herself. He was irritating, but in a way that made it hard to walk away.
"And you are?" he prompted, tilting his head slightly.
"Ukyo."
His gaze flickered—brief, assessing—but his smirk never wavered. "Ukyo," he repeated, rolling the name on his tongue as if testing the sound of it. "Why don't I just call you cutie?"
"You say that to everyone?"
"Only when it's true," he said, smirking as if he knew something she didn't.
Ukyo didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, she nodded toward his stall, taking in the half-organized mess of weapons, charms, and trinkets spread across the counter. "Is that what you do? Do you travel around selling fancy knives to people who don't need them?
Raviel placed a hand over his heart in mock surprise. "Fancy? You wound me." He exhaled as if carrying the weight of great tragedy. "A touch of extravagant, perhaps. But you're paying for more than steel and craftsmanship."
"Oh yeah?" She crossed her arms, somewhat intrigued.
Raviel leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something lower, smoother—like he was offering a secret instead of a sales pitch.
"A weapon isn't just metal. It has history. Character. Every blade carries the weight of the hands that wielded it before."
Ukyo's expression turned from one of intrigue and scepticism to being impressed by his explanation. "That's…I never thought of it like that before." He smirked, proud of himself. "Of course. A well-crafted blade holds its own kind of story. And unlike people, it never lies."
"You really can talk your way through anything, huh?"
"I try." He smirked. "And so far, I'm doing rather well, wouldn't you say?"
Ukyo sighed, shaking her head. He was exhausting. The entertaining kind of exhausting, but exhausting nonetheless.
"Alright, well, as fun as this has been, I should get going," Ukyo said, her tone light but her movements deliberate as she turned to leave. The morning sun was now bright and casting shadows across the path, and the faint hum of the waking town buzzed in the background. She took a step forward, but before she could fully walk away, Raviel fell into step beside her, his stride smooth and unhurried, his expression all ease and amusement.
Ukyo stopped abruptly, and Raviel halted just as smoothly.
She turned to face him, one eyebrow arched, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"You following me now?" she asked, her voice dry and unamused.
Raviel's lips curled into a lazy smile, his golden eyes glinting with mischief and practiced innocence. "What an accusation," he replied, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. The gesture was theatrical, almost too polished, as if he had done it a hundred times before. "We're just going in the same direction. A happy coincidence."
Ukyo exhaled sharply through her nose, her arms crossing over her chest. "I find that hard to believe."
"In that case," he said, his smirk widening, "then allow me to escort you to wherever it is you're going."
Ukyo sighed, dragging a hand down her face. Great. He's one of those people, she thought, her shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of his relentless charm.
"Relax, cutie," Raviel continued, his posture relaxed. his demeanor unshakable. "I promise not to be a burden. Think of me as…your personal bodyguard, here to provide you pleasant company.
Ukyo snorted, her lips twitching despite herself. "I don't think 'pleasant' is the word I would use."
"Charming? Witty? Devastatingly handsome?"
She rolled her eyes, turning on her heel to continue walking. "Annoying."
"And yet, here we are," he said, falling into step beside her once again, his presence as natural as the morning breeze. He didn't push, didn't press—just walked alongside her, his hands tucked into his pocket, his gaze drifting lazily over the bustling streets. Although she had said all that, she didn't push him away or argue either. Truth be told—he wasn't bad company. The streets were beginning to fill with life, vendors setting up their stalls and the scent of grilled food wafting through the air. For a few moments, they simply walked, the silence between them surprisingly comfortable.
Ukyo glanced at him sideways, her curiosity piqued. For once, Raviel wasn't filling the air with chatter as she had expected since knowing him. Instead, he seemed content to take in his surroundings, his gaze drifting over the town like someone seeing it through an artist's lens. There was quiet intensity to him now, a contrast to his playful demeanor. Ukyo wasn't sure if she should be relieved or suspicious—Raviel struck her as the type who was always thinking of something clever to say, always ready to fill the quiet with his smooth, teasing voice. Sure enough, after only a few more steps, he broke the silence, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.
"Tell me," he began, his hands still tucked lazily into his pockets, "what's your weapon of choice?"
Ukyo smirked, her lips curling with a hint of pride. "My spatula."
Raviel let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and low. "Ah, yes, a fine blade," he said, his voice dripping with mock reverence. "Honed through years of battle in the war-torn kitchens of Japan."
Ukyo laughed despite herself, the sound sharp and genuine.
Raviel shot her a sideways glance, his sharp green eyes glinting with amusement. "But really—nothing else? No hidden daggers? No charming little blades for emergencies?"
Ukyo shrugged, her smirk widening. "Nope. I don't need them. I am fine with just my spatula."
Raviel studied her a moment, his expression shifting from playful to something more intrigued, more thoughtful. His smirk softened, and his gaze lingered on her face as if trying to piece together a puzzle.
"Interesting," he mused, his voice quieter now. "Most people carry more than one weapon—backup, insurance, options. But you? you trust one."
Ukyo arched a brow, her confidence unwavering. "I am good at one. That's the difference."
Raviel chuckled, tilting his head slightly as if conceding the point. "Fair enough."
For a moment, he said nothing, seemingly content with her answer. But then—a glint of mischief sparked in his eyes, and his smirk returned, sharper than before. "Now, let me guess," he began, his voice dipping into something amused but unreadable. "Your very serious companion— the brooding one with the impressive scowl—what does he use?"
Ukyo blinked, caught slightly off guard. "Ryoga?"
Raviel snapped his fingers. "Ah, so that's his name."
Ukyo let out a short, exasperated breath, shaking her head. "Big iron umbrella, brute strength, and a bad sense of direction."
Raviel let out a laugh, low and rich with amusement. "He seemed rather…" He trailed off as if searching for the right word—then smirked. "…attached."
Ukyo frowned, her pace slowing slightly. "To what?"
Raviel shot her a knowing look, his green eyes glinting with mischief. "Really? Surely you don't need me to spell it out."
A faint blush crept across Ukyo's cheeks, barely noticeable but there all the same. "We're just friends."
"Of course," Raviel said smoothly, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of something she couldn't quite place. But something in his voice made it clear he didn't quite believe her.
Ukyo glanced at him, her suspicion growing. "You always read into things that aren't there?"
"Only when it's entertaining," he replied, his smirk never fading.
Ukyo groaned, rubbing her temple with two fingers. Dramatic idiot, she thought, though the words lacked any real bite. She picked up the pace, pretending she wasn't affected by his statement. Raviel, of course, kept up effortlessly, his long strides matching hers without missing a beat.
"Alright, well," Ukyo muttered under her breath as the familiar outline of the inn came into view, its wooden façade standing against the backdrop of the bustling town. She hesitated for a moment, her steps slowing as she entered the front entrance. "Guess this is where we—"
The sliding doors rattled open just as she stepped inside, cutting her off mid-sentence.
And there was Ryoga.
He stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking most of the light from the entrance. His dark brown eyes, usually sharp and focused, flickered from Ukyo to Raviel, who stood just behind her. The way Raviel lingered at his side—too close, too casual, too comfortable—seemed to catch Ryoga off guard. His expression shifted, the usual stoic mask cracking for just a moment. His jaw tightened, and his brows drew together, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze.
For a split second, everything froze. The air between them grew heavy, charged with unspoken tension. Ukyo could feel the weight of Ryoga's stare—the way it settled on Raviel first, tense and assessing, like a predator sizing up a rival before snapping back to her. His gaze was piercing, almost accusatory, though he said nothing.
Her mouth opened—to say what, she wasn't sure— but before she could speak, Raviel's voice slid into the silence, smooth as ever.
"What impeccable timing."
Ryoga's fingers twitched at his side, the only outward sign of the tension coiled within him. His shoulders stiffened, and the air around him seemed to grow colder, sharper. Ukyo could almost feel the unspoken questions hanging in the space between them, heavy and unrelenting. The moment stretched, fragile and charged, as if the slightest movement might shatter it entirely.
Still, Ryoga lifted his chin slightly, his posture stiff, as if he were bracing himself against something. His voice, when it came, was gruff and low, carefully measured to sound unaffected—though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
"What is he doing here?"
"Oh, don't look so tense, tough guy," Raviel said." "I was just escorting cutie here, making sure she gets here safe."
'Cutie?' Ryoga wrinkled his nose, not liking the nickname at all.
Ryoga didn't react at first. His shoulders remained stiff, his gaze fixed on a point just past Raviel—as if looking at him too long would be giving him the satisfaction of acknowledgement.
His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his arms stayed crossed tightly over his chest, as though he were holding himself together.
Then, with forced indifference, he shrugged. The movement was stiff, almost mechanical, like every muscle in his body was fighting against it. "Do whatever you want," he said, his voice low and rough. "It's none of my business."
It should've sounded dismissive. Casual. But the way he said it—gruff, clipped, like he had to force the words through his teeth—made it clear it was his business, whether he liked it or not. The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers dug into his arms, the slight narrowing of his eyes—all of it betrayed the calm he was trying so hard to project.
Raviel, naturally, noticed.
His lips curved slightly, a knowing glint flickering in his sharp green eyes. He didn't say anything, but the faint tilt of his head and the way his smirk deepened spoke volumes. He was enjoying this far too much.
"Well," he mused, his voice smooth and unhurried as he slipped his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe, "this has been delightful."
He turned to Ukyo, his grin widening like he hadn't just walked straight into a brewing storm and fanned the flames himself. "See you at the festival tomorrow night, cutie."
"Stop calling me that."
Raviel chuckled, the sound low and rich with amusement. He gave her a casual two-fingered salute as he turned to leave, his movements as fluid and unbothered as ever.
The moment Raviel was gone, the tension in the room didn't ease—it only got worse. The air felt thick, suffocating, like the calm before a storm. Ukyo exhaled sharply through her nose, trying to shake the irritation creeping into her chest. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she leveled a hard stare at Ryoga.
"Alright," she said, her voice tight, "are you gonna tell me what your problem is, or do I have to guess?"
Ryoga scoffed, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest, his whole posture locked up like a coiled spring. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched, and his dark eyes fixed on a point just past her, as if looking at her directly would be too much. "There's no problem," he muttered, his voice low and gruff.
Ukyo arched a brow, her lips curling into something sharp, mocking. "Really? Because you've been standing there looking like you're about to break something since we walked in."
Oh, they're a 'we' now? Ryoga's jaw tensed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "That's just how I look."
Ukyo let out a scoff, folding her arms across her chest. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Oh, please. I know you don't like him, but he was just being polite."
His dark eyes flashed with something unreadable—anger, frustration, maybe something else. "I don't care who you walk with."
Lie. His fingers twitched at his sides, betraying the calm he was trying so hard to project. "I just don't trust him, and he looks too damn smug about it."
Ukyo let out a humorless laugh, cold and sharp. "Right."
Ryoga exhaled hard through his nose, his grip tightening. "You're acting like I'm jealous."
Ukyo's patience snapped. "Maybe because you are."
His fists clenched, knuckles whitening further. "Don't flatter yourself."
Something deep in Ukyo's chest tightened, a sharp, painful ache that she refused to acknowledge. Her voice rose, cutting through the air like a blade. "Then what the hell is your problem?!"
The words hung between them, thick and suffocating, the silence pressing down like a weight.
Ryoga inhaled sharply, his shoulders locked so tightly they might snap. He turned away, staring at the floor like looking at her would make this worse.
Ukyo waited. Breath held. Hands curled into fists.
Then—low, bitter—he muttered, "Akane wouldn't act like this."
The breath rushed out of Ukyo's lungs like she'd been punched. Her arms dropped to her sides, her chest twisting so hard it hurt. "What?"
Ryoga shifted like he already regretted it. "I said—"
"I heard you." Her voice was lower now, sharper, like a wound that hadn't quite scabbed over.
Ryoga's jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You're just—" He exhaled sharply, gritting his teeth like he was struggling to put his frustration into words. "You don't think sometimes. You let guys like him get too close—"
Ukyo let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound hollow and cold. "Oh, really?"
Her shoulders squared, fury rising like a wildfire in her chest. "I guess you'd rather I act like Akane, then?"
Ryoga stiffened, his expression hardening.
Ukyo took a step forward, her eyes burning, her voice sharp and cutting. "Yeah, that's right. You always put her up on this stupid pedestal. Like she's perfect."
Her lips curled, bitter, mocking. "But she's not!"
Ryoga snapped before he could stop himself, his voice rising, sharp and cutting. "Maybe you should—maybe then Ranma would've actually noticed you!"
The second it left his mouth, he knew. Knew he messed up. Knew he cut too deep.
Ukyo froze.
Ryoga's stomach dropped. His breath caught in his throat as the words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. He hadn't meant to say it—hadn't even realized the thought was there until it tumbled out. But now it was too late. The damage was done.
The weight of the argument shifted—sharp, brutal, hitting somewhere raw and unhealed. Ukyo's chest tightened, painfully tight, like something had just been torn open. She blinked once. Twice.
Then—she laughed.
It was short, bitter, hollow. But her hands were shaking.
"You know what?" she said, her voice low, unsteady, like it was teetering on the edge of something she couldn't control. "Screw you, Ryoga."
Ryoga's breath hitched. "I—"
"You wouldn't be this pissed if it were Akane laughing with another guy." Her voice rose, heated, trembling with something she refused to name. Her chest ached, but she didn't stop. "In fact, you'd let her. You'd endure it, wouldn't you?" she spat, her words sharp and biting. "You wouldn't blame her. Oh no, she can do no wrong."
Ryoga's shoulders stiffened, his expression unreadable, but his eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe. "It's not the same," he muttered.
But even he didn't sound convinced.
Ukyo let out a hollow breath. Her voice cracked. "Oh, it's not?"
She swallowed hard, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "And why's that?"
Ryoga's fists curled tighter, his breath rough and uneven. He looked away, his jaw working, fighting with himself. Finally—low, strained—he bit out the words. "Because I love Akane."
Silence.
Ukyo's stomach dropped. Her vision blurred for a second, like something inside her had been knocked loose. She had already known. Of course, she had. But hearing him say it—right now, like this—it felt like something else entirely.
She forced a scoff. But her voice shook. "Oh. Well, that explains everything, doesn't it?"
Ryoga let out a slow breath, still not looking at her. His hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white.
Ukyo's fingers curled into fists. That was it. That was what finally broke her.
She stepped forward, her voice low, shaking, sharp enough to cut. "You're a damn hypocrite."
Ryoga's head snapped up. "What?"
Ukyo stepped closer, her voice cracking. "You get mad when I talk to one guy," she bit out, "but when it's Akane, it's fine?"
His mouth opened—but nothing came out.
Ukyo let out a harsh breath, shaking her head. "You don't get mad when she hangs around Ranma, do you?" Her throat tightened. "But me? Oh, suddenly it's a problem."
Ryoga gritted his teeth, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "It's different."
Ukyo's breath hitched. Her vision blurred. And before she even thought about it, she shoved him.
It wasn't hard. It wasn't meant to be. But Ryoga stumbled back a step anyway, his eyes wide.
Ukyo's breath shuddered. She looked at him—really looked at him. His jaw was still tight. His hands still clenched. But his expression wasn't angry anymore. Just… lost.
A breath shuddered out of her. And for the first time since the fight started—her face fell. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something far more fragile. Her breath hitched. And that was when he saw it. The unshed tears clinging to her lashes were barely held back, like she was forcing herself not to break in front of him.
Ryoga's chest tightened. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something else—but she didn't. Instead, her voice came out quiet, unsteady. "I hope you're happy now."
It was barely above a whisper. But it hit harder than any scream.
Ryoga's stomach twisted, a sharp, awful feeling settling in his chest. She turned—too fast, too desperate to get out before she completely lost it. And before he could say anything—before he could even think—she was gone.