It's a story about the children of Ranma and Akane, and the children of their friends. Many of the original characters will be involved, as well. I mean, they're still alive and everything. It's also an open-ended story, in that I have no idea where I'm going. I do have quite a few chapters plotted. Just thought I'd warn you.
This evolved out of my short-short "Decisions", which several people thought I should expand upon. At present the actual scene found in "Decisions" will probably never occur, but that's okay. It wasn't a very good short-short anyway, but the concept behind it has potential, or so several people seem to think.
Chapters are intended to be short, which should allow me to post them on a regular basis (yeah, right).
Seven Fiancées
M A Davis / Miko
Chapter Two: Enter The Okonomiyaki Chef
He wore a black school uniform, buttoned up the front, with a nehru collar. He had thick black hair, falling in bangs over his eyes, and tied back into a long, neat pony-tail at the neck. He might have been a typical high school student, save for the large spatula strapped to his back, and the bandoleer of mini-spatula slung over his shoulder.
For a boy, he was exceptionally beautiful.
He carried his books across campus. A trio of older, larger boys trailed him, hurling taunts and insults.
"Hey, Miss, do I know you?"
"How's it going, little girl?"
"Watch out, little girl; at any moment a spider could come along and bite you!"
"Better stay out of the biology lab. They've got snakes and frogs and all sorts of horrible stuff in there."
"For a girl, she's pretty ugly, don't you think?"
When he failed to respond, or even look their way, the largest of them moved to block his path.
"Going somewhere, little girl?" he asked.
The boy tried to move around him. Again, the bully stepped into his path.
"Don't be like that, Princess," the bully said. "We found your boyfriend, you know. In fact, I've got him right here."
The bully produced a bright green frog. It's skin looked slick and wet in the bright sunlight, and it blinked and struggled to get free.
"Go on," the bully said. "If you kiss it, it'll turn into a Prince. Ain't that right, boys?"
The bully thrust the frog at the young boy's face. "Waaaaigh!" the boy screamed, jumping back. In a flash he dropped his books to the pavement and drew his battle spatula. "Keep that thing away from me!" he yelled.
"What's with the spatula, baby?" another asked. "Check it out, guys, she must be something special in the kitchen, with all of that hardware."
"Is that true, little girl?" the large one said. "Are you a good cook? You want to make someone a good wife, don't you?"
Another said, "Maybe she's going to cook us to death?"
***
"Perhaps, Masaaki-kun," the limo driver said, "you should have thought twice before putting three boys into the hospital."
Masaaki Kuonji leaned into comfortable leather seat, his spatula across his knees. It wasn't even noon yet, and school was out, at least for him and three others. The streets of downtown Tokyo flashed past, full of shoppers with bags and dark-suited salary-men heading out to lunch.
Masaaki considered the question briefly, then shrugged. "I did think twice," he replied. "It was an even better idea the second time around."
The driver glanced briefly to the heavens.
"I suppose what's done is done," he said. "But your mother will not be pleased. I shall pick her up at Haneda Airport in one hour, and I am certain she has already learned of your little escapade. That gives you an hour and a half to consider what to say to her. I suggest you use that time wisely."
The boy nodded. "Drop me off here, Yaba-san," he said.
"'Here', my good man, is two blocks short of our destination," the driver replied. "Were I to fail to see you safely to Uchan's, and should something happen to you, your mother would have my head on a platter."
"Nothing's going to happen to me," the boy replied. "One minute you're blaming me for being too vicious, the next you're afraid I'll get hurt. Don't you think I can take care of myself? You sound just like my mother!"
"I highly doubt that, Masaaki-kun. May I ask why you wish to be let off before we've arrived?"
"I want to surprise Maurice," the boy said, gripping his spatula. "I can't do that if he sees us pull up out front."
"Of course, Masaaki-kun," the driver said, pulling the limo over. "Although I can't say that I approve. At least that disreputable cook has a thicker skull than your school friends apparently do."
"They're not my friends," the boy said, hopping out the door. "See you later, Yaba-san!"
***
The sign in the window read "Uchan's". Behind the red neon, outlined in gray, was the trademark spatula, Uchan's corporate logo. This was their flagship store, in the heart of downtown Tokyo, in the same building as the company headquarters.
The businessman had eaten lunch here every day since discovering it two weeks ago. The food was fantastic, the service marvelously entertaining, and the waitress was quite beautiful.
He pushed the door open. As usual the place was packed, but Takayo spotted him immediately. She led him to a seat at the bar, where he heard the sizzle of the grill. The aroma of frying shrimp and soy caressed his nose.
"How are you this day?" she asked.
"Fine, fine, Takayo-chan," he said. She allowed him to call her that -- she allowed all the regulars to call her that, but often he dreamed that it was just he, that there was something special between them. The overworked salary-man basked in her smile, and felt the worries of the day, and the strain of his life at home, melt away. For one hour, at least, he was in heaven.
Behind the large grill, a young man flipped okonomiyaki expertly. He was an anomaly, very un-Japanese in look and bearing, and in stark contrast to the businessmen that he entertained. His hair was long and dyed blond, and tied back in a pony-tail. His chest was broad and his arms powerfully corded, and he had a tan as deep as the Pacific Ocean. Tattoos adorned both biceps, and gold earrings pierced his ears. On the wall behind him were pictures of him surfing the waves in Hawaii, California, and Australia. Other pictures were from his other travels. This chef, half the businessman's age, had already seen more of the world than he ever would.
The businessman thought of him as a gaijin, a foreigner, despite his obviously Japanese face.
"Hey there!" the young man said. "The usual, I assume?"
The businessman nodded. "Konichi-wa, Maurice-san. How are you?"
"I'd be better if I were at the beach!" Maurice said with a grin. He turned and yelled, "Order up! Two shrimp, one plain, hot and ready!" His spatula moved with a blur, and okonomiyaki sailed through the air like Frisbees at a park. Takayo leapt, her long, light-blue hair trailing behind her like the tail of a comet, and caught the okonomiyaki on three plates. In one continuous motion, she deposited them before the amazed customers.
A round of applause followed. Kitada-san clapped too, and Takayo blushed demurely, performed a quick curtsey, and then turned back to her work.
It took talent to be an Uchan's chef or waitress. The pay and benefits were excellent, or so the businessman had heard.
His eyes lingered on her, watching every graceful movement.
How did the western song go? Ah, yes. Poetry in motion. That was Takayo-chan, all right.
The chef cleared his throat, drawing his attention. "Dream all you want," Maurice said, his eyes dancing. "But don't take it too far. You don't really know her, and if you did, it just might shatter all of your beautiful illusions."
Kitada-san frowned. Was that meant as a warning, or a threat? He already knew that Maurice and Takayo shared an apartment. That didn't necessarily imply a romantic relationship, but....
The businessman smiled. "Well," he said, "I suppose you're right. If my wife were to see me staring that way, I'd spend many nights asleep on the living room floor!"
His meal arrived, steaming, and he tore his eyes from the beautiful sprite with the blue hair. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he began to eat. He heard the tinkle of the bell as the front door swung open, but when he turned to look, curious, there was nobody there.
Without warning, Maurice shot straight up. Several somethings whizzed by the businessman's ears, colliding with the far wall. He blinked. A half-dozen mini spatula quivered there, having pierced several of Maurice's photos.
"Ha!" Maurice yelled. He landed on his feet, a giant spatula in hand. The businessman blinked again. Where had that come from?
There was a blur of movement behind the chef. He started to twist, to spin away, but something connected with his skull, and he stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance.
"Merde! Madre Dios! Sonofabitch!" the chef cried out, before realizing where he was. "Oh, sorry about the language, guys...."
The businessman gripped the edge of the bar, ready to dive under it or run for the door at a moment's notice. Instead, he saw a young boy standing there, a massive spatula gripped casually in his hands. He wore a typical school uniform and grinned like a madman.
"Ha! Got you, you bastard!" the boy exclaimed.
Feeling the bump at the back of his head, Maurice smiled as well. Then his face became serious, and he bowed deeply. "As always, Master Masaaki, your skill far exceeds mine."
"Aw, come on, Maurice," the boy said. "Knock it off! No need to act so formal!"
The chef grinned and grabbed the boy in a powerful hug. "Masaaki, my man!" he exclaimed. "How ya doing? Oh, and watch the language, kid, there are customers about."
A few customers began to clap nervously. The businessman joined in, and the entire room erupted into applause. While he was not convinced that this was a normal part of the show, he appreciated a display of great martial arts when he saw one.
The boy sheathed his battle spatula and, moving as silently as before, took a seat.
"One seafood special, Maurice," he said.
"Hai!" the chef called out. He flicked his wrist, and something landed on the bar.
"Aaaaaigh!" the boy screamed and leapt to the far side of the room, hands held before him as if to ward off a demons.
The chef laughed out loud. The object on the bar, Kitada saw, was nothing more than a rubber spider, and a not-very-realistic one at that. "Gotcha back!" the chef yelled. "Oooh, man, you should have seen yourself, Masaaki!" The chef pried his eyes open wide in pantomime.
"That's not funny!" the boy growled, returning to his seat.
"By the way, que pasa? Why aren't you in school?"
The boy glared into the polished wood before him. "I got kicked out," he said.
"Again?" Maurice asked. "What is it, now, four schools? Five?"
"Only three," Masaaki said, a bit defensively. "Still, mom's gonna kill me! I mean, there are only so many good private schools around here, and with my past, some of the others have already said no."
"How about St. Hebereke?" the chef asked.
The businessman almost choked on his food, excellent as it was. St. Hebereke? "That!" he exclaimed, interrupting the two. "That... that's my daughter's school! It's for girls only!"
Maurice nodded, grinning. "And?"
The businessman sputtered. Did he really need to explain it? "Don't be stupid! You can't send a boy like this to an all-girl's school!"
"Relax, sir," the chef said. "Masaaki here makes a really cute girl! I've seen him do it; the kid's a natural with disguises. He gets it from his pop, same as the ninja tricks. Trust me, if Masaaki wanted to, he could blend in at St. Hebereke and nobody would ever know....
"Anyway," he said, turning back to his grill, "Takayo-chan went there."
"Well, yes," the businessman said, stealing another glance at the lovely blue-haired beauty. "But, after all, she's a girl."
The chef only smiled in return. Suddenly, the businessman had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"She is a girl, isn't she?" he asked. He looked over his shoulder, sweat beading his forehead. *My god, I've been fantasizing about her! What if she isn't... what if....*
No, that could never be. One glance at her, and you knew she was female. No male could look like that.
The chef continued to grin. "Well," he said, "I could tell you she was a guy, but that's not something you want to hear. So I won't."
Which wasn't an answer at all.
"Anyway, I'm not going to St. Hebereke," the boy, Masaaki, said. "I'm not going to any girl's school, Maurice. Just because I can impersonate a girl, doesn't mean I want to. Especially not 24 hours a day, 7 days a week!"
"Well, then," the chef said, "you might have to do public school, my man." He flipped an okonomiyaki onto a plate and set it before the boy. "Don't sweat it, kid. I did public school, and look how I turned out!"
***
She had red hair, tied back into a long braid that fell past her waist. She was impulsive, with a volatile temper. She was an excellent martial artist, which was only expected, given her father.
Her name was Reiko Saotome. She didn't know that Masaaki Kuonji existed.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. They'd met each other, several times, but she'd barely noticed him. He studied the picture on the wall of his mother's office, wishing he could get to know her better....
She had four sisters, also in the picture, along with her mother and father. Behind them was the dojo where her father taught martial arts. There were other pictures of her father on the wall, but Masaaki ignored them.
A collage caught his eye. Masaaki was in the foreground, in his school uniform and with his battle spatula peeking over his shoulder. In the background was his mother, at age 16, his current age. She wore a boy's school uniform, with battle spatula, and looked so much like him that most thought it was him.
There were other pictures of himself, and of his mother and father. One was of mom and dad before a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant: the very first Uchan's. Another showed his mother and father at their wedding, over 15 years ago, and a third, of a beautiful young girl that also happened to be his father.
Masaaki looked away, his eyes starting to mist. His father had been so gentle, and so loving. He'd always been there, even as mother's work slowly pulled her away... always, that was, until eight months ago....
Masaaki sighed and stared out the window. What a strange family he had! His mom, raised as a guy, his father, raised as a girl. Even the family name was Mother's, since Dad had never had one that he knew about... his dad had been "Konatsu", and that was it.
The office door swung open. Someone stepped around the large oak desk and sat behind it. She had long, dark hair, tied back with a bow of Grey satin, the same color as her business suit. She crossed her arms.
"Hello, Son," she said..
"Hello, Mom," he replied. He'd been dreading this confrontation. Her eyes were full of anger and hurt, but also compassion and concern. Only a mother could look that way.
Ukyo Kuonji sighed, running her hands through her hair. "I just got back from Sydney," she said, "and before my plane even lands I've got a message from your Principal. Masaaki, you can't keep doing this!"
"They were asking for it!" Masaaki blurted out, then looked away. "Besides, I didn't break any bones or nothing. They'll be okay."
"What was it this time?"
Masaaki grimaced. "Aw, mom, you know. The same thing as always."
Ukyo sighed again. No one questioned her son's fighting skills, not when he'd never lost a battle. He was brave to the point of stupidity, just like a certain pig-tailed boy from her past. But his innate beauty, coupled with his unreasoning fear of slimy, creepy, crawly things, invariably led to teasing from school bullies. Eventually, that led to a fight.
"Well," she said, "this is your third private school this year. Six others have already turned you down."
"I know. Maurice suggested St. Hebereke...."
"Absolutely not!" Ukyo said, a little too loudly.
"It was a joke, Mom," Masaaki said. "He said I'd have to go to a public school now."
Ukyo nodded. "That's true, but it's a problem. You won't be able to live in a dorm, and I can't have you living on your own. You know I'm too busy to be here for you all of the time -- in fact, I have to fly to San Francisco in three days."
"Again?"
"Nabiki is bent on making U-Chan's a global enterprise. Her new goal is 10,000 stores within the next ten years." Ukyo went to the window and stared out over the city-scape. "I don't know, Masaaki. When I formed the partnership, I really didn't anticipate it being like this. I just don't know if I'm cut out to be the President of a global conglomerate, as well as a single mother. I don't see you as often as I'd like. It's been ages since I was actually behind a grill. When I'm not in a meeting or on the phone, I'm flying to Kami-knows-where. Nabiki is hounding me to improve my English skills, but I honestly don't know when I'll find the time."
She turned back, her eyes sad and wet. "Sometimes I think... I think I'm still running away... from you, from the pain...."
"Aw, Mom," Masaaki said. Then he was around the desk, holding her, wrapping his arms about her tightly. "Don't cry, Mom. I'll be allright, and I'll always be here for you, even if Dad...."
"I know," Ukyo said returning her son's fierce hug. "I know, my son."
For a long time they just held each other, then Ukyo released her son, slowly. She placed a kiss upon his head.
"Won't be much longer I can do that," she said with a grin. "You're growing up fast!"
Masaaki nodded in embarrassment.
"Well," Ukyo said, "I actually have a solution, if you agree. I spoke with Ranma and Akane Saotome a half hour ago, after Nabiki contacted me. With their house and dojo completely remodeled, they have rooms for up to ten students to live there full-time. They're willing to take you in, Masaaki, if you like. You'd have to become Ranma's student, but you couldn't hope to find a better master than him. You'd attend Furinkan High, my old school...." Her voice trailed off wistfully.
Masaaki's eyes got very, very big. "You mean, I'd be living with... with their whole family?"
His mother nodded. "Five girls," she said. "It'd be very different for you. Do you think you'd like that?"
But Masaaki was thinking about one girl only. "Yeah, Mom," he said, his mind spinning. "I think I'd like it very much...."
***
Ukyo sat in her office and stared at the letter on her wristcomp screen for the hundredth time. It was from her boss, Nabiki Tendo, but was countersigned by five others. She stared at the names at the bottom of the page: Soun Tendo. Genma and Nodoka Saotome. Tofu and Kasumi Ono.
Two very important signatures were missing. The letter explained that. It laid out the entire situation, very clearly and succinctly. Nabiki had never been one to mince words.
The first point Ukyo didn't have a problem with. At his age, her son was the best martial artist she knew of. If anyone was worthy, it was he.
The second point was also already solved. Masaaki would be housed at the Saotome household, and would train under Ranma and Akane. All of the arrangements had been made. As gifted as he was, he would quickly prove to be the best and brightest student of Anything Goes martial arts.
The third point would resolve itself as well. Try as he might to hide it, Ukyo knew very well how much her son was smitten by a certain Saotome daughter. With him living under the same roof, it was only a matter of time before things fell into place. After all, wasn't that why Akane wound up with Ranma? She'd had an unfair advantage, with her and Ranma living under the same roof. Ukyo had had two strikes against her before the game had even begun.
Not that Ukyo really had regrets; it had all been a long time ago, and her life since then had been very rewarding. Still, deep down, there was a part of her that believed that her honor had never been fully restored. Even if her parents had accepted her marriage to Konatsu, and even if she'd had a good life with her husband, a tiny voice inside was whispering to her now. You still have a chance, it said. You may not have married Ranma, but if your son marries his daughter, and inherits the dojo....
Yes, she thought. Father would be pleased. Mother would be pleased. I would be pleased. My honor....
The fourth point would be the most difficult: bringing Ranma and Akane around. But with all of their relatives on her side, it would only be a matter of time. Of that, Ukyo was certain.
She smiled in satisfaction. Perhaps, she thought, my son will yet call Ranma Saotome 'father'.
***
Thanks: to those who encouraged me initially... William Jones, Mark Ferrer, skeezy5, Jonathan Ng, Ryan Erik, and Scott Pollert. Taper Wickel for nifty names. My twisted roommate Tom Hayes for Miss Hinako's son. David Johnston for his detailed critique of the second chapter, which I posted on the FFML originally as chapter one. It's been rewritten just a little. Natsume Atsuko's for her comments. And again, William Jones for reminding me months later that he still wanted to read the darn thing! ^_^ Hope I don't disappoint!
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