Genma was glad he was in panda form for his Go matches. He knew that if he dared to remain a man he would end up vocalising every one of Tendo's mistakes. If he did that, he wouldn't be able to use the mistakes to his advantage anymore.

His lifelong friend, and fellow martial artist, was constantly repeating one of those mistakes. He had recognised it: While surrounding a small group of his stones, Tendo had missed a chance to save a larger group from being surrounded.

Uttering an obscure growl, Genma placed his stone, completing the barrier.

"Wait just a minute," Tendo said. "Are you sure that's a legal move?"

Just as his friend was reaching under his dark hair feigning concentration, he noticed the door to the dining room open and someone stepping out. Becoming fully alert, Tendo whirled his head around to meet the person's gaze and gave a call.

"Kasumi. Can you bring out some tea, please?"

Kasumi, the oldest of Tendo's three daughters, had just begun to mop the floor when she heard her father's request. "More tea, Father? All right."

Leaving the mop and water by the door, she went back to the kitchen to start another pot.

Genma was wondering where he had space for it all. In this day alone the man had asked for rice crackers, pork buns, fish sausage, and a full pot of tea already. How much could one man stall?

"Can you add some mint this time? Thank you." The smile that had been moving across his face immediately disappeared as met up with the panda's gaze. "What? What's wrong, Saotome?"

Trying to make his arms look as crossed as possible in his present form, he gave Tendo a you-know-what look. After a sufficient glare he rose from his sitting position and walked over to the bucket Kasumi had left trying to fill her father's latest order. Testing it first to see if it was hot enough, he proceeded to pour the water on his head.

The event of the water's effect of transformation was a familiar, yet never quite pleasing, sensation. Even after all this time he was never ready for it. He could feel every change.

His ears were descending on his head. His snout was receding. His arms were becoming thinner and lengthier as were his legs. His claws were growing more joints as they changed back into fingers. He even felt his skeleton warping back into that of a human's under his skin. Finally his fur diminished to near nothingness leaving his head bald.

With the transformation complete in it's instant, he cursed to himself. Although there was never any physical pain associated with his change, he always had to push pain on himself. A pain that he had conjured up ever since the waters of Jusenkyo had cursed him. The mere thought of his body going through such a change triggered the sensation, a combination of grief with shame.

Walking back over to the board, he wondered if his son, Ranma, ever had similar thoughts. All he ever had to worry about was changing into a panda. Ranma's curse was the infinitely more terrifying experience of having to change into a girl. Such a curse must bring about innumerable humiliating changes. Changes that could even damage the indomitable will of his eighteen-year old successor.

He cursed again. How dare he believe that he was better off than his son was? Ranma was just as cursed as he and until they could find a permanent cure-

Suddenly, he heard a crash.

"What was that?" Tendo asked. Genma was equally as confused, at least, until a scream punctuated the event. Tendo slumped down. "Never mind."

Some distance away, Genma could hear a double set of footfalls. One was more pronounced than the other. The level of the sound was increasing rapidly. He recognised it as two people running. Between that and the scream he knew that once again his son and his hopeful daughter-in-law, Akane, were fighting again.

"Even after all this time." he fixed the position of his glasses. "Even after all this time they find energy to continue fighting."

Tendo agreed. "If only they would accept their positions, they could use that energy in planning for the future."

Their contemplation was broken by the streaking form of Ranma running past them. He had only made it as far as the other wall of the dining room when he was halted by a very loud "STOP!" Turning around on his left foot, Ranma planted his right foot on the deck where the men were just playing. Looking over his shoulders, Genma recognised the stance Ranma positioned himself in. He had shifted his weight onto his right foot making sure that he could bolt to the backyard in case she started throwing things.

"Ah, c'mon Akane." Ranma knew it was a standard excuse opening but he was at a loss for something more eloquent.

That crazy girl was always blaming him for something and half of the times, it wasn't even his fault. Ever since that day, two years ago, when their fathers engaged them, he had spent most of his time battling: if it wasn't someone from his past, it was this dark-haired tomboy.

"Don't even try to weasel your way out of this one Ranma. I want to know why your stupid excuse for a body was in my room!" He winced as she accented the last word of her sentence; that was the only way he could tell her whether or not he was paying attention.

He always wondered if her anger shut down her ability to comprehend. So far he hadn't seen any evidence against it. "I told you. I was helping Nabiki find a book. A damn manga. Nothing else."

"You could run your lips from here to China for all I care. You're not getting away with this!" she screamed.

"You can even ask her yourself," he defended. "It's her copy of One-Pound Gospel."

Then she gave that look that said she wasn't going to listen to anymore, that nothing on earth was going to stop her.

While he readied himself to avoid a lunging attack, Mr. Tendo used the last moment of time to block her. Okay, almost nothing.

Grasping her shoulders, Mr. Tendo pulled her up to a normal standing position. Pop followed suit and hung onto Ranma. Bringing their respective children together, yet still out of kicking range, they tried once again to explain.

"Both of you have to learn to co-operate," Mr. Tendo started. "How does either of you expect to carry on the practices of Anything-Goes Martial Arts if neither of you is willing to accept the other?"

Of course. The older martial artist had to switch from saviour to torturer. "It's always the same speech," he said as convinced now as he was the last time he heard it: not at all. "It didn't work then and it won't work now. Akane's too stubborn for that."

"I'm stubborn?" she seethed. "Have you ever listened to yourself?"

"Then explain why you're standing there, ready to beat the shit out of me!" Ranma forced himself out of Pop's grasp.

"Because you were sneaking in my room you pervert!"

"I wasn't sneaking nowhere! I was looking for Nabiki's book! You can go and ask her yourself!" he repeated.

"And give you the satisfaction? Never!"

"There! You see? You're hopeless! Absolutely hopeless!"

"At least I'm not a bisexual's dream come true!"

Seeing that the argument was never going to be resolved, Ranma was again grateful Mr. Tendo had to step in. "That is enough you two. Be quiet. Ranma, you will apologise to Akane."

"What?" He couldn't believe this. She was going to win.

"Quiet. Akane, you are going to apologise to Ranma."

"What?" She reeled for a moment. "Wild horses couldn't drag an apology out of me."

"Enough," he continued. "Then, after you have done that, you will apologise to us for creating such a disturbance. Right Saotome?" Tendo turned to look at where Pop was supposed to be, but he wasn't there.

"What? Oh, right Tendo." Ranma glanced over to the new direction his father's voice was coming from. He had been rearranging the pieces on the game board again.

He snapped back up quickly. "Tendo's right kids. You have to work together."

"You didn't hear a single thing I said, did you Saotome?"

Ranma could see flames dancing from Mr. Tendo.

"Now, Tendo. We're...we're trying to help the kids. Re-remember?" Pop was beginning to sweat.

My father. Ranma rolled his eyes. The grinning idiot. "See ya' Akane."

"Hey. Where do you think you're going?" she shot out with mock consideration.

"Anywhere you're not." He felt he had enough for the day. Already planning what to do for the rest of the day, he started toward the back wall subconsciously calculating the force he would have to exert in order to jump it.

Akane could be so damned pigheaded at times. Not that he was any better at admitting to his mistakes, but she's supposed to act like a girl. Girls do not run around with a mallet like some kind of demented samurai. He wondered exactly how he could find the strength to stay in this house.

"Because I have to make up for what happened last year," he said to the fish jumping in the backyard pond.

As he calmly strode past the pond, keeping his gaze locked on the single fish flipping its tail, he thought again about the power water had over him. It was such a simple substance. Before the day Fate had stacked the chips against him, he thought of water as something to drink when you were thirsty, something to wash yourself when you were dirty. During the first few switches he had despised water and what it did to him. Now, he was almost back to indifference; he learned that it was no use trying to control something that is uncontrollable.

He wondered if the situation with Akane was any different. He had met her when he was only sixteen. At sixteen, he didn't want to meet anybody. He had just come back from a two-year training mission and-the Jusenkyo incident notwithstanding-it was the most exhilarating experience he ever had. Two years with just him against nature, using all his martial arts experience just to survive. It was the only way to truly live, Pop had told him his entire life. And then he comes to the dojo and he's supposed to forget all that? Be forced to marry someone he had never seen before?

For six months he told himself that it was a mistake to stay, that he should have up and left at the first possible chance. But staying with Akane was the best mistake he ever made. It was difficult at first-all right, it was a nightmare-but for some unseen reason it worked out and they had been happier together than ever before...

He felt tears threaten to well up and suppressed them. They had been so happy together and then he had fucked it up, royally. Now, it was worse than before. The fights were becoming so trivial and it hurt him every time he got into another one. But what other option was there? He couldn't leave; the thought of leaving was more painful than staying. And every hurt just drove the knife deeper into his heart, destroying a tiny piece of him in the process.

Taking one final look over his left shoulder at the pond as he passed it, he wondered whether it was better to accept his condition and get on with the rest of his life or consider himself a dead man. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something that was bent on convincing him of the latter.

A mop struck him on the back of his head and he gave a shrieking cry. The force of the blow caused him to spin once and double over. The mop flew over and landed in front of him. He performed a lazy somersault and his feet landed on the wet mop. Through the pain and disorientation, he shifted his weight to the left. His feet, however, slipped in the other direction and he fell into the fishpond.

Ranma managed to flicker into consciousness for a while. She knew that she was pulled out of the pond by Pop, though she couldn't make out a word that he was saying. She only recognised that he was making noise. Cursing Akane for trying to kill her, she found it more difficult to keep her vision from clouding.

She tried to hold on as long as she could, but blacked out anyway.

"Please. You have to help him!"

Tofu was not usually accustomed to having people barge into his clinic without an appointment (unless it was Kasumi). He was about to voice his opinion when he saw that Ranma-albeit a female Ranma-was being brought in and changed his attitude immediately.

"What happened?" He placed Ranma on the bed. Tofu could already tell what was wrong by seeing the lesion on Ranma's head. Of course he always knew to ask anyway; it helped vent the parent's frustration.

"He was struck from behind," Genma said. "Then he collapsed."

"It's just a simple trauma," he said, silently cursing the pretentiousness of medical terminology.

Flipping Ranma over onto his stomach, he peered at the damage.

Base of the skull. Judging by the acuteness of the actual bruise on the swelled region, it looked like something with a lot of force compared with its surface area. And blunt too. It looked like a stick or wooden pole struck him.

He knew Genma wouldn't tell the whole story. But he also knew he wouldn't dare to ask about the whole story, afraid he already knew that most of the details also concerned Akane.

"Even with the apparent severity of the bruise, there should no brain damage or paralysis. The worst I can see is a pounding headache. I mean, this is Ranma were talking about.

"Oh, thank God." Genma said, relieved.

Tofu continued, "I can wake him up now if you'd like. I'll go get an herbal stimulant."

"Thank you. Thank you."

After administering the drug, its effects were rapid. Ranma was cogent within a few minutes. Plus, as he had predicted, she was also sitting up.

"Ohh," she moaned, the pain throbbing back to life with her. She sat up on the bed allowing the covers to collect around her waist. One hand was covering her eyes. Tofu reached over her and turned the dial on the rheostat to reduce the glare from the overhead fixture.

Pulling back into his seat, he looked her over once again to see if any further flinches or reactions would show him any other areas of pain. He was extremely adept at passive diagnosis, having received the best education he could and also having six years of intensive GP experience.

Even at his young age, Tofu Ono was good enough to have become a surgeon if he wanted, but he preferred talking to his patients, being a natural conversationalist. Sleeping people don't reveal what's wrong with them and he preferred not to look at charts.

Whenever he worked, he wore a blue-grey robe and pulled his hair back in a less-than-clinical ponytail. But that was the feeling he wanted to promote. The clinic was to be felt as if it were an extension of a home, not a sterile building devoid of humanity. And his patients were happy for the pleasantry.

He reached behind him towards the bookshelf and plucked down a text on head trauma. He didn't need to look to confirm the book's location, Ranma was in here enough times to make him wonder if he should just leave his books on his desk to protect himself from Carpal-Tunnel's Syndrome.

Ranma moved her hand from her eyes to the pain on her head as if her touch would make it disappear. She asked, "What happened? I feel like the Tokyo Tower fell on my head."

"Ranma," Tofu stood up from his chair. Putting down the book on his desk, he stepped over the bed. "You suffered a blow to the head. If you don't mind, I'd like to perform a few co-ordination tests. To see if you're still responsive."

She looked at him with confusion. "Well who gave you that authority?"

He was taken aback by the boy-turned-girl's statement. He wasn't expecting that kind of comment. "Your father did if that's what you're wondering. He was the one who brought you here."

Ranma shifted over in the bed to keep her distance. "And another thing. Who are you?"

"Ranma," Tofu said perplexed. "You...don't remember me? I don't look familiar to you?"

She became pensive. "Up until you told me, I couldn't remember my own name. What makes you think I'd remember you?"

He blinked again. He had been in good keeping with the Tendo family for a long time. When Ranma was introduced to him, he never got any opposition the likes of which he saw now. And the claim of amnesia was only adding to the disturbance.

A look of dismay coupled with innate understanding fashioned Tofu's face in an expression reminiscent of an Edvard Munch painting.

"What's wrong?" Genma questioned when he saw the doctor's reaction.

Tofu straightened. "Mr. Saotome," he asked as if ignorant. "What exactly struck Ranma?"

"Why do you ask?" Genma asked trying to side step.

"Because what I'm seeing is almost a complete loss of memory. Considering the bruise on his head, the cause, to me, is as unexplainable as the result. Do you know what was he struck with?"

"Uh, well...I don't know," was all that the parent would volunteer.

Seeing that his efforts were being wasted-trust from a long time martial artist was obviously a rare commodity-Tofu turned his attention back to his patient. "Ranma, can you tell me what year this is?"

"Nineteen-ninety-nine," she replied immediately.

"Mm-hm. Can you tell me where you are as specifically as possible?" Tofu asked while checking Ranma's reflexes.

"Japan?"

"Any place in particular?" Tofu moved on to healing the bruise to keep the discoloration from spreading.

"Nerima, Tokyo."

"Okay. Do you know who the Emperor is?"

"Emperor Akihito." Ranma was becoming restless.

He checked her eyes for a sign of concussion. Fortunately, her pupils were dilating properly, but it only helped to add to the mystery surrounding this loss of self. Her personality was gone and he wasn't sure how it was lost.

"Okay. Just one more question. Do you know who he is?" Tofu indicated to Genma.

"You said he was my father," she stated.

"Yes," the doctor agreed. Straightening his glasses, he hunched down in front of her. "But can you tell me his first name?"

Ranma heightened her gaze and for the first time really looked at the burly, bald figure, carefully moving from the scarf tied around his head down his white robe to his bare feet and up again. Looking off, she hung her head and replied a defeated, "No."

"By all rights, this should not happen." Tofu got up and turned to Genma. "I have never seen a case like this. The only term I can think of is 'circumscribed memory loss.' Though that diagnosis is far from scientific; I'm afraid I don't have that much knowledge of psychology."

"Circumscribed memory loss?" Genma asked, bewildered.

"Knowledge, the set of memories learned, and personality, the set of memories imprinted, are usually linked. His general knowledge is intact, yet there is no imprinted memory of himself or either of us. I suspect that will also extend to any other personal acquaintance."

"Wait a minute," Ranma started, interrupting his explanation. "What do you mean 'he?' I don't know what kind of doctor you are but at least I'm able to tell the difference between Boy and Girl." To emphasise her point, she made a cupping motion under her breasts.

Tofu swore to himself for not having noticed that earlier. The absence of self-identity put her in a position of trying to learn everything over. It should follow that she be convinced she was a girl.

Whirling around, he met her with a plastic smile. "Oh. I guess it was the clothes. They do a wonderful job of concealment." Tofu broke off into a string of laughter.

"Ranma, could you wait for me outside?" Genma asked.

She walked out into the waiting room fidgeting with her pigtail and muttering to herself. "How can they be concealed? They're so huge..."

Looking to see that Ranma was out of earshot, Genma turned back to Tofu. "Is there anything I can do to help him?" he asked

Tofu broke his laughing streak and became more serious. "All I can suggest is that you take him home. Time heals all wounds. Keep him in familiar surroundings. Try to reintroduce familiar things to him. The only thing I have to hazard is that you don't reveal his curse."

"What? Why not?"

"He's lost all his personal memories, so he'll have to draw on what he knows. If your knowledge told you it was the norm for people to remain the way they are because you couldn't remember that training trip, how would you feel if you saw another unfamiliar face stare back at you in a mirror? No. He's already trying to come to grips with the possibility of rebuilding his-her-his entire life. It would be very detrimental to reintroduce it so quickly. Try to reveal it to him if he shows memories of China. Until then, keep it discreet."

Genma stood for another few seconds trying to take in everything the doctor said. Then he turned to the waiting room. "Okay. Thank you, Doctor." He walked to the front door. "Come, Ranma."

"Coming," she said softly.

Tofu watched as they walked down the street and wondered if he made the best decision for the sake of Ranma's health.

"Oh well," he said, clutching his belt and walking inside. "Time will reveal when it wants." The only problem was he had no idea how long she would have to wait.

Ryoga Hibiki had been travelling for a while now. He had planned to go north to Hokkaido but found himself back in Tokyo for a third time that week.

He drew a deep breath and let out a long, sobering sigh. This had gone on ever since he was born. Ryoga, like his mother and father and even more ancestors before him, had the world's worst sense of direction. It wasn't forgetfulness. He could remember which locations and stores and houses meant what to him. Focusing on the where of these places was his stumbling block. Streets of cities or layouts of houses, they were no different. He couldn't remember directions from moment to the next. It was like an episode of Outer Limits where the phrase "Out of sight, out of mind" took on a terrible, new meaning. And it did not feel like the problem would be correcting itself in the near future.

He looked down for an inspection.

His mustard-yellow shirt was mottled with dirt, torn at the left elbow, and the cuffs had frayed. It was also starting to dampen with his sweating brought on by the heat. His black jogging pants were in slightly better condition. Just dusty from the hundred-some kilometres he must have walked. He took special care with his shoes, checking to see if there were any holes. Inspecting the garters, he was satisfied that he did not have to change them.

His mother had told him once, "Make sure that your pants are too long. That way you can grow into them if you can't find the house." Then she tied on the garters to keep his feet exposed and to keep him from tripping.

He looked at the cuff of one leg. It was no longer tucked underneath anymore, but he doubted that he would still grow. Yet he didn't untie the garters. He had grown to prefer them and he felt that it was a link to his mother, the only link to a family that he barely ever saw.

Pushing those thoughts out of the way, for the moment, he decided to rest for a while. Removing the backpack from his shoulders, he unsheathed the bamboo umbrella from the straps on top. He then set the pack down against the wall of the building he had stopped beside. After he sat on the ground, he opened up the umbrella and held it to provide shade from the sun.

He had barely settled down before he thought he heard someone, off in the distance, calling to him.

"Hey, Ryoga," came the faint call. He looked down the street but saw no one he recognised.

"Hey, Ryoga," came the call again. It was louder and he was now able to identify that it was coming from the other direction.

Turning around to confirm his suspicions, he saw Ukyo walking up to him. He hung his head and began to curse at himself for his non-existent sense of direction.

"Hey, Sugar. What's wrong?"

"I'm back in Tokyo. That's what." He was not in the mood for this. He had better things to do.

"So?"

He looked over and saw that her face already showed the realisation of her verbal slip but he was a little too angry to let it slide.

"So? I can never find my way out of this fucking city! It's like I have a double curse over my head!" He stared at her as if daring her to give him a reason to attack. With his breath coming in heaves, some part of his brain told him that it was enough but Ryoga remained angry.

"Woah. Calm down," she said. "I'm on your side, remember? Anyway, I'm glad I found you. I just got a call from the Tendo dojo." Her voice lowered. "There's a problem."

Immediately, all signs of anger vanished. Fear danced through his eyes as his jaw clenched. He knew it had to be Akane. She'd been hurt or mugged or something awful. "Well, then?" he yelled. "What are you waiting for?" He grabbed her by the hand and took off for Akane's house. Well, at least where he thought it to be.

"Ryoga," she called out from behind him. "Ryoga, you jackass!"

He wasn't listening, concentrating on avoiding any source of water he could. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about changing into a small black pig before he made it to Akane's. Finding none, he picked up the pace.

He had to find Akane. He knew she was in danger. His mind was spinning with the dozens of possibilities bombarding his imagination.

Just then, he felt a different sensation. Wind was rushing toward him. With that little a warning, he was struck in the head by the pizza shovel that Ukyo carried around with her.

Stopping, he turned around and faced its wielder. "What the fuck was that for?" he bellowed.

She was unable to answer at first. She just stood staring at the dent his head produced in the six-foot spatula. Replacing the weapon behind her back, she steeled herself against his glare. "That," she said, "was to get your attention. The dojo is that way." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder.

He looked over her at the horizon. His jaw fell open and he collapsed on the sidewalk. Repressing a giggle, she brushed the dust that his running sprayed her with off her white dress shirt. He collected himself and took time to shoulder his backpack while she straightened the last of the pleats on her brown slacks.

She hooked her arm around his. "Come on." She said. "Let's try again. And don't worry. Even if it is Akane, I'm sure she's not in that much danger."

"It's that obvious?" he asked. He blushed noticeably.

As a pig, Ryoga was subjected to the most terrifying experiences. He had been attacked with all forms of evil. People and animals hunted him whenever he was lost in the forests of Japan. The cities were not much better because he would have to dodge cars, avoid children who would want to play with him-he learned to despise the term, "tossing the pigskin"-and be chased by more animals, usually stray dogs or Cantonese chefs. But when he met Akane as a pig, she was kind and loving. She saw a poor, defenceless creature that needed the warmth of a happy home. From that day he knew she could never exit his heart.

What he didn't know was the role she'd eventually occupy in it. For months, he'd had the wildest crush on her. He would purposefully get lost-not that it was a hard thing to do-so he could travel Japan to find the most exotic types of souvenirs. But, over time, it somehow changed. Unnoticed, unspoken, but eventually, his crush lessened to a point where the love he felt was platonic. No, he corrected himself, more like familial. Akane became like a sister to him, her romantic love having been confided to Ranma, but it was the best thing she could have done.

He had always been in agony that she would reject him one day, either finding out that he was a pig-he admitted he'd done some less-than-honourable things himself in that form-or being attracted to Ranma and forgetting him. When she had shown the latter, he feared the worst, but it never came. She hadn't tossed him out on his ass; in fact, she was talking with him more often. Granted, most of the conversations tended to steer towards Ranma, but she was sensitive enough to know when to change the subject.

He should have been enraged when Ranma won, but, to his surprise, he wasn't. Like an epiphany, he saw that losing to Ranma no longer mattered, it was losing Akane he feared most. The bond he and she shared was altered-instead of owner-pet, it was now friend-friend-and it was strengthened by it.

Akane had given him a gift: the freedom to finally be a true friend to her, and the conviction to throw away his crutch of pig-dom.

Her pet pig whom she had called P-chan disappeared from the dojo that day, never to return. She was concerned for a while, sure, but she consigned him to fate, happy that her little pig had found his place in the wild again.

But it had been done; their friendship was no longer tainted by secrets. Over the next few months Ryoga believed it to be the single most refreshing experience he ever had. If she was happy, he was happy.

But then, it happened...

"Ryoga," Ukyo said. "You've crushing my arm."

Ryoga blinked his eyes. He looked at Ukyo; she was grimacing from the pain. "Sorry," he said quickly but flatly, releasing the pressure on her arm.

"You're thinking about Ranma again, aren't you?" she said, looking ahead.

"And why shouldn't I be?" He stopped walking and turned her towards him. "He's probably the reason Akane's hurt."

"I told you," she said, her anger rising again, "I don't know exactly why we're going over there. The caller just asked me to stop by. And why would Ranma hurt Akane at all?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Ryoga asked right back. "What stopped him last time?"

"You don't have to be so cruel, you know," she said.

He shrugged his shoulders and readjusted his backpack.

"That was a mistake, an accident."

He glared at her.

"Come on, she said pushing him a little. "The faster we get there, the faster I can get back to my restaurant."

Shampoo-she had come to accept the corrupted version of her name here in Japan-had just finished serving another large order for lunch. Most days the cafe she helped to run with Great-grandmother was half-busy. But the warmer temperatures had brought people out of their houses and today the tables were filled to capacity.

Placing the serving tray on the pickup counter at the left wall, she rested for a moment between orders. The warmer weather was having its effect on her as well as her customers. She was wearing a shantung silk one-piece, dyed purple to match her hair, no sleeves and short skirted and she was still overheated. On top of the purple an intricate pattern of flowers and vines had been printed. And the three Japanese kanji that she accepted as meaning "Cat Café" were embroidered in gold thread along the belt. She was becoming concerned. This skirt was one of the nicer ones she owned. If it got any hotter, the fabric could get ruined. She looked at the customers. If they were feeling the heat as well, they showed no signs of it.

Absently plucking the petals of a wilted bellflower from one of the tables, another tray was placed beside the one she had brought back.

"Shampoo," Great-grandmother said. "Four more orders of ramen. To table seven."

"Why everyone order hot soup on hot day, Great-grandmother?" Shampoo asked in the best Japanese she could.

"It is beyond even me, child," she replied in her ancient voice.

As Shampoo was edging her way along the folding screen on the back wall to avoid the crowd, she wondered why she couldn't speak more proper Japanese. She had been living here long enough, almost two years. But still she sounded like a child.

Maybe that's why Ranma didn't want to marry me, she thought. It's because I sound like a Chinese bimbo.

Though she knew it was also because of Ranma's feelings for Akane, she still latched on to this new idea of improving her language skills. Her torch for Ranma had all but extinguished-only Great-grandmother kept it lit with her insistent huffing-but one more chance to impress him couldn't hurt.

She set the bowls down on the table and made her way back to the counter. She had to snake through the crowd but she wasn't afraid of anyone trying to grab her. After the one patron who did muscle up enough courage to reach out and touch her, no one else dared come close. Mostly out of the fear of losing more teeth than he did.

When she made it back to the counter, she saw Great-grandmother hang up the phone. Her spirits began to lift. If she had to deliver an order it meant getting out of the restaurant and getting some exercise. She flipped her amethyst-shiny hair over her shoulder and brushed back a few short strands that clung to her neck.

"Shampoo," Great-grandmother started, "could you call Mousse over?"

"Mousse?" Shampoo asked. She turned around.

Mousse was busy bussing tables and serving drinks. With moderate success. He had a severe case of nearsightedness that required him to wear glasses with lenses so thick, she could barely see the eyes behind them.

He had learned to cope despite his visual impairment. He always wore his glasses during work hours, though barely at all any other time, and he learned to slow down a bit. The effect it had on his productivity as a worker was negative but very little. It affected his martial arts skills even less. She admired him for that.

But for Mousse, admiration was never enough. Repeatedly, he had tried to win her affections. The first time was in China in the Amazon village. He gave a short speech as his marriage proposal, then in the Amazon tradition they engaged in combat. The fight was over faster than the speech was. He tried in vain many times over before she left the village after Ranma. The second major attempt was made in Japan after Ranma had defeated her. He engaged Ranma in many battles yet lost every one of them.

Looking at him right now, watching him as he moved from table to table, she knew that he still held a grudge. She knew that the only thing that would settle him down would be nothing less than absolute victory over Ranma or herself. Over both if necessary. He was determined to come out on top. What he didn't realise was that she was just as determined, if not more so, to make sure that such a thing never happened.

She loathed to think what would happen if he actually was successful and she had to marry him. She was in line to becoming the leader of the Amazon tribe. If she were to present him as her husband, she would surely lose some, or most, or all of the confidence of the tribe. They may declare her unfit to rule if she had such a joke for a spouse. She and Mousse would have to face challenge after challenge to keep their position. Hundreds of fights would be waged and it would take them only one loss to have them deposed. Civil war was possible. She knew such thoughts were a little outrageous but then, she knew Joketsu women never were ones for subtleties.

"Mousse. Come quick," she called across the room.

He was in the middle of pouring a drink for a customer when he heard the call. He snapped his head around so quickly his glasses almost flew off his face. They faltered at the last second and landed low on his nose so that only the top halves of his green eyes peered over the frames. He started to take a step and bumped into one of the tables. He apologised quickly and on his second attempt, he ploughed through the crowd earning a few blows to the head.

Shampoo giggled softly at looked at Great-grandmother, inviting her to join in the joke. She just stood there, perfectly balanced on her staff and peered detachedly into the crowd.

Mousse, however, was becoming more agitated with each failed attempt. Another try ended with him tripping over his own robe.

Pushing up onto his haunches, he leapt up over the crowd. Out of his right sleeve he threw a steel claw attached to an iron chain and anchored it to a ceiling rafter. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he tugged on the chain and swung across the room over the heads of onlookers. At the perigee of his flight, he turned around and extended his knees out so that he looked as if he were adopting a formal sitting position. Just before he started to slow down, Mousse unhooked the claw and flew, still backwards, towards the wall.

She expected him to crash into the wall. Instead, he planted his feet against the wall, then arched his back so his hands were aimed at the floor. He landed on his fingertips. Pushing his feet off the wall and his hands off the floor, he sprung up and added a half twist, like he was performing a pole vault. He landed on his feet then dropped to one knee and clasped her hands between his own. Even his waist-length black hair fell neatly behind his shoulders. The crowd behind him applauded with delight.

"What can I do for you my most darling Shampoo?" he asked in the most debonair tone his cracked voice would allow.

She just stood there, agape with astonishment. She had never seen him do anything so gracefully. She had never seen him do anything graceful period.

"A mere flirt with good luck is all," Great-grandmother stated firmly. "Get off your knee, boy."

He didn't move, keeping his head down.

Shampoo looked at Great-grandmother then down at him. "Stand up, Mousse."

He was on his feet in less than a second.

Great-grandmother dismissed his impertinence in obvious favour of expedience. "I just received a call from the Tendo dojo." She paused to see if they were paying attention. "They asked me if you two could pay a visit."

"Why both of us, Great-grandmother?" Shampoo asked. She didn't want to turn down the invitation, but she found it strange that anyone would actually invite her over, let alone both of them.

"He didn't elaborate but I sensed some level of urgency in his voice," Great-grandmother replied.

"What about restaurant?"

"He said he would order something to make it worth the trip," she said as she packed some bowls into the delivery box. She handed it over to Shampoo.

"Who is He?" Mousse asked angrily, his eyes squinting a little.

"I believe it was Son-in-law's father," Great-grandmother shot back.

"Ranma's father?"

"Don't make me repeat myself." Great-grandmother glared at Mousse.

"We get going now. Okay, Mousse?" Shampoo started tugging on his arm. So help her, she would carry him out just to get him away from Great-grandmother.

He yielded against her pull momentarily, but complied. She was grateful that he didn't try to push things further. She had to get to the dojo to see what the enigmatic phone call was about.

Nabiki was reclining, one leg crossed over the other, in her bed. She had folded her pillows to act like a back support so she could watch her TV. Reaching over to her night table, she turned up the speed on the fan. The heat had been getting to her.

Wearing a white Henley T-shirt she had left open, she lifted up the right flap to allow the fan's breeze to flow around her breasts. The cut-off jeans she was wearing were so short they little more than a zipper and pockets. She also left her underwear in its drawer; the fewer layers that could trap the summer sun's rays, the better.

She had come home for summer break from Tokyo University where she was studying to become a corporate lawyer. She chose that speciality not only because of her interest, but also because her knack for such things precluded studying her ass off like so many other daigakusei. As a result, she could enjoy her break.

Picking up the remote and surfing the channels for a while, she settled on a station showing a rerun of a Shogakukan special. Shifting down and relaxing her head on the pillows, she ran her palm across her forehead. She wondered when the temperatures would drop finally. Although wearing so little was good for those impromptu business meetings-her schoolmate debtors being thrown off-guard were she to approach them-the risk was becoming too great for the gain.

She looked at her palm. She had collected so much sweat, it was trickling down her arm. She looked at her slim thighs as she ran her fingers across them, almost disgusted with the amount she was sweating. The weather had better change soon, she thought.

Turning the fan up to it highest setting, she crossed her arms so she could remove her shirt. It was becoming discoloured with perspiration and it was beginning to ride up. A knock at her door caught her with a bare mid-rift and her shirt piled around her wrists. Her door was locked and the heat overruled private modesty, so she just tossed her dampened shirt on the floor in front of her dresser.

"Who is it?" she called out when she finished.

"Nabiki," the reply came. "It's Father"

"Daddy?" He was the last person she expected to knock at-she brought up the clock on her television-four twenty in the afternoon. Usually at this time, he was either in the training hall doing his martial arts junk or playing game after game on that beat-up old chessboard with Ranma's father; this was completely outside his routine. From this, she knew that whatever was happening, it must be significant. Now if she only knew what it was. She was always adept at finding other people's motivations, but she could never fully understand her enigmatic father. Either she subconsciously didn't want to or he truly was a master of concealment. Yeah, right.

"If you have the time, could you come downstairs?" he asked, his voice muffled by the door.

His lack of inflection was agitating. She couldn't tell if it was good or bad and she hated having to enter an unknown situation. Such lack of preparedness would be bad for business-and to Nabiki Tendo, every situation was a business situation.

"Is something the matter?" she asked, easily hiding the building tension from her voice with years of coolness practice.

"I'll explain it in the dining room."

She heard his footsteps trailing off towards the stairs.

"Shit," she spat through a hiss. "What the hell is going on?"

Stepping over to her dresser, she bent down to snap up her discarded shirt to use as a quick towel. Dropping the shirt again, she sprayed on some deodorant under her arms and between her breasts to try and cover up the smell. She pulled a brush through her brown shoulder-length hair. "You know," she commented to herself, "certain animals are smart enough to shed their coats in the summer."

Dropping the brush on her bed, she pulled out a similarly styled, green tee from a drawer. Pushing the shirt down, she flung open the door and slammed it behind her. She stopped at the stairs, and chided herself for almost losing control. Shutting her eyes, she gripped the banister and took a few deep breaths. Though she a reason for being edgy-the only other time that Daddy ever came to her door like that was when Mama had died-she tried pushing those thoughts out of her head. They were counter-productive. There was no proof to sustain such suspicions; she needed facts.

When she felt calm enough, she allowed herself to proceed.

At the foot of the stairs, her composure gave away not to anxiety again, but confusion. Some sound may be coming from the dining room but it was unidentifiable.

Something near the door attracted her attention. It was pair of purple travelling slippers that were on the ground level of the foyer. She also noticed two more pairs of slippers and a pair of sneakers. Insight was developing slowly, but the evidence was far from circumstantial. Shampoo, Mousse, Ukyo, and Ryoga were called over. That meant the situation was centred on Ranma.

The lights were shut off, which wasn't irregular since it was daytime, but for some reason it gave the house an empty feeling despite the indication of guests. The effect was unnerving.

Her lip curled slightly, from the anxiety that seemed to hang in the air. She looked down the kitchen corridor; it was equally as dead. It was-she glimpsed her Seiko-four twenty-three and she heard no sounds from the kitchen. On a normal day, Kasumi would have been in there cooking enough food for all the family's ancestors.

As she tried walking down the hallway to confirm, a clinking sound pierced the silence from the room beside her. Her head whirled around so quickly, hair slick with sweat smacked her face and stuck. Clutching her chest and grabbing the corner of the wall, she tried to keep her heart from beating it's way out of her chest.

She shook her head the way she would shake her television set, as if to reconnect the logical part of her brain. Chopsticks striking a plate. She was getting spooked over chopsticks striking a plate. The absurdity of it was humiliating yet coyly humorous.

She turned back toward the foyer.

Resting her hand on the door handle to the dining room, she had to compose her expression. Other people were in this house and it was important to keep up appearances. The key was to always keep the same cynical look on her face that would encourage people to ignore her. If too many people were trying to observe her, she wouldn't be able to observe them, finding their motives and agendas, ulterior or otherwise. And with this bunch of guests there would be enough angles to make a defence lawyer go nuts and take the jury with him.

Opening the door, she took a quick scan of the room. Shampoo and Mousse were sitting on the left side of the table. Ukyo and Ryoga were on the right. Daddy and Mr. Saotome were sitting behind the table and Kasumi was closest to her. Everyone, except for Daddy, was calmly eating shrimp and rice dishes that Shampoo had brought over by the looks of the delivery box beside her. Ranma was outside looking at the fish in the koi pond.

Ryoga looked like he'd been sightseeing-or whatever he wanted to call it-for a couple of weeks again and brought a whole desert for a souvenir. Shampoo was dressed as if she were still working. In fact, everyone looked like they had been grabbed from whatever they were doing and set down in this room.

Daddy, resting his hand on the table, held a cigarette between two arched fingers. The only time he ever smoked was when he either celebrated or had unfortunate business. And, with the absence of any alcohol contemplating his other hand, she took it to be the latter.

Taking a pull, he exhaled slowly. "Please sit down, Nabiki," he said and motioned to the spot beside her sister.

She sat and Kasumi placed one of the dishes in front of her. "Thanks, Sis," Nabiki mumbled absently but didn't touch the food. Instead she was eager to find out what Daddy was going to say even though, outside, she looked as though her Prozac prescription ran out last week.

Daddy took another pull and watched as the streams collected and flowed around the light on the ceiling before snubbing his butt in the ceramic ashtray and pushing it away from him. "Recent events have prompted me to call you here today," he said.

Lowering his head, he looked around the table and continued. "I have called you because you are the closest friends of Ranma's. And this is a matter that requires the utmost co-operation. It is the hardest task that a martial artist must face. You all have been collected with one task in mind, you must help Ranma."

"Help him?" Ukyo asked. "Help him with what?"

"Nothing happen ever to Ranma what he not able to face." Shampoo stated firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"True," Mousse said pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Ranma is very...adept at handling himself. What could have possibly happened to...shake your reliance in his abilities?"

Nabiki rolled her eyes. Ah, the innocence of youth, she thought, resting her chin on her hand, elbow on the table.

She knew that Mousse was trying to expose a weakness. What he seemed to completely miss was the fact that if Daddy were hiding something, he would not have gone to the trouble of assembling them here.

"What I'm trying to say-" he glared at Mousse "-is that Ranma not feel like he is going to be attacked every minute of the day. This is my request, a covenant I want you all to abide by. None of you will try to assail Ranma with challenges. You will not raise any weapons toward him. You will not attack him openly or subversively. My daughters excluded of course." He gestured towards them, Nabiki blinking in lieu of response, Kasumi remaining cheerfully oblivious.

"Why are you doing this?" Ryoga asked, only he didn't use a menacing tone. Nabiki detected a small note of concern just beneath the surface. To Ryoga honour was nothing to toy with and, she guessed, even a hated rival was no exception.

Daddy sighed, defeated. He stood and turned toward Ranma who was still looking at the fish. "Ranma," he called out.

Ranma broke her attention from the water. Standing up, she walked into the house.

"Ranma," Daddy said.

"Yes, sir?"

Sir? Nabiki echoed silently. The keigo sounded thoroughly alien...coming from Ranma.

"Do you recognise anyone?"

That's it, she thought. That's the problem. That's why Daddy was stalling and acting apprehensively.

Ranma looked at every one in turn, starting with Ukyo and ending with Mousse. Then back again. She kept the same bewildered look the entire time. After a third pass, she was becoming upset.

Daddy put a hand on her shoulder to console her. "Don't worry, it's okay." He turned his attention back to the group. "Ranma was in an accident earlier this morning. It left her with a compromised memory. It's not complete amnesia so she has a better chance for recovery. Thank you, Ranma." She left.

"However," he continued in a lower voice, "one of the missing pieces in his memory has the knowledge of his male half inside. So this is imperative. Ranma must remember being a man on his own. If he finds out before he's ready, the consequences will not benefit any of us."

A few seconds passed to allow them to assimilate the information. The summer crickets' chirping was becoming a din in the quiet of the room. Then Ryoga broke the silence.

"All right," he said, raising his head from behind his woven fingers. "Count me in."

Daddy looked around at the others. There was a mixture of "Yes" and "Okay" from around the table.

"Very good. Thank you all," Daddy said.

Nabiki expected Mr. Saotome to say something but he stood up and left. Maybe it was hitting him harder than she thought.

She shifted her position so she was watching the four teens as they left looking for something-anything-that expressed what they were really thinking.

Daddy went after Mr. Saotome. Kasumi started to clear the table of the dishes Shampoo left behind.

"What do you think, Kasumi?" Nabiki inquired, keeping her gaze on the now-empty doorway.

"About what?" her sister asked back with that unconquerably nice attitude.

"Do you seriously think those four will keep their promise? If I were them, I would be thinking of ways to reap personal benefit before I made it off the property."

"Don't be silly, Nabiki. Friends wouldn't take advantage of other friends."

She swung her head towards Kasumi. "Yeah, but we're talking about Ranma."

Leaving the dining room and going to the stairs, Nabiki was set on getting back to her room. When she saw Ranma come from the end of the hallway however, she stopped. Her mind debated with-her heart?-over how to handle the situation. It was the first time in a long time, since Mama died, that she was unsure what roles she would have to take over, if she would have to provide. The last time she chose it was easy; to separate herself from the rest of the world, become merely an observer. And look where that got you. No real friends left. Nearly alienated herself from her family. But it was still the easier choice.

Akane could help Ranma, but that was unlikely. Daddy or Genma? Maybe, but instead of fixing things, they might make it worse. Kasumi-definitely not. Ryoga or the others?

It came down to the very next choice she would make, easy or hard, and she made it.

"Ranma," she called out.

She met Ranma halfway down the hall. Ranma looked exactly the same as Nabiki saw her in the dining room, but now she did seem defenceless. Though she would be unable to defend herself if one of those wackos were to attack, Nabiki refused to take pity on her. Ranma was still one of the world's best martial artists, even if she couldn't remember it right now.

"I want you to know, I'm pulling for you," Nabiki said at last. "I hope you get your memory back."

Ranma smiled and hugged her. "Thank you, Nabiki."

Nabiki stiffened for a moment but returned the favour. "'Kay, no need getting gushy on me."

"Sorry," she said pulling back.

Nabiki smiled the first sincere, heartfelt smile she had in a very long time. "Don't be, just be careful." She followed Ranma to the stairs.

"Don't worry," Ranma said, unaware of the danger ahead of her. "I've got my friends helping me."

Nabiki watched Ranma the rest of the way up. She hoped Ranma was right. She wanted to uphold her reputation as being a tough person would she end up drawing benefit from Ranma's affliction? She knew it would be easy-oh God, would it be easy. But I won't. Why?

Some part of her wanted to criticise her, say that she was going soft. But in truth she knew that to do such a thing would be worse than just being an impartial businesswoman, it would be heartless.

She just hoped that the others had similar convictions of conscience. If not, Ranma would be in for a rough ride on the road to recovery.

Then she remembered the hug.

She hoped to hell nobody saw her.

The realisation had hit Ukyo with all the force of a kick to the chest. Ranma was now devoid of his memories and forced to remain as a girl until he rediscovered them. He could be trapped for days. And all it would take was contact with plain, simple water and he would crack. He would become some kind of babbling invalid. He would-

She began to shudder and forced herself to think of something else. Except Ranma kept appearing in her thoughts. When she thought about her childhood, she remembered how Ranma would come to Dad's cart everyday. That memory was happy. But that didn't stop the next years from being not so happy. Like when Ranma left. After he and Genma had stolen her cart-the whole of her family's business-he had also stolen her life away.

Dropping into unpopularity and finally obscurity around her peers when they heard what happened, she had turned to her martial arts training to fill the void. But it was her thirst for revenge against Ranma that had kept her striving to become better. Of course, the training was not without its drawbacks as well.

She had thought that in order to beat Ranma-to beat a man-she would have to get inside a man's mind. So in preparation for training, she started to adopt a man's clothes and a man's persona for her sessions. It seemed to help.

But she had wanted to train harder and faster. So she went to wearing men's clothing full-time. And she wrapped her chest in bandages before puberty had finished with her to keep her chest size down. But she still felt she was being too easy on herself, so at Dad's behest, when she graduated grade school, she and him moved not just to another town, but to another prefecture. She enrolled in an all-boys school so she could train against other men. She even took birth-control pills to keep her female hormones in check.

She'd done it! She'd conquered the girl inside her and she was ready to fight Ranma and beat him, man-to-man.

Then Dad had fallen ill. The doctors called it viral pneumonia, said it was serious, yet easily treatable. They said, "he would make it." His left lung was completely blocked, but "he would make it." His temperature rose to a hundred and four, but "he would make it." His breathing became ragged; his blood pressure became so high, it was cause multiple aneurysms throughout his body; the only break his tired body got was when he finally went into cardiac arrest. They revived him of course, but they crammed a tube down his throat and hooked him to a respirator.

It had all happened in a day. She saw him lying there, like a corpse, and realised everything she had missed over the last nine years. Time forever lost to her. She cried, yearning for support yet finding none, the rest of her family having been long gone. She wanted...Ranma. She wanted someone to help her through this. She didn't want to be alone...

Less than twelve hours later, it was done. Dad had a second heart attack, one he could not be revived from.

Now she was truly alone. Alone except for her quest for revenge. Revenge against the one whom had ruined her life. If she were sentenced to be alone in this world, she would guarantee Ranma would get his own isolated shaft in Hell. The next year she had spent, tracking him down, until she finally caught up with Genma and him here in Nerima. She was ready for the glorious battle she had been envisioning when Ranma employed his unbeatable technique: ignorance.

She was taken aback when he had finally realised she was a girl. She immediately, and gratefully, dumped the fight and ten years of preparation like a batch of rotten vegetables. She opened up Uk-Chan's on a new vow, that she would get Ranma and never let him go. He may have been engaged to Akane in the time she was gone, but she would still have him in the end, no matter what she would have to do.

But now, two years after all that, he was gone again. Only this time it was not in body but in soul, and that was much worse. It left her even more powerless.

She stopped, buried her head in her hands, and cried.

"Are you all right?"

"What?" Ukyo blinked the tears out of her eyes to look at the person who had asked the question.

"Are you all right?"

Ryoga. She remembered Shampoo and Mousse had turning off toward the Cat Café, but Ryoga had walked off some time ago. Now he was here? And where did he come from?

He started to look nervous, and she realised she was staring.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said rubbing the back of her head momentarily before letting it drop again. "I just keep thinking of Ran-chan. He must feel like he's so lost."

Ukyo recognised the faux pas as soon as she spoke it. Grimacing, she looked up at him expecting to see his eyes burning, but his temper didn't flare.

"I don't know," he began, "I don't know if I'll be able to uphold my half of the bargain."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it. Ranma's finally in a vulnerable position, a position that he can't escape from." His voice softened a slight. "He would never see it coming."

Her eyes widened as understanding filled her thoughts. They could form a plan, a plan that could finally end the constant battling for Ran-chan's emotions. The more she thought about it, the more she liked it. She would no longer have to try to subvert Akane. Besides, Akane never came to admit she loved Ranma, as she had. Granted, Ranma had forced it out of her and he got a butt-load of pain for it, but she told him all the same. Now, fate was finally stepping in to give her a chance to have him say it back. There was no way she was just going to give it up.

Her eyes grew a bit more devilish. "Did you have anything specific in mind?" she asked.

"Okay..." He resumed walking. "I pretend like we like each other. You know, buddies. I try to get Ranma alone in a room..." He paused.

"Well?" she urged him.

"Well then I..." he tried to continue. "Forget it."

Her jaw dropped "What?" she blurted out.

He saw the look of anger on her face and became indignant. "What?" he asked. "I just can't think of anything!"

She stared off. "You, the one who hates seeing Ranma with Akane more than anyone?"

Before he could speak again, she clamped a hand over his mouth. She quickly looked down the street. She could see the shop where she picked up most of her ingredients. If the shop was there, then Uk-Chan's was nearby. She looked at the curtain beside her. She groaned when she saw that the place they were in front of was Uk-Chan's. She would save yelling at herself for her lack of perception later. Right now, she pushed him inside.

Walking back, Shampoo was in as much deep thought as Ukyo was.

Ranma didn't remember her. She doubted if he would ever remember. It was a morbid thought but it was undeniable; unless Ranma could remember that he was supposed to be male, nothing would seem familiar. Any memories that might resurface would be dismissed. The big, strong man she had once loved would be lost...forever.

I need some kind of distraction.

She looked at Mousse. He showed no emotion. His head was angled down but his eyes were aimed straight ahead, looking over his glasses.

She should have been content that he wasn't clinging on to her. But what happened in the restaurant, and now his lack of emotion, set off alarms in Shampoo's trained mind. She risked breaking the silence.

"Mousse?" she asked, her Mandarin wavering slightly with the tension in her chest. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." His response was as cold as his mood and he showed no signs of elaborating on his response.

She hung her head again and kicked a pebble out of her path. It rolled into the gutter and she sighed; it was the most exciting thing that happened since they left Ranma's.

She looked at him again. His gaze was still locked forward.

"You sure?" she ventured again.

"I said I was fine." His tone was a little harsher.

More alarms were set off. He had never acted this way before.

"But you're making me worried," she said letting a bit of a whine slip in.

"Leave me alone!"

Forgetting she was trying to find what was wrong, she quickly turned to anger herself. "Fine. See if I care!"

Hopping behind him, she aimed a kick to the back of his head. Not looking back, he blocked the kick with his forearm-hurting her leg in the process-and leapt up to a rooftop. She fell to her good knee and clutched the ache in her leg. The pain was shooting straight to the bone. She could do nothing but look on as he vaulted out of sight.

She stayed kneeling for a while, shocked at what he did. What had happened-was happening-to him? Had anything changed in the past week or month?

She racked her brain but couldn't find anything. Not before this morning had she noticed any change. What was causing it...and how could she have overlooked it until now?

Something was eluding her and she didn't know what, or why. It was obviously important; he was acting like a different person. It was making him angrier. Especially at Great-grandmother.

Great-grandmother. She may know what was changing Mousse. Her age and experience gave her wisdom and insight that Shampoo did not yet possess.

She tested her leg. The pain was subsiding quickly and she could walk on it again. She knew that thanks to years of training, there would be no bruise. To prove to herself that the leg was fine, she ran the rest of the way to the Cat Café.

Halting beside the doorway to the restaurant, she composed herself before she went inside. Holding a hand to her chest, she checked if her breathing was steady. If customers were in there, it would not look good to them if their waitress appeared to be anything less than perfect. She took a calming breath, lifted the curtain, and opened the door.

The standing crowd inside the restaurant had filtered out and every table except for a couple was occupied. It was quieter too; she could hear the music playing through the restaurant again.

She walked inside, bowing to a couple as they were leaving. The two returned the greeting and turned left when they got outside. She straightened up and cleared the vacated table to ready it for the next customers. A clattering of pans made her flinch and she looked towards the serving window. A billow of steam escaped into the dining room.

Walking over to the window, she saw Great-grandmother balancing on her staff, throwing another pan over her shoulder while she still tried to divide her attention amongst four burners. The pan didn't even reach the mouth of the basin. It struck against the lip and fell to the floor with another cacophonic ring.

She spun her head toward the pan and shot a look at it as if she were going to scold the pan for not following instructions. She then shifted her eyes to look at Shampoo.

"What kept you, Granddaughter?" she asked returning to her cooking. "And where is the fool?"

"Mousse left," Shampoo answered in Japanese. "Shampoo no know where Mousse went." She thought about her next question and decided to brave it. Shampoo want ask about Mousse. When-"

"Not now," Great-grandmother interrupted. "I need you to do some dishes before I run out."

Jumping through the window, Shampoo and looked at the big sink closer. One half was filled with bowls with bowls and plates and cooking utensils, the other half with pots and pans. "Why Shampoo have to?"

"Because the quack isn't here and because we need dishes if we wish to continue serving customers. So hurry up."

Shampoo looked at the back of the elder and then back to the sink full of dishes. Sighing, she took a free apron and tied it around her.

Inside Ryoga broke free of Ukyo's grasp. He took a fighting stance two feet away; she stood at the door indignantly as if daring him to try something. They stayed like that, staring at each other, so quiet each could hear the other's heartbeat, for about half a minute.

Ukyo broke the silence first. "Useless."

"I am far from it, aren't I? But you don't need to remind me of that," he said. "And what the hell does this have to do with Akane?"

"Put your stuff down," she said, her voice soft but demanding.

He didn't move. His arms remained extended in opening stance.

"Ryoga!" she barked. He flinched at the false start. "If I was going to fight you, I wouldn't be talking to you! Now drop your position and drop your bag!"

His eyes fluttered slightly and his jaw loosened. It was good enough for her. Muscles thanking her for being able to rest, she walked over to the counter and dropped her bandoleer behind it as a sign of good faith. Tossing her hair behind her shoulders, she moved to a table between them and sat down, crossing her arms across the smooth, lacquered surface of the oak table.

He walked up, unhooked his umbrella and set it against the table leg. He checked for a reaction from her though she kept from making any. Then he laid his bag against the umbrella.

Sitting down-finally-at the table, he rested on his elbows. "You still haven't told me how Akane fits into this."

"I think you already do know, Ryoga. You've already thought up a plan, haven't you...but you're not willing to use it? Why?"

"Listen, Kuonji. We made a deal-"

"And you're honour-bound to uphold it, is that it?"

His face darkened and his voice hardened. "Yes. It is."

She was expecting this reaction and changed her tactic accordingly.

"But Ryoga, has Ranma been very honourable towards you? What about P-chan?"

Ryoga faltered a bit but didn't lose pace. "Okay! So maybe he is a little ignominious, but he hasn't completely betrayed my trust! Akane still doesn't know!"

"You're rationalising."

"I'm following my honour."

He certainly was consistent; she had to give him that. And she was getting nowhere.

She laid her cards out on the table. "Okay, Ryoga, here's how it works. Ranma doesn't know Akane anymore. So all you have to do is distract Akane so Ranma can't get close."

"Humph! Right. And you get Ranma, huh? He's a girl right now, in case you haven't noticed," he said, mimicking her, "so your chance's of attracting him are pretty fucking low right now. And it's him who's lost his memories, not Akane, and though he can't remember it, she still does love him!"

That's when she lost it. Slamming her palms on the table, she jumped up, knocking her chair back. "Damn it, Ryoga!" she shrieked. "Did you sleep through last year? You remember what happened!"

"I thought that was an accident!" he countered. "I just don't care anymore! I admitted my defeat! It's time you do too!"

"Never," she growled.

"Fuck, fine. Whatever. See ya'."

She glared at him as he gathered his things. She hardened herself and pushed the anger from her mind, she didn't want to have a repeat of the nervous breakdown that had caused her to bomb Ranma's place that one time. But there were too many advantages she would be giving up if she allowed Ryoga to escape. He could get where she couldn't, due mostly to the fact that Akane trusted him more. That way-if she got him onto her side, and that was becoming a very big if-she would have a method of keeping tabs on Ranma even when Akane was close by. And there was no way in Japan that Ryoga would spill anything in front of Akane, lest he wanted to face her wrath; he wouldn't be able to bear it if she were angry with him.

The last hurdle Ukyo had yet to overcome was getting Ryoga to obey her, and there he was preparing to walk out the door. Damn you, Ryoga, she thought. I see you've smartened up in the last couple of years. But I still have one ace up my sleeve.

"Ryoga," she said when she finally found the words.

He paused inches from the exit and shifted the weight on his foot, swiveling his torso so he looked back at her, he didn't respond. He just stood there, somberly blinking his eyes, one hand clutching the strap of his backpack.

Tentatively, Ranma slid the door open to the room she was staying in. Her mind told her that the lack of furniture she saw was a normality of Japanese design, but the emptiness of the room only served to remind her of the emptiness inside.

Slapping herself on the head, she tried to remain objective in her surroundings. Needless self-pity would not help her. She looked around the room for something familiar. The room was rokujô size, built from the same materials represented in the rest of the house. In the far end, to her right, was a closet with a small table beside it. The table was supporting a bonsai. She saw that there was no other furniture. No desk, no dresser, not even a simple wall scroll. The only other features this room had was a full-length mirror on the opposite wall of the closet, and a window centred on the wall in front of her. She might as well be living in tract housing.

Stepping over the threshold, she closed the door. Since the shutters on the window and the slats on the windows were closed, a halo of light, cast around the window, was the only source that kept the gloom from falling into darkness. There was a fluorescent light in a simple wooden fixture on the ceiling but, preferring the low light, she made no move for the switch. Instead, she walked to the mirror.

"Its about time I get a chance to see what I look like," she said.

When in view of her reflection, she just stood there, taking it all in. She was about five-foot-two, maybe five-three, with a small face and soft features: an upturned nose, full lips that looked like they would pout when she wanted and deep blue eyes. But none of that stood out the way her hair did. Her hair was red, like fire, which defied the darkness of the room and seemed to shine with radiance all its own, though sharing none with its surroundings. She ran a hand through her bangs also fascinated by how the tightness of the braid in her hair made her pigtail curl upward.

When she looked at the rest of her clothes, she became confused. Made of Chinese silk, her top was red with four clasps, her pants dark blue with a white silk drawstring. The confusing part was that, with the sleeves of the shirt rolled up and the numerous folds in the pant's waist, it looked like her clothes were made-or bought-for someone larger. And yet, she thought as her mind switched tracks, even through that, the figure was unmistakable.

She used her hands to even out the fabric, but thanks to her curves there wasn't much to even out. Her whole frame was voluptuous, with breasts that felt like they were sculpted from marble despite the fact they had Croftian proportions, and hips that looked like they could bend steel. She also had the smallest waist she could imagine was possible.

"And this is without plastic surgery?" she asked of herself, arching her back to check her butt. "Damn, I've got good genes."

She struck a couple more sexy poses before she began to giggle at how silly she looked to herself.

Her mood was decidedly better. If she really had amnesia, she felt better about being a hot, eighteen-year-old girl than a fat, eighty-year-old man. But still, it was nothing to hide behind. She had to find the real Ranma, whoever she was. And she was prepared for a struggle.

"But these clothes..." she said trailing off. She reconfirmed that there was no dresser, and made her way to the closet.

Opening the closet door, she looked inside. There were four shelves plus a space on the floor. Three pairs of house slippers were down there. Two futons were on the first shelf. More Chinese clothes on the second shelf. The third was bare and the top shelf was too high to see. The shirts were the same style as what she wore but with the same ridiculous dimensions. If these were hers, what must she have been thinking?

When she tried to look at the size of the folded pants, the room became darker. Not like a crawling twilight, but very quickly, unnaturally. Behind her she heard a noise like a soft wind rustling grass. Under different circumstances she would have found the sound calming, but right now it filled her with inexplicable dread.

Most of the time the world is infamous for filling people's lives with harmless, unexplainable events. As she turned to face the origin of the fading sound however, she felt that harmlessness was at a very low rung on its priority ladder.

A gasp got caught in her throat. There was someone in the corner of the room directly opposite from her. For a moment, the figure just stood and, man, she thought, the figure was tall.

Even in the dark surroundings the intruder was darker still, absorbing all as efficiently as the mirror would reflect it. Slowly, the intruder took a step forward. She tried to take a step back but was prevented by the closet shelves she had already backed up against when she first saw it.

The intruder drew back its arm and held it for a heartbeat. But that was where the lag ended. It whipped its arm and a cord came at her like a gunshot. In the last split-second she had, she dove out of the way and the cord-or whatever it was-and crashed into the closet. She screamed in hope that it would attract someone's attention downstairs. The assailant moved to the middle of the wall to collect its weapon, except she didn't see any hands moving. That thought was thrown quickly aside so she could draw her legs up to avoid the projectile again. The cord struck the hardwood, splintering one of the floorboards with a deafening crack!

In the short pause, she leapt up and grabbed the table behind her, letting the plant fall. It hit the floor but the pot did not break. Lifting the table above her head, she hurled it at the figure. It didn't look up until the last second. The table hit and the back of its head smashed into the mirror. The table fell to the floor with the shards of reflective glass though it gave no cry of pain or surprise. Instead, it kicked the table back at her. She dodged and the table widely missed her but when it hit the wall, it splintered and one of the legs struck the back of her knee, forcing her down.

The sound of her heart was pounding in her ears and enough adrenaline was pumping through her vessels to make her eyes pop out of their sockets. Her exhaustion was more from the stress of fear than exertion and she didn't think that the figure had even broken a sweat. That thing was just that; despite the shape, she didn't think it was even human.

The figure lashed out again and she dropped to the floor as the whip flew past. Before it could gather the weapon again, she grabbed it.

The texture was completely wrong for any rope or cord or even chain and it was very cold. The figure made no effort to pull at the captured whip; it merely flinched its arm and the tendril itself wrapped itself around her.

"What the hell are you?" she demanded, striving to sound intimidating but coming off as being scared out of her wits.

The reply came in the form of her attacker pulling her off the floor and throwing her face-first against the wall. The force of the impact made her lungs implode and seize up. It repeated the process on the opposite wall and she was almost thrown through the window. Instead of breaking through on the impact, the glass broke and cut her shirt and back. She recovered her breath long enough to cry from her spine grinding against the shutters as she fell to the floor.

"Ranma, what's wrong?" a voice called through the door. She recognised the voice of her father and screamed again.

Father began to open the door but the thing forced it shut again. It freed her to concentrate on its task and she took the chance to scramble away. Turning back, she saw it extend itself to cover the door! She told her eyes to stop playing nasty jokes but they gave no other view. How was this possible?

The banging of fists and short yells came from outside, but the figure turned its attention back to her, having finished with the door to its satisfaction. She realised she had backed herself into a corner, with nowhere else to run to. Frantically, she grabbed the bonsai that had fallen and threw it at the thing's head. When the bonsai hit, its head exploded like a cherry bomb in a mound of sand. Faced with another impossible scene, her mind was reeling with confusion. Even in this darkness, it clearly looked as though no head existed on the intruder's inky shoulders any more.

She thought she killed it but her celebration was short lived. The figure, headless, started walking toward her. By the second step, the thing's head reconstituted as if the explosion was being played in reverse. Now back together, it continued to advance.

When it was close enough-considering that in her opinion, its presence anywhere on the planet was too close-she could see green eyes, not too bright but pulsing like an artery, set on its non-existent face. They also flickered with flames fuelled by an unknown source.

She was aware of the punching outside again because now it was closer, being directed on the wall. The figure paused, looking at the wall. The next punch that came started to splinter the wood. She expected another punch. Instead, Father burst through the wall like a human battering ram. The figure crossed its arms to try to block the rush but when Father hit it, it exploded the same way its head did. It did not come back.

Father hit the floor with a grunt. Ranma rushed over to him wrapping her arms around him, happy to see anyone human.

Sobbing into his chest, she was blustering half-sentences and gratitude. "Oh, thank you. It just- Then it- And you- Oh, thank God. No, thank you."

He rose to his knees and held her up. His eyes darted around as his hands patted her, trying to find signs of injury. Convinced that she wasn't hurt too badly, he looked at her again

"What happened?" he asked, concerned.

"Something attacked me," she said through tear-filled eyes, clutching Father's shirtsleeves to confirm that he was real.

"You mean someone," Uncle Tendo corrected.

Looking up at the other man who came with Father, she pondered his words. Her enemy had the shape of a human but that was where the similarities ended. She tried to attribute the silhouetted features as a trick of the shadows but what crepuscular conditions could create burning green eyes?

"Yeah, someone," she said quietly, hoping it would convince them. It didn't convince her.

Father stood up and went over to his friend. He pinched the cleft of his chin and let his head droop a little. They were not whispering, just talking softly, and she could overhear.

"We have a precedent," Uncle said, tugging at his beard. "What if this happened again while we were away?"

Father furrowed his brow. "I'm just concerned about Ranma's health. The child has no real experience remaining, it would be like trying to train a baby to walk as soon as it's out of the womb."

"Yes," Uncle agreed, "but if we keep to basic throws and punches, maybe a few simple kata routines, the new knowledge could unlock the old."

Head still hanging, he dropped his arms and he turned to her. A single tear was shed.

She looked back. Her eyes, first a combination of concern and sadness, started to grow a look of encouragement. If it would help her memory, she wanted to try it.

He stared at the floor; an inward argument kept stiffening his muscles. Finally, he thrust his fist out to her in an averring pose.

"Ranma. You must be trained to defend yourself," Father said. "If you think that this is the last attack, you couldn't be more wrong."

Not the last attack? Her eyes widened in astonishment. She never figured that so many people would take advantage of her but, then again, she didn't know anyone else at all. That made it very difficult in deciding whom to trust, including the men before her. No. She was only allowing herself to be caught in the grip of irrational fear. And why, because of one attack? These were people she could trust. And they wanted to help her so she could help herself. Too much dependency, she decided, was not a good thing to have.

"Train me," she said simply.

"Good." Father smiled. "It is a decision no one can regret."

"You don't know how fulfilling the rewards are," Uncle stated.

Father walked over to the closet. The shelf that held Ranma's clothes was splintered in half. He took notice of this but reached for the top shelf, and brought down a short stack of white clothing held together with a black fabric strap. He tossed the bundle at her.

"Put this on and meet me in the training hall. You remember where we showed it to you?"

She nodded. He smiled again then left through the hole. His friend followed.

Cradling the clothes, she slowly walked across the room as she looked at them. She couldn't remember anything about them, but it just seemed right.

She went for the door but paused. She stared at the mirror and a thousand fragmented Ranmas stared back.

"Which one of you is the real one?" she asked the mirror expressionlessly and left, closing the door behind her.

A breeze blew through the empty room and the shutters on the window reacted by silently opening.

She hadn't cared where she ended up when she left; she just had to leave.

By the time she had decided to look up, she was in Shakujii Park. Here the view was wonderful. The trees were vibrantly green and stretched far into the sky as if they were longing to caress the clouds. Grass danced along the hills as the wind gently rolled past them. The sun shone on Sanpoji Lake, its reflection being broken apart into patterns of gold and blue.

To Akane, this place held the best memories: the ones of her mother. Mom had been a beautiful, caring person. Her hair was a very dark brown, almost to the point of being black, but lighter than Akane's. Her eyes were chocolate brown, like Akane's, and set evenly apart on her slender face. A face that shared a thin, upturned nose with lips that produced warm smiles. A face that was moulded in the softest clay with nothing but gentle curves, a stark contrast to her father's chiselled, weather-beaten features. She was surprised that the memory was so fresh, as if Mom had left only a few months ago instead of eight years.

Walking down one hill and up another, Akane came to rest under the single tree decorating the peak. Resting against it, she looked at the stained-glass-like patterns of light and shadow shifting with the rocking of the branches and limbs.

It was from Mom that she had learned her self-assertiveness. She had been told that the Japan that Mom knew would be completely different from the Japan Akane would live in. It was going to be a land where both the men and the women would be given equal opportunities in every aspect of society. It was going to be a land where women would have the right to choose and not be shamed for those choices.

Sitting under the tree, she wondered if Mom had been a visionary, or just an optimist. Ever since Ranma had darkened her doorstep, he had gone out of his way to destroy Mom's beliefs. Whenever Akane would show any sign of independence, even if it were as simple as a suggestion, he would brush her off try to "put her back in her place." Then came the ignorance, than the insults, and they all served to swell her anger until she lashed out at him. Then she would feel better; but Ranma must feel perversely satisfied because he would start the process again.

"Why is it so hard for him to show even a little respect anymore?" she whispered to herself. She shed a tear from each eye: one for Mom, one for Ranma.

She fell asleep, but her dreams were littered with the morning's events. One particular moment gnawed at her.

She had remembered seeing the mop. Looking behind her, she had spied the mop beside the door where Kasumi had left it. Casting one final icy glance at Ranma she had picked up the mop and adjusted her grip so she held it like a javelin. She drew back her arm and had thrown it.

Except it was...wrong. The mop had flown startlingly straight. It had reached Ranma in seconds. It had landed in the exact place that his feet would a half-second later so he would slip and fall into the pond. The events were just too...perfect.

She tried to think of why she had picked that moment to leave, but instead slipped further, into a dreamless sleep.

Waking up later, she had gazed at the sky that had transformed itself into a gigantic, ethereal rainbow. The yellow and red being produced by the setting sun, itself no more than a sliver on the horizon. The indigo and violet by the creeping night on the other side of the sky. And the clouds set up like benches that angels would use to watch the splendour.

But now that she was almost home, the sky was dark, save for the light pollution spreading out from downtown. She wasn't walking with any particular speed. Returning home was getting harder to do because if Dad wasn't there to chide her again, it would be Ranma with his teasing.

She came up to the large oak doors of her house. Her body was tense and she drew a deep breath to relax. Her body loosened but she was still apprehensive about jumping back into the foray.

Finally, she walked inside the outer wall. Slowly making her way up the stone path, she smelled the scents coming from the orchids and chrysanthemums planted along the side fence. She heard the flitter of water as the fish swam around in the pond. But these things held no relief for her.

Was she losing the capacity to find beauty? If that was true, then she could also lose the capacity to love.

It was a chilling notion not because it could happen, but that it might already be true.

When she had first met Ranma, she liked the girl she saw right from the start. When she found out the girl was also a guy, her offer of friendship disappeared; almost.

As time progressed, he had done things that irritated her and even though she was quick to anger, she was almost as quick to forgiveness.

And he also did things that touched her. Soon after, their friendship returned. And from friendship came attraction and then romance...

She still remembered the night a month after Ranma had rescued her from Saffron. He had told her about the day they would get married and how they had to keep all of it a secret from...opposing forces. He had said that once he won the dojo from Dad, they would perform the ceremony the same night. She had teased about what he could offer and he showed how much a martial artist's endurance could provide.

The day they had agreed on was the summer after Akane's eighteenth birthday.

Then something happened a year ago that destroyed all that...

Akane and Ranma were sitting in the Cat Café sharing a House Special when Ling Ling, one of the younger warriors from Josetsuzoku, entered and collapsed on the floor. Her clothes were covered with dirt and coloured with drops and spatters of blood. When Shampoo's great-grandmother, Cologne, woke her up and bandaged her wounds, she asked what had happened.

Shampoo came back from a delivery in the middle of the Mandarin exchange and looked confused at the presence of her tribal sister.

To Akane the words were no more than gibberish but it was clear as to the severity of the message. Ling Ling was on the edge of hysteria. Cologne stiffened, her gaze closing to a squint. When Ling Ling finished, Shampoo-the blood long drained from her face-broke down sobbing.

Akane looked at Ranma only to see a mirror of her confusion on his face; he shrugged his shoulders.

Shampoo gathered Ling Ling into her arms and they both cried into each other. Cologne came over to the table and sat across from Ranma.

"Ling Ling has told me that the Josetsu village has been brutally attacked," she said.

Akane gasped and covered her mouth. Tears started to well. She had seen the village only once but she was loath to think of the beauty of its lush green fields and mountains surrounding ancient cottages being destroyed by invaders.

Ranma pushed his bowl aside and leaned in. "Who's doing the attacking?"

Cologne's vigorous anger broke through her otherwise inscrutable features. "The attackers claim to be the rightful Bayankala Josetsu. They set fire to most of the homes. The killed many tribeswomen before they could escape. Including Lung Lung."

Akane went as pale as Shampoo had. Ranma trembled with rage, muscles bulging along his arms and face as he clenched his fists and jaw. Wicks of aural flame danced up his back and across his shoulders.

"Ling Ling came here because she wanted Shampoo to ask you to help in reclaiming the tribe's territory," the ancient said.

A deep guttural growl issued from Ranma. "I'll make this clear to you right now old ghoul." Ranma aimed a finger straight at Cologne. "Under any other circumstance I would leave your tribe's affairs to you...but I will not stand by and watch innocent children be murdered."

"Neither will I," came a voice. Mousse appeared out of nowhere and took to the chair beside Akane.

"You assistance is unnecessary," Cologne said immediately.

"My family is also at stake in this little war. I would gladly fight for only them, but I believe you will find my help beneficial."

Akane agreed with Ranma and Mousse, she wasn't fond of the old crone and it wasn't any of her business but-

"I want to come too," she said at last.

"Why you, child?" Cologne asked.

So, I can keep Ranma away from your clutches. "I can help Shampoo or someone else with a triage unit."

She was accepted into the game plan without anyone realising that she had made the wrong of the first of two very important decisions.

The sight of the village was horrible, almost petrifying. Akane had envisioned burnt and broken houses but not the burnt and broken bodies to go with them. The sight was made further revolting by the deep iron colour of all the blood in the red of dawn's twilight. She felt like someone had kicked her in the gut.

"Gives new meaning to 'Paint the town red,' doesn't it?" Ranma grimly quipped.

"Ranma!" she snapped, her stomach knotting. "How can you say such a thing?"

He didn't answer. She was about to yell at him again when she noticed something. Ranma's fists were clenched and trembling. She looked at his face. He only offered her a profile, but it was enough to show he was mesmerised by the horrid scene before him. But his eyes betrayed his veneer of sarcasm; they were burning with fury, even more than what she witnessed in the restaurant far across the sea in Japan.

A single tear escaped his eye. She softened and decided to let Ranma cope in his own way.

Ling Ling led the group of martial artists to the temporary camp of survivors. They hadn't all been killed yet, but they were still dying. The set-up was deplorable. A few scattered burlap tents, wounded huddled under a hastily erected awning with no beds and in most cases, no blankets.

Akane immediately went over to one of the tribeswomen with Shampoo. The woman, who said her name was Dei Xi, had a sister clutching a bloody rag over the hole in her left shoulder where her left arm should have been. Akane tried to help staunch the flow of blood when Dei Xi told her to stop and help the sister.

"What wrong with your sister?" Akane asked.

"She have broken leg," Shampoo translated.

Akane stared in shock at Dei. "But your wound could be fatal!"

"Dei Xi knows," Shampoo relayed. "Dei Xi welcomes death when death comes." She talked to Akane directly now. "If Dei Xi not die, Dei Xi no more be good warrior. Is fate worse than death."

Akane's head drooped. She didn't want to accept it but, after a year of living with Ranma, she knew that it was no good trying to fight with someone who made up their mind. Besides, she tried rationalising to herself, battle was these people's life force. Still, not wanting to admit a total loss, she administered a painkiller before attending to the sister.

Ranma had followed Cologne into one of the tents earlier and by the time Akane was stitching a cut in her third patient, he re-emerged.

The crowd, previously milling back and forth, chatting with each other, comforting each other, became silent as Cologne stood before them.

"This boy is to help up with our battle against the other tribe," she declared. She repeated herself in Mandarin. "To that end, he is to be granted dispensation from our laws for his stay."

When she repeated herself again, various shouts could be heard. "Why we need more outsider-help, they say," Shampoo offered for Akane.

Cologne barked two short sentences, then started picking people from the group. "Silence, I am spoken, she says."

The day continued on harshly. Akane's skin was dirty and her hair was matted. The loose green tank top and shorts she wore were also dirty and crusted with blood. Shampoo was equally dishevelled. At least all the wounded had been tended to, if not by her, then other sisters who offered to help.

She took the opportunity to rest a little and take a slug of water when Shampoo offered.

"Thank you for helping me Shampoo," she said handing the canteen back.

"Akane welcome. Shampoo too-too glad to help."

"I feel like taking a bath for a week when we get back."

"Is okay. Shampoo use that time to steal Ranma away."

She caught the joke in the Amazon's words. "He's all yours."

Akane looked at Ranma. When he started training that morning, it was just a succession of one-on-one battles. Now he had escalated his handicap to four at once, no holds barred. Watching him was like seeing poetry. He had removed his shirt earlier because of the heat and Akane drank in the sight of his muscles flexing and relaxing underneath his taught skin. Though such bulk would slow a normal person down, Akane kept reminding herself that Ranma was far from normal. He knew his own body better than anyone else-although Akane considered herself a very close second-and he kept everything working in constant unison to give himself a cat-like grace. Actually, he could put a cat's grace to shame.

"Akane getting hot from sun? Or Ranma?"

She jumped at Shampoo's voice. Her friend giggled and she could only blush.

Ranma finished up with the group. He grabbed his shirt from the ground and jogged over to Akane. He reached in to kiss her, but she tried to protest.

"Ranma," she said, "come on. I'm filthy and you're all sweaty."

"You'd rather be sweaty with me?" he said with a grin. Before she could say anything further, Ranma slung one hand around her waist, the other around her neck, and drew her straight in.

She resisted for a second then relaxed completely with a soft sigh. She felt the contours of his stomach and chest that she loved so much. She pressed against him and tasted the salt on his lips, enjoyed the play of his tongue. Suddenly her mind informed her where she was and she broke the kiss. She just smiled at him coyly and brushed the damp hair from his eyes.

"Shampoo need make more room?"

Akane looked over while trying to keep Ranma from nibbling at her ear. "Sorry, Shampoo," she said.

"Is okay. Just don't go around Great-grandmother like that or else she have heart attack."

Ranma looked up, interested "Really?"

"Ranma!" Akane swung a fist at him.

He dodged and put up his hands in surrender. "Kidding," he said. Then he took her arm and they went to the tent the village people-against her protest-provided for them.

Getting inside, Akane said, "You seem to be in better spirits."

"You think so?" he said from behind a partition. "Yeah, I guess I am. I feel confident about the battle."

"Not too confident, I hope," Akane said smiling as she walked around the screen.

Slipping out of his boxers, he flashed her his own confident smile that said puh-lease!

Hopping into the wash drum, Ranma went underwater for a minute and came back up with a Gasp! "Akane," he asked, "can you bring the soap?"

Akane was sitting reading a book she had brought with her, but she wasn't concentrating. Her gaze kept shifting up to Ranma, who was across the tent. He was stepping through the motions of the shinchi kata but with his eyes closed. He kept hopping from one foot to the other keeping perfect balance.

"Son-in-law!" Cologne yelled pushing back the flap of the tent. Ranma was caught in mid-leap when his eyes flew open and his head snapped around in reflex. He lost his balance and fell through the tent wall. Akane looked towards Cologne with an equally surprised expression.

"We must be quick to the battle," she said, then disappeared.

Performing a reverse somersault, Ranma left through the new hole in the tent. Akane ran outside through the original opening as he ran past her with the rest of the tribe. She sped after him trying to catch up.

"Ranma!" she called after him. He slowed slightly to meet up with her. "Are you sure you're okay? Even after all of today's training?"

"This battle is mine!" he declared triumphantly. He gave her one more passionate kiss, then increased his strides and tore away to the head of the barrelling pack of Amazon warriors.

Slowing down, Akane lightly pressed her fingers to her lips trying to keep the memory of his warmth from escaping.

She slowly treaded back to camp letting her arms fall to her side. Why did the attack have to come so suddenly? Ranma was, in no doubt, in perfect physical condition. But the amount of training he put in today...

Checking up on some of her remaining patients and arranging short services for those who died refusing to receive treatment for their wounds, it was about a half-hour after Ranma left that Akane conceded it was getting too dark to see. She looked up at the sky. It had become overcast and the clouds were threatening to release their storage of rain.

She followed an erratic circuit around camp setting up kerosene lamps and wax candles that Shampoo-who was now involved in the battle, her mind tortured-had purchased earlier that day. Suddenly, she thought heard a crash of thunder as the camp lit up in an explosion of light.

Turning around, she caught the last few seconds of light as if faded. It wasn't lightning; it was an explosion of energy from the battle site! As if to confirm her suspicion she saw an orange sphere rise up like a comet and explode in mid-air. She jumped up and hit the ground running. The light had to be from Ranma's Tiger Blast Attack. That meant the battle was escalating.

If Ranma or the others were here now, she thought, they'd try to stop me. But if Ranma thought I was in trouble, he wouldn't hesitate.

As she ran towards Ground Zero, the clouds began to open up. At first it was a mere sheen but quickly sped up until large fat droplets were falling at a torrent pace. It might have served to refresh her were the rain not warm from the high temperatures.

Her clothes clung to her, slightly restricting her movement. Her sneakers quickly became covered in mud and she was kicking it up the backs of her legs and clothes but she only increased her pace.

Soon she made out a halo of red light and realised that the houses were again ablaze. She remembered the sight of the bodies she saw and tried to push out the next thought before it could manifest itself. Ranma's too good for such a fate, she thought and pushed herself to and run faster anyway.

Clearing a hill, she saw the grim visage of the battle. Tribeswomen and men were engaged in a fight to the death. There was no order to the combat; no pairing off the fighters, no calculated strikes or blocks, just a bloody race to see which side could kill the other first.

Akane pressed against one of the few walls that remained standing. She looked around the corner in time to see one of the combatants-one of the losers now-slam against the house with a disk-like blade embedded in his skull, blood etching macabre rivers down his face. She shrieked at the sight of it.

"Akane?"

She looked and saw Mousse holding a chain. He tugged on it and the steel discus was pulled out of the dead man's head with a sickening Pop! He grabbed the safe edge as the chain disappeared into his seemingly abyssal robe. Although now, the signs of war covered the normally white fabric. Blood, muck, and gore.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as if she had merely bumped into him on the street.

"I saw the takabisha attack from camp. Where's Ranma?"

He was about to answer when a woman jumped from the Choreography from Hell straight at Mousse's back with a spear. In a single spin of incredible speed Mousse turned behind him to kick the spear out of the way, brought his arm around, slashed the woman across the throat, and turned to face Akane again before she finished falling.

"Forget it!" he blurted back. "Get back to camp before you're hurt!"

"And what if he's hurt?"

"He isn't! Just leave!"

Before she could plead again, the sky lit up and the ground shook as another Tiger Bullet soared above. Following the trail of light left in its wake before it vanished, Akane took off after its source.

"Akane, no!" Mousse was ready to run after her but the fighting had surrounded him again.

She wove her way behind the ruins of the village's houses. Miraculously, she wasn't challenged or attacked. She looked at it as a good sign. When she was about a dozen metres away, she saw him. Quickly, she ducked behind a wall like she had done earlier only she had to keep crouched because the piece of wall that was left was only a metre high. She peered around the edge, keeping as close to the ground as possible.

Off to the left stood Ranma who-thank God-didn't look badly hurt. The only hits he had were a few minor scratches on his arms and legs and a bruise on his cheek. His opponent however didn't have a single mark.

Akane assumed that he was fighting the leader of the attacking tribe. She looked to be about as old as Cologne, same white hair, same amount of age creasing her skin. This tribal leader, however, was twice as tall though still shorter than Ranma.

Akane shuffled herself into a more comfortable position so she was flat on her belly, allowing the mud to slowly soak into her clothes, a small price.

The old woman darted her eyes over in her direction. Had she heard the movement? Akane kept very still.

Ranma took that distraction as an opening. Very quickly, he charged the old woman and set himself up into a leaping roundhouse kick. She was clearly caught off-guard but she recovered rapidly. She ducked under the sweep and sprang under him, hitting his other leg as she went. He landed on the kicking leg and jumped again, performing a flip to turn him back around. Before he managed to land, the old woman charged him. She disappeared for an instant, re-materialising behind Ranma as he went down. The motion was too fast for Akane to see but intuition told her that he had been clotheslined in the crone's brief vanishing act.

Turning downward momentum into backward, Ranma rolled through the fall and pushed off with his hands into a half-flip.

No good, Akane thought. With her behind him and his back turned, Ranma is wide open.

As if to prove her point, the old woman started a kicking motion, readying herself to release it as soon as Ranma landed. But it didn't connect. The instant he'd spent landing was the same he spent jumping again. He tucked his legs up into him as he sailed back away. At the apex of his flip an orange light welled between his hands.

"Môko takabisha!" A ball of light streaked towards the old woman, simultaneously propelling Ranma further away.

What happened next is something Akane wished she would never have to see again. Before the tiger bullet could hit her she aimed her palms towards it and it slowed down! The energy became compressed into an egg-like shape and hung there crackling.

After what was a second of time but felt like an eternity, the old woman waved her hands aside and the energy, reasserting its spherical shape, flew away from Akane, exploding in the distance.

Ranma landed, unfazed. "It's time to finish this, Bleach!"

"There is no scale with which to measure my level of agreement."

The old woman spoke with not a voice fitting her, but what seemed like a hundred different voices, an uncanny choir trying to vocalise as one.

Before Akane could form an understanding of what the ghoulish woman-yet-not-woman meant, understanding was thrust upon her. She was lifted off the ground by an invisible force and flung like a piece of garbage into the air, landing between the two fighters with a muddy splash, the wind being knocked out of her before she could scream a protest.

"Akane!"

Akane tried to respond but her lungs would barely take a sip at a time. The air felt thick and she threatened to black out. She wasn't given a chance to recover before she was lifted back into the air.

"Don't act so surprised Ranma," Bleach said. "Surely you must have sensed her. Your ki are practically identical. I knew she was coming long before she even arrived."

Akane coughed as her spastic throat opened finally. She hung there, in mid-air, taking deep breaths to fight back the consuming darkness.

"Ranma," she called, finding a tiny piece her voice. Ranma didn't look up.

"What happens here, on this battleground is none of your concern." Bleach pointed at Akane but spoke to Ranma. "Leave this place now and I will release her. The both of you may walk away uncontested. Refuse, and I will obliterate her."

"Fuck you."

Akane was horror-struck. She knew he was talking to Bleach, but she couldn't help thinking what the implications of what Ranma said meant.

"Ranma, no! You can't!"

He still did not look up.

"You would be willing to sacrifice your lover? For the sake of people whom you know nothing about? Strangers whom you owe nothing to?"

"Akane knew what she was getting into when she came here. She would do the same thing in my place."

"No I wouldn't, you idiot!" she said, though constrained to no more than whispers.

"So she means nothing to you?" Bleach asked. Ranma stood silently.

"Ranma!" Akane pleaded. Then her world went white.

Whiteness, even through closed eyes; unrelenting pain, to the point of madness. Those were the only things Akane had felt before she blacked out.

When she had regained consciousness, the first thing she saw was Dr. Tofu. Standing over her, he was holding her eye open and inspecting it with a light. She tried to call out to him but her mouth would not form words; she couldn't move at all!

He released her lids and the eye snapped shut against all attempts she made at keeping it open. Consciousness ran from her again-

-until she heard a sound. It was Dr. Tofu again. It sounded like he was talking to someone but it sounded so far away, like someone had stuffed her ears with cotton. She tried her eyes again and found a slight comfort in their opening.

She looked towards Tofu. His back was turned to her and he was talking to Dad, both their arms crossed into their sleeves. She tried to say Doctor Tofu, Dad, what's going on? but all she could emit was a hoarse mumble.

That was all it took, though. Dad had stopped looking at Tofu and turned to look at her. She strained a tiny smile-at least she thought so, her face was numb. Dad's eyes widened and his arms opened. Tofu turned his head to see what Dad was looking at and went to Akane.

Checking her pulse, he asked: "Akane, is anything wrong?"

Later, she would view this question as a little absurd, obviously a lot of things were wrong, but right now she could only think of one thing.

"Thirsty," she croaked in a whisper.

Dad needed no prompting. He was gone only seconds before returning with a cup of water. She tried to reach for it but Dr. Tofu gently pushed her arms back down.

"It's okay. Don't move."

Tilting her head up slightly, he brought the cup to her lips. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet. She thought that the water would be absorbed before it made it to her stomach, her throat was so dry. Then she felt the water backing up and started coughing. She waited until the peristalsis finished to take her next sip. Then she couldn't get enough; it was as if her body was as empty as a swimming pool in winter. The cotton was also evaporating from her ears.

She gulped down the rest and asked for more, her voice better by a slight.

"Make sure you can keep down what you have now," Tofu warned.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"You were first treated in China. From there, you were brought here by boat. In all, it was five days."

"Five days?" she asked, bewildered. "I'm in Japan?"

He smiled at her. "Yup. It's Thursday."

She glanced at the room around her. She was in Tofu's clinic. The white panel ceiling. The green walls decorated with his various biological and anatomical charts. Betty hanging on her hook, bony as always.

Everything started to blur again.

"Woah, careful," he said. "You're still not strong enough."

Silently agreeing with him, she went back to sleep-

-and woke up again when Tofu opened the curtains on the window.

"Doctor," she called.

"Akane," he said in a pleasant mood, "what can I do for you?"

"I'd like to have something to eat please." She tried to sound as energetic as Tofu but her voice still betrayed her weakness, though not as much as before.

"Certainly," he said crossing the room and disappearing behind the drawn privacy curtain.

"What day is it?" she asked turning her head to follow him.

"Sunday. It's almost eleven." He left the room

She lay back on the bed.

Sunday. Eight days. She could barely comprehend the level of pain and damage she must have taken to leave her next to unconscious for more than a week even after living through it. She didn't think she was going to black out again-she hoped she wouldn't-but she could barely feel her toes.

I'm probably going to have to stay here for a lot longer than eight days, she thought. She closed her eyes as if she were creating a dam against the tears that threatened to well up.

Occupied with preventing waves of grief from splashing over her, she almost didn't notice the doctor enter the room again. She opened her eyes and wiped away the wetness before he came around the curtain.

She had to blink twice to make sure she was seeing properly. It wasn't the doctor. It was...Ranma.

He made no greeting, no sound. He was carrying a bed tray that he placed at Akane's feet. Moving up the bed, he gently lifted Akane until she was in a sitting position and fluffed the pillow to give her back some support. Lifting the tray again, he brought it to her waist, then sat on the stool beside the bed and crossed his arms on his lap.

He slowly blinked twice, a gesture he always made when he wanted to say hello. It was her turn to respond in fashion; instead she let her gaze fall to the tray.

Steamed rice and raw vegetables were all that decorated the lacquered wood tray, save for a pair of baked enamel chopsticks. She had lost her appetite.

Lifting her head with two fingers placed under her chin, Ranma's clear blue eyes gazed into hers, trying to convey the sorrow he felt. At last he spoke.

"Akane, I feel terrible."

"Ranma, what happened?"

"Bleach is gone. I blasted her with the hiryû shôten ha and she went headfirst into a flying boulder."

"No, Ranma," she said shrinking from him to lie back. "I mean what happened to me that made you want to sacrifice me?"

Her voice was rising. His rose to match.

"What happened? Sacrifice you? I didn't think anything would happen to you. I expected you to stay back at the camp!"

"While you put yourself into the middle of a death stampede? Are you crazy?"

"If that's your logic, then, yeah! I must be clinically insane!"

"At least we agree on something," she mumbled, yet clearly enough so Ranma could hear.

Kicking the stool behind him, Ranma shot up. Teeth bared, fists clenched, Ranma glared at her, his head bobbing in time with his heaving breaths.

Though usually more indignant than Ranma, she tried to shield her head. She wept with fear and anger over not being able to defend herself in her present condition. Physically, and now emotionally, she was beaten.

To her relief-which sickened her even more-he dropped to his knees beside the bed. He propped his elbows on the mattress and clasped her one hand in his two. Resting his forehead on their hands, he closed his eyes.

"I apologise. For everything. I never wanted to hurt you nor ever wanted to see you hurt; I love you too much."

"I don't know . . . if I believe you," she said.

Ranma jerked his head up and stared at her as if he saw the edge of his world hurtling towards him. Tears rimmed the bottom of his eyes.

She wanted to forgive him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and never let him go. But she knew his reputation well. Sooner or later some new enemy would want to fight him and she would end up in the middle. Or in the line of fire. He would deny it if she was to tell him, but that wouldn't stop her from thinking about him repeating himself and she not being so fortunate next time.

"Akane-" he tried to start again.

"Just go," she said pulling her hand free. "I want to be alone." 'Cause that's how I feel right now.

Getting up, he treaded quietly to the door. Tofu walked in. Ranma glared at him for a second then left the room dejectedly.

After hearing the front door shut, Akane flung the tray onto the floor. The dishes smashed against the tile and the edge of the wall. The chopsticks clattered under the bed and one snapped in half. She buried her head in her lap and sobbed.

She straightened up from her crouch. Staring at the vision of the flowers blurred and distorted by the wetness surrounding her eyes, Akane let out a long shuddering sigh.

After she had made it out of Tofu's clinic, she finally broke off Dad's engagement plans. Dad tried to plead with her but Ranma-knowing which engagement plans she meant-agreed and left at the behest of his father. Mr. Saotome didn't leave at first but finally conceded after two weeks had passed and Ranma didn't show up. Three more had passed when father and son showed up at the doorstep again. Ranma's mother, Nodoka, had kicked them out of her house and he had spent that time exhausting options until Mr. Saotome finally dragged him back. Everything had come full circle; Akane might as well have been back in her early days of high school, so little was different between then and now.

Wiping her eyes dry was a futile gesture when she realised how much time meant to her grief. She was eighteen. It was summertime. "The wedding..."

Racked once again with sobs, Akane squirreled herself into a ball. That was why she had remembered it so vividly now. She'd had nightmares about her ordeal for some time but it had faded like so many other memories. This was the first time in a long time since she had been able to recall it with such clarity.

With her arms wrapped around her legs, she let herself cry for a little bit more before forcing herself to calm down and get up.

Dusting herself off, she tried to hide the redness in her eyes. Just let me make it to my room.

The walkway, the door, the foyer; Akane did everything as quietly as her martial arts training had taught her. Barring her eyes with her arm but not needing sight she effortlessly strove through the very familiar house and up the stairs, towards her room. At the top of the stairs she crashed into someone and fell, sprawling against the wall.

She looked across the hall to see whom she bumped into and the sight of that familiar red hair dropped her further into melancholy.

"Ranma," she pushed through a sigh.

Ranma rubbed the spot where the back of her head hit the floor. "Nngh. Ow." She propped herself up on her free arm.

Akane stared at Ranma waiting for the next move, the first insult of the new round.

Ranma stood and rubbed the bump a few more times. "Sorry," she said. "Guess I wasn't looking where I was going. Need help?" She held out her hand.

Akane blinked once but remained unfazed. Ranma had played mind games with her before. "What are you doing?" she asked in a calm, yet cold, voice. She stared at the outstretched hand.

Now it was Ranma's turn to blink. She looked at her hand to try and see what Akane saw but tried again. "Do you need help getting up?"

Akane got up by herself. She turned her back to Ranma and started walking towards her room. "I don't have time for this. I won't play your games."

"What games?" Ranma asked, bewildered.

Akane stopped halfway down the hall. "Don't try to lay this 'innocence' bullshit on me. It's a pretty weak defence," she said, turning around. Ranma still looked like she had no clue what was going on.

Nabiki came up the stairs. "Akane, when did you get home?" she asked. Then, when she could, she saw Ranma and stopped. She muttered, "Uh oh."

Moving to block her from a possible attack, Nabiki said, "Ranma. Why don't you go downstairs? Dinner is almost ready."

Ranma cast a glance at Nabiki. "Okay." She edged by her, took a final look at Akane, and left.

Nabiki watched her go and turned back to Akane. "Sis..."

"Don't you start with me Nabiki, I don't have the time."

"But, Akane..."

"I said-"

"He's been hurt!" she shouted.

Akane turned at this. The iciness wasn't gone, but her sister's uncharacteristic outburst caused it to recede slightly. "What?"

"You hurt him, and now he can't remember you."

"What?" she asked flatly, disbelieving.

"He can't remember any of us. His memory is...gone," she finished quietly.

"Nabiki, if this is a joke-"

"It's not a joke, I've seen the proof. Just look at her at dinner. And watch your personal pronouns. We don't want to confuse her."

She stared at Nabiki for a few more seconds. "Fine," she said at last. "Just let me get cleaned up."

"Fine, see you downstairs." And she left.

Akane watched her go. She let out a sigh. This had better be good.

Turning on the bathroom faucet, Akane collected some of the cool water in her hands and gently splashed her face to get rid of the day's build-up of perspiration. She inspected her eyes carefully and, luckily, they weren't red, just a little puffy. Pumping a blot of moisturiser, she blended it into her face.

Why do I even bother? She leaned over the sink, her hair meeting its reflection on the mirror. Squeezing her eyes shut, she choked back another sob. It's not like he notices or even cares anymore.

She tried to calm down again; if she had applied any more force to her grip, she would have crushed the sides of the sink. Grabbing a cup, she turned the water up until it was half full. Downing it quickly, she returned the cup to its holder and washed her hands.

I hope he has lost his mind, she thought as she wiped her hands and lip with the towel. I hope he's forgotten everything so he can get the hell out of my house.

Walking over to the dining room, she rubbed her palms together to get rid of the clamminess from the cold water. Turning the corner, she saw Nabiki sitting at the table flipping through a fashion magazine. Dad and Mr. Saotome were still hunched over their game board. Nabiki gave her a look that asked: Are you okay?

She wasn't but she gave her sister a quick nod. Nabiki returned to her magazine and Akane took the seat across from her looking out into the backyard.

Kasumi started to bring in the food and Ranma was helping her. The spread was way too extravagant for a normal meal.

All the major food groups were present: fried, steamed, grilled, and tempura. All this was because of Ranma?

Akane conceded that similar treatment was given to her when she finally made it out of Tofu's, but-for lack of a better explanation-this was...Ranma.

"Here you go," Ranma said handing a bowl of rice to her. A blue pattern of a dragon undulating between the sea and the clouds decorated the porcelain dish; she set it down.

Ranma was acting completely different. Setting the table, serving the two families, and all while wearing a smile matching Kasumi's beam for beam. Akane just sat there, confusion the only expression she could reply with.

The last one to sit, Ranma placed a mug of Sapporo by Dad and crossed her legs under the table beside Akane. Dad raised his glass in a toast with Mr. Saotome.

"To many more wonderful times, eh, Saotome?"

"Why Tendo, you way as well ask for another hot day tomorrow."

The two shared a round of laughter and drink.

Nabiki picked up her sake glass. "To Ranma getting her memory back," she said and tapped the bottom against Mr. Saotome's mug.

"Certainly, well said Nabiki." And Dad turned to Ranma.

Ranma picked up her water glass, knocked against his mug and downed it quickly. "Whoo-whee!" she said banging the glass down on the table and slapping her knee. "I hope you got more of that coming 'cause I'm just getting warmed up!"

Everyone except Akane laughed at this. She was waiting for Rod Sterling to show up telling her to tap her ruby red slippers.

She sighed to herself and picked up her rice bowl and chopsticks to eat.

Ranma was having a wonderful time. She was sharing wonderful food with wonderful people and cracking wonderfully bad jokes.

She passed off her rice bowl for a refill. When it returned, she collected some ginger and lotus root and put it on top. Adding a splash of soy sauce, she dug in.

She was amazed at the amount of food she was packing away, easily keeping up with Father and Uncle. Except in the drink department. She had a sip of Nabiki's sake earlier and opted to stick to water. Uncle on the other hand, just finished his third rather large mug of beer.

"Father," Kasumi asked, "are you sure you should be drinking so much?"

"Oh come on Sis," Nabiki responded, a little flush herself. "It's not like they have school tomorrow." She threw her head back and laughed.

Ranma chuckled slightly, more at Nabiki than at the joke. Then she turned to Akane and stopped. Akane was sitting very quietly, slowly transferring the rice from her bowl to her mouth. She hadn't asked for seconds yet and the plate in front of her was still more than half full.

Putting her chopsticks down, Ranma tapped the girl on the shoulder. "Akane is everything okay?"

Getting no answer, she tried again. "Would you like some fresh rice? Yours must be cold by now."

Akane put her food down. "It's okay, I wasn't very hungry tonight anyway." Pushing away from the table, she got up and left.

Ranma sat for a few minutes, her food forgotten, the conversation tuned out, deciding what to do. She got up.

For what little she ate, Akane could feel the rice cement itself into a rock in her stomach. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she had her hands on her lap. A breeze blew from the open window.

Was it a charade? Ranma had abused his transformation before to annoy people, especially Ryoga. Of course, being able to confuse the whole family would be a stretch. Especially Nabiki.

So then was it true?

Hurt him? Hurt him how? The mop? Akane rolled her eyes.

Getting up from the bed she took of her blouse and shook her hair out. She tossed the garment with her skirt into her clothes hamper as she walked over to her closet. Selecting her pyjamas, she slid the door shut and lay them out on the bed. Slipping her arms through her bra straps, she put on her top, then unhooked the bra catch and pulled it out. Removing her panties, she tossed both pieces after the blouse and skirt. She'd finished putting on her bottoms when there was a knock at the door.

She paid it no attention. Whoever it was could go away.

Whoever it was knocked again. And so, she ignored it. She went to her desk and a book.

A third knock.

Exasperated, Akane yelled, "Who is it?"

When the door opened, Ranma stuck her head in. Akane glowered at her.

"Sorry to disturb you," she said. She looked down then up again as her hand now entered holding up a tray of octopus puffs. "Peace offering?"

"I'm not hungry." Akane turned back to her book.

"Yeah, I could see that." The door closed. Akane tightened because Ranma was on the wrong side of it. "So what are you doing?"

"I'm reading a book."

Ranma was now looking over her shoulder. "So why is it upside-down?"

Akane slammed the book closed and turned in her chair to face the red-haired girl. "What do you want?"

Ranma held up the puffs again. "Dessert. Join me?"

The death stare didn't change. "Get out," Akane said flatly.

"What's wrong?"

Getting up, Akane jumped on her bed and turned away from Ranma. Half because she didn't want to see her and half because she didn't want to be seen.

Ranma sat down on the bed. "Akane, please tell me what's the matter." She placed a hand on Akane's shoulder.

That's it.

Getting up quickly, Akane faced Ranma again, fires blazing in her eyes. "Cut the bullshit Ranma! What the fuck are you trying to pull?"

Ranma jerked back. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh please." Akane covered her cheeks with her hands. "Oh, look at me. I've hit my head and now I've lost my memory," she dramatised. "It's an overused plot device on bad TV soap operas, but it's happening to me!" She resumed Death-stare Mode.

"What did I do?" Ranma asked, a genuine look of concern on her face.

The stare faltered a bit. "Huh?"

"What did I do that made you want to hate me so much?"

Akane's eyes darted back and forth. That was not the response she was prepared for. Ranma crying, trying to keep up the act; Ranma laughing, admitting it was a joke; even Ranma angry, having been found out: that's what she was expecting. But this?

Ranma smiled and slapped Akane on the knee. "Well," she said, "whatever kind of person I was before, I'll try my damnedest not to become again."

"What?" Akane's voice wavered.

"Come on, it obvious you hated that other Ranma-"

"Who said I hated-"

"You don't have to say it." Ranma got up. "When I first saw you, you didn't know what happened so you acted the way you would've if I were still me."

"Yes, but-"

"And since the first thing you did was give me the ice queen routine... Well, it says to me..." Her voice softened. "It says that I must have been a pretty terrible person." Her eyes closed and she hung her head. She poked one eye open to see if it was having an effect and quickly hung her head again, adding a loud sigh for emphasis.

Akane smiled-it was a wry smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Are you done?"

Ranma bounced up. "Yeah," she said with a grin. So Akane threw a pillow at her. "Hey, what's this? Anything-Goes Pillow Fighting?"

"You remember Anything-Goes?"

Ranma picked up the pillow from the floor. "What remember? It's all those two old farts could talk about all afternoon. Anything-Goes This, Anything-Goes That. It gets annoying after the first three hours."

Akane switched to a kneeling position on the bed. "En garde," she said except Ranma was already taking her first swing.

Yeah, right, Akane thought. Giving a push, she bounced off the bed and extended her legs, pushing her away from the wall and over Ranma's head.

Ranma looked at her, astonished, when she landed. "How did you do that?"

"Oh come on, Ranma," she said. "You taught me that one."

Akane and Ranma went at it like that for a while. Ranma did get a few blows in but Akane mostly controlled the match.

She let herself get hit one more time then called for a stop to the match.

"Darn," Ranma said with playful sarcasm. "Just when I was starting to win."

"You'll get me next time," Akane said tossing the pillow back on the bed. "Good night, Ranma." She went to hug her.

"Good night." Ranma hugged back.

It was amazing. Ranma always smelled the same, no matter what form he was in. No matter.

Akane gave Ranma the most passionate kiss she could conjure forth. Tastes the same too, some part of her mind registered.

Ranma took a couple of quick sniffs of air then pushed herself away from Akane. A hand came up to her face to shield her lips. A surprised, almost horrified, look was in her eyes. She backed up to the door not wanting to turn her back.

"Uh, I think I need some sleep. G'night Akane. Enjoy the octopus puffs." The door shut.

Again, Ranma was on the wrong side. Akane wanted to explain, wanted to understand. Wanted to know what the fuck was going on! She grabbed the tray of desserts and threw it out the window. They fell in the fishpond and scared the carp, but they ate them anyway.

She fell into bed and cried herself to sleep, her mind chanting: Ranma's dead, Ranma's dead, I killed him and Ranma's dead...