Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Distance ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

They talked for an hour or two more, about Ranma's adventures at Osaka - he left out the tournaments, but Ono mentioned them casually, and Nabiki had admitted to making some money off of betting on him. Everyone laughed at that, but Ranma felt slightly silly; even when he didn't know it, Nabiki was making a yen off of him.

No one mentioned Akane the entire rest of the visit, and for that Ranma was thankful. As he left, a tired and bored Kaibutsu in tow, Ranma promised to come back to Kasumi's home for dinner every Sunday. They hugged, and she made him promise to also tell his mother how “lovely it would be if she came to visit, and see little Kimiko.” Ranma obliged her.

He'd walked home with a lighter step than when he'd left, and sank onto his futon after getting ready for bed, exhausted emotionally and physically. Kaibutsu was still curled around him the next morning, and Ranma had to fight to get out the door the dog wanted to go on a walk so badly. He managed to make it to work, however, with minimal slobber.

Master Gyaru's dojo was large, and sat in between a teashop and a small noodle shop that Ranma didn't recognize. It was at the farther edge of the shopping district of town, but not so far that he couldn't make it there in a few minutes by jogging. Ranma stepped inside, respectfully removing his shoes and bowing to the small dojo shrine by the door before he glanced around.

The floor was tatami mats, as would be expected, but the walls of the dojo were padded save for the front shoji. The sign that had been hanging outside the door, marketing the dojo and its proprietor, had a twin inside, in a place of honor over a weapons rack. An older bald man was standing in front of said sign, rearranging some weights beside the weapons rack.

“Good morning,” Ranma called out across the large room, glancing at the clock; seven fifty-five, he definitely wasn't late, good, “I'm Ranma Saotome, the student assistant?”

The older man turned and smiled. He was almost as tall as Ranma, and his eyes were covered by small, round glasses. The uniformity of his stark white gi was broken only by a black belt with several roses embroidered across one end. “Ah, hello Ranma, I'm Master Eido Gyaru; Professor Midori called me just a few minutes ago to ask if you were still going to be working for me.”

Ranma smiled good-naturedly. “And what'd you tell her, Master Gyaru?”

“Well, I said, `he hasn't shown up yet, but when he does, I'll be sure to put him to work,'” Eido smirked and motioned to the weights he'd been organizing, “and that's just what I'm going to do. Would you mind organizing these? Our first wave of students should be along in a few minutes.” Ranma bowed to him and did as he was told, settling himself in front of the weights and cinching the belt of his yellow gi tighter.

The rest of the day passed swiftly. Ranma forgot all about his worries about the tournaments he'd been involved in, in Osaka. As he watched Master Gyaru and assisted him with his students, he liked to imagine that the old man would understand a martial artist just trying to get some money to improve himself.

But… then again, Master Gyaru could tell that Ranma was not an average martial artist, and fighting in rinky-dink tournaments against weaker opponents was not honorable. Ranma felt conflicted all day, wanting to tell Master Gyaru about the tournaments, and at the same time fearful of what his honesty could cost him. Professor Midori, the woman who had opened up Ranma to the idea of becoming a student-teacher for a Master whilst he was going through his physical education major, had obviously not told Master Gyaru about the tournaments, but then again… perhaps she didn't understand the significance? She was just a chemistry teacher, after all.

As Ranma cleaned up after the last of the students, he sighed and steeled himself. No, he had to tell Master Gyaru. Honesty was the very basis of who he was trying to become. Setting thought to deed, Ranma paused in sweeping the tatami and turned to look at Master Gyaru. “Master—”

“Ah, Mr. Saotome, we found you at last.” Ranma started and turned at the intrusion. Standing at the shoji, flanked by two tall, almost twin-like men in expensive suits, was a young man, probably a few years older than Ranma. His long black hair was pulled back in a tight braid, and he had eerily bright green eyes. He was handsome, if you were in to greasy, expensively-dressed men.

Ranma wasn't, and he also wasn't impressed.

The young man ashed the cigarette he was smoking outside the dojo's open doors and handed it to one of his silent suit-men, who put the cigarette out on his hand. Ranma rolled his eyes: you didn't learn how to pull chestnuts out of an open flame with your bare hands and then go around being intimidated by thugs' tolerance for a little singeing. “My name is Ichiro Arai; I'm here on behalf of a very prestigious fighting organization. We saw your performance in the Osaka Regionals, and we'd like to recruit you, Mr. Saotome for a more… difficult and private tournament.”

Ranma frowned and opened his mouth to tell Ichiro where he could stick his tournament invitation, but Master Gyaru beat him to it, after a fashion. “I'm so sorry, gentlemen, but as you can see, we are closed for the evening.” And then he just stared at the small group of men, expectantly.

Ichiro snorted and rudely stepped inside without taking off his expensive loafers. Ranma half-snarled and the transgression and stepped in front of his new boss. “Hey, where do you get off, buddy? Just get outta here; I don't want nothin' to do with no stupid tournament, okay? Jus' get outta here.”

Ichiro's expression darkened and he moved to his hip, touching the hilt of something sticking out of his trousers. Ranma realized very suddenly that the man he was staring at was carrying a concealed weapon, and what that probably meant: gangster, or worse, yakuza. Master Gyaru seemed unfazed, however, and he demonstrated this by pushing Ranma gently to the side and pointing out the door, behind Ichiro's back. “Please leave, guest, as you are not welcome here.”

Ichiro sneered at Master Gyaru and tossed a look of contempt Ranma's way for good measure. “C'mon boys, let's go. There's nothing of use here anyway.” And then he strolled out, his thugs following him with noncommittal glances inside the dojo. One of them kicked the shoji as he passed, tearing some of the stiffened rice paper.

“Oh shit!” Ranma gasped, rushing over to inspect the damage. “I'm so sorry, Master Gyaru, I'll pay to have it fixed,” he turned and prostrated himself before the older man.

“Get up, Ranma,” Master Gyaru said firmly; Ranma stood, unable to meet the older man's gaze, a flush of shame creeping up his collar, “I knew all about the tournaments in Osaka, young Master.” Ranma's breath hitched a little at the honorable term. “You are a more capable fighter than me, but you are not a teacher, not yet. Those tournaments were a way to find yourself; every artist goes through a dark period. Painters, writers, and fighters.” Ranma looked up and smiled slightly, bowing deeply. When he righted, Master Gyaru bowed to him in return. “I am honored to have your assistance in my dojo.”

“Thank you,” Ranma breathed; Master Gyaru might not have been as powerful as Ranma, but he knew wisdom when he saw it; after all, he'd seen enough of the opposite in his lifetime to fill a swimming pool, “thank you for your understanding.”

“Nonsense! Come, let's get out of here and go home, hm? My wife is waiting for me, and I'm sure you have some pretty young thing waiting around for you somewhere, eh?” Master Gyaru smiled happily and patted Ranma on the shoulder, oblivious to the young man's discomfort.

“Yeah, right,” Ranma laughed a little and turned out the lights, swathing the dojo in darkness. He stepped outside and Master Gyaru slid the shoji closed and pulled a metal gate down over them, locking the whole dojo up securely with a padlock. It was four in the afternoon, and the sun was blazing down on them. The dojo had been air-conditioned, and now, out in the heat, Ranma immediately broke out into a sweat.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, and I look forward to seeing you bright and early, tomorrow, hm?” Master Gyaru bowed and Ranma returned the gesture before turning on his heel and setting off for home at a jog.

His neighbor, Hitomi Watanabe, had promised to let Kaibutsu out to the bathroom, and take him for a walk, but Ranma knew that the dog would need lots of play time once he got home. The animal hadn't been home alone since they lived in Osaka, and every summer he'd come with Ranma to his parents' and was allowed to run on their property, free from leash laws.

He jogged down the street, hopping onto the much narrower wooden fence next to the canal. Teetering for a moment, he frowned as he regained his balance - he needed more practice; running around Osaka with the Parkour kids was good for his balance and agility, but Osaka did not have many slender wooden fences.

As he picked up the pace, Ranma did some hard thinking; it had never come easy to him, but he'd been trying to think things through, lately. Ichiro could be yakuza, he could also be just a common thug; there was no telling for sure, without more evidence. Regardless, he had men who worked for him, and he wanted something, and he was walking around with a damn knife in his pants. Ichiro thought himself something not to be trifled with, and that made Ranma cautious, at the very least. Especially when he knew what Ranma was capable of, having seen the “Red Dragon” in action. Ranma winced at the name - cheesy and over-the-top, like a pro-wrestler.

As if to put an exclamation mark on Ranma's already-falling mood, when he hopped off of the fence and rounded the corner at the end of his street, he saw a sight so horrifying, he almost turned and ran back the way he'd come.

Crowded around the front of his apartment were at least twenty or thirty teenagers. Hitomi was at the top of the stairs, clutching Kaibutsu's leash to her chest as he alternated between barking and sniffing at the youths clogging up the steps. Spotting him before he could turn and run, Hitomi waved at him frantically with her free hand and shouted, “Mr. Saotome! Mr. Saotome!”

Every single teenager whipped their head around, and several girls squealed with delight at spotting him.

“It's him!”

“It's the Red Dragon!”

“Look! He looks just like a real fighter!”

“Ooh, he's all sweaty!”

Ranma gulped and headed towards his apartment with the steps of someone heading up to a hangman's noose, just less excited.

“Mr. Saotome, I'm so sorry, I don't even know where they came from!” Hitomi shouted as Ranma was assailed on all sides by youths begging him for his autograph, asking to feel his muscles, and encouraging him to show them some of what they called his “signature moves.”

Ranma did not have many “signature moves” that he could perform without maiming some of them, so he opted for a move his father showed him once: “Saotome Art of Running the Hell Away.”

He leapt up and over the heads of the kids, bounced off of the low cement wall that served as the stair railing, and threw the front door open, shoving Hitomi and a now-furiously-barking Kaibutsu ahead of him before he went inside himself and, for good measure, put a heavy metal trashcan in front of the doors.

“Mr. Saotome,” he turned to Hitomi, and the middle-aged homemaker pointed shyly at the doors, “those open… out; the trashcan won't help.”

Ranma groaned and hung his head. “I'm so sorry, Mrs. Watanabe; I didn't think those two boys—” he paused, remembering that Hitomi was a bit more conservative and… delicate than him, “I mean, some kids musta seen me an' spread the word around.” Hitomi smiled weakly, flinching a little as the kids outside started chanting Ranma's tournament moniker.

“It's alright - but, um, how will you walk Kaibutsu?” she looked down at his dog, concern etched on her dowdy features. Ranma looked morosely down at his best friend and sighed, shaking his head.

“I can't jus' not walk him,” suddenly, he wished he was still cursed. He could go around in disguise, walk Kaibutsu and say he was Ranma Saotome's neighbor, but then he thought the better of that. Going around in disguise had gotten him in more trouble than it was really worth, and missing his curse was just stupidity. “I'll jus' have t'deal with `em. Maybe Kaibutsu will scare `em off a bit, eh?”

Hitomi shrugged and handed him the leash. “Just be careful - you know how rambunctious teenagers can be,” she sighed ruefully, “I'm not excited for the day that Kyoya becomes a teenager.” Kyoya was her son; he was only ten, but he was already a rowdy little kid. Luckily, he thought Ranma was a boring adult and ignored him in favor of running around outside.

“Thanks for lookin' after him, Mrs. Watanabe,” he tilted slightly and she did a half-curtsey before turning and shuffling back up the stairs. She looked once over her shoulder and clucked her tongue as he moved the can out of the way and steeled himself.

The kids had stopped chanting a few moments ago, but as soon as he came outside, still in his sweaty assistant's gi, they took it up again. Ranma held up his hands and frowned, Kaibutsu wriggling impatiently next to him, having been denied his walk once already. He looked down briefly at his dog and an idea formed in his head. “Look, tell ya' what, guys,” he said with the easy smile that had charmed so many women when he was a teenager, and melted them now that he was an adult, whether he liked it or not, “whoever volunteers to walk Kaibutsu when I'm at work, gets my autograph.”

Every hand shot up and the crowd of kids went nuts. Ranma put his hands up again for silence, waiting until they quieted. “Okay, okay; look, he's gotta be walked once a day while I'm at work. My neighbor lets him out for his business, but you guys,” he nodded at all of them, “gotta walk `im before four in the afternoon.”

“I'll do it! I'll do it every day!” one kid shouted.

“No, me, me!”

“Please, I'll walk your dog so much he'll… he'll…!”

“Slow down! Slow down! Everyone can walk him,” every kid looked a little puzzled, and Ranma put on a face of great wisdom, “you can take turns.” Kaibutsu sat down on his haunches and yawned impatiently, and Ranma patted his head, willing him to not be irritated.

“Okay, guys, c'mon over here!” One kid took charge after a few moments of silence, and they set about forming a schedule for who got to walk Kaibutsu and when. Soon, every kid was set up, and Kaibutsu was getting two walks a day.

“Alright! Y'can sign in with Mrs. Watanabe at the front door, an' she'll give you Kaibutsu, an' then y'sign out when he's had a good walk,” Ranma smiled and took the list of names, days, and times from the shaking hand of the organized youth; she was a pretty girl, with large glasses, and Ranma gave her a wink that made her blush. “If everyone comes on time all summer, y'all get autographs an' maybe…” he took on an intense countenance and punched the cement railing, leaving a small dent that he hoped the owner wouldn't notice, “I'll show ya' some moves.” The teens “ooh'd” and “aah'd” and, thankfully, let him pass to take his dog on a walk, the schedule tucked triumphantly under one arm.

Saotome Art of Anything Goes Teenager Subduing.