Chapter 2

Yokichi Jiro sat in a corner of the Tendou living room and contemplated the perfect ash at the tip of his Davidoff cigar. It was, he often told his underlings, the sign of a true connoisseur to smoke an entire cigar and never need an ashtray until the cigar was finished. Jiro prided himself on having never spilled an ash under any circumstances.
Nabiki sat across from him, ignored. She hated that. She hated his condescending manner, his dismissal of her because of her gender. She hated him from the top of his bald head to the bottoms of his Issey Miyake shod feet. It didn't show, of course. She smiled at his inane jokes, poured the best tea, and held a match for his thin, imported cigars.

"So Ranma-san. What do you think of my offer. Ah.... Ranma-san?"

With the reluctance of a baby being pulled from his mother's breast, Ranma turned from looking at the television across the room. This was the best part. . . Small Second Son had just hacked his way through a
dozen evil-minions to confront Red Mask. Any minute now he would rip off Red Mask's hood to reveal. . .

"Ranma-san . . . are you listening?" "Hhhhh. . . Oh, yeah. Sure."

Ranma's head started to slowly drift back to "Small Second Son", like a boat drifting on the tide. Nabiki stifled a grin at Jiro's discomforture. More than ever he looked like a pointy nosed squirrel on drugs. Still,
there was business to conduct.

"If Yokichi-san will permit." Nabiki inquired with treacled politeness. Without waiting for "Yokichi-san" to permit or not permit Nabiki leaned over and poked Ranma in the side.

"Oh Ranma. What do you think I should charge for these pictures?" Suddenly Ranma saw a photo. . . of himself. . . four years old. . . crying. . . in front of. . . the bed he'd wet!!!

"AHHHHH. Gimmie, gimmie,gimmie."

"Now Ranma, we can talk about 'personal matters' after you've finished with the nice Jiro-san." Jiro-san didn't look so nice but grit his teeth and started over. "As I was saying Ranma-san. . ."

"Saotome-san."

Nabiki was surprised. This was the first Ranma had contributed to the conversation. And what a contribution. She settled down in anticipation.

"W. . . what did you say Ran. . . ?"

"Saotome-san. You may call me Saotome-san." Nabiki wanted to hug herself in glee. That Ranma, of all people, and of all times, would suddenly get formal. This was better and better all the time.

Yokichi Jiro flushed in humiliation. It had been years since anybody had dared. . . well he could be patient. This boy would get his. But first the lure. Later he would learn who his master was. "Of course, of course. Please forgive me Saotome-san. It is just that you remind me so much of my own dear nephew that I forgot myself. As
I was saying, thanks to Nabiki-chan. . ." Nabiki tightened inside at the insulting use of -chan. Only anticipation of the coming blow allowed her to contain her anger. ". . . I have seen you fight. You are magnificent. Just the sort
of fighter to represent us. . ."

"Us?" The almost inflectionless monosyllable was like a slap in the face.

"Us. . . the Kobayashi group, among others. And all of Japan of course. In the upcoming Gakidou."

"Gakidou?"

"Ah... yes. Despite the rather lurid name, it is an international tournament with the best practitioners of all martial disciplines competing for honor and glory."

"And a large purse. Don't forget all that money. . . Ji-chan."

Ranma ignored Nabiki's interruption. "International huh? Sounds interesting."

"That's my boy. Uphold the honor of the 'Musabetsu Kakuton Saotome-ryuu'."

"Ah, wadda YOU know 'bout honor, Pop? I'm doing it because I'm bored. 'Might learn something too. That's all."

"Learn what, son?" Ranma started. He hadn't heard his mother come up. Neither had Nabiki. But Nabiki didn't have to hear with her ears to know. Knowledge was the key and she knew all the players, knew how they
would react and when. Yokichi didn't know, and not knowing was about to pay the price. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. This would teach Yokichi to ignore her, to put her down.

"Some tournament thingy. Sounds interesting. Thought I might go by, fight a little, pick up a few pointers. No biggie."

"Oh? And when is this 'thingy' to take place." Jiro stood and bowed to Mrs. Saotome.

"A pleasure to meet you, Madam. As I was explaining to your son, the elimination bouts start in two weeks, Thursday the. . .

"A school night! Absolutely not. I forbid it." She turned to frown up at her husband who was trying to hide behind Ranma, trying to hide behind Nabiki. "What were you thinking?" Nodoko turned to Jiro . "I'm very
sorry, but I cannot allow my son to play with you on a school night. I'm sure you can understand a mother's fears."

"But Mama. . ."

"Don't you 'but Mama' me, young man." Grabbing Ranma by the ear, she dragged him from the room. "No son of mine is going to be a Ronin. Now, upstairs and finish your homework." As suddenly as that, Yokichi
Jiro found himself alone except for Nabiki.

"Well, Ji-chan." Nabiki said brightly "I think that concludes our business. I'll just see you to the door."
"Concludes, what do you mean concludes? You promised me a fighter for the tournament."

"On the contrary, I promised to find you a great fighter. And I did. I would have delivered him to you as well. YOU decided that you didn't need me. . .what was that you said... ah yes...'You just make sure
the tea's fresh and the sake's hot, girly. I'll negotiate the deal' Well, the tea was fresh and I don't think you have time for sake. It's been nice doing business with you."

"Damn you, bitch! Do you think I gave you Y25,000 just to let me look at a fighter?"

"I think you gave me Y25,000 because you're too stupid to find your rear end with a map and a guide dog."

Nabiki's head snapped back as a meaty fist crashed against her cheek. She reeled back against the wall. Jiro twisted her collar in his left hand, pinning her against the wall. She watched as his right hand drew back to deliver a punishing blow. "This is going to hurt."she thought. Nabiki wasn't going to give the snake the satisfaction of seeing her cringe and stared him in the eye. So when he suddenly disappeared she almost dropped to the floor in
surprise. She turned to find Jiro dangling in the air, his feet a good six inches above the ground. His cigar, perfect ash broken, lay smoldering on the floor. Dazedly Nabiki wondered if Ranma had come back or Akane or Ryouga or. . .

"DADDY?" It was her father. . . at least she thought it was. But she'd never seen him like this. Tendou Soun's face had the perfect stillness of a Nou mask. He clasped Jiro's throat in his left hand and contemplated him as if Jiro were some strange new bug; one he was thinking about pinning in his collection. . . or crushing under his foot.

A moment passed, then another as Jiro's face turned blue and his heels drummed desperately against the wooden wall. His flailing arms tried to pry Soun's hands from about his throat, with as much success as if he'd
tried to pull Mt. Fuji up by the roots. Nabiki watched in amazement, then in sudden horror, as her father's right hand drew back for a killing stroke.

"NO DADDY!"

Soun looked down at his daughter, at her torn face, the bruises around her throat and his eyes hardened.
"Daddy, I'm all right. Let him go. Please. I don't want you to go to jail."

Soun's hand opened convulsively, and Jiro dropped to the ground like a bundle of old clothes. A dark spreading stain at the front of his trousers indicated that Jiro had lost more than his ash. "There can be no forgiveness."

Jiro cringed before the look in Soun's eyes. . . hated himself for being afraid. . . hated Soun for making him afraid.

Dismissing Jiro as beneath contempt, Soun turned to his daughter and began tending her wounds. Jiro for his part looked longingly at Soun's exposed back, thought of the tanto he carried as a badge of office, thought longingly of the pistol he'd used to terrify katagi long ago when he been a lowly chimpira, before he'd worked his way up to kumi-cho. But even the steel blade could not stiffen his spine. He remembered the look in Soun's eyes. He was afraid of Soun of what he might do, and so could not even force his hand to touch the hilt of the hidden dagger. Instead he scurried for the door. His shame and humiliation had left only one option.