All this stuff belongs to Rumiko Takahashi, the brilliant master! Enjoy the story.
Hating Ranma . . .
Why do I hate Saotome Ranma?
I stood sweating in the dojo, facing off to my enemy, cold hatred burning in my
eyes. I viciously punched at the 10 inch square block of granite, my hand rebounding off
of it as a violent protestation wrenched through my arm and added another bruise to my
already mottled fist. I bet Ranma could do it. He could break this block. Not only would
I bet (with excellent odds from Nabiki) he could break it. I knew he could break it. He
never failed. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him . . . There were a lot of reasons why I hate
that stupid pigtailed hentai arrogant baka martial artist.
Despite the obvious, the obnoxious rudeness and the ruthless namecalling, there
were so many other reasons why to hate him.
It wasn’t always that I hated him. It wasn’t always that I wanted to hit him, make
him go away. There was a time when I thought he could maybe be my friend after all
those years of loneliness, after all those years of trying to find someone like me, I thought
that maybe this was it. I had seen the loneliness in her eyes, the eyes of an outcast. I had
been a pariah at Furinkan for such a long time. Akane Tendo, toughest tomboy and
ruthless heartbreaker, I could see the same qualities in her. I thought maybe I would have
a friend who needed me as much as I needed her. Maybe someone would understand me.
I was wrong.
I was so relieved to find out that I didn’t have a fiance, like my father told me. I
had been so happy that I found out it was a girl, a girl! Not an evil boy, even though she
did beat me in the dojo, it didn’t matter to me. All that mattered was that it was a girl.
It wasn’t my fault I walked in on him in the furo. There he was dripping wet, and
*naked.* I thought I would be able to share a little girl talk with my new friend, instead I
got a different pleasant little surprise. It wasn’t so pleasant, for either of us. How could
anyone expect me to behave any differently than I did? They couldn’t expect me to
understand, could they? Of course I ran out of the bathroom shouting “hentai” at the top
of my lungs. Then that little comment about having a better figure than me, he was right
of course, but he didn’t have to point it out. After all, HE was the freak, not me. Of
course I pounded him with our coffee table, he had it coming. Anyone could see that.
*SMASH!* I sent another fist flying into the slab of concrete, even though my
knuckles started bleeding and the trickle seeped between my fingers and dripped from my
fingertips, I felt a great satisfaction. The block split in two, and I prepared to take another
flurry of attacks at the block.
A few hours after the bathroom incident had transformed my former friend into a
boy. It was an ominous beginning. It was bad enough he was a boy, a disgusting lazy
snotty boy, but he was cursed as well. Maybe I could have handled a boy, but one that
turned into a ravishing girl? No one wanted a hentai for their inazuke. That’s why
Kasumi and Nabiki pushed him on me, saying it was a perfect match seeing how I hated
boys. The irony. Could anyone blame me for hating him?
After I thought about it for a while, it came to me. I felt the humiliation. I felt the
remorse and pain. He beat me in a fight. Think of it, a boy had beat Akane Tendo, after
that whole year when I pulverized guys who tried to date me, he beat me in less than 2
minutes and thought nothing of it. Nothing! I had been the great protector of the family,
the one to carry on the Tendo school of martial arts. Now, now I am nothing. I am
Akane Tendo, fiance of Ranma Saotome, greatest martial artists on the face of the whole
forsaken world. I stand in his shadow, I was to learn during that year that I was to stand
in many shadows.
I sent another fist flying into one of the ragged slabs. I sent chunks flying off to
the floor, each punch creating a small crater. It didn’t seem like much on the outside, but
each hit slowly wore away the block, shaking it to it’s core, rupturing the foundations,
mangling the structure, until finally it would crumble beneath my hands.
Not only can he beat me easily, he brought many others who could. I was
reknown over Nerima as the girl with brute strength and skill who could best any martial
artist in town. I sent shivers down the backs of all the teenage boys, but now . . . there are
so many others I wouldn’t be able to match on my best day. Ukyo, Shampoo, Mousse,
Ryoga, Kodachi . . . They all laugh in my face and all I can do is turn away. I would be
so proud at the fear and respect I could intimidate out of others, now they all laugh behind
my back. For once in my life, I am ashamed.
That brings on another point in which why I absolutely ABHOR Ranma Saotome.
I was once the belle of the town. Guys lined up every morning to date with me, and I was
so lofty, so high, that I scattered them like leaves day after day, not caring for or wanting
any of them. Ranma walks in with his trail of fiances, each beautiful enough to be slapped
across any fashion magazine. I stand in their shadow, meek and ugly. Another shadow is
added, I trudge deeper into the black hole.
Funny thing is, even he’s more beautiful than I. She shines like a star in his female
form. Her hair a red blaze of burning fury and his crystal blue eyes as deep and calming as
any ocean. We’ll say nothing of her great figure. She has a body any girl or guy would
kill to have... in... errrr. . . different respects, of course. Think of it. The wife jealous of
the husband’s body! How ridiculous does THAT sound?
In either form, I hear whispers around me. “You’re so lucky Akane.” they say. So
lucky to have Ranma as a fiance. “Isn’t he dreamy?” “What a stud” “I wouldn’t mind
having a fiance like that.” All day long I hear that whispered in my ear, as if I should be
kneeling in adoration of he who wrecked my life.
I sent another fist into the cold and unyielding granite, and another and another
until my knuckles are chewed up to the bone, my hands numb with pain. I don’t feel the
pain, all I see is the red haze settling over my eyes.
I’ve lost my identity. I am no longer Akane Tendo, most beautiful and skilled
fighter of Nerima. Akane Tendo of the Anything Goes Martial Arts School. I am now
Akane Tendo, age 16, inazuke of Ranma Saotome. And at the mention of his name,
Saotome Ranma, all their thoughts go wild. Saotome Ranma? The greatest martial artist
they have ever seen. The cutest guy they have ever seen. The greatest body they have
ever seen. They forget my name, and only know it when linked to Ranma’s.
He makes fun of me. That is the understatement of the year. A gorilla, uncute,
tomboy, waistless, manly, the list goes on. So many, it is like water under a bridge.
Water under the bridge. Perhaps one day, the bridge will collapse. Carried away with the
torrent, but no one will notice. There is a better and bigger bridge just down a ways....
The worst thing is, they are true. Not completely, but each insult has a ring of
truth, ringing in my head like a thousand church bells, driving me mad. The insults haunt
me at night, the ring of truth echoing in my head, causing me to grip my head at night and
cry myself to sleep.
If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Since he arrived at the dojo, I couldn’t get a
moment’s rest. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a nice long soak in the furo without
some hentai walking in on me. Okay, so it hasn’t happened so many times, but with all the
weird things going around my house now, I’m afraid to be naked at any given time for
more than 10 minutes. Of course I have to get a smart remark about my figure everytime.
Even my mornings were ruined with him and his foolish father fighting in the backyard,
waking everyone up. Their table manners were nothing to brag about, either. It has been
a long time since I’ve had a decent and quiet meal where I could get to eat whatever I
wanted, he and his father are absolute pigs.
Speaking of pigs . . . The only times that I could ever be happy again since he
came was with P-chan. My adorable little piggy. Of course, if I find solace in a pig,
Ranma must ridicule and torture it. He can’t let me have any happiness. It’s been too
many times since I’ve seen him bashing him in the head, punting him into the air or making
faces at my widdle P-chan.
Crack! I could feel the stone finally giving way, little by little.
Thinking about that bandanna around P-chan’s neck reminds me of Ryoga. Ranma
can’t stop picking on him either. He also makes all those stupid comments, hinting like I
didn’t know. Who wouldn’t know, it’s so obvious? Of course Ryoga is in love with me!
(^_^) There has been so much evidence, I would be just plain stupid to not see it. Despite
all the times Ranma has made fun of me for my intellect, I can’t be that stupid! I’m sad to
say I dont’ return feelings for Ryoga, but he is the only person that Ranma has brought to
Nerima that I can truly say I’m not sorry for. He is a great friend, even though he is a bit
weird at times. I could never understand his aversion for pork, but that is despite the
point. Ranma is constantly fighting with Ryoga and making fun of him to no end, it’s
especially infuriating since everyone knows Ranma will always win him in a fight, and that
Ryoga’s not bright enough to defend himself. The first male friend I’ve had in years, and
of course Ranma would have to make fun of him and drive him away.
He drives me nuts when we’re sparring in the dojo and he refuses to fight with me!
I am so ecstatic that Ranma would agree to spar with me, but that is quickly turned to
anger when he hops around the dojo, never staying in place long enough for me to hit him.
He dodges and refuses to make any offensive moves. He makes me feel inferior, he tells
me that it’s wrong to hit a girl like I couldn’t take it. The funny thing is, I don’t think I
could take it. That just makes me more mad, and I start to see red red red . . .
Jab jab jab, one half of the slab lay as a pile of dust at my feet. I don’t bother to
wipe away the sweat forming at my brow, but just wipe the blood from my fists onto my
gi, the skin twisting off into ugly little bits.
I’m like a little boat tossing around on the sea. The sea that is controlled by
Ranma, is Ranma. At a word from him, I’m happy, ecstatic, joyful in one moment, and
the next morose, angry, spiteful the next. With just one little word, I react like a puppet
attached to his hand. He doesn’t even know what he does to me inside.
I can never control my temper. True, I’ve always had a temper problem, but
around him I’m a jar of nitroglycerin. . . any moment, ready to explode from the slightest
provocation on Ranma’s part. My reason and sensibility leave like a bat out of hell, now
I’m called “violent pervert girl” by that purple-haired hussy and Ukyo just bounces around
me reminding me that she’s the cute one. They all look at me like I’m crazy when I boot
Ranma into orbit or give him a whacking that he deserves. It turns out to be all my fault.
Every time.
So I can’t cook. I know it. Everyone knows it. It’s a fact, it’s been established
and proven time and time again. Then why can’t he stop making comments about it? I
love to cook. But like many things I used to love to do, I’ve given it up. Not only are all
Ranma’s fiances gorgeous and great fighters, they can all cook! Well, I’m not so sure
about Kodachi, but those potions of hers can’t be too easy to make. Ukyo and Shampoo
run restaurants, Ranma runs to them everytime he finds out I’m cooking. It’s been
countless times when I’ve walked in on him pigging out at Ucchan’s or the Nekohanten. I
slave around at home, creating toxic waste.
I take another strong punch straight toward the block of granite. This time a
whole cloud of dust is made from the impact, leaving only a thin layer behind the hole I
had made in the rock. My whole arm is jarred and aching, sore with exertion and numb
from effort.
He makes my father break out into tears of remorse everytime he does something
with another one of his fiances, everytime I am kidnapped or lost. I had finally gotten
away from the reputation of being the baby of the family. It had taken me so much hard
work to build it up to a fierce warrior who would and could protect herself and her family,
but Ranma had cleared away all of my hard work with a carelessness which is enough to
make me choke. Now I was helpless, I needed a protector.
With a furious battle cry, I took the last of my strength and lashed out at the stone,
it finally yields under my arm and nothing is left. I collapse to the ground, my legs sagging
beneath me and my arms like limp noodles. I never quite make it to the ground,
something . . . no, someone catches me before I make it. Ranma, so quiet I didn’t even
hear him.
Why else did I hate him? After years, he was the first boy to ignore me, to call me
uncute when others had been willing to get their face smashed in by my fist everyday only
to have the chance to date with me. He merely looks at me with disgust, at my thick
waist, my stocky build. He claims me not as a prize, but as a curse.
He spoke. “Akane, what did you do to yourself?” He picks up one of my mangled
hands and examines it, giving a cursory glance to the pile of dust and rubble on the floor.
I recoil from his touch, grabbing my hand away.
There were times when I thought that maybe we could have stopped ridiculing
each other. There were moments that I cherished with him, when he wasn’t driving me
insane. All those times he protected me, claiming to kidnappers that I was his and he
would protect me. That time he held my hand out of Ryugenzawa, or he held me at
Pheonix mountain. I even thought he cared those times he shouted out my name, I could
hear the pain in his voice, and I would have to keep my eyes closed to keep the burning
tears from pouring, even with my eyes closed, tears squeezed through my clenched
eyelids. All those times were like little jewels in my memories, but no. He would have to
ruin every single one by putting his foot in his mouth. We would start fighting, and he
would end up in the koi pond or flying high in the air.
He pulls out the first aid kit and washes away all the blood from my hands, I am
too tired to resist. He pulls out the antiseptic, pausing so I understand that it will sting. I
understand, I know that sting too well. My wounds hiss under the antiseptic.
Then he makes me feel guilty, like it was my fault, all along. He doesn’t yell at me
back when he comes back broken from my mallet. He apologizes, assuming it was his
fault. I know he thinks it’s my fault. He plays dumb, trying to make me crack, trying to
make me admit. Admit admit . . .
He looks up at me, making sure the antiseptic didn’t hurt too much. I won’t give
him the pleasure of letting him see me cry, not this time. I’ve broken down so many times
before, but not this time. A tear slips away.
He made me cry. He’s made me cry so many times. Before he came, I hadn’t
shed a tear since the day my mother died. I didn’t cry at the funeral, or when dad went
into sequestering himself, when I had no friends at school, I never cried. I was a tough
girl, I could withstand anything. No emotional break downs for me, nope. Ha, what a
joke. Now, at a harsh word from him that I would have just ignored before, I break out
into tears. Of course Ranma would come and try to find me after I had run away in my
grief and he would bring me back. The hero. He would unwittingly cause my heart to
swell and me to sob with greif. About what? Nothing at all. Petty things that don’t even
matter.
He bandages my hands up with soft white gauze, his hands gentle as any mother’s.
My tear falls onto the bandage, staining the pure white of the gauze. He looks up and is
surprised to see my eyes swimming with tears I refuse to let fall. Tears I refuse to admit
are there. Tears . . . . He lifts his hand to wipe the tear, but stops before my face.
Instead, he uses the edge of his shirt, soft against my skin to wipe it away. His face lights
up in a grin as he peers up at me with concern.
Perhaps everything could have been forgotten, ignored, tolerated if not for one of
the reasons. The most infuriating reason why I hate Ranma. The one that surpasses all
others and is unforgivable, the real reason why I hate Saotome Ranma. The reason why
there is a fierce fire in my soul which cries out in anguish.
I tear my eyes away from his concerned gaze and turn myself around, shoulders
hunched. I sit cradling my hand willing Ranma to just disappear. I feel a gentle hand on
my shoulder, he turns me around and wipes my tears with his sleeve, smiling that goofy
grin at me.
Sometime from when we met, I don’t know when, maybe right when I saw him,
maybe it was somewhere along the way. It doesn’t matter when, where, how, or why, but
what matters is that it happened. It was his fault. Just the thought makes my blood boil
and makes me want to bang my head against the wall. It was because no matter how
much I tried to get away, despite the fact he was arrogant and rude, despite the fact I built
up my walls higher and higher, despite everything I tried. I was the fierce Akane Tendo
no more. The walls crumbled. I crumbled. I fell in love.
