"Tenchi Muyo!" and all characters herein are the property of Pioneer and AIC, save those created by the author. This is a fanfic, is not for profit, and does not express the views of Pioneer or AIC.
SPOILERS
I had the impression that after OAV 5 the narrative had become thoroughly flattened, with the original cast heavily downplayed. I wrote this story as a "what if" - imagining the series returning to its 90s romcom roots. What if we brought back that chaotic energy, irreverent humor, and genuine character moments that made Tenchi special in the first place?
Like it, hate it, print it and use it as toilet paper - in the end, it's just another fanfic. But maybe it captures something we've been missing.
Chapter 1: No need for another given Sunday!
The stars looked different from Earth.
Ryoko took another swig from her sake bottle as she floated cross-legged above the Masaki house roof. The cool night breeze ruffled her cyan hair, now grown longer in the ten years since she had become one of Tenchi's wives. One of seven.
She remembered the day they'd all agreed to the arrangement - their grand solution to the endless competition for Tenchi's affection. "Home is where Tenchi is" they had declared while casting their votes, united in their love for him. It had seemed so perfect then, so logical. They would all get a piece of what they wanted, and no one would be left heartbroken.
Ten years later, Ryoko found herself wondering why that perfect solution sometimes left her staring at the stars with a vague sense of... something. Not quite discontent. Not quite regret. Just... something.
"Meow?" Ryo-Ohki appeared beside her, now in her adult cabbit form rather than her ship configuration. She hadn't transformed into a spaceship in years.
"Just the usual, Ryo-Ohki," Ryoko sighed, scratching behind her companion's long ears. "Contemplating the vast cosmic mysteries of the universe." She paused. "And why Sunday has to be my designated Tenchi day.
Oh well, at least I don't have to spend my marriage night hunting for carrot aphodisiacs like some wives I can mention"
Ryo-ohki's ears twitched indignantly, unimpressed.
"Oh don't give me that look" Ryoko said, taking another swig. "We're all in the same boat, aren't we?"
She took another long drink and gestured toward the endless expanse above them. "Remember when we used to raid Jurai transport ships? The way those pompous royal guards would wet themselves the moment they saw us coming!" She cackled, her laugh echoing in the night air.
Ryoko glanced sideways, as if addressing someone just off to her right. "For those of you just joining our program, I used to be the most feared space pirate in the galaxy. Whole star systems would tremble at the mention of my name. Now my biggest weekly adventure is making sure I've picked up the right scented candles for my scheduled romance night."
She took another drink. "Somewhere out there, the Ryoko from Universe timeline is laughing her ass off."
She looked back at Ryo-Ohki, who tilted her head in confusion.
"Don't mind me," Ryoko said. "Just breaking the fourth wall. It's a coping drinking, only with fewer hangovers."
Her digital calendar floated before her, the color-coded system that regulated their lives showing tonight was Ayeka's night with Tenchi. Tomorrow was Mihoshi's night. Ryoko wouldn't get her turn until three days from now.
"Sunday," she muttered, taking another swig. "I'm a Sunday now... Can you believe it? The infamous space pirate Ryoko, reduced to waiting for her assigned day on a rotation schedule. Even the bins get collected more frequently!"
"Meow meow meow meow!" Ryo-Ohki purred, which meant: "And mine is Monday!"
"Yes, you're a Monday. How fitting. Everyone hates Mondays" Ryoko replied with a wry smile. "Though Tenchi doesn't seem to mind. Then again, he'd probably politely enjoy his time with a houseplant if we scheduled it into the rotation. 'Oh yes, Fern-san, your leaves are particularly verdant tonight'."
"By the way" – sh thought "Poor Tenchi has Mihoshi on Tuesday. Hopefully, he's upgraded the house insurance. Last month she flooded the bedroom while trying to pour tea. Not even during sex- just attempting to serve him breakfast. The woman can create a disaster in an empty room with nothing but good intentions and the laws of physics at her disposal".
"Mom?"
Ryoko nearly fumbled her sake bottle. She turned to see her daughter Tenko floating beside her, the girl's amber eyes—so like her own—wide with curiosity.
"Tenko! What are you doing up here?" "Practicing to become an alcoholic retired space pirate just like your mother?" Ryoko quickly hid the bottle behind her back.
"I teleported," the four-year-old said proudly, little fangs showing as she grinned. "All by myself!"
Ryoko's heart swelled with pride even as anxiety gnawed at her. Tenko had inherited her powers of flight and teleportation, but they manifested unpredictably. Just last week, the girl had accidentally phased through the floor during breakfast, landing in Washu's lab and nearly disrupting an experiment that, according to the diminutive scientist, "could have collapsed this reality into a quantum singularity, turned all matter into pudding, and made everyone speak backwards for a century."
Whatever that meant.
"That's... great, sweetheart," Ryoko said, pulling her daughter close. "But you know you're supposed to only practice when I'm there to watch you."
Tenko's small face fell. "I know. But you're always up here at night. And I miss you."
The words pierced Ryoko's heart like the master key had once pierced her physical form.
"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered, stroking her daughter's cyan hair—the same shade as her own. "Mommy just needs to think sometimes."
"About what?" Tenko asked innocently.
Ryoko hesitated. How could she explain the small, nagging feeling that had been growing like a tiny pebble in her shoe? It wasn't unhappiness, exactly. Just a sense that something wasn't quite right. That this perfectly balanced, harmonious life they'd all built wasn't what she had imagined when she'd fallen for Tenchi all those years ago.
"Just grown-up stuff," she said finally, offering a smile. "Nothing important."
A shooting star blazed across the sky, unnaturally bright. Ryoko narrowed her eyes. That was no meteor. Something about its trajectory seemed... deliberate.
"Time for bed, Tenko," she said firmly, gathering her daughter in her arms. "And no more teleporting without me, okay?"
"Okay, Mom," the child mumbled, already half-asleep against Ryoko's shoulder.
As Ryoko floated back down toward the house, she cast one last glance at the fading trail in the night sky. Her eyes lingered just a moment longer—unseen to Tenko—but for the first time in years, she felt the familiar prickling of danger on the horizon. And, despite herself, a small thrill of anticipation.
The day after, Ryoko materialized in the bedroom she shared with Tenchi (on Sundays), eyeing the formal kimono laid out for the monthly tea ceremony. The silk was a deep midnight blue, embroidered with silver thread in patterns resembling distant galaxies—a gift from Ayeka on her last birthday. "To help you look more... refined," the princess had said with that perfectly diplomatic smile that somehow still managed to feel condescending.
The Ryoko of fifteen years ago would've scoffed, thrown on something scandalous just to watch Ayeka's eye twitch, or skipped the whole thing entirely in favor of a nap on the roof. But today?
With a sigh, she slipped into the kimono, adjusting it with practiced hands and a dramatic mutter of, "Refined, my ass." Still, when she caught her reflection in the mirror, she had to admit—Ayeka had annoyingly good taste.
Meanwhile, a few rooms away, the Masaki household's monthly tea ceremony was already in progress, unfolding with the usual grace and silence in the formal tearoom attached to the shrine—an oasis of calm, tradition, and repressed snark.
Ten years ago, Katsuhito had instituted this tradition as a way to "harmonize the unique energy dynamics" of their unconventional family. In reality, everyone understood it was his way of making sure they all stayed civil to each other.
Ryoko knelt at her designated spot, fighting the urge to fidget in her formal kimono. She'd never admit it, but these ceremonies had become tolerable over the years. Not enjoyable—she'd never go that far—but tolerable. The precision, the stillness, the ritualized movements... it was everything a space pirate wasn't, condensed into an hour of pure torture disguised as cultural appreciation.
"Please maintain proper posture, Ryoko," Ayeka whispered from across the circle, her own back impossibly straight.
Ryoko straightened slightly, resisting the urge to make a face. She caught Tenchi's eye as Katsuhito prepared the tea with deliberate, measured movements. He gave her a small smile, and she returned it automatically.
That was their relationship now. Small smiles. Comfortable silences. The occasional shared glance across rooms. All very... nice.
Nice, Ryoko thought. When did I turn into someone who found solace in nice?
"The tea ceremony," Katsuhito intoned as he measured the matcha powder, "teaches us that true harmony comes through accepting our proper place."
Ryoko's attention drifted as the old priest continued his usual speech about balance, harmony, and the proper way to accept limitations. She'd heard it all before. Instead, she found herself studying Tenchi as he watched his grandfather with respectful attention.
At thirty, Tenchi Masaki had evolved into a man of striking presence, his once boyish features now defined with a quiet intensity. His hair, once a flowing testament to his youthful energy, was now cut shorter, though a few silver streaks at his temples hinted at the burden of containing Kami Tenchi's divine essence in his mortal shell—a side effect, according to Washu, of balancing the absurd cosmic power with his human form. He was still Tenchi, but somehow not the Tenchi she'd fallen for. This Tenchi was composed, balanced, unruffled by anything.
The awkward boy who had stumbled and blushed and yelled in frustration was buried somewhere beneath layers of godhood and responsibility.
And yet, here he sat, legs folded beneath him, measuring his breaths in a ceremony older than some stars he had birthed.
His eyes met Ryoko's briefly across the circle. There was something in her gaze lately—a restlessness he recognized from their early days. A wildness barely contained. He missed that wildness sometimes, in ways he couldn't articulate even to himself. The chaos of their beginnings—all those battles, misunderstandings, and raw emotions—had been exhausting, dangerous, and utterly alive.
This arrangememt had seemed so logical ten years ago. Everyone happy, everyone safe, everyone equally valued. No jealousy, no fighting, no anguish of choice. Perfect harmony.
So why did harmony sometimes feel like stagnation?
He accepted the tea bowl from his grandfather, the practiced movements so automatic he barely registered performing them. As he prepared to pass it to Ryoko, he hesitated almost imperceptibly, struck by a thought he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge: that in solving the problem of whom to choose, he had somehow lost something essential in all of them—most visibly in Ryoko, whose eyes no longer sparkled with that dangerous mischief that had once both terrified and fascinated him.
"The first taste belongs to the head of the household," Katsuhito announced, presenting the tea bowl to Tenchi.
Tenchi accepted with a nod of respect, taking a slow, ceremonial sip before turning to Ryoko and offering it to her next—by right, his first wife.
She accepted it with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. The gesture was correct, expected… but the pause before he handed it to her had been just a second too long. Maybe no one else noticed. But she did.
As the bowl continued on—Ayeka next, then the others—that familiar twinge stirred in Ryoko's chest. Not jealousy. Not anymore. Just a quiet ache, like a muscle that never quite healed right. A reminder.
By the time it reached her again at the beginning of the second round, delivered with Tenchi's plaster smile, her fingers tightened slightly around the bowl. She smiled anyway. That was the game.
It was just a small movement. Barely noticeable. But it was enough to slosh a few drops of tea over the rim of the bowl, landing with tiny dark spots on the pristine tatami.
The entire circle froze, all eyes on the spilled tea. In ten years of ceremonies, not a drop had ever been spilled.
"I..." Ryoko began, staring at the small stain spreading on the floor.
"It's quite all right," Tenchi said smoothly, his voice calm and reassuring. "Accidents happen."
"Indeed," Ayeka added with gracious magnanimity. "The ceremony teaches us acceptance of imperfection as well."
Their perfect understanding, their immediate forgiveness, suddenly felt suffocating. Like being smothered with a pillow made of politeness.
Without thinking, Ryoko flicked her wrist, sending the rest of the tea splashing across the tatami. Not violently. Not dramatically. Just a casual, deliberate spill.
The silence deepened. Katsuhito's eyes widened slightly behind his glasses. Sasami's mouth formed a small "o" of surprise.
"Ryoko?" Tenchi asked, his brow furrowing slightly, his voice more concerned than angry. "Is everything alright?"
She looked at him, at his perfect composure, and something inside her snapped—not in a dramatic way, but like a rubber band that had been stretched too long finally giving up.
"Actually," she said, setting the empty bowl down with exaggerated care, "I don't think it is."
"Ryoko," Ayeka began, her voice a mixture of confusion and concern, "perhaps we should—"
"Of all the hobbies he could've picked," she said, nodding toward Katsuhito, "tea ceremonies. Not galaxy surfing. Not bar fights with neutron stars. Not even hanging out at construction sites critiquing the rebar like a proper elder. Nope—tea."
Sasami blinked. "Do old guys really hang out at construction sites?"
"You have no idea," Ryoko grinned. "Hard hats and unsolicited opinions—it's a whole vibe. Especially in Italy. You haven't lived until you've seen three pensioners argue over scaffolding like it's the World Cup."
She glanced around the circle, seeing their shocked faces, and suddenly felt tired. Not angry. Just... tired.
"I'm sorry," she said, her energy deflating as quickly as it had flared. "I just... I need some air."
She phased through the ceiling before anyone could respond, leaving behind a circle of bewildered family members and a stained tatami mat.
Floating above the house, Ryoko let out a long breath. "Well, that was dramatic," she muttered to herself. "Though I'm pretty sure flipping the entire table would have made for better television."
She glanced over at the imaginary audience once more, a small, tired smirk on her lips.
"Ten years of holding it all in, and what do you get? Spilled tea, sarcastic commentary, and the endless, unspoken weight of 'zen harmony.' Next year, I'm stealing a spaceship. Maybe take a little vacation from all this... responsibility."
She glanced over at her daughter, eyes softening just slightly. Maybe she was getting a little too cynical for her own good.
But then again, it was hard to maintain a perfectly put-together image when you'd been through everything she had.
Breakfast the next morning was subdued but not tense. That was the thing about the Masaki household—even conflicts were managed with calm efficiency.
"More rice, Lord Tenchi?" Ayeka asked, her regal posture perfect even as she served breakfast.
"Thank you, Ayeka," Tenchi smiled, holding out his bowl.
Ryoko noticed the small, contented smile on Ayeka's face—the look she always had the morning after her night with Tenchi. Once, it would have made her blood boil with jealousy. Now it just added to her growing sense of... something. Not quite discontent. Not quite regret. Just... something.
She materialized in her seat rather than behind Tenchi's chair as she might have done years ago. No one commented on her tea ceremony behavior, though she caught a few curious glances.
Mihoshi slept face-down in her miso soup, snoring softly with bubbles forming at her nose. Beside her, Kiyone attempted to prevent her partner from drowning.
"Mihoshi! We have patrol duty in an hour," she hissed, yanking the blonde Galaxy Police officer's head up by her hair. "And it's your night with Tenchi tonight, so you need to be back on time!"
"ten more minutes..." Mihoshi mumbled, soup dripping from her face. "I was just about to catch the space octopus…"
As Kiyone struggled with her partner, Mihoshi's arm knocked over a bowl, spilling miso soup across the table. The liquid flowed directly toward Ayeka's perfectly arranged breakfast tray, and toward the sleeve of her immaculate kimono.
"I can switch with you if patrol runs late," Noike offered, consulting the digital schedule on her tablet. "I'm not scheduled until Saturday anyway."
"No, that's not necessary," Kiyone replied, still wrestling with the half-asleep Mihoshi. "We'll make it work. You know how—"
"FOR THE LOVE OF TSUNAMI, MIHOSHI!" Ayeka suddenly exploded, slamming her palms on the table as she narrowly avoided the soup. "TEN YEARS! TEN YEARS I've been dodging your spills and cleaning your messes! Can you stay awake for ONE MEAL without creating a disaster?! Is your life's mission to ruin EVERY SINGLE ONE of my kimonos?!"
The entire table froze in stunned silence. Even Mihoshi was suddenly wide awake, her blue eyes as round as saucers.
Ayeka herself looked the most shocked of all, as if someone else had borrowed her voice. She glanced around at the staring faces, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. Then, like someone had pressed a royal reset button, she transformed.
In the span of a single breath, her shoulders relaxed, her chin lifted, and her face settled into practiced serenity. The transition was so abrupt it was almost audible—like the click of a princess mask snapping back into place.
"My sincerest apologies," she said, her voice once again the perfect melody of royal refinement, as though the screaming woman of three seconds ago had been a hallucination. "How unseemly of me. I simply... haven't had my morning tea yet."
She poured herself a cup with exquisite grace, her hands only trembling slightly, and took a small sip. Her face was a mask of serenity, though a tiny muscle twitched near her eye.
"Now, as I was saying before that... minor lapse in decorum... would anyone care for more rice?"
Ryoko caught Tenchi's eye across the table. For the briefest moment, they shared a look of mutual surprise—and perhaps a flicker of recognition. The cracks in their perfect arrangement weren't limited to just one of them.
But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual placid smile.
"Ryoko," Washu called from the end of the table, "don't forget you promised to help me with the bathroom today. I may be the greatest scientific genius in the universe, but even I need an extra pair of hands when fixing the plumbing disaster Mihoshi created."
"Again?" Ryoko groaned. "That's the third time this month! I had plans today, you know."
Everyone looked at her curiously.
"What plans?" Sasami asked innocently.
Ryoko opened her mouth, then closed it. "I... well... important space pirate things!"
"Like what?" Ayeka asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically.
"Like... like..." Ryoko fumbled, then sighed dramatically. "Like staring at the wall and wondering how the universe let me end up here. The feared space pirate Ryoko, terror of the galaxy, now reduced to being a glorified plumber's assistant between 2 and 4 PM on a Sunday."
She turned to face an invisible camera. "If my enemies could see me now... Actually, thinking about it, this might be the perfect revenge. 'We won't kill you, Ryoko—we'll have you plunge toilets!' Truly diabolical."
"Who are you talking to?" Mihoshi asked, finally somewhat awake and looking around in confusion.
"The audience in my mind that remembers when the writers thought I was interesting," Ryoko muttered.
"I don't see why you're complaining," Washu huffed, typing frantically on her holographic keyboard. "Do you think I enjoy spending my genius-level intellect on fixing interdimensional rifts? I have twelve PhDs from the Royal Space Academy and can calculate quantum probabilities across seven dimensions simultaneously. But instead, I'm trying to unclog a toilet because SOMEONE—" she glared pointedly at Mihoshi, "—has Ibs issues that defy the laws of physics!"
"Like last month's diplomatic catastrophe," Washu groaned, massaging her temples with a sigh that hinted at multiversal fatigue. "Remember the interspace MS Teams conference? You know—the one during Emperor Azusa's keynote on Earth-Juraian cooperative protocols? Your little... gastric anomaly?"
Mihoshi's face went pale, her eyes wide. "That was an accident! I thought I was muted!"
"You were muted," Washu snapped, waving a finger in the air as if dissecting quantum code. "But somehow, your—how shall I put this delicately—'sonic emission' generated a unique subspace ripple that piggybacked on the Masu particle channel I was using for encryption! You overrode my hyperdimensional firewall, Mihoshi. Do you realize what that means?!"
Ryoko suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"It's not funny!" Washu insisted, though the corner of her mouth betrayed a smirk. "The Juraian Royal Guard initiated full atmospheric purge protocols! Azusa evacuated the Central Throne Hall, screaming about Class-A biological warfare violations under Treaty Code 447-Theta!"
"Poor Tenchi had to sell it as a new form of... greeting from Earth " Washu added, crossing her arms. "Ayeka tried to phase-shift herself into a black hole using an outdated Royal Transport Crystal!"
"Did it work?" Ryoko managed between laughs.
"She's still filing reports to the Ministry of Cultural Interpretation," Washu said dryly. "The Royal Fleet has standing orders to monitor Earth for potential deployment of this so-called 'Sonic Resonance Offensive Weapon."
"I knew I shouldn't have eaten that spicy curry and chocolate ice cream together!" Mihoshi moaned, clutching her stomach. "But it looked soo good!"
"Mihoshi," Washu said slowly, like a scientist explaining entropy to a jellyfish, "your digestive system violates at least three known laws of physics. You've created a plumbing paradox. Not just clogs—the pipes are experiencing existential dread. They've unionized."
"It's not my fault I get nervous easily," Mihoshi whimpered. "And the doctor said my IBS might get worse with age…" As if to emphasize her point, a small but unmistakable sound emerged from Mihoshi's direction. pffffft
The table went silent as the smell slowly spread. Mihoshi continued her defense, completely oblivious.
"Besides, it only happens when I'm stressed or excited or sad or happy or—" She paused, noticing everyone staring at her. "What? Why is everyone looking at me like that?"
Sasami discreetly covered her nose. Ayeka's eye twitched violently. Noike subtly opened a window. Tenchi turned slightly green.
"Mihoshi..." ...Then realization dawned...and her face turned bright crimson.
"WAAAAAHHHHH!" she wailed, tears fountaining from her eyes as she dove under the table. "I DIDN'T MEAN TO! IT JUST HAPPENED! NOW EVERYONE HATES ME!"
Ryoko, who had once stared down Kain, brawled with Kayato, and casually vaporized bounty hunters from the Zar'Nag Confederacy, now clutched her throat with exaggerated agony. With a theatrical gasp, she collapsed face-first onto the table, one trembling finger raised toward the heavens.
"Tell my daughter... I loved her … Tell the Juraian Archives… I was killed by Mihoshi's butt..."
The house suddenly shook with a tremendous boom that rattled the dishes. Everyone froze for a split second, then collectively relaxed.
"Another one?" Noike sighed, not even bothering to stand. "That's the third this month."
"That wasn't me this time!" Mihoshi protested her voice muffled. "I swear! Different kind of boom!"
"We know, Mihoshi," Washu said dryly. "Even your farts can't register on the Richter scale. Yet."
"AAAAAHHHH!" Mihoshi screamed, instantly awake and diving under the table. "WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" Then, recognizing everyone else's calm demeanor, she crawled back to her seat. "Oh, is it just another challenger for Tenchi? Wake me when it's over."
"Washu?" Tenchi asked calmly, not even pausing his breakfast. After years of godhood, he'd grown accustomed to handling threats with minimal effort.
The scientist's fingers flew over her holographic keyboard with practiced boredom. "Dimensional disturbance, approximately two kilometers from here. Something's breached our reality."
"Hostile?" Ryoko asked, already on her feet, energy crackling around her fingertips. Despite everything, part of her hoped it was.
"Unknown," Washu replied, her green eyes narrowing at the readings. "But it's powerful. Very powerful."
"I'll handle it," Tenchi said with a casual confidence, like someone announcing they were going to check the mail. He stood, pushing his chair back. "Shouldn't take long. Same as always."
"Just be back by dinner," Sasami reminded him. "I'm making your favorite sukiyaki."
"And don't forget, as soon as you've finished stabilizing the sun's core, we have the parent-teacher conference at Taro's school this afternoon," Noike added, referring to his twin brother.
"Right, right...I won't forget," Tenchi assured her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Ryoko felt a small twinge of... something... as she observed how neatly they all fit their godlike husband into their schedule. Cosmic defender at noon, parent-teacher conferences at three. It all seemed so... orderly. So routine. Was this really what their extraordinary lives had become?
"I'll come with you," she said suddenly to Tenchi, surprising even herself.
Tenchi raised an eyebrow. "There's no need, Ryoko. It's probably just another minor incursion. I'll have it handled in minutes."
"I know, but..." she struggled to articulate the restlessness that had been building inside her. "For old times' sake? Besides, if I have to help Washu fix one more toilet I might actually lose my mind."
Something in her expression must have reached him, because after a moment, Tenchi nodded. "Alright. It might be good to have backup, even if it's probably nothing serious."
Ryoko's heart leaped at the words. For a moment, she was back in those early days—just her and Tenchi against whatever threat the universe threw at them.
"Like old times," she said with a grin, summoning her energy sword.
"I WILL COME TOO!" Ayeka declared, standing tall. Then, catching herself, she blushed furiously. "I mean... if you think my assistance would be valuable, Lord Tenchi."
"That's... not necessary, Ayeka," Tenchi said gently. "You have that conference call with the Juraian Council today, remember?"
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Ayeka sat back down, looking troubled by her own momentary outburst.
As Ryoko and Tenchi left, she heard the others resuming their breakfast conversation as if nothing unusual was happening. Just another day in the Masaki household, where god-level threats were as commonplace as burnt toast.
As they flew towards the disturbance, a strange figure came into view over the horizon – a bald man in a bright yellow suit.
He seemed to have appeared out of crater, and Ryoko exchanged a puzzled glance with Tenchi.
"I guess we should introduce ourselves?" Tenchi suggests, already descending.
They land a few meters away.
He squints at them. "Oh. Uh, hey. You guys live here?"
"Yes," Tenchi says, polite as ever. "You… landed kind of dramatically."
He scratches his cheek. "Yeah, sorry. I sneezed mid-jump. Didn't think I'd crater another dimension."
Ryoko stared at him, her eyebrow twitching. "You… sneezed?"