Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found
them and please don't feed the Trolls.

*Summer Lightning* is copyrighted by Garnet Rogers and *Lock Keeper* is
copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP). The mangling they have been subjected
to is my fault. If you haven't encountered them before go out and buy
their CDs, they sings lots better than I write, and Stan's estate could
use the cash.

This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/

Release 1.2 (Nov. 25, 2000)

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Ranma & Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 1: The First Day
Part B: Encampment; Kuno Strikes Out.

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It was odd, Akane reflected; she had never met a person to whom she had
so instantly taken. Ranma was almost paralyzing in the sheer force of
her presence, and yet that presence seemed to drive everyone around her
to exceed themselves.

The morning had been ... interesting. She had devoted much of it to the
(admittedly somewhat arcane) study of the Japanese Red-headed Martial
Artist. Nor was this an unpopular area of scholarly effort that day.

Ranma was, on the whole, a mystery wrapped around an enigma, bundled in
a wrapping of urbanely refined nastiness. She had cheerfully admitted
to having "A Gentleman's education: art, tactics and poetry," and her
performance had seemed to bear her out. 

She was barely adequate in math, for example, and had no concept of
Algebra; yet her grasp of Japanese history was excellent, punctuated by
many anecdotes and asides. Her English was much better than anyone else
in class, including the teacher, and she could quote a wide range of
poetry and poesy from memory, yet she seemed to have a very eccentric
(to say the least) view of the physical sciences and her approach to
the social sciences verged on outright anarchy. 

Class 2-F was scheduled to take up physical education and music after
lunch: Akane was looking forward to seeing Ranma in action in Phys-ed,
and, considering her incredible voice, in Music too.

But both of these would wait until after lunch and Akane was looking
forward to that as well. Lunch would, after all, allow her to question
Ranma more closely about several matters: murder, for one, and what she
meant by 'nom de guerre', and what her history had been; many such
questions were bubbling in her head, looking for answers. 

Fortunately for Akane's fragile patience, lunch was not long delayed.
The temporarily released students scattered over the Furinkan grounds,
Ranma and Akane claiming a shaded spot next to the Furinkan wall. No
one seemed inclined to join them, which was just as well, Akane felt,
as it afforded privacy.

"Okay," Akane said brightly, "tell me about Bushiko, and why it's a nom
de guerre. And what you're doing under a nom de guerre anyway." 

"Well... Um. Basically it started when I was five or so. That was when
my Dad decided that I wouldn't get adequate training in the Art at
home, so he took me on a permanent training trip."

"We traveled a lot," Ranma continued, "and didn't settle in one place
for more than four months or so for the next six years. Then Dad found
this _stupid_ Martial Arts training manual that was supposed to show
how to train for an 'invincible technique'."

"Feh," Ranma brooded for a minute, then resumed. "Anyway, _after_ the
training he discovered that the reason nobody uses that technique is
that, _even if it works_, it makes you psychotic." 

Akane gasped, and Ranma nodded.

"After that, Dad tried to keep 'training' me, but I nearly killed him
three times in the next week. I knew it wasn't going to get any better
either, so I beat him up instead, and then left him behind. I told him
that he'd trained me for six years and now I was going to go away and
train myself for six years, and at the end of that time I'd fight him
for mastery of the school. If he beat me I'd stay in training under him
for as long as he wanted, but if I beat him he'd go back to work to
raise money until the school got back on its feet, and then retire."
 
"That was more than five years ago," Ranma continued, "and I've got
about six months to go."

Akane leaned closer concernedly. "How terrible! It must have been very
hard on you!"

"Less so than you'd think," Ranma replied. "I admit it wasn't easy, but
I'd been doing most of the domestic stuff anyway: Dad's hopeless at
anything that means he'd have to work. So, the only real problem was
fixing the damage he'd done. It took six months, but I found a temple
on Honshu and locked the technique away and the craziness with it."

"But you're fine now?" Akane said, still concerned.

"Mostly, though I'm still afraid of cats."

"Cats? Why cats?"

"Because ..."

Alas for the state of Akane's curiosity, the conversation was to be
interrupted. And by none other than the usual suspect for interruptions
at Furinkan, that paragon of honor, that champion of sport, that noble
traveler in hakama, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High, Kuno Tatewaki.

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Tatewaki himself was experiencing a state of mind that was highly
unusual to him: doubt. He had been angered (once he had taken a moment
to consider it) by the fire-haired barbarian's accusation that any
action he had ever undertaken was less than perfectly honorable, much
less... that word. It couldn't be... that word... could it? 

After all he had always allowed his Beauteous Tiger to win, had he not?
(He knew, of course, that no girl, Beauteous Tiger or no, could resist
his masculine might.) So he had allowed her to work through her
shyness, trusting in the day when she would see the purity of his
affections, cast off her maidenlike reluctance, and allow him to date
her.

Now, however, the purity of his motives had been called into question.
Looked at in a certain light it could almost be said that his honor had
been sullied. If he did not redress the situation, and soon, his fair
flower might well (horrors) _believe_ the libelous, malicious _lies_
proposed by that... that... 

Well, of course, it was not fair to expect too much from the flame-
haired Amazon. She was obviously some variety of barbarian and new to
Furinkan besides: she couldn't be _expected_ to see the true nobility
of his motives. 

But that at least was easily remedied. If he simply displayed the
excellence of his martial skills by defeating her, she would quickly
come to understand the rightness of his cause. No doubt her savage
heart would be won over to its rightful place as well, and then, well,
the possibilities were unbounded. He might even end up with _two_
maidens to be beaten up by.

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At this time the narrator of this story would like to interject an
explanation for the lack of thought quotes in the preceding passages.
The reason can be stated simply: both the Author and the Narrator
posses the greatest of respect for the noble scion of Kuno, and would
never dream of accusing him of thought.

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Unfortunately for Tatewaki, however, more than one worry wrinkled his
noble brow as he stood before his locker some five minutes before Ranma
and Akane's conversation was interrupted. The other worry was simply
stated: should he take along his sword? 

There were arguments for and against, of course. Against such an action
must stand the fact that the red-headed barbarian had not, till now,
deserved of him such a drastic response; likewise that bared steel was
after all both excessive and inappropriate for instruction or for
courting a shy maiden's hand. On the 'for' scale, alternately, lay the
undeniable fact that she had boasted of recently killing no fewer than
three opponents. Gross and disgusting men, no doubt, lacking in honor
and skill, and certainly deserving of their fates, but....
 
Fortunately, the noble Kuno mind was more than equal to the challenge
even of so momentous a decision, quickly supplying an answer both
sagacious and honorable: he would take the sword (in case of need), but
keep it concealed (to avoid unnecessary maidenly fright).

And so it was that the noble and glorious Kuno Tatewaki, fortified with
blade and bokken, and prepared for every contingency, stood near his
beloved and her companion some five minutes later. Prepared to issue a
challenge both martial and kindly, such as to make clear not only the
rightness of his cause, but also his essential magnificence. 

In what should come as no real surprise to anyone who has read this
far, he got it wrong.

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Ranma looked up at the annoying fool who was attempting to overawe her
and then tilted her head at Akane, "And this is who?"

"I, fair maiden, am Kuno Tatewaki, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High.
You may address me as 'upperclassman Kuno' when you ask my pardon for
your deplorable sin. For, by my sword's honor the worth of the Blue
Thunder is as great as his wrath, nor ever has he stooped to other than
honorable action, nor..."

"Lad ... _Lad_," Ranma interrupted, "before you go challenging me to a
sword fight, it _might_ be a good idea to find yourself a sword."
 
"A sword I possess," Tatewaki replied frostily, "its name is Asatsuyu
('Morning Dew') and its lineage is ..."

"Ah," Ranma deadpanned, rising smoothly to her feet, "mine is named
Tenchuu no yasashigena ('The Gentle Kiss of Heaven', 'Heaven's Kiss').
Akane, will you call the dance?"

"But of course, Ranma," Akane replied. She, too, rose to her feet and
took position just outside of a virtual twenty-foot circle that seemed
to have magically appeared around the two sword bearers. "_Assume_!"
 
Tatewaki slowly drew his Katana and assumed chudan, reaching as his
training indicated for the dominance, the mental struggle that begins a
match. "I am Kuno Tatewaki, of the Spinning Shears School of Kendo,
champion of Furinkan High." His voice attempted firmness, yet his
thoughts were in turmoil, 'I did not wish a duel with _steel_,
something is wrong, her eyes, they are so ... blue ...'.

Ranma pulled a sheathed blade of the tachi pattern from beneath her
jacket and held it loosely at her side. "I am Bushiko Ranma, who may
claim no school," her voice was again pleasant and conversational, "a
humble pilgrim on the road."

In contrast to the shaken kendoist her thoughts revolved around one
theme only: 'Remember, _don't kill him_;' and her calm, passionless
regard was a stone on which Tatewaki's concentration splashed like sea
wrack before a storm.

Some seven seconds a stillness passed between the two, while Akane held
her hand on high. And then she let it fall, "Kumite!"

And then the storm began.

Ranma seemed to blur to most watching eyes, yet to Tatewaki she was
clear as day, though he himself seemed mired in mud. She crossed the
twenty feet between them in a single gliding step while her sword came
to hasso-no-kame just above her shoulder and its sheath spun about
fifteen feet up in the air like a black-lacquered frisbee. Then she was
past him, and his katana belled as she struck through his defense and
he gasped in surprise as his racing perceptions _saw_ the point turn
aside from his heart and tear through about two inches of flesh on his
upper arm.
 
He turned half about with the force of the blow and felt the beginnings
of pain before she spun in a perfect hi-low slash, both of which evaded
his fumbling blade to spray blood from two slashes over his cheeks, and
to cut through his hakama to score both thighs. She took another step
forward and began a pattern of lightning fast light blows, none of
which even came close to being blocked, and all of which drew blood.

Tatewaki was driven, stumbling, back until he was almost against the
outer wall of the schoolyard. Briefly, he rallied enough to return his
sword to something approximating a guard position, before Ranma blurred
even to his racing perceptions, seeming to appear on both sides of him
at once. Pain exploded through his body as more than 50 minor cuts
struck all over his torso, arms and legs at once. Then, as he stumbled
back, Ranma set herself and snapped forward once more. 

The first strike cut across the top of both hands, knocking the sword
from his grip in a gleaming mid-air circle. The second, reversed,
strike snapped the flying blade in half before his eyes, driving him
all the way back to the wall. The final, two handed, decapitation
strike blazed in unstoppably, flickering blurrily to kiss the skin on
his neck ... and then _stop_, motionless.

Trembling, Tatewaki looked up into emotionless blue eyes and the
passionless, restrained violence of a tornado. And suddenly, in what
may have been the only genuinely inspired moment of his life to that
point, received a vision. A vision of Ranma, clad in armor, and
wielding the sword pressed against his throat, slaughtering her way
through what seemed to him to be an entire army. A vision that showed
him, in no uncertain terms, the difference between fencing on the Dojo
floor, and life and death by the sword. Of the difference between a
person who could swing a sword, and one who could kill with it; and,
more importantly, in this moment choose _not_ to kill with it. 

And for the first time in his life, Kuno Tatewaki looked his own Art in
the face, and was ashamed. And buried his head in his hands, pushing
down the blade at his neck, and wept.

And Ranma lowered her blade and said "Aye, now. You've learned that
lesson. And you'll have scars to remind you of it, as scars tend to
do."

And she quirked a smile, highlighting the scars prominent around her
own mouth. And Tatewaki, looking up, essayed a tentative smile of his
own.

She walked over to her scabbard, picked it up, and put Tenchuu away.
Then she picked up the two halves of Tatewaki's katana, and returning
to stand in front of him, held them out to him to take.

"It's said that the soul of a samurai is his sword, Kuno Tatewaki.
Yours would appear to be broken. Perhaps, before you call yourself a
samurai again, you should spend some time mending it."

And then she returned to her seat by the wall, and Akane sat by her.
And Kuno Tatewaki turned away, holding the remnants of his blade, and
stumbled off to the infirmary, to patch his wounds.

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"It is my firm conviction," Ranma said, "that it is a gentleman's
highest duty to smoke out silliness like that, and step on it." 

"But, Ranma, you're not a gentleman."

"And why not?"

"Because, use the masculine forms how you may, it's obvious you're
_not_ a boy."

"Feh," Ranma waved a dismissing hand, "Details. Mere details." 

Akane leaned close, "Ranma, you've _got_ to teach me how to do some of
that."

"Er, but, don't you have a sensei already?" Ranma nervously asked. 

"Only my Dad, and he hasn't trained me seriously in years." 

"Er ... *sigh*, OK, we'll go to your place later and see what you need
to work on."

And they shook hands on the deal as the bell rang to bring lunch to a
close. Which was perhaps unfortunate, as it meant that the _other_
important question she had meant to ask slipped her mind completely,
until much later.

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Physical Education, for Ranma, at least, was curtailed due to the
sensei's conviction that, before a place in the class structure might
be assigned to her, her overall level of accomplishment must be
measured. Since the limited resources of the main gym proved incapable
even of causing Ranma sufficient exertion to change into gym uniform,
much less break a sweat, the sensei excused her of further toil that
day. Then the sensei excused _herself_ to sulk, and to plot further,
more strenuous tests for the morrow.
 
In the last period of the day, Music for class 2-F brought the usual
sounds of tortured musical instruments resounding through the room.
Akane, Ranma grumbled, had not had an opportunity to demonstrate her
skill. Most of the other students had, but unfortunately 'qualified'
was a rare description of ability indeed as far as they were concerned. 

Then it was Ranma's turn, and she drew her guitar from the same place
she stowed her sword and ran through basic scales, and chords, and
parts of tunes to the music teacher's instructions. She was, it was
noted to few people's surprise, easily better than anyone else in the
class, save perhaps for Akane.

As the end of the class drew close the teacher asked Ranma if she was
any good at song.

Ranma hefted her guitar and grinned, "What song would you like."

"You pick," came the response.

Ranma grinned again, and poised her hand above the strings. "Alright,
here's a love song then."

And then Akane heard, for the first time, the song she would, in later
times, come to regard as the song closest to her understanding of
Ranma's true heart.

     I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.
     The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,
     And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,
     I was riding hard, I had miles to go.

     And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,
     It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,
     And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,
     And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.

          We are brief Summer lightning,
          We are swift as swallows' flight.
          We are sparks that spiral upwards,
          In the darkness of the night.
          We are frost upon the window,
          We won't pass this way again,
          In the end only love remains.

     Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,
     I see the hills shine, in its silvery light.
     It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,
     And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.

     For where I go, You go with me, 
     Though the miles keep us apart.
     Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,
     And your gentle hands, always on my heart.

          We are brief Summer lightning,
          We are swift as swallows' flight.
          We are sparks that spiral upwards,
          In the darkness of the night.
          We are frost upon the window,
          We won't pass this way again,
          In the end only love remains.

     Well who scattered these diamonds, 
     Through the vault of Heaven?
     Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?
     Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?
     Where is the heart of every living thing?

     Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.
     I know you love me, how could it not be?
     And I am yours, now and forever,
     'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.

          We are brief Summer lightning,
          We are swift as swallows' flight.
          We are sparks that spiral upwards,
          In the darkness of the night.
          We are frost upon the window,
          We won't pass this way again,
          In the end Dear, only love remains.

And as Ranma finished the song and lowered her head, the school day of
Furinkan came to its end.

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Next:
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 1: The First Day
Part C: Circumvallation; Shopping for Street-gangs.

'Til next chapter,

Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001