Debt, love… Fight!

Loving You Hurts.

I’m sure there are less painful deaths than this torture.

In the last few days, I’ve regretted many of my choices, maybe even the one of walking through that door and into her restaurant.

The worst thing about loving someone is how exposed you leave your heart, and she’s playing a high-impact sport with mine, beating it without mercy.

I’ve been following her home for days, on the verge of just saying “fuck it” and giving in: that time she bent down and started whimpering, or when she stubbornly dried her tears with her ruined jacket, or the other day, when she just threw up on the sidewalk. I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking.

That girl is going to drive me crazy, or maybe she already has. Maybe she’s driven me to the point of becoming a fucking pathetic, lame stalker who follows her from rooftops because he can’t look her in the eye.

I don’t want to argue about something I know I can’t change.

The decisions we make throughout our lives weigh heavily on us, but Akane doesn’t understand that, in her case, she might as well be signing her own damn death warrant. She’s too proud to listen to me, too fucking stubborn to back down.

If I haven’t managed to get her to reconsider the fight with pleas, threats will work even less. She’s a fighter, and she doesn’t care if I’m by her side or if she has to walk alone. She’ll go into battle with her head held high.

Understanding that has cost me my pride and my mind; it’s left me utterly empty. I don’t know if I matter to her, I don’t know if I ever have, and even if I did, the weight of my feelings are nothing in comparison to her dreams.

Akane has a goal, and she’s going to fight for it to the bitter end, despite herself. Despite us. I feel something twisting inside me, I feel how my heart squeezes and bursts. 

When Akane enters the dilapidated guesthouse, I shove my hands in my pockets and head home. My nerves gnaw at me like maggots on a recently deceased body, eating my cold flesh like a feast for moths. I no longer sleep, I just nod off on the verge of unconsciousness.

She has become so vital that I feel like without her light I’m sinking into a pit of shadows. Without her smile and her determination my world is crumbling, ravaged as if by an earthquake. 

At least I have Ryu; without my brother, I would have already lost my fucking mind.

He’s the only person in my life who seems to have a plan right now, even though I don’t like it at all. I know he’s training her, and he’s doing it for me. I’m not going to help; showing up there would be tantamount to agreeing with her, and I absolutely don’t want her to think I condone this insanity at all.

I still have the slightest sliver of hope that she’ll give in and understand, but I suppose that’s expecting too much.

I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands. If she won’t listen to me, I’ll have to find someone who will. That’s why I’m doing what I never thought I’d do, what only a desperate crazy person would do in my place: I’m going to talk to Shampoo.

I show up at the restaurant where she works an hour before lunch service starts. It’s well known that Shampoo is a waitress at a small but colorful restaurant in Tokyo’s Chinatown, a place that under any other circumstances could be charming.

It smells delicious, but I’m not fooled by the spicy or sweet flavors, the freshly baked buns or the braised meats. I head to the bar, and that jerkoff Mousse steps in front of me, staring at me through his thick-ass glasses. We stare at each other in such a tense silence that for a moment I feel like we’re back in the pit, only now he doesn’t have to hide his knives.

“Is Shampoo here?” I ask tentatively, and he pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. «No,» he replies, and I sigh, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

“I don’t want any trouble, I just wanna talk.”

“I already told you she’s not here. Get out, Saotome.” 

I crack my neck, because I didn’t come all this way just to leave. He gets into a fighting stance, I take a step forward, and then I hear a sharp squeal and the damn queen emerges from the kitchen, impeccably dressed in a qi-pao and her finest jewelry. She looks more like she’s serving drinks on the rooftop of the best cocktail bar in town than waiting tables. She smiles radiantly at me, as if she too can’t believe I’m there.

“Ranma!” she exclaims excitedly, throwing her hands around my neck, smiling wide at me with pink painted lips. “You came to see me,” she says, speaking fluently in Chinese; she knows I understand it perfectly. 

Mousse grunts and clenches his teeth, but she dismisses him with a wave of her hand and tells him to go clean tables. The poor devil obeys, walking with his head down as he does as he’s told. 

I hold my breath, feeling a pang of pity for the guy, then I cautiously push her away, giving her a stern look.

“I’ve come to talk,” I emphasize, in case she has any doubts about my intentions, but she doesn’t waver. With her dazzling smile, she invites me to follow her to a private area of ​​the restaurant, a room enclosed by beautiful sliding doors decorated with white, red, and gold bird motifs.

This is surely one of those places where they entertain influential people; who knows, maybe even Tarô drops by from time to time. 

Shampoo gestures for me to take a seat, and I nod in acceptance. She slips away for a moment and returns with a tray and two cups of tea, which she pours with such meticulous care that I can’t help but wonder if this is the same woman who breaks arms in the pit one out of every three Fridays. 

She sits down coquettishly and sips her tea, glancing at me over the steam with a discreet smile.

“How pleasant to enjoy your company, and how unexpected. If you had let me know, I would have prepared something special for you to eat.”

“I’m not staying long,” I say, bringing the cup to my lips. A strong herbal scent hits my nostrils, and I grimace and put it back on the table, just in case. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Is it related to the fight your friend requested?” I thought the rumor would take a little longer to reach her, but news travels fast, especially bad news.

“Yes,” I reply, and her smile is now so wide that I know she has me right where she wants me, where she’s always wanted me to be. Her index finger slides across the rim of the cup in a hypnotic, seemingly careless yet intentional gesture.

“And how can I help you?” She blinks, trying to appear innocent. I don’t know why she bothers when I know perfectly well she’s a real carnivorous flower, a poisonous and lethal creature. 

“Don’t accept the challenge.” 

Her finger pauses on the rim of the cup, and her reddish eyes stare at me.

“In exchange for what?”

I swallow. I’m not stupid enough to come empty-handed. There must be something I have  that this woman wants.

“I can give you money,” I say, and she laughs as if I’d just told a bad joke. “I can work in this restaurant, or give you the earnings from my fights.”

“It would be interesting to have you at my service,” she says in a sweet, syrupy voice. “But no, thank you. I already have a man who does that, and he bores me to tears.” I’m absolutely certain she’s referring to poor Mousse. That guy could go far if he worked as a tightrope walker in a traveling circus, and by far, I mean very far from her. But no, the sad fool squanders his life for crumbs.

“So what is it you want?” “I ask cautiously, rocking back and forth in my chair as she clears her throat and plays with her long hair.

“You won’t make me say it,” she gasps, her cheeks flushed, and it’s here that I know our flimsy negotiation is over.

“You’re out of your mind,” I say, rising from my seat.

“I want a strong husband,” she says, lifting her chin, still sitting stiffly and demurely, as if she hadn’t just asked me for sex. “And powerful children.”

“Count me out,” I say, striding toward the doors. She doesn’t move, but just before I leave the private room, Shampoo speaks again.

“I won’t show any mercy, you know that.”

I freeze, every muscle in my body seizes up, and I give her a look that could turn any of my enemies to ash. She sits upright in her chair, so indifferent and relaxed that, not for the first time, I feel like strangling her.

My stomach feels heavy, and a scream rises in my throat. If I could finish her off right here and now, all my problems would be solved. My heart could beat again. My mouth tastes like bile.

“She’s strong,” I whisper, and it’s not a pretentious speculation. Akane is strong in a thousand different ways, much stronger than Shampoo.

The amazon gives me a crooked smile and raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve come here to beg me not to fight. So you know she’s going to lose.”

A deep expression of disgust is reflected on my lips. Now I feel dirty, like a traitor. Shampoo gets up when she sees the doubt appear in my eyes, purring as she places a finger on my chest and traces an imaginary zigzag down to my chin.

“I don’t want you on top of me all day either. We could reach an agreement that works for both of us.”

 I pull away again; she bites the nail of the finger she just slid across my skin. I swallow, because there are lines I simply cannot cross if I want to look at myself in the mirror without shame.

“I’ll give you a few days to think about it,” she says, tilting her head and walking backward. Shampoo isn’t so foolish as to believe I’ll give in, but I suppose this is the closest she’s ever come to me. 

I nod like an idiot, because this brief delay buys me some time, and especially buys Akane time. To reconsider her options, to change her mind, to stop and think.

I leave the restaurant crestfallen, with the feeling of defeat clinging to my skin, just like the smell of the food.

. 

.. 

… 

I count the days since I last saw her.

What did I do with my time before she came into my life? I sigh heavily and drag my feet back to my apartment. Now, when I want to train, I have to go to one of Tarô’s gross gyms, because I know Akane will be at what I consider one of my few safe spots in the city. And Ryu will be with her.

I feel like shit. I stop by the supermarket and buy way too many ingredients, get home, and spend more than four hours cooking. When I finish, I realize I’ve made enough food for the whole week, and I’m not even hungry.

Ryu comes back late at night, looks at me with tightly pressed lips, then looks at all the pans in the sink and the huge amount of food I’m putting into airtight containers.

“You look like shit.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I reply. “Did you talk to Shampoo?” he asks reluctantly. I nod slowly, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

“I can’t give her what she wants.”

“Oh. OH?! She really asked for it?!”

“She doesn’t mince words.” Ryu whistles, impressed.

“Did she get super angry?”

“Actually… I didn’t exactly say no.” 

Ryu watches me, or at least I assume he is, because I’m so embarrassed with myself that I can’t meet his gaze. I work methodically, putting away the food and then start cleaning the pans.

“Ranma, tell me you’re not having second thoughts,” he asks cautiously.

“Of course not! But what else could I do to buy time?” I reply, outraged, busily scraping the food scraps off the metal surface.

“If you give her hope, it’ll only make things worse. She’ll take it out on Akane.”

“She already has it out for her! At least I’ve managed to postpone the confrontation until next week. Akane still has time to back out.”

“You know she won’t,” my brother says very slowly, as if he were explaining a complex concept to a very small child. “You can’t stop her.”

I clench my teeth and am about to start banging all the dishes and throwing them to the floor; helplessness possesses me more intensely than it ever has in my whole life.

“I’ll go talk to Tarô. If Shampoo doesn’t want to understand, maybe he will.” 

A harsh laugh escapes his lips.

“You expect the damn demon king to listen to you? And what will you give him in return, another ten years of slavery in the pit? You fought tooth and nail to get out of that hole; I won’t let you go back in.”

I glance at him tensely, in a silence so illogical between us that I can’t help but feel confused.

“Anyways, it’s not like I know how to do anything other than fight. It wouldn’t be a huge change in my life,” I say, trying to hide the hesitation in my voice.

“I won’t allow you to talk about yourself like that. Don’t diminish yourself, Ranma!” 

“I’ll do what I have to do. We already spent years in the pit paying off dad’s debts, and she would make the sacrifice worth it, much more than that old man!” 

Ryu grabs my shirt and turns me around roughly. I guess I’ve finally pushed him over the edge. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying for a good fight that would leave me breathless and so exhausted that all I could think about was breathing, but my brother surprises me by shaking me with gritted teeth and a savage threat on his lips.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?! She’s going to fight whether you like it or not! Just fucking accept it already!!”

“You don’t get it!”

“Of course I get it! Do you really think I haven’t been scared shitless a thousand times watching you in there? Do you think I’ve never begged for your life? You’re the only family I have, for fuck’s sake! Think goddamit!”

“But…!”

“She’s going to fight, and you’ll have to support her even if you don’t like it. Grit your teeth and let it go! You’re not going to offer yourself up as bait to Tarô, or as a toy to Shampoo. You’re a fucking warrior, and you’ll have to accept that out of all the women in the world, you’ve fallen for the one who’s your match.”

My mouth tastes so bitter I can’t even swallow my own saliva, my chest burns, my cheeks feel like they’re boiling as my brother lets go of me, frowning, ready to face me.

“I can’t…” I say in an exasperated voice I barely recognize as my own.

“You can. I know you, and I know you’ll rise to the occasion, even though you’re acting like a total idiot right now,» he replies firmly. «Akane is trying hard, she’s giving it her all. She needs you, Ranma. She’s far more alone than you and I have ever been.”

We stare at each other in a silence as tense as a violin string, and within me, the lucid realization that he is my older brother is born, and not because of our minuscule age difference. Ryu wasn’t playing games; he looked at me with the same loving severity I had always futilely hoped for from a father figure.

I don’t fear pain, nor suffering, but I fear her pain, I fear her harm, her broken bones, her blows and deep wounds.

He must have realized, too, that the only thing that makes me weak is the love I feel for my family, and for her. And I hate being weak. I hate loving her so much that I’ve become selfish.

“I love you too, you idiot.” 

“I know,” he replies with the faintest hint of a smile, but my fear is so vast that I feel myself breaking from the inside out, my ribs shattering like glass on the floor.

I want to hold her, I want her to love me deeply and intensely, like the deepest layers of the ocean. I want her to feel the wounds her attitude inflicts, and to have mercy on me.

Is this one-sided love what ultimately destroys me?

“I can’t go on like this,” I finally admit. I’m a fighter, and if I don’t like something, I fight to change it. If neither my fists nor words make a dent in her wall, if my voice cracks from shouting into nothingness, if she won’t even turn to look at me, not even condescendingly, I can do nothing but let her go. “I need to clear my head a bit.” 

Ryu nods understandingly.

“I’ll help you pack your bag.”

. 

.. 

… 

Sometimes I’d like to live hidden from the noise and people, safe in my solitude.

The small clearing where I’ve pitched the tent is hidden among ancient trees, whose fleeting canopies are beginning to sprout with the early buds of spring. It smells of moss and dampness, of old layers of decomposing leaves, of earth and wood. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve been camping, and the last time was with Ryu. We took a few weeks off and dedicated ourselves to training away from society. The idiot, thinking himself a forest dweller, spent his time hunting rabbits and trying to identify edible mushrooms; because of him, we ended up with food poisoning that almost landed us in the hospital.

Since then, it’s just fish and canned food, thank you.

I take my phone out of my pocket and check the messages I exchanged with Akane so many days ago.

Despite being immersed under the canopy of so many trees, I still have a single signal bar, proof that in Japan there isn’t a single millimeter of land safe from humans. I wonder why she hasn’t written to me, if she’s already forgotten me, if I’ve been relegated to the same place in her world as that sad imbecile she had as a coworker.

If she asked me, if she showed the slightest sign of doubt, I would drop everything and go find her. But no, the only thing I know about Akane is through my brother’s messages, where he sends me daily updates on her training.

It’s been days since I’ve walked her home, since she’s gotten off work late and I’m not there to worry about whether she’s eaten or not. Is she taking care of herself, or has she gone back to that sorry state of restrictions and over exertion?

I suppose I don’t have the right to worry either.

I fill the day with exhausting exercises, but despite everything, the passage of time eats away at me to the bone. I make bonfires, cook rice, climb trees, scale cliffs.

The week drags on inexorably, and before I know it, it’s Thursday, and I have a message from my brother with a single sentence.

[Ryu:

You’d better show up tomorrow]

The day has dawned and a storm is threatening; I can’t run away anymore. It’s really going to happen, and I can’t stop it. 

Pride has consumed everything, and my anger has shattered my nerves, destroying any sense I wanted to give to this self-imposed distance that I can no longer maintain for a second longer.

I take down the tent in less than thirty minutes, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and start running back to the overstimulating metropolis of Tokyo.

. 

.. 

… 

I nervously check the time; I know I’m cutting it too close. I miscalculated the return journey, with the long waits at deserted bus stops and endless trains, whose clatter eventually gave me a headache. I think I could have gotten here sooner if I’d walked.

I walk along the familiar port street; the sun sets slowly, it’s a night of fighting, and the pit must be packed.

It’s no trouble at all to get in and squeeze through the crowd despite my thick backpack. I feel the saturated atmosphere, and the noise in my ears is deafening, a stark contrast to the tranquility of the forest.

I feel as if something is stuck inside my head, a weight, a pull, a wrecking ball in my chest instead of a heart. I head like a damned madman to my dressing room, where I’m absolutely sure I’ll find her. Before I can even think of a speech, or unleash one of the thousand shitty things I want to scream and have rehearsed a thousand times in my self-imposed solitude, I find myself turning the doorknob and opening the door at once, panting and frantic.

Three heads turn to look at me.

The tallest and most familiar is my brother’s, who sighs with pure relief at the sight of my face. The second is a girl I don’t recognize, with hair dyed a striking green with pink highlights. And the third, my life and my death; my beginning and my end, the woman who will end me without ever having touched me. 

I’d say I can hear the silence, but in reality, the uproar outside swallows everything, ruining the atmosphere. Ryu grabs the stranger, exchanges a few words with her, and takes her from the dressing room. As he passes me, he gives me a firm slap on the shoulder and winks, encouraging me. He closes the door and leaves us alone.

Akane doesn’t take her eyes off me. I don’t know if it’s the time that has passed since I last saw her, or how much I’ve missed her, but suddenly she seems to have grown, much more real than I’ve ever seen her before. 

She raises her chin, full of pride, and I feel that fiery spirit that rises within her and benevolently touches everyone who comes near her, speaking to me, calling to me. She looks imposing, wearing a sports bra that leaves her shoulders and abdominal muscles exposed, and her karate pants, which fall to her hips and are held firmly in place by a black belt adorned with gold rivets. Her symbols, her discipline, her rank as a martial artist are on full display for all to see.

It’s a declaration of intent, and I can’t help but smile. She has a spine of pure steel. Of course, I can’t stop her; it’s as impossible as turning off the sun. 

“You’re back,” she says in a loud, cold voice, like a temple bell high in the mountains. I drop my backpack without taking my eyes off her commanding presence. I sense her anger, her urge to reproach me.

“I couldn’t leave you alone,” I whisper, taking a step closer, and her brow furrows deeply, annoyed.

“I’m not alone.” 

She crosses her arms. I really didn’t come here to argue. I release the breath from my lungs and decide there’s no point in talking, there never has been. Between her and me in this space, only the stark truth remains. Mine, at least.

“Well, I felt alone. I couldn’t stand not hearing from you, or that the last time we saw each other, we fought.” 

Her eyes widen, expectant. I swallow, trying to choose my next words. I don’t have time. Akane lunges at me, and suddenly all her strength and determination collapse onto my chest. She grabs my jacket with hurried fingers, buries her face in it, and trembles.

My nerves are on edge, and I want to be weak, I want to let myself go in this current of relief and comfort. My arms stretch out painfully, and I allow myself just one instant of vulnerability as I hold her close, one breath before I grab her shoulders and pull her away. We don’t have time for this; this is our last moment.

I look at her, my heart racing. Her eyes are filled with tears, and she gasps as if she wants to say a million things, all crowding her mouth at once, preventing anything from escaping.

“Ryu says you’ve improved your balance and speed. You have more than enough strength, just like power; use it to your advantage.” 

Akane seems dazed. I step back and search the tables until I find a roll of bandages. I extend one hand, and she offers me her left. I begin to bandage her with more care than I’ve ever used before.

“Her blows are sharp and precise. She’ll go for your vital points: joints, tendons, neck, trachea… Never leave them exposed or turn your back on her. She’s capable of dirty tricks if she’s cornered.” 

Akane nods as I finish wrapping her knuckles and tighten the bandages. I take her other hand without her offering it and repeat the process. Her pale skin is gradually concealed by the thick fabric.

“Focus on breaking her guard. High kicks and straight punches. Don’t be foolish, there’s no room for integrity in the ring. If you see an opening, take advantage of it, and above all…” I finish tightening the bandage, proud of my work and with a racing heart, fear gnawing at my stomach, voracious and insatiable “…above all, for the love of God, don’t let her kill you.”

A crystalline drop falls onto my hand as I tie the last knot. I look up and see the emotion in her eyes, overflowing uncontrollably.

“I thought I’d never see you again, that you didn’t want anything to do with me,” she whispers, frowning, a whimper rising in her chest.

I’ll forget her the day hell freezes over, the day they bury me and my ghost fades away in years of loneliness and despair, after wandering bloodless in search of her.

“That will never happen,” I reply, sinking into her eyes, in the depths of that feeling of sorrow and joy.

Just then, we hear a few quick knocks on the door. Akane pulls her hands away, as if we were doing something wrong, and that bothers me deeply. She wipes away her tears, her cheeks flush, and her breathing becomes ragged, just like the one and only time our lips met.

She should be focused, thinking only of the fight. And me too, damn it, I shouldn’t be wanting to sweep her out of here and kiss her until my lips hurt.

She’s barefoot and looks imposing as she stretches her neck and shoulders. I join in as the door opens and Happosai appears, pipe in one hand, a hurried look on his face.

“Girly, it’s your turn to go out,” he says as his eyes fall on me, and for a moment I think I see understanding in that monstrous face. I must be in a terrible state if even the withered old man takes pity on me.

I walk down the hallway looking at her back, her neck which, with her new haircut, looks white, slender, and beautiful. Her arms, toned from exercise, her slim waist exposed.

I’m absolutely certain that I’m going to suffer, that, as I walk down this familiar path, the pieces of my soul and heart fall little by little at my feet, and each of the people who cheer her on, shout, and encourage her tramples them without mercy. 

They don’t understand, nor do they want to; they only want to see blood, their blood and suffering. And for the first time in so many years, I make a decision: I don’t want to return to this place. Today I will leave here with Akane, and I will never look back. The serenity that washes over me after understanding this is fleeting, it is quickly overshadowed again by the terrible feeling of the impending fight.

The pit opens ominously before us, and her figure stands out against the blinding lights. The noise is deafening, but for a few moments I have a vivid hallucination in which everything is silent, she turns, looks at me, and smiles, pure and radiant.

No, I’m not hallucinating; she really is smiling at me.

I swallow hard as Akane puts her hands behind my neck and presses her lips against mine in a kiss as brief as it is wonderful. She smells of vanilla and the salt of her tears; she is sweet and soft, rough and trembling. She is my most longed-for contradiction. The contact is broken when she turns and walks purposefully toward the cage, and my heart pounds agonizingly against my eardrums as I watch helplessly as her feet touch the canvas. An instant later, Shampoo passes by me, shoving me lightly, angry as a storm.

“A kiss goodbye,” she smiles malevolently. “Remember that, because when I’m done, there will be nothing left.”

My stomach twists and my windpipe closes as the amazon enters the ring and the cage closes behind her. The crowd roars and I cling like a madman to the fence, wanting to tear it from the ground, trembling like never before in my life.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and my brother’s voice sounds unreal and distant.

“Trust her,” he says, but I don’t want to hear it, not when all my instincts are screaming that this shouldn’t be happening.

The old man flanks me on the other side, and there’s that girl too, who I imagine is Ryu’s new fling. How could he bring her here, and of all days, TODAY? In any case, I don’t pay her any attention. Tarô’s voice booms proudly over the loudspeakers, announcing what will be the fight of the year, while they stare at each other defiantly, still as alabaster statues.

When I get Akane out of here, I’m going to have more than just words with that fucking asshole. I’m going to break his damn legs even if he sends the entire Chinese mafia after me.

The bell announcing the start of the fight rings cruelly, and the urge to vomit rises in my throat as my breathing becomes shallow. I can’t blink, and I feel like I’m barely standing; Ryu’s hand tightens on my shoulder, his nails digging in like an iron anchor.

Akane and Shampoo begin to stalk each other, their feet landing deliberately and softly as they size each other up for the first time. The amazon lunges at her in a direct attack, and Akane dodges with a feint to her right, immediately assuming a fighting stance, her arms raised to cover all her vital points.

Good, good girl. 

One foot in front of the other, Akane takes a step forward and Shampoo steps back. In an instant, the amazonian throws a kick towards her temple, but Akane blocks it with her forearm and tries to seize the opportunity to grab her leg and execute a hold she knows perfectly. Unfortunately, Shampoo reads her intentions too well and quickly moves aside.

It’s her moment to attack. Akane unleashes two prodigious kicks that Shampoo blocks as she walks backward, dismissing them with swift movements. Akane does exactly as I said, throwing powerful and precise arm strikes at close range. Her wing chun training has made her fists agile and elusive; I can barely see her hands as she links a downward strike while raising her elbow and manages to land the first blow on Shampoo. But her opponent doesn’t falter. She jumps back and flips, managing to land a kick to the cheek.

Neither of them falls; they look at each other as if the blows given and received didn’t hurt them at all. 

For the first time in all these days, my heart makes room for hope.

Now they walk in circles, but they’re no longer careful; they move quickly, calculating their next move.

In an instant, everything descends into chaos. Shampoo launches herself at Akane with her best moves. The exchange is lightning-fast; my pupils dart rapidly as I witness the punches and parries, the blocks, and the right hook followed by the brutal kick that sends my little fighter crashing into the fence. Shampoo tries to capitalize on the moment, but Akane won’t let her. She fights from the ground and drags Shampoo down with her, attempting a submission hold.

Shampoo grits her teeth as she tries to throw her off, but Akane wraps her legs in a knot that involves her elbows and ankles, and I hear her gasp, finally trapped.

That’s when Shampoo pulls something out from inside her shirt. It’s such a slight movement that it goes completely unnoticed, but in an instant, she’s on the ground, and the next, after “blowing” on Akane’s face, she manages to break free and roll out of reach.

Akane gets to her feet, clinging to the fence; I swear she’s having trouble focusing her eyes. 

“What the fuck did you do?!” I yell, trying to make the amazon hear me over the noise, and she does. Her eyes, a reddish-brown, like clay, like wet mud, stare at me mockingly.

That feeling of impending doom tightens in my gut again as Akane staggers and shakes her head, blinking too rapidly. And then Shampoo lands on her again, and this time Akane can’t block her; in fact, she takes almost every merciless attack.

A knee to the stomach makes her gasp for air, but her opponent doesn’t let go, doesn’t release her for a second as she rains blows on her battered face, her temples, her mouth.

Akane spits out blood as she tries to return to her fighting stance, but her vision blurs, and for a moment I have the fatal certainty that she’s going to faint.

“Hold on! Fight! AKANE!!” —But my words sound ridiculous from the very instant they leave my mouth. She searches for me with a clouded gaze and her face beginning to swell, and then she stiffens like an oak, filling me with a strangled pride.

I’m panting too. Ryu leans over me.

“She can take much harder blows than those, believe me,” he says, and I nod automatically, barely hearing him, not quite processing it.

Akane screams furiously and attacks; now it’s Shampoo who’s on the defensive, trying to deal with her lightning-fast blows. Her hands sting like cobras, slipping through the gaps in her elbows, rising to her head, striking her chin with the base of her thumb and following up with a sharp blow to the neck. In an instant, it’s Shampoo who’s spitting bloody saliva, splattering the mat with her blood. 

The amazon runs toward the cage, scales it with the momentum, and performs a backflip in a move I think she copied from me. She leaps onto Akane’s back, who tries to sweep her off her feet, guessing her intentions, but whatever Shampoo dosed her with puts Akane a second behind, and that’s enough for Shampoo. She intercepts her just as she’s turning and grabs her arm. My knuckles turn white from gripping the wire as fury courses through me. I want to get in there, I want to stop this.

“Shampoo!! You fucking cheater…!!”

Akane throws herself to the ground and drags her down with her. In an instant, they struggle, each trying to gain the upper hand, rolling across the mat, baring their teeth through their ragged hair. The amazon grunts in frustration as Akane regains her position and delivers a powerful kick to her shoulder. I pray it’s fractured and this is finally over.

I’m not that lucky. Shampoo screams, but the pain only seems to enrage her further. She spits blood, revealing her red-stained teeth, grabs Akane’s short hair with her good arm, and slams her to the ground, trying to crush her skull.

My heart stops beating, and everything becomes too vivid, but in slow motion. I hear her moan and struggle. I want to believe I didn’t hear any bones crack irreparably.

I have to stop this. Now.

I turn toward the box where Tarô is sitting, and the bastard is grinning, staring blankly at the bloodbath. 

“Tarô, stop this! That’s enough!” I yell, and he glares at me with a wolfish look and laughs with that damn face I’ve learned to hate. He seems to be saying, ‘Come on, you know better than anyone how this place works.’

I’m going to make him pay for all her wounds, all her pain. I’ll return it to him a thousandfold. I turn around again at the gasps of the crowd, and I see my fighter back on her feet like the miracle she is. She’s clinging to the cage for support, and one eye is so swollen it’s practically closed.

I hear her mutter a “dirty skank ” under her breath as she pierces her opponent with her one good eye.

Shampoo doesn’t look much better; she must have taken a massive blow to the ribs and is feeling the area as if she suspects they’re broken. It’s obvious it hurts to breathe.

And yet they don’t stop. They both stalk each other again, limping, bleeding, suffering. 

I dissolve into a plea that finds neither solace nor purpose. Shampoo throws a low blow, and then something flashes in her hand, something she’s just pulled from her bandages. In an instant, it’s between her fingers and then it vanishes, buried in Akane’s leg.

Akane screams and falls, a blade embedded in her thigh up to the hilt.

I knew this would happen, I warned her, and she didn’t listen.

“Don’t get so close, she might have more weapons!”

But she doesn’t listen to me, of course she doesn’t. Akane is gambling her future on this fight, her impossible dream, her very life.

She growls like a lioness and manages to land a kick on Shampoo’s knee, who writhes, limping, incredulous. I smile, knowing she’s putting up with a fight like she has ever had in her life. In a fair match, Akane could have her on the ropes.

But this is the pit, not a ring with a referee and rules. This is the damned Roman Colosseum, and they’re here to put on a show; the amazon knows it well.

She attacks and strikes the blade, hitting her wounded leg. I hear Akane let out a groan, so filled with pain that it rattles me to my very bones. I press my forehead against the bars, feeling dizzy. Ryu puts a hand around my waist, trying to steady me.

“I’m going to kill her, I’m going to skin her alive.”

“Ranma…” he gasps, and I know he can’t speak, of course not, what could he possibly say?

Sweat soaks my shirt as Shampoo takes advantage of the pause to grab her arm and do what she does so well. She pulls and twists, trying to break it.

If the scream from before froze my blood, I feel like now it’s going to break my soul. Akane thrashes frantically trying to recover her limb, and blood gushes out, soaking her white pants with incredible speed. She shrieks while all the spectators roar euphorically.

“AKANE!” I scream too, shaking everything, until I feel I can pull the fence out of its lace, sunk into the ground. 

Something creaks, I hear a two-part “crack.” Shampoo releases her and takes a step back, thinking it’s all over, but Akane still has an arm and a leg, and she doesn’t seem to heed what her mangled body is screaming at her. She leans precariously on her injured leg, and a new bloody prolapse runs down it, forming an alarming pool in the ring. She can barely see, barely feel. Her right arm is swollen and hangs limp from her shoulder, and yet she still manages to throw a direct punch to her face, a colossal left hook that makes Shampoo’s hair whip back, spit out a tooth, and stagger against the cage.

And they both fall, and for a few seconds of sheer terror, neither of them moves. I wriggle free from my brother’s arm and run to the door, shaking it frantically while my eyes are glued to my stubborn, unconscious fighter.

“AKANE! AKANE, WAKE UP! TARÔ! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

My screams finally get their attention. Someone removes the padlock securing the pool, and I rush towards her like a madman. She’s unconscious and breathing heavily, covered in bruises, cuts, and dislocated bones. She’s lost too much blood.

All I want to do is cry.

Behind me, Shampoo starts to stir, slowly rising, covering her mouth with a blood-soaked hand as she tries to catch her breath.

“The winner is Shampoo!” Tarô announces over the loudspeaker, but I barely hear him. I pick up Akane with a primal fear born of desperation, rushing, trying not to hurt her any more, though that seems impossible. 

I hold her unconscious, bleeding, in my arms, and glance sideways at the damn cunt who tried so hard to take her from me. She didn’t get away with it; Akane gave her the fight of her life.

I look at her, hating her more than anyone or anything, my lips pursed and my eyes blurred.

“You and I will settle this, in this life or the next. Mark my words Shampoo,” I say before getting out of the pit.

I hold Akane tight in my arms as my own clothes become stained with blood. Ryu leads the way because I can barely see.

“Hold on, Akane, please hold on…” I whisper, my lips livid.

I follow her down the corridor toward the quack’s office, trying to be strong and not think about how she’s unresponsive, how with each passing moment she feels colder.

I lay her on the examination table, kiss her forehead, and collapse in a corner, my hands clasped to my head, praying to a god I don’t believe in, while the doc examines her.

I hear him cry out, followed by a swear. I know that’s not good.

I run my blood-covered hands through my hair, feeling like I’m living a nightmare and going crazy. That it’s not real, that it’s not happening.

I’m the worst thing that ever happened to her; she shouldn’t have met me. She could have kept serving bowls of noodles while that good-for-nothing took advantage of her back at the restaurant. At least that way she’d be safe, at least that way she wouldn’t be fighting for her life on a filthy examination table in an illegal medical clinic in an underground fight club. “She needs a hospital,” the quack suddenly declares. I stare at him, bewildered. “I’ll pay for everything, just save her,” I plead, my voice cracking.

He nods gravely and looks at me with a sardonic intensity he never has before, his eyes filled with worry he’s never shown me in the over ten years we’ve known each other. 

“Of course I’m going to save her, she’s my sister-in-law!” he shouts indignant. 

.

..

…

Huge thanks, again and always, to our lifesaver Dani for doing such an amazing job translating this chapter!

Don’t forget to leave us your comments and thoughts—that’s our only reward, and it keeps us motivated to keep creating.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I am very sorry for all the suffering in this chapter. I know many people may feel that so much violence is excessive, or outside the lighter theme they may have come here looking for.

When I planned the entire storyline, I designed this chapter as a turning point. In my view, Akane NEEDED to fall in order to rebuild herself without regrets, and perhaps this is the best lesson she can take from failure, an opportunity to begin again.

My thanks as always to my betas for putting up with me being so demanding, to Dani for her incredible work on the English translation and adaptations (and for catching mistakes!), and of course to Isa for all her effort, her beautiful illustrations, and for handling the layout and editing of the entire text despite not even having time for herself.

Thank you for reading and for all your support. We love your reviews!

Lum

ILLUSTRATOR’S NOTE:

Well, sorry, there are no illustrations (and I don’t think there will be any in the next one either). I have so much work, it’s consuming meeeeeeee. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you so much for the reviews.

DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE US YOUR COMMENTS, THEY’RE OUR ONLY PAYMENT.

Isa