“Lean back a second, honey?”
Ranko rolled her head back on the edge of the bed, bracing herself with her arms and closing her eyes as she felt every individual bristle of Izumi’s makeup brush tickling their corners.
“Man, it’s strange seeing you look like this, looking all evil and stuff. Definitely not the Ranko I’m used to.” Izumi smirked, adding another little curl into the corner of Ranko’s left eyebrow.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make up for it at the wedding when you turn me into freaking Blushing Bridal Barbie,” Ranko said flatly, trying not to roll her eyes and disrupt Izumi’s work. “I know it’s weird for you, but this ain’t exactly bubblegum pop idol night, Iz.”
Izumi nodded, adding some dark reddish-black coloring around the bottoms of her sister’s eye sockets from a mixture of compounds she had combined on the back of her left hand. “I know, and I’ll hold you to that, I promise. Every spike and stud on this outfit is another little bow I’m adding to your wedding dress, baby sister.” She giggled as Ranko growled lowly. “Just promise me you’re gonna go out there and process of all this, so you can be the sweet, happy Ranko I know again, okay? I miss her.”
Ranko nodded sadly. “I miss her too, Izzi. I’m gonna try.”
She stood, clenching her hands into fists, the black leather fingerless gloves Shinji had loaned her creaking slightly. “But first… I gotta get rid of this venom in my heart. I can’t let any of you guys close until I get myself right, and deal with that son of a bitch once and for all.”
Izumi nodded, knowing full well what Ranko planned. She stepped forward, tentatively plotting out an angle at which she could hug her little sister without encountering the metal spikes that protruded from nearly every part of her black leather outfit. “Do what you have to do. And if it’s not enough, please remember we’re all here for you. Akane, Mama and all of us girls. I know you don’t like to talk about it, and you’re probably tired of hearing us say it, but we’re all ready and willing to help if you tell us how, Ranko. Please don’t hurt yourself again trying to be iron girl or whatever.”
Izumi curled a wisp of Ranko’s loose hair around her finger. “I don’t know everything he did to you, honey, but whatever it was, I’m glad it brought you to us. You’ve made all of us better, Ranko, and we love you. No matter what.”
Ranko bit her lip, resting her head on Izumi’s shoulder, leaning over carefully to avoid impaling her older sister on her outfit. “I love you too, Izzi. I just… I’ve worked too hard for what I have for it to be fucked with like this.”
“If he wants to mess with you, baby sister, he’s gonna have to come through all of us.” She squeezed Ranko around the shoulders again. “Now, what say we get you downstairs and see if you can’t blow out some speakers with this screaming fit you’re calling a song?”
Ranko nodded. “I’ll be right down, Iz. Please tell the guys to get ready. And hey. Thanks.”
Izumi smiled a little sadly. “Anytime, Ran-chan.” She exited the little apartment, closing the door behind her. That girl should be neck-deep in floral arrangements, not fighting for her life. How dare that jerk mess with her now of all times?
Ranko turned to face the mirror on the back of the closet door in the upstairs apartment that had once been her home, sighing at herself. Other than her blown-out hair and makeup, she barely even looked like a girl in the black leather outfit. She looked more like the result of a Hell’s Angel and a porcupine having loved each other very much. But tonight, she didn’t need to be cute. There was time enough for cute when the danger had passed. Right now, she wanted to be ready for battle. She wanted to look, and feel, dangerous. Maybe if she could convince everyone else in the bar, she could make herself believe she was invincible, like she used to before the Cat’s Tongue stole it all away.
“My name is Ranko Tendo,” she said to her reflection with eyes of steel, balling her left hand into a fist and punching at her right palm forcefully in front of her chest. “I am wanted. I have worth. I have people who love me. And I am done running. So, you know what? Do your worst, Pop. I’m fucking ready.”
She started to turn from the mirror, but something caught her eye in it. She raised her hand to her neck, her fingers landing on the little silver heart that dangled from the black lace and ribbon choker that Mei had given her for her birthday last November. That’s weird. I don’t remember putting this on. How could… She started to retrace her day. She’d gotten up, went up to the roof to practice for a few minutes, and…
Her face caught flame. And then, the Cat Fist. While I was in cat mode, Akane must have… you little shit! With as angry and stressed as she was, it was exactly the light-hearted moment she needed, and she laughed heartily at her reflection. The lace choker had no business mingling with any other part of her outfit, which was all leather, steel, and aggression. She reached behind her neck to unclasp it, but stopped. You know what? No. It made me smile, and he doesn’t get to take that from me, too. It stays. I’ll see how long it takes Akane to notice I never took it off.
Ranko sighed. She really wished Akane could be here tonight. It was going to be a hard one for her. Unfortunately, with mid-March came the start of finals season at both girls’ schools, and if Akane was to get into the prestigious second-year medical program she’d applied to, she had to nail the exam she was taking at that exact moment. She silently prayed Akane was having a better night than she was about to.
Laughing again at her fiancee’s gambit, she opened the door, exiting what was once her apartment and heading downstairs. With a wave to her mother at the pizza oven, Ranko made her way out into the main bar area, where Ariel’s final testing of the audio levels was nearly completed.
She scanned the crowd vigilantly, as she had every night for the past week and a half, looking for the dreaded familiar face that haunted her nightmares on the rare occasion that she managed to sleep. Ranko looked up to Yui as she lined four shot glasses up on the bar, filling each of them with top-shelf tequila for a cadre of well-dressed women seated in a row on the barstools.
“Oi, Yui-chan… gimme one of those?” She hated drinking most days, and rarely even accepted when Yui offered to let her try new recipes she was working on, but tonight, her nerves were on fire above and beyond the Cat’s Tongue pressure point that made every one of the spikes driven through her jacket and pants feel like claws gnashing at her skin whenever they touched. She wanted the pain. It made her sharp. It kept her angry.
Tonight, she was going to issue a challenge. The intended recipient would not hear it, but that was of little consequence. Tonight, she was going to plant her flag deep into the foundation of her world, claim it as her own, and dare anyone foolish enough to try to come and take it from her.
Yui shook her head with an admonishing pursing of her lips. “Now, now, Ranko, you know I’m not allowed to serve booze to anyone under twenty, little sister.”
Ranko nodded. “I know. I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry, Yui. I’m just kind of a wreck tonight.”
Smirking, Yui bobbed her head again. “Yeah, I know. You’ve been making us all kind of wrecks lately.” She spun a shot glass in her hand, sliding it onto the bar with a flair as she tossed the bottle of tequila in her hand over her shoulder. She caught it in her left hand right over the glass, filling it exactly to the brim with the aid of the attached pour spout and cutting the flow off with a little bounce of the bottle.
The singer opened her mouth to apologize, but Yui spoke over her. “In fact, I’m so frazzled right now that I totally miscounted the number of shots I was supposed to pour. Boy, I sure hope that extra one doesn’t disappear.” She grinned impishly at her sister before turning her back, fiddling with the cash register needlessly.
“Oh, I know. That would be a tragedy,” Ranko said with a stifled laugh as she poured the liquid down her throat. Grimacing and shuddering through the bitter taste, the redhead deposited the empty shot glass in the sanitizer and made her way to the stage while the liquid courage still flowed through her.
Shinji clapped the band’s vocalist on her back through her leather jacket as she ascended the steps. “You ready, kid?” They hadn’t been on the best of terms of late, but if there was one thing Shin could relate to her about, it was being pissed off behind a microphone. Beyond that, though, his reasons for excitement weren’t entirely selfless. The song Ranko had written wasn’t her best, but it was pretty good - good enough to get radio airplay if she edited a few of the more colorful lines - and it was the ninth and final original song they’d committed to Yokai to get their first album published. They were due in the studio to record it in the morning, and then the manufacturing process for the cassettes, records and CDs could get under way. Even if the screaming fit Ranko was about to throw was not his favorite thing to perform, in a sense, it was the song he’d been waiting for his whole life.
“As I’m gonna be.” She was glad she encouraged Emi and Hitomi to take the night off. Tonight, she wanted to be the only voice on the stage. Her message to the object of her hatred, unlikely as it ever was to reach him, needed to come from her and her alone. For a second, she wished her father would walk into the bar right then, sit down and order a drink, and serve himself up to be roasted the way Saburo had with Not Yours, Don’t Touch. She thought better of it, realizing that if he ever did, she’d probably be unable to stop herself from jumping down from the stage in the middle of her refrain to punch him in the mouth.
Shinji put down his bass guitar, swapping it out for another electric guitar similar to Crash’s. “Alright! Let’s shake this place!” He looked over at Crash, and as they made eye contact, they nodded once, twice, and on the third beat, both began extracting an almost heavy-metal rhythm from their instruments. If Ranko was going to get this angry, they were going to give her a soundtrack to match.
All eating and drinking in the bar stopped, and every head turned to the stage. This wasn’t uncommon when Ranko sang, and it really wasn’t uncommon when it became clear she was going to sing something new, but when it sounded like the bar’s sound system itself was furious with something, the bargoers’ curiosity was more than piqued.
Ranko closed her eyes, picturing her father’s face, searing the image into her mind’s eye with the fire of her hatred. Her disappointment. Her fear. Her rage.
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This one’s for you, Pop.
She grabbed the handheld microphone on its stand, tilting the whole stand toward her on its base, and began to all but scream with the beat.
“I know I’m not what you wanted! I’ll never make you proud! I can see in your face you’re haunted by the way that I work a crowd!”
The crowd whooped, but Ranko did not care. Tonight, she was singing for an audience of one.
“I know you hate my behavior; think that I’m gonna bring you shame. But you just wanna play the savior so you can force me to play your game! Drives you nuts that I’m a pop star, when you wanted a fucking clone. You want me to leave this dive bar. I want you to LEAVE ME ALONE!”
She took the microphone in both hands, lifting both microphone and stand off the ground. She almost looked prepared to wield the stand as a weapon.
She did not dance. Dancing was for pop songs. Dancing was for performances. This was not a performance.
This was a declaration of war.
“I know you think I’m a FREAK, because I’m NOT LIKE YOU, and I’m not wasting ONE MORE SECOND asking what you’d do! I’m doing it my way! I’m blazing a trail! I’m gonna be the one to own it, even if I fail! Don’t need your permission; I really don’t care! Why would I walk in your footsteps when they lead NOWHERE?!”
Her chest heaved, and she wasn’t sure if it was from anger, or just having spent her air supply bellowing the first refrain. But she couldn’t rest. Not yet. She was just getting started. She’d been waiting to say some of these things since she was seven years old, and tonight, no one on Earth could convince her to do otherwise.
“You taught me to run and cower every time that the fight got tough. Now, you can’t believe my power! But, you still tell me I’m not enough. You said I should hide my feelings; certain things just should not be faced. Now, I do a bit more healing with every lie of yours I erase!”
Ranko smirked, a sliver of amusement breaking through her rage. Here you go, Fred, she mused in the split second between lines. This was your idea. Let’s give you credit where credit’s due.
“All of your supposed lessons turned out to be just a fucking joke! My therapist will need a thousand sessions to fix all of the shit you broke!”
The twin electric guitars screamed back into the chorus, and Ranko kicked at the air like she were knocking down a door, violence in her eyes. The audience cheered, but a few of the regulars turned to look around at their fellow patrons with almost concerned expressions on their faces. This was not the cheery, bubbly pop princess that signed autographs with little hearts on everyone’s credit card receipts. This was something else entirely, and the crowd wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
Behind the service bar, Mei ducked under Izumi’s arm, squeezing her sister around the ribs. It prevented the brunette from working, but neither sister much cared at the moment. “Tell me she’s gonna be okay, Izzi? She’s scaring me.”
Izumi kissed her sister on the top of her head, between her twin pigtails. “We’re gonna make her be okay, Mei. All of us. We’re not going to stop until she’s okay again. It’s what this family does.” Izumi looked over Mei’s shoulder at Yui, despair in her eyes on her youngest sister’s behalf, and the pair exchanged resolute nods of commitment.
“I know you think I’m a FREAK, and yeah, it’s probably true, but every single thing I HATE in me came STRAIGHT FROM YOU! Man, I gave you a chance, but now it’s finally my turn! I’ve still got a lot of stuff I’ve gotta go unlearn!”
She packed her lungs, and Ariel instinctively slid the gain down slightly on her microphone. They’d nearly blown the speakers on this line in rehearsals, and she hadn't been performing with half as much energy and vitriol then.
“So, GET OUT OF MY FACE! Yeah, I’m DRAWING THE LINE! You’ve already WASTED YOUR LIFE, AND YOU CAN’T! HAVE! MINE!”
Ranko quaked, gripping the microphone with white knuckles. Watching her from his seated position at the back of the stage with great concern, Ken wasn’t entirely sure if she was going to sing the third verse through it, or start smashing things with the weighted metal base. Sneak and Not Yours, Don’t Touch were angry songs. Ken knew what she looked like singing angry songs. This was something different. This was pure, unadulterated, unfiltered, seething fury.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the third verse. She’d been hesitant to include this one, risky as it was, but she was fairly confident she’d been vague enough to safely say what she needed to say the most. The true reason her father would never accept the person she was or the life she’d built.
“You hate that I’m not a good girl. I’ll never be some submissive toy. But I’m here to tell the whole world: you’re still pissed that I’m not a boy! I can’t be the son you hoped for. I know it’s tearing you apart! All that I can say is, COPE MORE, ‘cause this GIRL’s a fucking WORK OF ART!”
More than half the crowd, including the majority of the men, roared at her acknowledgement of her feminine self. None of them had any idea what she truly meant, or how truly heartbroken she was by it all. With that line, it had become undeniable that it was her father she was singing about, and more than a few of them had their own share of parental rejection in their past. They understood her hurt.
“You think I’ll bow down to you, man; always wanted me to think I’m less. But I can do so much more than you can, and I can do it in a cocktail dress!”
Leaving no time for applause, she roared into the next refrain. Her enraged vociferation nearly managed to drown out both guitars despite their audio levels being maxed out on Ariel’s board.
“I know you think I’m a FREAK because I don’t want you here, but I don’t need another dose of POISON in my ear! Calling me worthless. Saying I’m a disgrace. Telling me to be respectful and to learn my place. I won’t say that I’m sorry. I won’t apologize for REFUSING TO BE EVERYTHING THAT I DESPISE!”
Honestly, Pop, Ranko thought to herself in the mere seconds before the fourth verse began. I’m honestly surprised I haven’t seen you long before now, and this is why. A bowl of rice and two pickles? For a fucking rock star? Fuck you forever, old man.
“I know that you’re disappointed. You think that you’ve been betrayed, just ‘cause I won’t be exploited. I’m not a trinket for you to trade! You think I’ll be your big ticket, marry me off to some wealthy guy. Let me tell you where you can stick it - and here’s a spoiler: it AIN’T YOUR EYE!”
She blinked hard. Ariel had adjusted the overhead stage lights before the show, and one of them kept catching her in the corner of her right eye. She swore to herself that it was the reason that water kept running from it unbidden.
“You just wanna hitch your wagon to a star that drives the masses wild. Think I’ll want YOU when I’m a DRAGON? YOU DIDN’T EVEN WANT ME AS YOUR CHILD!”
Between the soreness of her throat after three minutes of yelling at the top of her lungs and the way she quivered with explosive indignation, her voice warbled a bit unevenly as she bellowed the final few refrains. Angry tears rolled down her cheeks, blending with the red eyeliner Izumi had used to give her the warrior look she sought. To the audience, it seemed as if the girl on the stage was crying tears of blood, and she honestly felt like she might be.
“I know you think I’m a FREAK! That’s why you treat me like TRASH! You BURNED ME UP, but surprise, asshole! I ROSE FROM THE ASH! You wanna fight for me now, but I am not afraid! I’ve worked too damned hard at cleaning up this mess you made! And the further I go now, the more that I find, the only way that I move forward’s LEAVING YOU BEHIND!”
Off behind the empty VIP table, in the corner by the entrance to the restrooms where the pool table used to be, six wooden tables were piled atop each other to make room for more standing patrons. It was normal on big show nights, even though it blocked off most access to the side door between the back of the room and the kitchen. Standing behind the tables alone, out of view of the three hundred customers, her three daughters working the bar, and the teenager spitting her heart out in the back of her bar, Hana quietly wept.
I swear to all the gods in the sky, baby girl. Give me five minutes with that motherfucker. I’ll choke the life out of him myself. I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner, honey. I’m so sorry you had to live through that. You deserve so much more, little star.
“I know you think I’m a freak, but you’re the one that’s to blame! All I did was shape the iron you threw in the flame! I’m not like anyone else. Not made of porcelain or gold, but everything I love in life came ‘cause I broke your mold! I’M NOT ASHAMED OF MYSELF! I’VE GOT NO REASON TO HIDE! You stole everything else good from me, BUT NOT MY PRIDE!”
Yui whooped behind the bar, holding up a shot glass in salute before draining it down her gullet. You’re damn right, Ranko. You fight, girl. You fight like hell, and we’ve got your back.
“I know you think I’m a FREAK, and all my fans think it too! The only difference is, they love me - why the hell can’t YOU?!”
Ranko dug her heels into the stage as if expecting a charge. This far, asshole. No further. I will not yield.
“This is just who I am. There’s no regret, and no guilt. The only NORMAL life I’ve ever known’s the one I’ve built! I’m standing my ground! I’m gonna live life out loud!”
She threw her right fist in the air, as she would normally end Rise with. You ignite, and you rise, Kumiko. You’re right. Your friend’s pretty smart sometimes, when she manages to get out of her own way.
“And if that makes me a FREAK, this FREAK IS FUCKING PROUD!”
Ranko glared out at the crowd, as if any one of them could have been Genma Saotome in disguise. Not since the fight in the alley with Mikado had she felt such an all-encompassing rancor. Such a perfect, crystalline hate. Sometimes, her heart barely had room for Akane in it anymore, so full was it with an oily, toxic sludge of malice and contempt. It terrified her. It had to stop.
“I KNOW YOU THINK I’M A FREAK, and I guess that’s how I’ll stay! PUT YOURSELF OUT OF MY MISERY AND GO AWAY!”
Any trace of her singing voice was gone. All she could do was scream in desperate defiance of the demons in her head.
Her body shaking like a bowstring ready to release, she lifted the microphone stand horizontally over her head with both hands, throwing it downward to the stage platform at her feet with a guttural roar. The loud thump of the hot microphone hitting the floor, followed by the ear-splitting screech of feedback as it rolled toward the speakers, pierced the bar room until Ariel cut the sound from his mixing board. About seventy percent of the crowd cheered loudly for the new song’s debut. The other thirty percent looked around the room at each other in horror, trying to contextualize the emotional breakdown they’d just witnessed.
Ranko did not bow to the crowd. She turned her back to the bar, facing her bandmates and friends. As the fire in her eyes gave way to the waterfalls, her best friend slung his guitar to his back in one fluid motion and rushed forward. The vocalist tripped on an audio cable, utterly spent of any remaining scintilla of energy. Crash caught her as she fell, holding her limp body tightly in his arms as she cried.