The difference between the Tendou home and a tomb that night was
the lack of warmth and cheer usually associated with tombs.
Ranma's mother had busied herself in the kitchen, but there were
only so many cups of tea to serve and dishes to wash. She now sat in a
corner, talking in low tones with Shan Pu and Ukyou. Genma sat in his
usual place, trying to teach the rudiments of Shogi to Ryouga. Tendou
Soun was in his room. When the small group had returned without his
eldest child, he'd retreated as he always had from his loss, from his
fear, from his family, from his life. This time there was no one to lead
him back.
Nabiki sat in the far corner, filling a notebook with small neat
figures. Ukyou found the steady clicking of her abacus oddly soothing.
Finally Ukyou got up and went over to her.
"Uh, Hi Nabiki. How. . ."She hastily corrected herself. "What're
you doing?"
"One hundred thirty three thousand yen."
"What?"
"One hundred thirty three thousand yen." Nabiki looked up. Ukyou
recoiled from the stark look in the middle daughter's eyes.
"I've checked and re-checked. There's no mistake. One hundred
thirty three thousand yen. That's what I made from Jiro. That's what
Kasumi's life is worth. One hundred thirty three thousand yen." Nabiki
bent back over her notebook. One hand filling a page with small neat
figures, the other expertly flicking abacus beads. Ukyou shivered in
sudden dread, the steady clacking now sounded like nails being driven,
one by one, into a coffin.
"Ukyou, you all right?" Shan Pu looked concerned as a now pale
Ukyou rejoined the small group.
"Fine, I'm fine. Where's Akane and Ranchan?"
"They're in the doujou." Nodoka stopped Ukyou as she started to
rise. "I think they need some time alone right now."
Ukyou was too drained by the day's events to protest, and Shan Pu
seemed equally fatigued. The call of a night bird and the occasional
whirr of a dragonfly sounded loud in the silence. The steady click,
click, click of the abacus echoed in the room as Nabiki tried to total
her sister's worth and the cost of her life.
Ranma was worried. He wasn't given to introspection. If it wasn't
fightable or edible he wasn't much interested. Except for Akane. He
didn't know what to do with Akane, or about Akane. He couldn't fight her.
He didn't fight girls. Even if he did, he couldn't fight Akane.
She couldn't cook. His face flashed with a all too brief smile.
She turned perfectly good food into garbage. Maybe they should see if she
could turn garbage into food. The smile vanished.
No fighting, no eating. He didn't know what to do with her, but
he couldn't do without her. Even brief separations made him edgy. The
thought of losing her, of no more Akane, no more tomboy. . . ever. His
mind twisted away from that thought. He looked down at her. Akane hadn't
moved from that spot since they'd come to the doujou two hours ago. If he
couldn't see the slight rise and fall of her chest, he couldn't tell she
was alive. Like wounded animals, they'd retreated to a place that felt
safe and secure. Ranma had retreated behind the familiar comfort of kata,
the soothing blending of mind, body and spirit in forms that had been old
a thousand years before he was born and would be unchanged still in
another thousand years. He'd expected Akane to break things, large
things, stone and wood things, with lots of noise.
She sat, unmoving and unnerving.
"Uh, Akane, you wanna spar?"
Nothing.
"Uh, you wanna get something to eat?"
Still nothing. Ranma scratched his head nervously. With his two
best, and some unkind souls would say only, conversational gambits
expended, he was at a loss. He brightened suddenly. He knew how to cheer
her up.
"Hey, don't worry Akane. We'll get Kasumi back. It's just like
when you were kidnapped by . . ."
Akane fell forward onto the hardwood floor, great gasping sobs
wrenched from her body with such force Ranma was afraid she would die.
For one second he froze, wishing for someone, anyone to come. He was no
good with this stuff, with feelings and girls crying and . . . stuff.
Give him something to hit, and he was fine.
But there wasn't anyone else, and he couldn't leave Akane crying
and alone, much as a part of him wanted to run as far and as fast as he
could. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her. He could
feel her body jerk as she cried. She was crying harder now, beating him
with her fists. He just hugged her tighter and spoke to her. He didn't
know what to say or how to say it. So he just talked. Mostly he just held
her and told her that he had her, and he'd never let her go--he'd never
let go no matter what.
"I got your shirt all wet."
Ranma jerked. He hadn't noticed Akane had stopped crying.
"I got your shirt all wet."
"That's OK, it's wash and wear."
Akane stared, then laughed. It wasn't much of a laugh, but it was
there.
"Oh, Ranma, don't ever change."
"Uh, sure. OK." Ranma didn't know what he'd done, but he'd made
her laugh, and that made him feel good.
"It's my fault, you know."
"What is? Kasumi? That's crazy."
"No, no it's not. I know the Yakuza and they know me, or at least
they know the 'sakkiken'."
Ranma looked puzzled.
Akane looked at him with old, old eyes. "The 'sakkiken' do 'work'
for the Yakuza sometimes. The Yakuza have their own enforcers, but
sometimes they need outside help to clean up a mess. Someone to force the
enforcers. That's where the 'sakkiken' come in. In return, our meeting
places are safeguarded, our presence is kept out of the public eye, and
it's a way to earn money."
Ranma looked horrified. "And you worked for the Yakuza? What did
you do?"
"Not as much as some. Mostly I took care or Mr. Oto. He was the
local Nomu-kaypa." At Ranma's blank look she explained. "He ran the
Nermia-ku off-track betting. He was a sweet old man. He'd been handling
betting since the 1950's. Anyway, one time some uyoku tried to run him
off because his grandfather was Korean. They had him in an alley and were
beating him with pipes, boards with nails--just beating him. I was on my
way home from school. I stopped them. Mr. Oto was so grateful that he
gave me a job as a body guard." Akane looked wistful for a moment. "He
died about five months before you showed up."
Ranma stared. "Why would he need a body guard? Why not go to the
police?"
Akane looked pityingly at him. "You watch too much TV Ranma. Two
of them WERE the police. The Yakuza, the uyoku, the Diet, police,
newspapers; they're all mixed together like miso. Anyway, that's how the
Yakuza recognized me as 'sakkiken', knew what I could do. And it's why
it's my fault. I know the Yakuza, know what they're capable of. If I'd
stayed out . . ."
"Then we might all be dead already. At the very least they were
going to rape and beat you and your sisters and probably Shan Pu and
Ukyou. They invaded your house, beat Nabiki." Ranma looked Akane straight
in the eyes, willing her to believe him. "Giving in to people like that
doesn't work. They just take and take until you're either dead or wish
you were." Akane looked skeptical.
"Hey, Pops and me, we went all over. I've seen people like that
Jiro. He and his 'friend' on the other end of that speaker. They like to
hurt people. They like the power even more than what they can steal. As
far as they're concerned you, me, anybody at all, are all something for
them to use; rice to harvest."
Ranma hugged Akane close. "You did the right thing. The only
thing you could do. And now we'll go and get Kasumi back."
"Well said 'future son-in-law'"
The two jerked apart, faces flaming.
"I ain't your son-in-law, old mummy."
The mummy chuckled. "Come on then 'not-son-in-law', we have
things to discuss.
"Kasumi, is it about Kasumi?" Akane cried.
Cu Lon motioned them to follow, turned and left the doujou,
leaving the two to scramble up and follow her.

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