Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Phoenix: Reignited Edition ❯ 1.07: Thin Ice ( Chapter 7 )

“Ranma, help!” The pleading voice echoed through the cavernous arena.

Ranma grimaced. “I’m coming, Akane!” She thrust her left leg forward, sliding on the thin blade on her foot. Socks on an oiled wood floor. Socks on an oiled wood floor, she repeated in her mind, coaxing her body to find a muscle memory to apply to the unfamiliar motion required to ice skate. Begging her unsteady legs for speed, she fixed her eyes on the tall man in the white suit. She tried to ignore the roaring crowd warning him of her approach. 

Closing the hundred or so meter gap, she leapt high into the air, the blade extruding from her left foot shining in the arena lights as she aimed for the back of Mikado’s head. “Get OFF’A HER!” Her target turned at the sound of Ranma’s voice, releasing his grip on Akane’s left wrist. 

Gotcha now, asshole! Wait… oh, shit… shitshitshitSHIT…

As Akane skated a few meters away to safety, she watched as the feminine form of her fiance sailed high over the skater’s head, crashing to the ice in a tangle of arms and legs with a loud smack and a clatter of skate blades against the frozen surface. Akane winced, clearly regretting the limited time she’d had to give Ranma ice skating lessons before the challenge against the Golden Pair. In truth, neither of them were normally skaters, but due to a spate of sudden injuries on the Furinkan High martial arts figure skating team, Akane had been asked to substitute in for the pivotal match. Having no other friends with both martial arts and ice skating experience to ask, Akane had reached out to the best martial artist she knew to be her partner for the pairs competition. “Ranma! Get up! He’s coming!” She turned her attention to the oncoming assault from Mikado’s partner, Azusa Shiratori, trusting Ranma to hold her own.

Ranma scrambled to find her footing, but her hands and skates would not find purchase on the ice. In seconds, Mikado Sanzenin was on her. He dropped to his knees, knocking her flat with his shoulder and pinning the redhead on her back on the ice. He laughed with a ravenous glare, having no trouble whatsoever restraining his prey. Ranma’s body began to go numb as the chill from the rink ice sliced through the thin layer of kelly green silk that comprised her skating leotard. His hands were everywhere, making their way up her powerless form and pinning her arms to the ice at the wrists. Her eyes were locked on him, but in her peripheral vision, she could make out the crowd in the packed arena pointing and cackling viciously at her plight. “YEAH! GET HER, MIKADO!” came a chorus of mostly male voices from the crowd.

“Get off of me!”

Ranma’s assailant just laughed. He leaned down over her frame, puckering his lips. Ranma squirmed frantically, but it was no use. Between his grip and the frictionless ice surface, she had no leverage to escape. With a desperate scream that sounded far more like Akane’s feminine cry for help than any battle kiai she’d ever uttered, Ranma managed to wrest her right arm free and swung wildly for his face, closing her eyes tightly and turning her face away from his as she did so.

Mercifully, she felt her punch solidly connect. A split second later, the resonant crash of the lamp from her nightstand against the steel refrigerator door startled her. She sat up bolt-straight in bed, finding both the yellow tee shirt she’d taken to using as a nightshirt and the lavender sheets beneath soaked with sweat. Her chest heaved as if she’d just run a marathon. Ranma looked around the still-unfamiliar room, taking a moment to remember where exactly she was and how she got there.

“Holy shit. Just a dream."

She swiveled on her backside, pulling her legs out from under the purple duvet cover and dangling them off the bed. With a long, slow exhale, she brushed her loose hair from her face with her fingers. She’d been having the dream, or some variation of it, periodically ever since her and Akane’s battles with the Golden Pair, but far more often since “it” had happened. 

Stupid macho move. I should’ve done the skating thing with Akane as a guy. Yeah, it’s super girly, but at least then he wouldn’t have… 

She slid off of the mattress onto her bare feet and strode the two meters or so separating her bed from what constituted the apartment’s attempt at a kitchen. Grateful that it hadn’t broken, Ranma collected the lamp from the kitchen floor and returned it to the nightstand before slumping into one of the small wooden chairs surrounding her compact little dining table. Still in the haze between asleep and awake, her mind drifted back into her memories – thankfully, not of the day she first fought Mikado, but of the days that followed.

When it first happened, Ranma hadn’t really been sure how to feel about it. He knew he felt disgusted, and he felt an overwhelming urge to solve his dilemma like every other social problem he had – with his fists. He and Akane had already challenged Mikado and Azusa to another duel, but he could care less about Mikado’s psychotic partner. Mikado, though? That jerk was going to pay.

The feelings of anger and vengeance felt normal to Ranma, as indeed they were to someone with his long history of resolving every emotional conflict with physical conflict, but there was something else – a vulnerability that he’d never really experienced before. He wasn’t sure how to articulate it, but it felt as if something more than pride had been taken from him. He’d been defeated in a fight before, and it was no big deal; he’d go spend a few days training, pick up some new technique or analyze his opponent’s moves, and he’d crush them in a face-saving rematch. But what had happened in that skating rink wasn’t a beating so much as it was a violation, and it would not be undone whether he sent Mikado to the hospital or not.

He desperately needed to talk to someone. In his mind, guys weren’t wired to process stuff like the feelings that coursed through his mind. But who? First, he thought of Akane. She was there, so she would understand. At least he wouldn’t have to say it out loud: A guy held me down and kissed me. Grabbed at me. Tried to grab my… Problem was, Akane was probably used to feeling the way Ranma did. Half the guys in her class had black eyes in their school identification card photos because they'd tried to push themselves on her. She would probably think what he was going through was no big deal at all.

Nabiki? No chance. She never met a weakness she couldn't exploit. She had her sweet moments, but even those were usually employed in service of some scheme she was running. Going to her would just be feeding her blackmail material to use against Ranma later. Kasumi? Ranma had no doubt she would be understanding, but something felt wrong about talking to her about this sort of thing, as if it would corrupt her somehow. 

That brought his thoughts back to Akane. He made it to the door of her room before pausing, stopping his hand before it reached the doorknob just below the white duck bearing her name. I can't do this, he thought to himself. I can't show her that something like this is bothering me. Guys aren't supposed to feel weak and vulnerable like this. She’ll never look at me the same. Just shake it off. That’s what Pop would say. Except… I’m trying to shake it off, and… I just can’t.

He went back down the stairs, defeated. He guessed, as a last resort, he could try talking to his father. Walking through the dining room, he paused, detouring into the kitchen and making for the sink. Somehow, Ranma felt that the conversation would be easier if he were wearing a different skin. 

A moment later, her hair and red tang shirt still dripping with cold water, she joined Genma in sitting on the grass out by the koi pond. “Hey, Pop, can I… talk to you about something? It’s… kind of weird, fair warning.”

Genma looked at her, a little confused, before taking a thick black marker from some hidden fold of his panda fur and writing, Sure thing, Ranma, what’s up? on a small cardboard placard he held up for her to read.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes and holding up a brass tea kettle. “Ideally, where you can talk back.”

The panda nodded, and with a quick pour from the spout, her father sat before her again. “Okay. Now, you were saying?” Ranma averted her eyes for a moment as the nude middle-aged man darted behind the bushes to retrieve his ivory gi and don it. 

“Okay, so… this is…” She trailed off as he returned, looking down at her hands. The thought of making eye contact with her father and letting him see the shame she carried in her soul grossed her out even more than seeing his bare ass. “You remember a couple days ago, when Akane and I did that skating thing?”

He nodded. “Ah! You wanted me to train you up so you don’t get your butt kicked again when you rematch him? Don’t worry, my boy, I’m sure we can scare up some Saotome School of Anything Goes Martial Arts technique for exactly this situation! No problem!” He clapped her hard on the shoulder with his hand.

Ranma tensed, shuddering and quickly brushing his hand off of her body. Please don’t touch me. When people touch me, all I can feel is… “No, Pop, not that. So, I was really pissed when we got home, and you and Mr. Tendo thought it was because we lost. I mean, I guess that was part of it, but not all of it.” Genma nodded, listening intently.

Ranma gulped. There was no unsaying it once it was said. She fidgeted with her fingers in her lap. “Well, ya see, the thing is, the guy we fought, Mikado? He was chasing Akane all over the ice, and I figured I had to help her, right? So I got between them. I wasn’t super great on the skates though, and he managed to knock me down and… grapple me.”

Genma shrugged nonchalantly. “So? That happens all the time in combat. I’ve shown you this a thousand times, boy. You just use an aikido throw, and…” 

“No, Pop,” Ranma interrupted. She could not bear one more word of him telling her all the ways she could have prevented what happened to her; she’d already done nothing but come up with her own list for days as the scene replayed in her mind. “You don’t get it! I was a girl, and he held me down and… and he… he kissed me.”

Genma stared at her intently for a moment, saying nothing until he could hold it no longer. And then he began to laugh. It was a merry, full laugh, as if he had just pulled off an amazing prank. He threw his head back, holding his belly with both of his hands.

Is that all I am to you? Just a… joke? Ranma glared up at the pudgy old man. I fucking knew coming to you was a mistake.

“That’s what this is all about? Ranma, this is fantastic! If he’s infatuated with your girl form, you can use that to your advantage in a future match! Wear something even cuter and distract him until you can strike! Besides, you’re not really a girl anyway, so why do you care?”

Ranma nodded in hollow acknowledgement of his words, willing the tear tracing a path down her cheek to blend in with her dripping hair. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Pop. Thanks.” She stood, turned her back and walked away. She should have known better. He’d never understand why it was tearing her up inside that Mikado had humiliated and violated her like that in front of thousands of people who just sat there and… cheered him for it. In front of their friends. In front of their schoolmates. In front of Akane. Damn it, in front of Akane!

Ranma didn’t think she’d ever get Genma to comprehend that it wasn’t just the fact that Mikado had kissed her, as if that wasn’t enough. It was the mind-shattering realization that if she could lose a fight and be held powerless to stop a kiss, what else might she be unable to prevent? Any martial artist who managed to beat her in a fight could do… whatever he wanted to her. In that moment, she was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. She was not remotely prepared for the realization that the kinds of things that could happen to normal girls could also happen to her. 

Is this how regular girls feel every day? This constant dread that the next guy to come around the corner could just decide to do… anything… to you, and unless you manage to be quicker or stronger, you’re just defenseless? No wonder every girl Ranma knew seemed to be pissed off all the time by default at every guy they encountered.

From then on, Ranma had never said another word to anyone about what happened on the ice that day, not even after he’d taken his vengeance on Mikado Sanzenin. Everybody in the house either thought Ranma was a pervert, thought his feminine half was a mask that meant nothing to anyone, or was just too oblivious to even notice anything was wrong. No one would listen. They never listened, not that they had any hope to understand if they did. The best he could hope for was that no one heard him stir when the nightmares came. That was also when Ranma started dedicating time during his training regimen each week to practice fighting in his female form. Ranma was determined to learn how to weaponize his feminine body the way he had the masculine, maximizing every advantage he could find. As a guy, Ranma had to be strong and fast, but as a girl? He had to become invincible, or he didn’t think he’d ever sleep right again.

Of course, not a month later, after he’d gone to his father for help and been laughed at, what did Genma do? Apologize? Give her some advice? No! He and Mr. Tendo moved the grandmaster of all lechers into the guest room next to the kitchen. Happosai, the ancient progenitor of Anything-Goes Martial Arts, was as perverted and handsy as he was utterly unbeatable in a fight. Ranma had spent weeks trying to come to grips with the idea that any random martial artist who managed to beat her might try to take advantage of her, and now the guy who taught the guy who taught Ranma everything he knew about fighting was the biggest and most constant threat. Now every second, even when Ranma was a guy, even in his own home, he was a glass of water away from being groped at and molested while his father and future father-in-law watched and did nothing. 

He never understood that about Soun in particular. Ranma had recently been brought to the painful understanding that taking female form afforded him none of the social courtesies afforded women as far as the men of the house were concerned. But even if he didn’t think Ranma’s own modesty and dignity mattered, how could Soun just sit there and drink his tea and watch some old pervert get all handsy with his daughters? Where did he get off saying Ranma had to protect Akane, when he himself wouldn’t even try?

And then, of course, “it” happened. After she returned home from the ski resort, no Phoenix Pill in hand, the only time Ranma wanted to leave the guest room on the second floor was when her father was in it. Akane and her sisters did everything they could for her. Even their dads tried to give her a little space to come to terms with it at first. But when Soun first told Happosai… Ranma would never forget the look on his face. It was like Christmas had come early for him. He did not care in the slightest that Ranma was a human being, feeling more vulnerable than she ever knew possible, because to him, she was nothing but a shiny new toy he couldn’t wait to play with.

Kasumi had tried to help. Her heart was in the right place. If Ranma would never be a guy again, Kasumi was determined to teach her how to function as a girl, just as she’d done for her younger sisters after their mother had died when Akane was just five years old. She was constantly bringing home skirts and dresses to try and force the household’s new ingénue into, coaching her on mannerisms, things like that. She had even offered bridal training once! But not only did her coaxing constantly remind Ranma of the hopeless permanence of her situation, it was like pouring jet fuel on Happosai’s perversion toward her. From that moment until Ranma finally ran from the Tendo residence to take her chances alone on the streets of Tokyo, rare was the day that he hadn’t… 

Ranma sighed, willing her attention to the present. She rubbed her temples, trying to push the intrusive memories out of her mind. Nothing good ever comes out of it when I start thinking about all that stuff. She yawned, wishing yet again that she could still tolerate hot tea and that she had some groceries in her little apartment to try and cobble together a quick bite. I’ll have to work on that when I build up a little money. Might as well get dressed and head down to work, she mused to herself, heading for her closet. Hana said I could help myself to anything in the kitchen.

Under the circumstances, she wasn’t really feeling like she could handle the exposure of a skirt at the moment, but she still felt obligated to use something she had been offered so she didn’t seem ungrateful. She decided to compromise, picking a yellow blouse dotted with little white sunflowers and pairing it with her black gi pants. When she pulled Izumi’s satin top over her head, her whole body shivered as it softly slid over her hypersensitive skin. Her breath caught in her throat, and she could have sworn her heart stopped just for half a moment. She had to admit, while it was terrible having the Full Body Cat’s Tongue constantly amplifying every bad sensation on her skin, it didn’t always suck that it powered up the good ones, too.

At that moment, a thought struck her, and a brand-new dread began clanging in her head like iron bells. What if something like Mikado’s assault or Happosai’s constant groping happened again, and not only was she unable to fight her way out of it, but it reached a point that it physically felt too good to stop? What if her body’s involuntary response, cranked up to seventeen on a scale of one to ten, paralyzed her when she needed to fight back? What if it felt so physically overwhelming that she couldn’t will herself to resist?

Suddenly, Ranma had lost all interest in breakfast.