Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Distance ❯ Chapter 26 ( Chapter 26 )

Footsore and grumpy, Ranma walked through the streets of Nerima towards the Tendou-Tofuus, suit jacket slung over his shoulder. The train had been obscenely crowded with high school students going places to enjoy the last week of summer break. Several of them had recognized him, and one kid, squished as he was against Ranma's side, said he was sorry to hear about Ranma's dog.

Ranma was just glad there weren't any reporters prowling around still.

When he reached Kasumi and Ono's home, the clinic was closed for lunch. Anxious to get out of the borrowed clothes, - especially the shoes - Ranma wandered around to the fence and into the backyard. He paused, hearing voices coming from inside the house, and smiled, relieved that Kasumi and Ono were obviously eating at home for lunch. He could sit at the table and talk about what was going through his head. His mood started to lighten at the lunch that awaited him.

As he hopped onto the deck to enter through the shoji, he found them already partway open. Not thinking anything of it he stepped inside, slipping, thankfully, out of the dress shoes. “Kasumi, I'm… what the fuck are you doin' here?” Ranma had to resist the urge to fall into a ready stance, had to fight years of martial instincts, which was no easy feat.

Sitting at the table, calmly sipping tea from a green porcelain cup, was Ichiro Arai. Next to him was an older, gray-haired man who looked like he might be related to the worm currently drinking tea at Kasumi's table.

Kasumi was standing nervously by the kitchen, a rag clutched in her white-knuckled hands. Ono was sitting at the end of the table, in front of his anxious wife. Ranma heard Kimiko cry from somewhere, saw Ono's eyes narrow behind his glasses. Kasumi moved as if to go to the back of the house, but then seemed to remember something and stopped herself, turning even paler.

When Kasumi and Ono registered that it was Ranma at the door, their heads snapped to look at him, and he tensed at the look in their eyes. Anger? No, not quite… frustration, suspicion. Ranma felt his world tilt a little, but he forced himself to remain calm.

“Mr. Saotome,” Ichiro was saying calmly, “this is my father, Yamato Arai of the Sakaume-gumi in Osaka.” The older man bowed from his sitting position, his expression stony. Ranma bowed as well, but mostly out of reflex, not respect.

“We have been waiting for you,” Yamato said evenly, holding out a hand to encourage Ranma to take a seat; Ranma did so, putting his body between the yakuza and the hallway leading to Kimiko's room. She cried again, and Kasumi made a small noise, “I hope that you understand that my sons mean you no conscious ill-will. They merely want their business contracts honored.” Yamato was speaking again, but Ranma refused to look at him. He stared at Kasumi, tried to put as much earnest love in his gaze as possible, as much strength as he could contain within a small, subtle look. Yes, he loved these people like family, and he would protect them with his life.

“I ain't got no contract with nobody.” Ranma said, not for the first time wishing he was a more eloquent speaker.

Yamato and Ichiro shared a glance that Ranma caught out of the corner of his eye.

“You misunderstand, Mr. Saotome,” Ichiro said calmly, “if the Sakaume-gumi ask you to do something, that is a contract between you and the Sakaume-gumi. You will do as we ask. You will fight in the tournament.” It was a threat, a threat without words. A threat on him, on his family.

Not for the first time since that fateful morning, Ranma wished Kaibutsu was still here. He was such a good dog; Ranma was sure he would be careful not to get the little bits of yakuza all over Kasumi's nice floor as he ripped them to itty-bitty pieces.

Ranma clenched his fists on his thighs. “Fine, I'll fight, just leave Kasumi and Ono alone, leave Akane alone, leave everyone I know—”

“No. You do not get to make conditions,” Yamato said as though discussing the weather; the speech patterns of him and Ichiro were so similar it was difficult to keep track of where one ended and the other began, “you will fight under our conditions.”

Ranma turned his head, slowly, not wanting to tear his gaze away from Kasumi. He allowed a small amount of his anger to funnel through the ki channels in his body. Allowed these men to see his wrath as a quiet, steaming orange flowing out from his body like tiny, licking flames. But he said nothing.

Both men looked at each other again, slightly befuddled at the change of events. “Ranma…” Ono said softly, “you don't have to do this.”

“It's just a tournament, Ono,” Ranma said quietly, now not removing his gaze from the yakuza, “no biggie.” He could kick himself.

If he had just said yes in the first place, none of this would have happened. Kaibutsu would still be alive. He wouldn't have gotten poisoned. Kasumi and Ono wouldn't be crowded in their dining room like frightened rabbits.

“Exactly,” Yamato said, appearing conversational, “such a wonderful thing, a good deal between friends.” Ranma didn't respond as the two men finished their tea and stood, bowing slightly.

“Ranma, be sure to report to me in three days; here's my card.” Ichiro held out the small white rectangle, and Ranma reached up and snatched it out of his hand with the delicacy of hunting hawk snatching a field mouse. He glared up at him, and Ichiro smiled, an oily, hateful thing. Then the yakuza left.

“You didn't have to do that, Ranma,” Ono said softly, “they only care about money, not about what happens to us.” Kasumi made a keening noise and swept toward the hallway suddenly, Ono hot on her heels. Ranma turned and saw Nabiki come out of the baby's room, holding a now-squalling infant in her arms. On seeing Ranma, she glared and handed Kimiko, carefully, to her concerned parents before stomping over to him.

“You, with me, now.” She hissed, her eyes red and slightly swollen, her face twisted with rage. Ranma winced as she grabbed him by the pigtail and half-hauled him to his feet.

“Ow, ow, ow, leggo, jeez!” she dragged him around the wooden screen that separated the dining room from the living room and pushed him onto the sofa. Ranma let out a little “oof,” frustrated at having to let Nabiki push him around - at least it would release some of her anger.

“Dammit, Ranma,” she said passionately, “what the hell did you do?”

Ranma glared at her. “Hey, this ain't my fault, Nabiki; I'd never do anything to hurt you guys.”

Nabiki stared at him like he'd grown a second head. “Ranma, what are you talking about?”

“Well, I didn't mean fer them to get so mad! If I'd uh known they'd be so pissed, I'd've said `yes' to the stupid fuckin' tourney in the first damn place.” He said, keeping his voice as low as he could without whispering so that Kasumi and Ono wouldn't hear him - adding “curses in front of babies” to his list of faults didn't seem like such a great idea.

Nabiki pinched the bridge of her nose for a minute. “Look, I'm kinda hung over and am having trouble following your logic,” she paused, still glaring at him, “Ranma, I'm not pissed that you said `no,' I'm pissed that you said `yes.'”

“Huh?” Ranma asked stupidly.

Sighing exasperatedly, Nabiki flopped down into the rocking chair across from him. Her face took on a sick expression when the chair rocked, and she steadied it with her feet on the floor and took a few deep breaths. “I'm pissed,” she ground out, “that you gave them what they want. They won't stop, now; they'll take and take until you have nothing left.” She paused, sighed. “And then they'll start in on your kids.”

Ranma frowned. “What the hell else am I s'posed t'do, Nabiki?” he said quietly, thinking of all the people who had been hurt so far, furry or otherwise.

“You're supposed to, y'know, not do business with the yakuza.” She said sarcastically. At his desolate look, Nabiki smirked, “Look, just let Nabiki Tendou, businesswoman take care of it, okay? Gimme the number of your friends, Kenichi and Kentaro, and I'll take care of everything.”

Ranma reached into his pocket, took out his wallet. He removed Kenichi and Kentaro's cards and handed them to her before putting his wallet away. Nabiki looked from one card to the other as she held them in her hands, and frowned. “Okay, you lay low. Call them in three days and tell them you can't make it.”

Ranma balked. “What?” he said, flabbergasted.

Nabiki rolled her eyes and looked at him like he was an idiot - an expression he was used to from her. “Look, Ranma,” she said, obviously wanting to call him something else, “these men are not Sakaume-gumi.”

“How do you know?” he asked petulantly.

“Because,” she began with more patience, “the Sakaume-gumi do not murder people.” She placed the cards on the small end table beside her, folding her hands in her lap neatly. “They deal in gambling and the like, they don't extort money from people with violence, nor do to they go after your family like a pack of wolves.”

“That's what Kentaro and Kenichi said,” Ranma said quietly, “Kentaro said what these guys was doin' made no sense.”

Nabiki smiled a wicked, calculating smile. “Exactly, which means they are impersonating the Sakaume-gumi - even the father. It means…” she looked at him expectantly.

“That the Sakaume-gumi probably wouldn't be too happy if they found out.” He said quietly, realization dawning.

“Yes, they might decide to make an exception to their conduct code for these men.” Nabiki said the word “men” like it was a filthy word.

Ranma felt hope blossom in his chest, but then it faltered. “But, Nabiki, what if the real Sakaume-gumi decide to just roll with it?”

Nabiki snorted. “Please, Ranma, they're businessmen. They aren't going to get their hands dirty like this,” she waved a hand in the air emphatically, “I mean, hel-lo, they don't even deal with professional fighting - they're all pachinko.” She sighed and leaned back wearily in the rocking chair. “I just have to convince them to listen to a woman.”

“I don't think that'll be a problem,” Ono said, and both Ranma and Nabiki turned to stare at him - he was still damn sneaky, “I'll help you talk to them, Nabiki.” And his voice left no room for argument.