Phoenix Ascendant
Book VIII: Plummet
With a sickening snap, the sandbag standing in for the head of the vaguely human-shaped wooden figure fell to the floor in time with a peal of thunder. The old martial artist sighed, drawing back his fist as he surveyed the decapitated dummy. It looked like training was over for today, but the short walk back to the house would not be pleasant in the storm.
He walked over to the shrine at the end of the training hall, sitting cross-legged on the floor and closing his eyes. It was the Tendos’ shrine, but as he didn’t have his own, it would have to do. He breathed deeply of the petrichor wafting its way through the open dojo door, letting it calm his thoughts.
It had been a day like any other. He’d woken, eaten his fill of Kasumi’s cooking, and played a round of shogi with Tendo. The master was still traveling, so he’d not been called upon to assist in a raid on the girls’ locker room of the local high school. He decided he’d spend his day walking around the shopping district. He didn’t have much money to spend, but it was fun to watch the people go about their day. Sometimes, just to mess with folks, he’d splash himself with water and chase them around in his panda form.
Normally, he’d see people on the park benches feeding the birds. People gathered around the little street food stands for a quick bite. Maybe a well-dressed woman giggling as she darted from a department store with two full bags and her husband’s credit card.
Today, though, had not been a normal day. Instead, the main strip of stores in the little shopping plaza was clogged with a single queue, stretching out the door of a shop he had never set foot in and blocking off the doors to several of the establishments nearby. Either there must have been a sale on or something popular must have gotten restocked, he thought, to get people that riled up. Huge speakers blared a catchy pop song at the shoppers as they waited to enter the building, and something sounded distantly familiar about it.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he approached the shop. He didn’t want to ask any of the people in line what was happening; that would make him look uninformed. A true martial artist had to always appear in command of the situation, he always said. He craned his neck, and as a pair of girls in Furinkan high school uniforms exited the building, the line lurched forward. Between the heads and shoulders, he caught a brief glimpse of a poster in the shop window. It featured four young men – three Japanese, one American, maybe – standing in an alley flanking a woman in a leather jacket. She looked fierce. She looked powerful. She looked, he was disgusted to admit, pretty.
She looked exactly like Genma Saotome’s son.
Genma had already known what Ranma was up to. Soun had told him. But it was one thing to hear about it, and another to see it. To see people lined up around the block to partake in his family’s shame. Watching them drop their hard-earned yen to marvel at his boy, his legacy, dolled up in a pleated miniskirt and looking like a harlot as he sang about overcoming difficulty. As if the boy had any idea what he was talking about. Difficulty was to be overcome by standing and facing it, not running away in the middle of the night. Not by abandoning your responsibilities and your family.
Perhaps what bothered him the most about the picture wasn’t the outfit or the makeup. It wasn’t the four leather-clad men surrounding him, as if they were preparing to fight Ranma’s battles for him. It wasn’t even the fact that it was the cover of a disgusting pop single.
It was the smile.
Genma could bear his son taking on any shame, any hurt, to survive and win against impossible odds. He himself had done so more times than he could count. But to do all of this – and enjoy it? Even for an honorless fool like Ranma, there were limits.
That was even before he considered whatever he was playing at with Akane. Absolutely disgraceful, trying to do that as a girl. He’ll ruin that poor girl’s life as badly as he has his own. If he wanted her, he had his chance, and he didn’t move on it.
At least, if Ranma was dead-set on singing, he seemed to be fairly decent at it, judging by the queues at the record store and the plays of that inane Sneak song on the radio. That should make him some pretty good money, and I’ll be in the lap of luxury once he realizes how foolish this nonsense with Akane is - or Akane does. Plus, it’ll make him incredibly valuable to someone as a bride. We’ll just see how much you like being a cute girl when I find you a wealthy husband, Ranma.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
His thoughts were interrupted by the high-pitched metallic grating sound behind him, and he exploded to his feet, turning and assuming a defensive fighting stance. “Who’s there?!”
A slender silhouette stood in the doorway, seeming not to notice the downpour. Accompanied by a rolling crash of thunder, the sky behind the figure glowed white for a fraction of a second, the lightning’s spark lingering a moment longer on the nearly meter-long steel object in the interloper’s hand.
“Genma Saotome.” The figure’s voice spoke flatly and calmly, punctuated by another crack of thunder that rattled the dojo walls. “Finally.”
The old man froze on his feet. He had made many enemies over the years. People he had cheated at shogi, stolen food from, or otherwise wronged in service of Master Happosai. Perhaps the occasional jilted suitor to whom he’d traded Ranma’s hand for some trifle he needed at some moment or another. They had caught up to him from time to time, and he had either dealt with them, or fled. Standing and facing your problems was honorable, but so was a well-considered strategic retreat. Run now, and live to run another day, he always said. But there was one person he’d betrayed who he feared above all others.
That selfsame woman took a step forward, raindrops pattering rhythmically to the cypress floorboards as they dripped from her sodden kimono and from the tip of the unsheathed katana she wielded in her right hand. You’re not getting away from me this time, she thought darkly as she tightened her grip around the hilt of the blade.
“I am only going to ask you this once, so please consider your answer carefully,” she said icily, taking another step forward into the light and revealing her face to the man she had not seen in some fourteen years. She was still just as pretty as she was terrifying.
”Where is my son?”
“Ah! Nodoka! It’s… so good to see you!” The martial artist’s eyes darted around the dojo. There was no escape in the rain, not without her seeing the truth of the curse he still carried from Jusenkyo. “You’re as beautiful as ever!”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Genma.” Ranma’s mother stepped into the dojo, swinging her sword a safe distance from herself and her husband to shake some of the rain from it. The intimidation factor didn’t hurt, either.
“What brings you to this part of town? It’s so good to see you! Why didn’t you send a postcard so I could make sure to have things ready for you?” Genma backed up nervously, but he was running out of dojo.
The Saotome matriarch closed the distance slowly, her piercing brown eyes watching his every breath for sign of an attack or a deception. “Oh, you mean warn you, so you could run away again? I’ve been looking for you both for years, Genma. You’ve made me miss out on Ranma’s whole life. Now that he’s going to come of age in a few months, I’m not waiting any longer. I want to see this man among men you promised me when you stole my child from me so long ago, and he’d better be worth you costing me my son’s entire childhood.”
Genma swallowed hard with an audible gulp. “Well, you see, Nodoka, he, uh… He doesn’t live here anymore. He’s gotten his own place. He’s… he’s doing great! Just fantastic!” He thought back to the queue surrounding the record store. “He’s even doing well in his… career!” Just buy time. We’ll figure something out.
“I see. Where does he live, then? I’ll go visit him right now.”
Genma waved his hands frantically. “You can’t! He’s… very busy. He’s almost never home. I’ll have to arrange it for you.” Just as soon as I haul ass.
“See that you do, Genma. And no more funny business. No more excuses. I want my son. You have two weeks.”
Peering at the entrance to the dojo through the downpour from the kitchen window, Soun Tendo waited as the telephone in his hand emitted a series of electronic rings. During the third such tone, he heard a click, followed by his now second-youngest daughter’s voice. “Hello, Tendo residence!”
“Akane…” the Tendo patriarch said grimly, his eyes still locked on the dojo entrance to watch for the slender woman to emerge.
“There’s something you and Ranko need to know.”